Murder in the Family

by Ramona Richards

  “See!” Kitty called out. “See what Lyric put up with?”

  Molly whirled. “Shut up! Lyric should have gotten off her fat butt and helped Aunt Liz deal with all that … stuff!”

  Kitty started toward her, but was stopped by one of the deputies. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  Molly looked up at Russell again. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

  His shoulders dropped. “Because I knew you wouldn’t come. And this really needs to be handled.”

  “Yeah, with a match and a few oil-soaked rags.”

  That comment caused even more outrage at the bottom of the steps. “You can’t do that!”

  Molly glared at them. “Yes, I can! It’s my house now! Don’t tempt me!”

  Bird shouted. “You don’t know what’s in there!”

  “Guess what? I don’t care what’s in there!”

  “But Liz did,” Russell murmured. “And she trusted you with that.”

  Molly stilled. Russell was right. She’d accepted Liz’s task. She’d declared it in front of the rest of her family, such as they were. She looked again through the half-open door. The odor still made her nauseated, but she’d smelled worse after a tornado strike on a town. She could handle it.

  A movement to the left caught her eye, and she found herself staring at a pair of beady, reflective eyes about halfway up the stairs. Rat. Of course there would be rats. Maybe that’s the smell. Dead rats. With a sudden flickering movement, it vanished. Molly pulled her shirt collar up over her nose and started to enter, but the sheriff cleared his throat. She glanced at him, and he pointed at her feet.

  “You might want to put your jeans inside your socks, ma’am. Y’know. Fleas.” It sounded like the voice of experience speaking.

  “This is getting worse by the minute,” she muttered. She looked from him to Russell, then turned and slammed the front door. She marched off the porch and headed for the Explorer. Russell followed, a frantic note entering his voice for the first time. “Molly, you can’t leave. Where are you going?”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m getting my cell phone.” She yanked open the door of the SUV and pulled her smartphone from her purse. As she punched it awake, she saw that Jimmy had still not sent her word about Sarah’s condition. Maybe nothing to tell. Or maybe it’s something he doesn’t want to tell.

  She shook off the thoughts and opened her browser. Less than two searches and three phone calls later, Molly found a pest control company willing to tent and fumigate the house on a Saturday— tomorrow. Another two calls, and a dumpster would be delivered Monday morning. Russell listened silently, his eyes slowly widening with surprise, as the deputies kept Bird & Company from moving within eavesdropping distance. As she ended the last call, Russell nodded approvingly.

  “I wouldn’t have thought of that. Are you good with the cost? I can make you an advance on what you’re going to inherit, if you need it to get this done.”

  Molly smiled wryly. “I’ll keep that in mind. Storm chasing doesn’t pay all that well. I actually make more selling photographs of winterscapes and sunsets to regional magazines. But one advantage of owning nothing but a car is that you don’t have many expenses. I’m fine for now.”

  “Let me know if you need help. Liz said you’d take charge and get things done. I honestly didn’t expect it would be this quickly.”

  An image of her quiet, intelligent, and reserved Aunt Liz flashed through Molly’s mind. She’d been a schoolteacher, beloved by most of the kids in town, including Molly. She looked up at Russell. “In the fifth grade, she tried to teach me to share leadership. I was always the captain on the playground, head of the group at reading time. It didn’t really take.” He chuckled as she nodded back toward the house. “But I will have to get in there to make some preparations for the exterminators.”

  Walking back toward the house, she nodded again at the man Russell had pointed out as the sheriff. Russell picked up on her cue and introduced them. Sheriff Gregory Olson, with his neat gray mustache, steel-gray hair, and sun-wrinkled face, reminded Molly of an Old West hero. Wiry and lean, he stood only a couple of inches taller than Molly, but when he shook her hand, his grip felt like iron.

  His blue eyes, however, twinkled with kindness. “Miss Molly, I can’t say I envy you.”

