Fall From Grace

by Judith A. Boss

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Fall from Grace

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Zoe set down the newspaper. She closed her eyes, trying to keep from crying. Even though her dad had been raised Catholic, her family had only attended services a few times. She wished she knew more about what happened to people after they died. She thought about what Mrs. Lee had said—that Grace was still here inside of her.

  “Help me, Aunt Grace,” she whispered. “Please tell me what to do.” But try as she may, she heard no answer. After a few moments, Zoe opened her eyes. Maybe she needed one of those crystal balls like the fortune tellers used to communicate with the dead.

  She took a deep breath and walked over to the large window. The sun was barely visible through the pale gray cloud cover. The pink impatiens along the edge of the deck, so colorful just a few days ago, sprawled dead and limp on the ground—victims of the killer frost.

  Suddenly she felt overcome by a sense of urgency. She needed to find a way to get Grace’s journal to the police so they could see what a wonderful person her aunt was. A pile of unopened mail in a leather letter tray caught her eye.

  Then she had an idea. Maybe she could mail the journal to the police—anonymously, of course. Except she couldn’t mail the journal from Exeter, or the police might suspect her of having taken it.

  She leaned back against the wall and rubbed her forehead. Think. Maybe she could mail it from North Kingstown where the funeral parlor and the church were—that was, if she could sneak away and if there was a mailbox nearby—and those were big “ifs.”

  Fall from Grace

  by

  Judith A. Boss

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Fall from Grace

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Judith A. Boss

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1825-7

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1826-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my granddaughter

  Lauren Boss

  for her invaluable assistance and perspective.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge and thank

  members of the Exeter #1 Volunteer Fire and Rescue

  as well as criminal lawyer

  Morgan A. Goulet, Esq.

  who provided information and feedback

  for this book.

  Chapter One

  October 1999

  A loud thump jolted Zoe awake. Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she rubbed her eyes and looked around her bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place. The Groovy Girl doll her Aunt Grace had given her for her tenth birthday last year sat propped up against the clock on her nightstand, part of the dollʼs hair missing and one leg leaking stuffing from an unfortunate encounter with Yoda, the family Corgi.

  Zoe reached down and rubbed the dog’s head. “Yoda, did you make that noise?”

  Yoda did not move. His large brown eyes were fixed on the wall beside the bed.

  Zoe glanced back at the wall separating her bedroom from the guest room over the garage. Her Aunt Grace—her dad’s older sister—had moved into that room almost a month ago following the murder of her husband, Uncle Luke.

  Yoda whimpered.

  Zoe felt her skin prickle. Something was not right. Yoda could sense it. Dogs were like that.

  A crash broke the eerie silence.

  Zoe froze.

  A deep groan and the sound of glass shattering followed. Then a dull thud—like something large falling onto the floor.

  Zoe pressed her ear to the wall.

  No more sounds.

  She glanced at the clock. Almost six-thirty. Wouldn’t Aunt Grace be downstairs by now having her morning coffee? And that groan. It didn’t sound like Aunt Grace—too low. Was somebody in her room—a burglar maybe? Zoe looked at Yoda. He remained motionless. But wouldn’t Yoda be barking like he always did at strangers?

  Pushing back her covers, she got out of bed, the hardwood floor cold beneath her bare feet. She paused and listened again. Everything was quiet now, except for the pounding of her heart and the light drizzle of rain on the roof.

  She grabbed a sweater and pair of jeans from her dresser and slipped them on.

  As she reached for the doorknob, she heard footsteps coming up the back stairs. Someone knocked on the door to Aunt Grace’s room.

  “Grace? I have a cup of coffee for you,” her dad called out.

  Zoe felt a wave of relief. Dad would know what to do. Like Aunt Grace, he got up long before anyone else in the house. An architect who worked mostly out of his home office, he liked to get in a few hours of work before putting on a second pot of coffee for the rest of the family.

  Another knock—only louder this time.

  “Grace? Are you okay?”

  The next thing Zoe heard was the sound of glass crashing to the floor, followed by Dad shouting from the top of the stairs. “Lisa—it’s Grace!” he called to her mom. “She’s unconscious. Call 911!”

  Zoe dashed out of her room, slamming the door behind her to keep Yoda from following.

  The Providence Journal lay in a pool of shattered ceramic and coffee on the hardwood floor in the hallway outside of Grace’s room. Zoe paused in the doorway and looked around. The night table on the far side of the double bed was tipped over, bits of glass and pills scattered across the floor. Dad knelt beside the bed.

  Zoe stepped over the wet newspaper and joined her dad. Her Aunt Grace was lying on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth onto the lace fringe of her white nightgown. There was an ugly bruise developing under one eye.

