Murder in the Family

by Ramona Richards

  “I didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded as if he knew Aunt Liz was going to die. Then she did. But before anything could happen, that lawyer swooped in and changed the locks and shut everyone out.” She glanced down again. “I didn’t even get a chance to get my stuff out.”

  “Is that why you tried to cut in?”

  Lyric nodded once, staring at her hands.

  Molly leaned back, still squelching the urge to take on Kitty and Bird in a parking lot somewhere. With this level of anger, she knew she’d win. She pressed her lips together and glanced at the stoic sheriff, who shook his head, just once.

  “Mama doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her. She thinks he’s on her side against you.”

  “Bird is never on anyone’s side but Bird’s.”

  “I just want my stuff. Daddy said I could come live with him, since Mama wants me gone so bad. He’s down in Birmingham. But Mama said no.”

  “Lyric, you’re over eighteen. You can live wherever you want.”

  Lyric looked up. “Really?”

  Molly looked around at Greg, who nodded. “Lyric, what’s his name?” he asked. When she told him, Greg left the room.

  “Why do you think your mother doesn’t want you around?”

  Lyric shrugged. “She told me. Thinks I’m lazy. She doesn’t want me to go to Daddy because it’s Daddy. They’ve been divorced fifteen years and she still hates him.”

  “Do you have a job?”

  Lyric shook her head. “Mama says I’m too stupid to keep one. No one would hire me because I’m fat and slow.”

  “Did you graduate from high school?”

  For the first time, Lyric smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I did pretty good. I like to read. No one bothers you when you read.”

  “If you graduated, you should be able to get a job. Get your dad to show you how to fill out the applications.”

  Lyric brightened. “You think so?”

  “You know that country star whose t-shirt you had on the other day?”

  Lyric nodded.

  “Didn’t he drop out of high school?”

  Lyric blushed, then smiled shyly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Molly stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  As she left the room, Greg met her in front of his office. “Her father is on his way. I explained the situation, and he couldn’t get on the road fast enough.” He paused. “She doesn’t seem ‘slow’ to me, just unaware. You don’t think anything is really wrong with her, do you?”

  “No. More like she’s been kept in the dark. Her mother’s done a number on her, which doesn’t surprise me. Nothing wrong with her that a good boost of self-esteem and a little praise couldn’t help. And a few years away from Kitty. Ever get the urge to take a horsewhip to some parents?”

  Greg sniffed. “Molly, my dear, you have no idea.”

  She ran her hands through her hair. “I can’t believe it. A ‘McClelland swap.’ He’s so proud of it, he brags about it. Still. Even his grandsons know about it. And none of them even acknowledge that any of it is illegal.”

  “Because they don’t care.”

  She dropped her hands to her side, surprised. “What?”

  He took her arm and guided her into his office. He gently pushed her into one of the chairs, closed the door, and sat next to her. “Molly, law enforcement in a town like this isn’t as cut and dried as it is in larger towns.”

  He took one of her hands, and Molly found herself mesmerized by his focused gaze and firm, even voice.

  “Investigations here often run on information. Who knows what and who is willing to share what they know. Physical evidence isn’t always available. Men like Bird and LJ know that, and they believe their goals, their desires, outweigh everything else. The needs of others, the law. It’s not that they believe themselves above the law. It’s just irrelevant to them in terms of what they want to do. If the law interferes, they try to find ways to use it to their advantage or get around it. But it’s not a consideration when they set out. Bird wanted your grandparents’ house and saw a way to get your mother to sign it over. That he was engaging in grand theft and blackmail never even occurred to him. He wants Liz’s house, and he probably worked with Kitty to get Lyric into Liz’s good graces, hoping she’d leave the estate to Lyric because she felt sorry for the girl. He knew she wouldn’t leave it to him. Thus he planned the same setup to grab the house. He would have found a way to blackmail Lyric out of it, knowing this child wouldn’t have a clue what was legal and what wasn’t. He set up the dominoes. Unfortunately for him, someone knocked the first one over before the plan was complete.”

  Molly, who had felt calmer as his words had flowed over her, felt slapped by his last sentence. “You think someone killed Aunt Liz?”

  He remained silent a few moments before he continued, no expression in his face. “It appears to have been an accident. The coroner ruled it an accident.”

  “And there’s no evidence to indicate otherwise.”

  “No.”

  “So it would depend on finding out what people know.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I borrow a notebook and pen?”

  Greg looked puzzled at first, then smiled. He released her hand and stood up and pulled a legal pad off his desk. He handed it and a pen to Molly. She and Greg returned to the interrogation room, and Molly pushed the pad toward Lyric.

  “I want you to make two lists, Lyric. One is all the stuff you left in the house. Just what’s yours. The second list should be a list of things you’d like to get from Aunt Liz.”

  Lyric shook her head. “But I don’t know everything that Mama wants. Not really.”

  Molly handed her the pen. “No. I don’t care what Kitty wants. I just want a list of what you want. I need to go through everything Aunt Liz left me, in terms of who should get what, but I’ll keep your list too. I’ll get what’s yours to you, but I’ll keep what you want in mind as well.”

