Final Harvest

by Barbara Howard

  The woman reached in her purse, “What did you hear, child? Tell me.”

  “Charlotte don’t...”

  “Earl, get in the car. I’ll handle this. Go!” Charlotte waved the back of her hand and he walked out of the attic and down the stairs without protest. “Give me the package,” she said to Traci. “Don’t be an idiot. I know you have it.”

  Traci’s body tensed as the woman stepped even closer, that perfume hung so heavily in the air it made her head swoon. “Focus ...” she thought and tried to take a deep breath to steady herself, but the humidity enveloped her, and she struggled to stay on her feet.

  “Okay, you’re right,” she gasped. “It’s over there,” She pointed to the steamer trunk where Peter was sitting on the Dependable Flyers Urgent Delivery package. Charlotte shoved the cat away, picked up the package and ripped it open. She stood back, reading over the document with a wild grin, then pivoted to face Traci again.

  “Go on, tell me what you think you heard.” Charlotte said and stepped between Traci and the door, then pulled the weapon out of her purse.

  “I heard everything you said,” Traci said backing up toward the window. She didn’t know much about guns but she recognized a suppressor mounted on the barrel. “Who is this woman?” she thought.

  “Why should I believe you?” Charlotte laughed and inched closer. “I think you’re crazy.”

  “Maybe I am,” Traci said between panted breaths. She had wanted to find the killer. Now that they were in the same room, she had no idea what to do next.

  “You don’t even look scared right now.” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’m not.” Traci had lost her fear of death at eight years old. She was not afraid to die. But if she still had a choice, this would not be the way. “I need air ...” she thought and reached behind her for the windowsill.

  “Really?” the woman said, amused, “You should be.” She raised the gun and pointed it at Traci’s chest. A smile creeped slowly across her face.

  Traci closed her eyes and focused on her heartbeat throbbing in her chest. Her thoughts racing. Each year of her life had been one storm after another. She had hoped that one day the clouds would part and there would be ... what? Freedom. Earl Garrett was right. There should be something to show for the time you were given. She understood that now but it was too late. “So, this is how it ends,” she thought and took a deep breath.

  “Earl, I told you to wait outside...” Charlotte shouted over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  Randall Wells grabbed Charlotte’s wrist, pointed the gun to the ceiling and wedged his hand over the trigger. He twisted her other arm behind her back and shoved her against the wall.

  “Let it go,” he said, pressed his shoulder into her spine and tightened his grip.

  She loosened her fingers on the gun, and Randall placed it out of her reach on the bed. He leaned his forearm across Charlotte’s back, pulled her wrists together and locked them in handcuffs.

  Traci slumped to the floor and started hyperventilating.

  “Four things ...” She began to heave large gulps of air as her torso spasmed. She couldn’t feel anything. Nothing was working.

  Randall took Charlotte by the arm and led her to the second officer waiting near the door, then reached over to help Traci stand on quivering legs.

  “You’re okay. Tracinda, look at me,” he said and took her into his arms. He brushed back her hair, looked into her eyes and said softly, “Traci, you’re safe now. Everything’s going to be fine.” He cupped her face in his hands, “I’ve got you.”

  She braced herself against him until the shaking subsided, her head on his chest, and the rhythm of her breathing matched his. He reached into her apron pocket and removed her phone, then tapped End Recording on the video chat app.

  “I didn’t think you...” she whispered.

  “I heard everything. And, their license plate is a match from the other night.”

  “Here, you need this too,” Traci said and handed him the Urgent Priority envelope from Dependable Flyers.

  “What is it?”

  “A royalty check,” she said after skimming the document, then gasped. “Quarter of a million dollars for Earl Garrett’s full discography. Royalties and a lawsuit settlement from artists’ unauthorized use and sampling of his original tracks. Miss Rowena was registered as executive producer, so the check was mailed to her. He probably knew she would just pour the money into Bent Willow ...”

  “So rather than fight it out in court ...” Randall said and turned to Charlotte, “someone got greedy and decided to take it all.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” Charlotte said giving him a sideways glance through mink lashes.

  “No problem,” he said, “you’ve said enough to earn a ride downtown. Your partner is waiting. Let’s go.”

  “What about ...” Traci said, reaching for her phone.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Randall pulled it out of her reach and smiled. “Evidence.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  TRACI STEPPED OUT OF the kitchen door, splashed water from the garden hose on her face and blotted it with her apron. She watched Randall’s squad car pull away with Earl Garrett and Charlotte Carter. Holding a check for that much money was surreal even if it didn’t belong to her. She imagined how much it would have benefited everyone if Miss Rowena had survived to use her portion. Maybe there was still a chance that something good would come out of it. She had to trust the process and move on. There was nothing else she could do.