  “Dad, what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, not taking his eyes off Grace.

  Zoe could smell a trace of lily of the valley, her aunt’s favorite scent. “I heard something bumping against the wall just before you came up—and—it sounded like a man’s voice in the room,” Zoe whispered. “Do you think maybe someone snuck in and—”

  “She still has a faint pulse,” Dad said. He gest
ured for Zoe to move away from the bed.

  In the distance came the wail of the rescue wagon.

  Zoe watched—wanting to ask her dad again what was happening. But she knew now was not the right time.

  Dad felt again for Grace’s pulse—on her neck this time. He frowned. Taking a tissue from the box beside the toppled night table, he gently wiped the blood from her mouth.

  Just then, Zoe’s mom appeared in the doorway. “Oh, my God!” she gasped as she spotted Grace on the floor.

  The sound of the siren grew louder.

  Zoe turned and stared numbly out of the large window that overlooked the driveway. The rain had stopped, and the morning sun streamed in through the window. A pair of noisy blue jays had taken over one of the birdfeeders at the edge of the woods, scaring away the other birds.

  How could everything outside look so normal when inside things were going so wrong?

  As the red and white rescue wagon pulled into the driveway, the blue jays scattered, crying out in protest.

  “I’ll let them in,” Mom said in a shaky voice. She turned to Zoe. “Sweetie, why don’t you come with me?”

  Zoe bit her lower lip, trying to keep from crying. Was this her fault for not checking on Aunt Grace sooner? “No, I want to stay here with Aunt Grace.”

  Mom hesitated. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Zoe picked up the pink elephant sitting on the windowsill. Aunt Grace’s students at Rhode Island College had given her the stuffed elephant a few years ago as a gift when she won the best teacher of the year award—for the second time. She had named him Horton after the good elephant in the Dr. Seuss book.

  Zoe’s lower lip trembled. She hugged Horton to her chest and ran her hand across the soft, pink fur. Her aunt had given Zoe the elephant when she moved in with them. I must have left it here last night when I came in to say goodnight to Aunt Grace.

  Zoe’s fingernail caught on a piece of loose thread on the back of the elephant. Just then, she heard voices coming from the driveway. She looked out the window as a young man and a middle-aged woman, both dressed in blue polo shirts, got out of the rescue wagon and began removing blue and green duffle bags and all sorts of other stuff from the back of the truck.

  Mom met them in the driveway and showed them into the room. The labels on their shirts identified them as paramedic and cardiac EMT.

  “What’s going on?” the paramedic asked, kneeling down beside Grace.

  “My husband,” Mom said, gesturing toward Dad. “He’s the one who found her.”

  The EMT set her bag down. The paramedic stood and let her take over.

  “It’s my sister, Grace,” Dad said. “I found her like this when I came up to bring her coffee.” He pointed at the glass on the floor. “The night table was knocked over, and she was…she was lying here on the floor. I don’t know if she fainted or fell and hit her head or what happened.”

  The EMT pulled out a small flashlight and, lifting up Grace’s eyelids, shined it in her eyes. Mom wrung her hands. “I don’t know what could have happened,” she said. “She’s young—only fifty-three.”

  “Grace went to bed early last night,” Dad added. “Said she had a headache. I don’t know if there’s any connection.”

  The paramedic glanced at the open aspirin bottle and pills scattered on the floor. “Did she take aspirin for her headaches?” he asked, taking out a clipboard and pen.

  Dad pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I think so,” he said, “but I’m not sure.” He gestured toward Zoe. “My daughter Zoe said she heard a noise coming from the room earlier. Her bedroom is right next door.”

  Zoe could hear Yoda barking from behind her closed bedroom door.

  “What did it sound like?” the EMT asked, looking up at Zoe.

  “Like banging against the wall,” Zoe said. “Then something crashed to the floor. And I heard a grunt. It sounded like someone else was in the room.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago. I think it was about six-thirty—just before Dad came up with coffee.”

  The EMT nodded knowingly and returned to working on Grace.

  Zoe was about to add “Shouldn’t we call the police?” when the paramedic turned to Dad and asked, “Anything else?”

  Dad took a deep breath. “She hasn’t been herself lately,” he said in almost a whisper. He glanced over at Zoe with that look he got when he was about to say something he thought she should not hear.

  “What do you mean by ‘hadn’t been herself’?” the paramedic asked, jotting down notes.

  Dad looked down at his hands. “She’d been acting…well—not like herself. Something was just…off.” He paused. “I guess I should have—”

  “She’s unresponsive,” the EMT interrupted. “Put her on oxygen and get a blood pressure,” she ordered. “And we’ll need the backboard.”