  “Oh.” Lyric looked thoughtful for a moment. “Can I put the pill bottles on here?”

  “The pill bottles? What’s in the pill bottles?”

  Lyric shrugged. “No idea. But LJ told his brother that they needed to make sure they grabbed all the pill bottles. I knew that must mean something, or they’d never have mentioned them.”

  Molly had to agree with her logic, especially where that family was concerned, and it gave her the opening she needed. “Good thinking. And write down anything else you can think of that LJ said that might be important. You got this.”

  Lyric smiled at the compliment, then she looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Slowly, she nodded to herself, then started to write.

  8

  While Lyric wrote, Molly went to pick up lunch for the younger woman. She exchanged a fast-food meal for the lists, then left Lyric—and the information Lyric had shared in her formal statement—in Greg’s care. She found a coffee-and-sandwich place that hadn’t yet been hit by the Sunday lunch crowd and tucked her laptop under her arm, intending to settle in with a roast beef sandwich and their wifi.

  Located in an old stone house near the train depot, Bailey’s Garden Bistro had ancient hardwood floors, weathered barnwood paneling, and a wooden counter polished to a slick sheen by thousands of hands. The building had been a restaurant of some kind as long as Molly could remember, but her grandmother had told her it was once part of a large icehouse business. The storage area for ice blocks had been demolished in the early 1960s, when electric refrigerators finally put the last of the ice boxes on the back porch, even up on the mountain.

  When the door closed behind Molly with a wood-on-wood squeak, a pierced and tattooed cashier looked up from her texting, and her greeting spoke of a better mood than Molly expected. “Morning, ma’am. What can I get ya?”

  Molly scanned the blackboard menu behind the counter, amused by the flower-and-butterfly artwork that circled in and around the list of food. Someone had gotten bored. “Um …”

  The cashier sudden
ly brightened, hopping off her stool. “You’re Miss Liz’s niece! Aren’t you? I know you are. With that hair, you have to be.”

  Molly stared at her, admitting with caution, “I am.”

  The girl jabbed a fist in her direction. “Dude! You rock!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The girl bounced up on her toes, causing her jet-black pigtails to bounce. “You … you gave old Bird Morrow the smackdown he’s had coming for years! Oh, my God, we are still crowing about that!” She whacked the counter with her palm, but her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “We all hate him around here, but no one’s had the guts to stand up to him. He’s so freaking mean, him and his kin, all of them. Girlfriend, you killed it!”

  Molly had the odd feeling she was being punked. She looked around, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything. The cashier kept talking.

  “Anything you want. Anything. On the house. On. The. House. Can I take your picture? Seriously, my friends are not going to believe you came in here to eat. Eddie and LJ have been bullies our whole lives. Whole lives! We’re begging that you take them down too. Picture? Please?” She thrust her phone toward Molly.

  Molly hesitated, then nodded. The girl scurried out from behind the counter, cell phone in hand. She threw an arm around Molly’s waist and pressed their cheeks together, reversing her camera to take the selfie. She immediately typed in a quick message and sent the picture. She looked up at Molly again.

  “I’m Amanda. Seriously. Anything you want.”

  Molly spoke gingerly. “A roast beef sandwich and an iced tea?”

  Abruptly, Amanda was the cashier again. “Sweet or unsweet?”

  “Half and half?” Linda’s sweet tea had reminded Molly exactly how sweet Southern tea could be.

  The young girl headed back behind the counter again, still grinning. “White or wheat? Cheese? Chips or fries?”

  Ten minutes later, Molly had pressed her back against a wooden booth, computer up and running, when Amanda set a basket of sandwich and fries, along with a moist glass of iced tea, in front of her. When Molly nodded thanks, Amanda responded, “No. Thank you!” before bouncing back behind the counter and resuming her texting.

  Molly took a bite and one more time read through the email she’d started for Jimmy. She’d summed up the events of the last two days and included the address for the new motel. She took a deep breath and continued typing:

  Please let me know something soon. I know you will, and I hate that I keep repeating it, but it’s murder not being there with you and Sarah, every step of the way. I know this makes me sound like a control freak … don’t laugh. I can hear you laughing.

  Truth is, I miss both of you. I know we argued over this, but I’m glad we’re okay. Even though I now believe you were right to insist I come, I feel as if I’ve entered a foreign country. Even though I was eighteen when I left, I remember so little, I’m playing twenty years of catch-up. And it’s not just the places and people. It’s the way of life; the way of thinking about things. I know not everyone in this town is the same way, or even in my family. At least that’s what Liz wrote. But it’s hard for me to get my head around their motivations, the reason they act the way they do.

  Like Lyric. She’s almost twenty! Why does she put up with the way her mother acts? If she wants to live with her father and he wants her, why would she not go before now? It makes no sense to me. Aunt Liz once wrote me that my desire to rid myself of all things toxic had destroyed my sense of family. That there was a way to deal with toxic without running away. Maybe there is, but apparently she didn’t find it.

  Anyway, don’t forget about me, your stranger in a strange land.