  “I appreciate that, Sheriff. You wouldn’t by any chance know where I could lay hands on a set of Tyvek coveralls, would you?”

  His brows lifted. “Like we use at crime scenes?”

  “Yes, sir. With booties, gloves, and a mask.”

  He nodded. “I think I can get you one or two by morning. What time do you need them?”

  “Around nine. Maybe a little before.”

  “Do you want one of my boys to hang around tonight?”

  “If you can spare one, I think it would be a good deterrent.”

  “Not a problem. They’ve gotten used to watching out for Miss Liz, but I didn’t want to assume anything with you here.”

  “I appreciate it.” Molly paused and lowered her voice. “By the way, exactly how notorious are my … relatives here in Carterton?”

  The twinkle vanished. “I wouldn’t turn my back on any of the ones here, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It is. Thanks. Can you … um …?” She made a “go away” gesture at Bird.

  “Get them to leave?”

  She nodded. “I held them off but it won’t last long. They aren’t really afraid of me. Yet.”

  He tipped his hat at her, and she and Russell watched as the deputies escorted Bird, Nina, Kitty, and Lyric off the property. They grumbled and shot her foul looks, but they left. As Bird’s truck drove out of the yard, she nodded at their departure. “Nina didn’t say much.”

  Russell watched as the truck disappeared down Maple Street. “She never does. Some folks think she’s not quite right in the head. Others think she’s an abused wife, which wouldn’t surprise me. She does seem devoted to the kids and the grandkids.”

  “Stockholm syndrome?”

  “Maybe. She never attempts to leave. Who knows? Maybe she really loves him. Stranger things have happened between heaven and earth.”

  Molly leaned against the front of the Explorer, half sitting, bracing her rear on the bumper. She turned her attention to the house, observing it closely for the first time. The walls remained the dark blue of her childhood, but sometime over the past twenty years, someone had painted the shutters, trim, and scrollwork an odd combination of pink and neon green, though not recently. Split strips, curled slivers, and broken blisters of paint covered the house. The vines on the latticework curled over the roof, trailing along the gutters and pushing their way beneath shingles. Torn window screens and leaves that clustered in gutters like spiked fans added to the ambiance of neglect.

  “How long had she been a hoarder?”

  Russell shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms. “I’m not sure. It seemed to come on slowly. I didn’t notice at first. Some family member or other would drop off a piece they no longer had room for, but didn’t want to get rid of.”

  “So she became their storage bin.”

  “Yes. Then about six, no, seven years ago, one of the cousins took sick, and his children brought almost the entire contents of his house over here when they moved him to a nursing home. She didn’t want to say no to anyone, and everyone said it would be temporary, that he’d get well. But he didn’t. Liz had such a tender heart. But that triggered something in her. After that, it got out of hand in a hurry. About three years ago, she stopped letting me come over.”

  Molly glanced sideways at him. Something in that last statement held more tenderness and regret than she’d expected from someone who was only a lawyer to a client. Her curiosity spiked, along with a rising suspicion. “How long have you known Aunt Liz?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other. “Since we were kids. My dad worked in the fields with her dad.” He paused. “Your grandfat
her. When we were barely old enough, we worked with them.” He looked out at the low light of the horizon and into the past. “As a teenager, Liz could really pull her weight. Better worker than Bird ever thought about being, even though he was older and a boy. Regina— your mama—was already out of the house, working in Gadsden. Liz handled the field work as well as helping your grandmother in the house.”

  Molly peered at him a bit more closely. The muscles in his face had relaxed, and a light sheen glistened in his brown eyes. “Russell?” she asked softly.

  He answered without looking at her. “Yes?”

  “Are you the reason Aunt Liz never married?”

  His whole being seemed to sharpen at the question. He uncrossed his arms and looked down at her. “Why would you ask that? You’ve never married.”