  The paramedic set down the clipboard and left the room. He reappeared minutes later carrying a long red plastic board. Pushing aside a book lying on the floor, he set the backboard down on the braided rug beside the bed. Sliding their arms under her, the two of them lifted Grace and placed her on the board.

  The EMT hooked up a box to Grace. “No heart beat,” she said. “We need to ventilate her right away.”

  The paramedic reached into one of the bags, took out a plastic mask, and put it over Grace’s face.

  “What’s happening?” Zoe asked. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Is…is…?” Zoe was going to say “dead,” but of course her aunt couldn’t be dead. Why would they be putting that oxygen mask on her face if she was dead? It didn’t make sense. She quickly put the thought out of her mind for fear that just thinking about her aunt dying would make it happen.

  “She’s in asystole,” the paramedic said.

  “Asystole?” Dad asked.

  “Flatline,” the EMT explained as she leaned over and started pressing her hands up and down on Grace’s chest.

  Dad slumped down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

  “What’s flatline?” asked Zoe.

  “Hush, Tinkerbelle,” he said, his voice cracking. “Let them do their work.”

  After a few seconds the EMT stood, and the two of them carried the backboard down the stairs.

  Zoe followed.

  The rain had stopped. A metal stretcher sat in the driveway near the back door. The puddles in the driveway reflected the morning sunlight. Zoe leaned against the garage door, protecting her eyes against the light with one arm and clutching the pink elephant in the other.

  By now, several of the neighbors had gathered at the end of the driveway, including her classmate, Billy Ray Spitz. Billy started walking down the driveway toward Zoe. His mother stood at the edge of the street standing on her tippy toes, straining to get a better look.

  “What’s going on?” Billy asked.

  “It’s my aunt,” Zoe said. “We found her…” Zoe began to cry.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Billy said. He took a step forward as though he was about to take her hand, but stopped himself.

  “Billy, it’s time to get ready for school or you’ll miss your bus,” his mother shouted from the end of the driveway.

  He paused. “I have to go,” he said. “But let me know if there’s anything I can do—really—I mean it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mrs. Worthen, another neighbor, came over and stood next to Zoe. Mrs. Worthen used to meet Zoe’s school bus on the days when Mom worked as a lawyer with Rhode Island Legal Services and Dad was out. Now, Mrs. Worthen just came a few days a week to clean their house.

  Zoe watched as the EMT and paramedic placed her Aunt Grace on the stretcher and slid it into the back of the rescue wagon. The EMT ran around to the driver’s side and climbed in. “We’re taking her to South County,” she told Zoe’s parents. “You can follow us in your car if you want.”

  Zoe started for the car.

  Mom caught h
er by the arm. “It might be best if you go to school today—to take your mind off all this,” she said gently.

  “I can stay with Zoe for a while if you want to go on ahead with your husband,” Mrs. Worthen offered.

  Mom smiled appreciatively. She turned to Zoe. “Is that okay with you, sweetie? We may be at the hospital for a while.”

  Zoe sighed. She really wanted to be with her aunt, but she knew it was useless to argue with Mom.

  “Besides, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Mom added, patting Zoe’s arm.

  “All right,” Zoe said. She felt her face redden. She looked away. Actually, it was not okay. She felt angry at being left out—especially at a time like this.

  “And you should stay out of your Aunt Grace’s room,” the EMT called out to Zoe, “just in case the medical examiner…” The EMT paused. “Just in case they want to try to piece together what happened.”

  The paramedic got in the back with the stretcher and closed the doors. “Okay, let’s get this rolling,” he called to the EMT.

  Chapter Two

  Zoe watched as the rescue wagon pulled out of the driveway followed by her parents in her mom’s VW Passat. The events of the past half hour swirled through her head. She pressed her hands to her face to keep from crying.

  Then she straightened her shoulders and stared defiantly at the gawking neighbors as her family disappeared from view. One thing she knew for sure. What she needed to do was to find out what had really happened to Aunt Grace. She checked her watch. Almost half an hour before the school bus comes.

  Mrs. Worthen placed a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to get you something to eat?” she asked.

  Zoe shook her head and hugged Horton tighter.

  “Okay. I can hear Yoda barking upstairs. If you like I’ll just take him for a walk.”

  “Thanks,” said Zoe as she headed up the stairs. “I’ll get him.ˮ

  As she opened her bedroom door, Yoda pushed his way out and bounded down the hall toward Aunt Grace’s room, sniffing the air. Zoe tossed the stuffed elephant onto her bed. “Yoda, get out of there,” she called, following the wayward dog into Aunt Grace’s room.