  “Watch out now, Reverend Mac! Remember, I was a reliever for the Tornadoes back in the day.” A man shouted and waved a baseball in his fist. The crowd cheered as Reverend McMoultry climbed onto the seat in the charity dunk tank. She searched the crowd and spotted Moe talking to Mayor Gundry while he bagged pints of strawberries. Milo was standing with a group of teenagers at the corn hole game. A sense of relief swept over her as she watched him laughing. “Yes, it could end like this,” she thought.

  She turned back and looked at beautiful Hazelton House, then closed her eyes to seal the moment into her memory. When she opened them, she noticed a group of well-dressed individuals examining something near a corner of the house. A man placed a piece of paper on one of the stones and with the other hand, made a rubbing of the surface with a large gray pencil. They all stood back and scrutinized the charcoal smudge on the paper, then nodded with approval. Traci walked closer not sure if she should interrupt them.

  “Traci!” said Kay McGee, “How are you? Look who I have with me today!” The men parted to allow her wheelchair to pass through the group and meet Traci midway across the porch. Her face was beaming with joy as she waved her over to join them.

  “You already know Shannon Brewer from the Historic Preservation Society,” she said. “And, this is ...”

  “Ray Winston,” Traci said with a slight nod. “We’ve met.”

  “Hello, Ms. Simmons,” he said, looking her over.

  “Wonderful,” Kay McGee said gleefully.

  “What’s going on?” Traci said turning back to her, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Well, it’s wonderful news,” Kay McGee said. “Well, I’m saying it’s wonderful news and I’m sure you’ll agree. Of course, we have to wait a little bit longer for the official word. But I can tell you...”

  One of the men handed Traci a copy of a document from the County Recorder’s office. Then, with added exuberance, he showed her the rubbing that he had taken of the corner stone.

  “See?” he said. “See there! It’s an exact match. An exact match!” He pointed at the photo in the middle of the document. Then he led her to the cornerstone and pointed to the engraving. It was faint, but she could see it. She ran her fingers along the outline. It had been there all along and she never noticed it.

  “What is this?” she said looking back at him. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Ray Winston
said and rolled his eyes, “as the saying goes.”

  “Ms. Simmons, this property has incredible historical value,” the man said. “I’m Marcus Kinsey of Simon, Kinsey and Company, by the way.” He extended his hand to Traci.

  “His boss?” Traci said pointing to Ray Winston. “Nice to meet you.” She wiped her fingers on her apron, shook his hand and took another look at the photo.

  “Traci, they think this is the oldest structure in Faucier County. Maybe in the entire state!” Shannon Brewer said, not able to hold back.

  “Well, that is something we don’t know for sure,” Marcus Kinsey said. “The Federal Registry of Pre-Civil War and Historic Buildings are sending their representative to explore the home and survey the surrounding land. They’ll analyze the samples against similar buildings of the same period. At one time Hazelton was a separate township all its own. They were forced to merge after ...”

  Kay McGee tsked her tongue.

  He continued, “Okay, I won’t bother with all the details. However, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that Hazelton House is protected through our county code for historic landmarks. It must be shielded from any development or cosmetic improvements and restored to her former glory. And we have the funding to do it!”

  “Traci,” Kay McGee said, “look at this picture. See these people?”

  Traci leaned down to inspect the photos and papers overflowing from the box in her lap.

  “Now, these are my notes from our research, and everything matches,” she said. “Rowena Garrett’s maiden name was Doone. These are her ancestors, remember? The Doone family came North after the war and settled here. They established this area as a station for the pony express and it became a major trading post. It was pivotal for the founding of this county and the growth west from here. Hazelton House was the centerpiece of this region!”

  She flipped through the stack of photographs and documents, showing them to Traci one by one with uncontrollable delight and reverence for their importance. “This cedar log house and this modern colonial style, that I think misses the mark terribly... well, they’re the same house.”

  “That looks like the cedar walls I saw in the ceiling up there,” Traci said pointing at the attic window.

  “Yes, it’s Hazelton House!” Sharon Brewer said and grabbed Traci’s arm, “Isn’t this wonderful?”

  “What about ...” Traci said pointing to the crowds strolling through the market, “Bent Willow?”

  “The farm, the fields, the house, and the weeds,” Ray Winston interjected, “all on protected land.”

