MURDER IN THE FAMILY BY RAMONA RICHARDS
Published by Firefly Southern Fiction
an imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas
2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC 27614
ISBN: 978-1-946016-76-8
Copyright © 2019 by Ramona Richards
Cover design by Elaina Lee
Interior design byAtriTex Technologies P Ltd
Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: ShopLPC.com
For more information on this book and the author, visit:
www.ramonarichards.com
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trademarks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.
Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas (LPCBooks.com):
Eva Marie Everson, Jessica R. Everson, Shonda Savage
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Richards, Ramona
Murder in the Family / Ramona Richards 1st ed.
Printed in the United States of America
Praise for MURDER IN THE FAMILY
“Ramona Richards’ newest, Murder in the Family, kept me flipping the pages to learn more about Molly and her Aunt Liz and Carterton . . . oh, so many little twists and turns to delight readers of romantic suspense. A perfect blend of intrigue mixed with emotional depth, this book is highly recommended.”
~Robin Caroll
Best-selling author of the Darkwater Inn series
“I love, love this story of family, and greed, and murder. Ramona Richards creates the best characters, and Molly McClelland is no exception in Murder in the Family. Strong, witty, and fearless . . . I want to be Molly, and I want to live in Carterton, Alabama.”
~Patricia Bradley
Award-winning author of the Logan Point
and Memphis Cold Case series
“Murder in the Family is a delightful mystery with vivid and interesting characters who capture your heart and you wish the story would never end.”
~Susan Sleeman
Bestselling and award-winning author of the
Truth Seekers series
“Murder in the Family is filled with quirk, charm … and murder! Ramona Richards has penned characters so well written you feel like you know them. The suspense, humor and romance in this story makes reading a delight. A must read for mystery lovers!”
~Kellie Coates Gilbert
Author of the popular Sun Valley Series
“Ramona Richards’ Murder in the Family is Southern-fried suspense at its best. You won’t want to miss it!”
~Barbara Cameron
Best-selling author
“Great fun! Ramona Richards’s latest is a Southern-fried treat: a clever murder mystery with a sprawling cast of entertaining characters and a setting that comes alive.”
~Rick Acker
Bestselling author
“Read in one sitting, Murder in the Family is possibly the best fast-moving page-turner I’ve ever read. From page one, it held me captive until the very last page ... and then I wanted more. Masterfully written and never predictable, I was completely invested in the characters. Ramona Richards has a new fan—me!”
~Ane Mulligan
Bestselling author of Chapel Springs Revival
“A large family shares one emotion—hate for the relative brought in to divide the belongings of the woman who died . . . or was she murdered? Prepare to pick your favorites, and to be surprised at the outcome.”
~Richard L. Mabry, MD
Best-selling, award-winning author
of medical suspense with heart
“A tightly woven plot in an atmospheric setting, Ramona Richards’s evocative Southern crime novel and its memorable characters will linger long with readers. Well-crafted with touches of humor and romance, a story of obsession, family legacy, and forgiveness. A must-read.”
~Lisa Carter
Bestselling author of His Secret Daughter,
A Vast and Gracious Tide, and The Stronghold
“Ramona Richards does a fantastic job of showing the loveable, quirky, strange, and sometimes vile sides of a typical small town in the South. At one point, I thought she might have researched my relatives before writing this book. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing how Molly’s strong resolve to help others and honor her beloved aunt’s wishes ultimately provided the stability, family, and love Molly had always longed for. Great job, Ramona!”
~Shellie Arnold
Author of The Spindle Chair
“Ramona Richards is a master of spinning intricate story webs, and Murder in the Family is her best yet. Just like the home Molly McClelland inherits from her hoarder aunt, this thrilling novel is filled with dark secrets, treasures, and more than one surprising twist. The realization that the enemy could be a family member makes the story even more consuming. I couldn’t put it down!”
~Karen Barnett
Award-winning author of the Vintage National Park series
and the Golden Gate Chronicles
Acknowledgments
The list of people who had a hand in this book coming to be are endless, but here are a few of them, to whom I owe enormous thanks and probably a steak dinner or two.
Sandra Bishop, who encouraged me to indulge in my fascination about why people hoard, to look deeper into the reasons.
Eva Marie Everson, who loved the book from the beginning and wanted to buy it.
Jessica R. Everson, who has some unparalleled editorial skills.
Jamie, Marcheta, and Sunny, who kept repeating, “Don’t stop,” and who are the first to recognize how crazy I get when I’m not writing.
The conference attendees who listen to my endless rabbit trails and ask me why I don’t put them in a book.