  She stood up straight and faced him. “Yes, but I’m aggressive, difficult, and mouthy to boot. I have a rough look, and I’m a nomad. Men seem to find that intimidating. And I won’t even get into what I do for a living. But you’re right. Aunt Liz had the most tender heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And in her teens and twenties, she was a beauty, like Cher with curly hair. Mama used to say her sister could have had any man she wanted. But she never wanted any of the ones who came around. Maybe because she was already in love?”

  Russell stood stock still for a few moments, studying her. His eyes narrowed, and the skin around them seemed darker than before. Molly waited. Finally, Russell nodded, as if he’d made up his mind about something.

  “I got a scholarship to Fisk University in Nashville. It was the late ’60s. The Loving case had been decided, but there was no way we could be together, not here, not there. So we thought it best for me to go. Stay away. I tried. Fisk, then Howard for law school. I came back when my mother got sick, expecting to hear that Liz was married with a bunch of babies. She was still single. So was I. In her words, ‘nothing else ever felt right.’”

  “Why didn’t you elope, go up North somewhere?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Too entrenched, I guess. We were both involved in churches here, and she had a good place teaching fifth graders at the elementary school. My mother was sick. Then her dad, and later her mom. By that time I’d joined a firm in Gadsden. It’s not as easy as you might think to pick up a law career and go somewhere else. I guess we got comfortable with the way it was.”

  “Kinda like Tracy and Hepburn.”

  Russell snorted a laugh, the most undignified action he’d taken since she’d walked into his office. “Only not as romantic. Or as high profile.”

  “How did you keep it a secret?”

  He paused, then looked down at his hands, which were broad with long slender fingers, his palms as pale as the tops were dark. He stared at the deep lines in them, almost as if he could see the past as well as the future. “I’m not sure we did. By the time I came back, it was well into the ’70s, but still a dangerous time for such a thing. Seriously risky for her as a teacher. But we were never blatant, never declared anything in public. No one asked, we didn’t offer. She took enough heat for being my client that we didn’t risk anything else. Over the years, we just became set in our ways. Most folks no longer cared—” He paused and shrugged one shoulder. “—except for Bird. He continued to hassle her about it, use it to threaten her, until the day she politely reminded him that I was a lawyer with a high success rate in court.”

  They both grinned at the implication, but Molly narrowed her eyes. “You said you were both in church. Did it ever make you doubt? At all? That God would put you through something like this?”

  He shook his head. “Why should I doubt God?”

  “You’ve met my family. They’d make Jesus doubt faith was worth it.”

  He scowled. “No. God may allow evil to exist, but He doesn’t condone it. He helps you get through it, deal with it.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  He hesitated, looking at the house with a deep sadness in his eyes. “I do sometimes wonder why He doesn’t always give us enough strength.”

  Molly put a hand on his arm, her voice softening. “It’s not about strength. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

  His eyes narrowed in puzzlement as he studied her again.

  “You couldn’t have stopped her from being a hoarder.”

  His voice dropped almost an octave. “I’m not so sure.”

  “You know my family. You knew Liz. She spent most of her life trying to be the peacemaker. Taking in everyone’s stuff is a logical outcome.”

  He shrugged, as though unconvinced. Molly squeezed his arm, then released it. “Will you be here in the morning?”

  He nodded. “As soon as I can. Wouldn’t miss it. What are you going to do tonight?”

  “Get a motel room. Get some sleep. Check on my partners.”

  Russell frowned. “Your partners?”

  She crossed her arms. “I work with two partners, Jimmy and Sarah. The day you called, Sarah had gotten hurt while we were shooting a supercell that produced two funnel clouds. She’s in the hospital.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry.”

  Molly shrugged. “Lousy timing. But Jimmy convinced me I’d be of more use here. Get this out of the way. When Sarah’s well, we can get back to work right away.”

  “Reasonable. But are you sure you’ll be safe to stay alone?”

  Molly hesitated. “Probably for now. Bird’s mean and definitely capable of coming after me physically. But my guess is they’ll try to get around me another way first. Twenty years ago, it got ugly only after they ran out of options.”