  “And the mineral rights too!” Marcus Kinsey said. “A geological survey for an adjacent property showed ...”

  Kay McGee tsked again.

  “But,” Traci said, “who owns it?”

  “From what I can make of things,” Marcus Kinsey said, “it will all be held in a trust until the rightful heir is established.”

  “And from the looks of things,” Ray Winston said with a deep sigh, folding his arms across his chest, “that could be years.”

  Chapter Twenty

  TRACI PULLED OFF HER soiled gloves and sat on the front steps of her house. Peter flicked his tail back and forth and yawned, sitting next to the bag of iris and daffodil bulbs at her feet. She had planted the crocus that Sarah gave her and was taking a break from embedding the stones around the flower beds.

  “You didn’t get locked out of your house, did you?” Randall said sauntering up the walk with his hands behind his back. “If so, I know a pretty good locksmith.”

  “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your important crime-fighting duties, sir,” Traci said smiling up at him. “Plus, I keep a spare key hidden around back.”

  “That’s a really bad idea, Tracinda. I’ve gotta advise against leaving spare keys ...”

  “Are you going to start that again?” She tossed a glove at him.

  “Wait, wait ... before you start hating me again. I brought a peace offering.”

  Randall presented her with an iridescent silver gift bag with a pink bow on the handle. She reached through the glitter-covered tissue paper and took out the brand new cellphone. She looked up at him in total shock.

  “Your phone is still part of the evidence for the investigation,” he said casually. “No telling how long it’ll take for you to get it back. And, I know how you can’t live without one. So, I thought ...”

  “Thank you,” she said pulling him down to sit next to her.

  He sat quietly, weaving his fingers together while she opened the package. Was he blushing?

  “I heard about the preservation society ceremony at Hazelton House next weekend,” he said looking at his hands.

  Peter joined them on the steps and rubbed his face against Randall’s leg.

  “Will you be there?” Traci said looking up from the phone. “I mean, I hope you can attend.”

  “I will do my best to attend,” he said and tapped his chin. “As a matter of fact, I think I may have signed up to work security for that event.”

  “Oh, you think so?”

  “Yeah.” He inched closer to her. “So, with their decision ... what does that mean for you?”

  “Well, Mr. Kinsey and the CDC requested that the property be transferred over to the Friends of Magnolia Grove Foundation,” she said twirling the ribbon around her fingers. “They’re pretty confident it will happen. So, Hazelton House and Bent Willow Farm will be kept as a community resource. Maybe a working farm and wellness outreach kind of thing. They plan to start the restoration part next year. It’s going to take a lot of work. They want to pull back the modern facade and expose the original logs underneath ...”

  “What about you?” he said, pressing closer.

  “Well, they asked me to be a docent,” she said and shrugged. “It pays more than my courier job. And it sounds like it could be fun. I accepted.”

  “So you’re staying here?”

  “Yes,” she said, allowing a grin to slowly slide across her lips. She ran her fingers along the handrail Randall had installed the previous weekend. Another unexpected gift. “I’m staying right here.”

  “I see. And no more riding bicycles and recklessly weaving in and out of traffic?” he said, motioning with his hands wildly.

  “Listen,” she said pointing at him, “tell me you have not been following me!”

  He smiled and waved away her comment. “I may have heard some radio chatter about it.”

  Traci powered on her phone and listened for the chime.

  “Oh, you charged it for me, too. I love this sound,” she said, as the screen lit up with a photo of her petting Miss Rowena’s cats in the garden. She laughed. It felt good to laugh. This felt good. This moment with Randall felt ... right.

  “Not trying to tell you what to do or anything ...” He leaned even closer, their shoulders touching.

  “Of course not.” She said and gave him a side-eye glance, preparing for an argument.

  “Right now, the only number on your Contact list is mine,” he said looking into her eyes. “Let’s keep it that way.” He leaned toward her for a kiss.

  Traci turned her head and snapped a selfie. She looked down at their picture and smiled as she locked it to her Home screen.

  “We’ll see.”

  THE END

  AUTHOR BIO

  BARBARA HOWARD IS A first-generation tech geek turned master gardener with a passion for fresh air, vegan cuisine, and tracing her roots. A big city girl with a small town heart, she spends most of her time treasure hunting, spoiling her fur-babies, growing veggies and raising chickens.

  Read more at http://www.authorbarbarahoward.com

  Charlotte’s Revenge

  Finding Home Mystery Series

  Book Two

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