And . . . finally . . . thanks to John, Bradley, Reagan, Tina, Meredith, Marty, and Randy. My rocks who keep me grounded and going in this stage of my life.
Dedication
This one is for Teri, who has been my publishing partner, beta reader, and unfailing encourager since galleys were paper, type was hot, and stripping involved X-ACTO knives and tape. We survived and thrived through it all. That, and a bucket of chicken.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
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10
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Epilogue
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1
“Aunt Liz, you can’t keep doing this. It’s going to get you killed.”
And it had.
Molly McClelland’s own words to her aunt now haunted her. Elizabeth Morrow was gone.
Accident?
Murder?
Whatever it had been, Aunt Liz’s death had turned Molly’s carefully crafted world upside down. Now Molly found herself in the one place she never wanted to be: sole heir to a disaster.
Molly sat in her ancient blue Explorer, staring at the building that housed her aunt’s attorney, unwilling to go in. Exhausted from a two-day drive, part of her wished all of this would just go away, that she’d wake up from a dream to find she had never left her friends, never trekked back to the one place she swore she’d never see again. Molly squeezed the steering wheel, her knuckles white, as family duty warred with the urge to flee back to her real life, her real family in Missouri.
What there is of it.
“Stop it!” Her words hissed through clenched teeth. She refused to let this place—these people—worm their way back into her soul. She’d spent too many years divesting herself of the past. “I love my life now.” All of it.
No, she didn’t live in Missouri. Molly didn’t really live anywhere. But she’d come to Alabama from a series of supercell thunderstorms near St. Louis and photos that would pay a lot of bills. The month had just started, and April had always been one of their busiest months for storm chasing. But after only one phone call, Molly had been forced to bolt for Alabama while her business partners and best friends, Jimmy and Sarah, had remained behind. And at a moment when Sarah needed her most.
Molly closed her eyes, the image of a gray and comatose Sarah swimming behind the lids. No, this is no time for tears. Focus. Get through this quickly so you can get back to them. She brushed her eyes and sniffed, glancing up at the third-floor windows again.
Dear God, what a phone call that had been. Aunt Liz had died, leaving Molly her entire estate. “I still can’t believe you did this to me, Aunt Liz.” Molly squared her shoulders, peeled her fingers from the steering wheel, and ran her hands through her dark, windblown curls. “But I’m here now. No second thoughts. Jimmy will take care of Sarah till I get back. Just get this over with.” She paused. “And stop talking to yourself.”
This was the meeting with Russell Williams, Liz’s attorney, to find out why—despite all Molly’s requests otherwise—Liz had left the estate to Molly. Williams seemed to be a nice man, at least over the phone, but he apparently had little idea what kind of chaos her aunt’s will was about to unleash.
It’s just stuff. I don’t want any of it. Molly knew without a doubt that Liz had died because of a houseful of stuff. Williams had explained that a stack of storage containers had toppled, crushing Liz’s chest, smothering her. Why? Why had she lived like that, to the point that her own hoarding had killed her? Why hadn’t someone helped her?
Or maybe … just maybe … someone in her family had killed Liz because of something in the estate. It did sound like a most convenient accident.
Molly hated the thought. But Molly knew her family, even if she hadn’t laid eyes on most of them for nearly twenty years. She despised them, and she wouldn’t put it past any of them to murder for greed. She’d left and never looked back. Even when she’d returned to Alabama to photograph tornadoes, Molly had avoided Carterton and her entire family.
She grinned wryly. Must be quite telling that you’d rather face an F5 than your family. There is something desperately wrong with you.
Molly looked up at the sky. “So what in the world am I doing here now?”
No answer. No need. Molly knew why. Face it. The estate was now hers. Although what she was going to do with it, she had no idea. “Maybe I can refuse it. I could be back in Missouri by Monday.” She checked her watch one more time. It was time.
The law office occupied the top floor of the three-story Georgian redbrick, with a small parking lot ringed by an overabundance of shrubbery, primarily azaleas and knockout roses in bright reds, pinks, and whites. Irises and tulips filled in the bare spaces along with lines of monkey grass. Molly had parked in a corner space, away from the building and close to the shrubs. She took a deep breath and released it slowly, steeling herself for the next few hours, watching the blossoms shift and wave in a light breeze. She grabbed her purse, a narrow crossbody bag she draped over her shoulder, and swung her legs out.
The springs of the rickety Explorer squeaked as Molly slid into the warm morning, sneakered feet thumping on the pavement. The scent of the rich blooms wafted over her, and she hesitated, looking up at the sky, this time at the bright blue contrasting with puffy cumulus clouds. Amidst the floral swirls, her stormchaser’s nose picked up a hint of ozone.