  “That’s when Mickey got hurt.”

  “You knew?”

  “Liz told me. Just remember that I have a condo with a guest room, if you need it.” He gestured at the Explorer, curiosity on his face. “Is that really all you own?”

  “Pretty much. I own the equipment for chasing. Why?”

  “When Liz told me you were a storm chaser, I had this image of you traveling around with all this high-tech gizmo gear and a slick team of experts to help you, talking in a jargon no one else could understand.”

  She grinned. “If you won’t believe everything you saw in Twister, I won’t think all Southern lawyers are Matlock.”

  He laughed. “Deal.”

  “Yeah, there are teams like that, but most of us are cowboys. We travel light. Jimmy, Sarah, and I each have our own cameras, but we share some items for work, like a laptop and a high-end video recorder. I left both of those with Jimmy so he could work on our latest pictures and videos while I’m here and Sarah is healing. Gear is expensive, and we’re in too many situations where it can be damaged or stolen. And it’s more about the photographer than the gear, like most professions. Everything I need fits in one good-sized padded case.”

  “Another way not to get tied down.”

  Molly smiled. “You got it.”

  “Ya know, having a home base is not a crime.”

  She licked her lips, pausing before answering. “No, it’s not. But it is a slippery slope. I’d rather chew glass than ever end up like Bird or Kitty.”

  His voice dropped. “Or Liz?”

  It hurt every fiber of her being to say it. But she had to admit it. “Or Liz. I just can’t.”

  “Excuse me.”

  They spun to face the man standing near the back of the Explorer. His denim shirt and jeans hung on a lanky frame. He snatched a University of Alabama ball cap off his head, crushing the cap in his twisting hands. A thick shock of dark-red hair stood out in all directions above and about a ruddy face. He nodded at the lawyer. “Mr. Russell, good to see ya again. Are y’all here about Miss Liz?”

  Russell nodded. “Finn.”

  “I’m her niece, Molly McClelland. And you?”

  He shuffled forward, heavy work boots stirring dust out of the gravel. He stuck out his right hand, a wide smile crossing his face. “I’m Finbar Eccles. Finn. I used to do a lot of work for your aunt, back when she’d still let me.”

  Molly shook
his hand, but her eyes narrowed. “When she let you?”

  Finn shook Russell’s hand, then moved back a respectful distance, and Molly realized Finn stood almost as tall as Russell. “Yeah, the last year or so, she stopped hiring anything out. I tried—” he gestured at the house with the ball cap. “—ya can see it needs work—but she wasn’t having it.”

  Molly glanced at Russell, who nodded slightly. “She was trying to get Lyric to leave.”

  Smothering a grin, Molly looked back at Finn. “So you know the house pretty well.”

  Finn nodded vigorously, causing several clumps of hair to flop back and forth. “Like the back of my hand.”

  Molly nodded. “So what was it like the last time you were in it?”

  Finn frowned, his gaze shifting to the house. “They had already dumped all that stuff on her, so it was starting to get pretty bad. She told me repeatedly she didn’t know what she’d do with all of it. I volunteered to help her take some stuff to the Goodwill, maybe get it auctioned, but she started getting sick, and that plonker Kitty sold her on the idea that she should keep it all.” His mouth twisted. “For ‘prosperity,’ as Kitty kept calling it. No sense of irony, that one. Then turned around and moved her skitter daughter in on her. That’s when Liz stopped hiring me.”

  Molly tilted her head sideways as the word “plonker” confirmed the Irish lilt she thought she heard mixed in with the light Southern accent. “How long have you been in the South, Mr. Eccles?”

  He straightened, smiling, and shoved the cap down over the crown of hair. “Long enough to be a good, solid fan of Alabama, Ms. McClelland.”

  Russell coughed. “Anyone with a sense of self-preservation does that.”

  Finn bowed slightly. “True dat. And, please, call me Finn.”

  “And I’m just Molly. You live around here, Finn?”