A front’s moving in. Rain by late tonight, early morning. Not a surprise. Alabama in the spring and summer almost always held the promise of some strong, juicy storms. Molly used her key to lock the door, tucked the ring into her jeans pocket, and turned, drawing up short so she didn’t trip over the two women who seemed to have materialized in the empty space next to the Explorer.
“Molly? Molly McClelland?”
They were a matched set, although at least twenty years separated them. Stout women in denim skirts, they also wore too-tight t-shirts and sneakers. Wild shocks of brownish hair that longed for a brush wafted in a dozen directions.
Molly, at five-nine, towered over both of them, and she took a step back, trying to get a better look, and bumped into her SUV. “Do I know you?”
“You’re Molly McClelland, aren’t you?” The older one stepped closer, while the younger stared mostly at the ground, glancing up occasionally at Molly. The older one wore glasses, and her hair had unruly shoots of gray throughout. Her t-shirt was a plain yellow that added a sallow tone to her pale skin. The younger one’s dark brown t-shirt declared her allegiance to a country music star who would probably be amused by the shape his face took when stretched across her substantial bosom.
Molly moved to go around them, grazing her shoulder against the Explorer’s mirror. She winced. “I am, but you’ll have to excuse me, I have an appointment—”
They blocked her path, planting their feet in a wide stance, like twin sumo wrestlers. “Oh, we know all about that appointment. We have to talk before you see that interfering lawyer.”
Greed brightened their eyes, and Molly bit her lower lip. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. They had to be family, probably cousins, although she didn’t recognize them. Typical. This is why she left Alabama in the first place. She tried to go around them again. “I’m sorry, but—”
The older one put up an arm to stop her, and Molly got a whiff of rotten food and stale tobacco. She grimaced as the woman leaned toward her. “What gives you the right to inherit? We’re the ones who took care of Elizabeth, right up to the end, especially Lyric here.”
Lyric grunted an affirmative, and Molly shot a glance at her. Lyric? Who names their kid Lyric? “I’m sure, but—”
“No buts, Miss Molly. That estate is properly ours. You need to sign it over. Liz had no right to give it all to you.” A hand shot out, two fingers poking Molly in the chest.
Molly froze, her eyes narrow, annoyance building in her gut. Her voice dropped, a harsh growl sounding in her tone. “Don’t touch me. Ever.” The woman stiffened, but Molly continued. “You want more stuff. So you must be kin to me.”
“We are. You don’t recognize us? We’re cousins! I was Kitty Peevey. Filbyhouse now. Lyric’s my daughter. You don’t remember me?”
The angry words were out of Molly’s mouth before she could stop them. “
Certainly not like this. The Kitty Peevey I remember dreamed of being a ballet dancer and getting out of Alabama. She would never assault a perfect stranger in a parking lot and demand that she give her more stuff! Especially if you were involved in her death. Were you? If you were taking care of her, why did you let her die like that?” Molly lunged at them, and both women took an astonished step backward. Molly dodged left, then right, scooting around the two. Kitty and Lyric couldn’t move fast enough as Molly sprinted toward the front door, but they squawked after her.
“How dare you! We didn’t have anything to do with it! That old woman died ’cause she was a fool!”
Their shouts faded as Molly fled into the coolness of the lobby, desperately bounding for the elevator. A glance to her right revealed Kitty and Lyric lumbering through the doors, voices still raised at her, along with at least one fist. Molly bolted for a door marked “Stairs,” and headed up, hoping she could reach the third floor before the elevator. She did, pushing into Russell Williams’ office through glass-paned double doors, shaking and confused.
The receptionist’s head snapped up in alarm. A tidy, richly dressed woman in her fifties, her eyes widened at Molly’s abrupt appearance. Then, without missing a beat, she said, “Lock the door, Miss McClelland. We’ve been expecting you.” She then pressed a button on her desk phone and spoke into her headset. “Miss McClelland is here. And, from the look of things, Kitty and Lyric are still lurking in the parking lot.” The receptionist paused, listening, although she kept her eyes on Molly, who fumbled for the deadbolt and turned it.
After a moment, the receptionist spoke again into the headset. “Yes, sir.” She pushed two more buttons, paused, then said, “Security? Third floor. Stat,” before severing the connection. She unplugged the headset from the phone and stepped from behind the desk.
Molly ran her hands through her hair again, trying to fan away some of the heat in her face as the older woman approached. Molly stood almost a foot taller, but the receptionist clearly had command of the office. Her pixie-cut, steel-gray hair framed a petite face sculpted by smooth and natural-toned makeup. Her tailored navy suit gave off the air of a commander awaiting battle orders.
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