  Molly hit send. She picked up her sandwich, glancing again at Amanda behind the counter. Bird was obviously toxic. The entire town knew it. Toxic and untrustworthy. Even the sheriff wouldn’t turn his back on the man. Had they lived with Bird so long he had turned into a town fixture? Had he just been careful not to step over a line, or was Greg right about gathering evidence and information? Were the consequences of speaking out against Bird too great for the people who had to live here to chance it? She knew Greg would have arrested him given the chance.

  She glanced at Amanda. Maybe being an outsider did give her an advantage no one else had. Maybe. Molly shook her head. She needed to focus on why she came into the bistro in the first place. Internet access. Rolling her shoulders to ease some of her tension, Molly turned her attention to searching “Ways to Clean Up a Hoarder’s House.” The details that emerged from the internet enlightened and worried her. Warnings about diseases spread by the rot and vermin. Suggestions for Do-It-Yourself cleanups and recommendations for agencies licensed and prepared to do it for a fee.

  Molly weighed that option. Obviously, the quicker she rectified the situation, the faster she could get back to Jimmy and Sarah. She knew most likely no one would be in the office, but she sent an email to a cleaning agency in Birmingham and left her contact information.

  Wouldn’t hurt to find out.

  But an agency would only clean. She still needed to deal with all the family possessions. After a few more bits of research, Molly opened a spreadsheet document and began to plan.

  An hour later, she drifted back to the internet and opened her Facebook page. She grinned when she realized Jimmy had posted two of the latest shots from the Missouri storm. A sense that was almost giddiness enveloped her as she read through some of the comments. She was definitely in the right profession.

  She sent Jimmy a quick private message to thank him for putting them up. She looked up and liked the page for Bailey’s Bistro and wrote a quick recommendation. Her newsfeed, filled with the usual weather warnings, links to meteorological articles, and suggestions that she check out this or that system kept her attention for almost half an hour. As she shut everything down and prepared to leave, the bell over the door dinged, and a short, lean blond male sauntered in. His jeans, tight, torn, and oil-smeared, scuffed the floor as he walked. His formerly white t-shirt, equally filthy, hugged a muscular frame. Tangled hair sprouted from underneath a dark cap.

  “Hey, Amanda.”

  The laconic drawl got a grimace from the server. “Hey, LJ. What are you doing here?”

  Molly went on alert, every nerve on edge.

  “She still here?” LJ asked. He glanced around, his gaze lingering on Molly.

  Amanda froze. “Who?”

  No games. Not with this crowd. “I’m still here, LJ.” Molly slid her laptop into its bag, draped her purse across her body, and stood. “What do you want?”

  He strolled toward her, a rolling walk, a thug wannabe, who was at least three inches shorter than Molly. His last step was abrupt and close, as if he expected her to back up. She didn’t, and he put his left index finger against her shoulder, right over the collarbone. “What do I want? I want you to leave town and stop interfering in my family’s business. You have no place here. That house is ours.” He pressed the finger harder.

  It hurt, but Molly refused to flinch. Instead, it added fuel to the flame building inside her. She stared at him, unmoving. “Have you ever seen what a board picked up by a tornado can do to a man’s head?”

  He scowled, confused. “What?”

  “I have. It’ll split the skull right open, dump brains right into your lap.”

  His lips curled. “What the—”

  With a sudden jerk, Molly grabbed the finger against her shoulder and bent it backward. LJ hollered and dropped to his knees. She grabbed his jaw with her other hand and pressed hard as LJ’s right arm braced against the floor. Molly put her face close to his, almost nose-to-nose. She pushed harder against his finger and heard the knuckle crack. LJ screeched. “Tell Bird it’s my house. You keep messing with me, and I will burn it to the ground. Just like he does what he wants to with what’s his, I will too. And you have no idea what’s in my will. Stay away from me.”

  She thrust him away from her, and he toppled to
the floor, clutching his hand. She grabbed the laptop case and strode out of the bistro. Once out the door, she ran for the Explorer, locked the doors, and backed away from the building. LJ exploded onto the porch, screaming something she couldn’t hear. Gravel flew as she skidded out of the parking lot.

  Molly’s hands shook on the wheel so badly she didn’t want to keep driving. She headed toward Gadsden, but when she reached the gas station at the edge of town, she pulled in behind it, out of sight from the road, and parked. Her mind spun in a hundred directions as she took long, deep breaths, trying to calm herself. In … hold … out. Repeat.

  Why did I do that? She’d never done anything like it before. Hadn’t even been sure what she planned to do when it started. Assault. It was assault. Technically she’d assaulted a young man. He could have her arrested. Press charges. Could she still get a restraining order on him? Wasn’t he covered by the ones on Bird?

  The thoughts felt endless. They raced in nonsense circles. She couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t try to fight fire with fire. She couldn’t. She had to be proactive, not reactive. But how? How could she get in front of this?

  Her phone dinged. Startled, she yanked it out of her purse. A text from Greg. What? Why? She opened the message.

  You okay?

  She stared at it. Did he know already?

  Why?

  Amanda posted a video on the town’s Facebook page. You’re going viral.

  Nausea swept over her. No. Oh, no … Her fingers still quivered as she struggled to type a response: How much trouble am I in? Do I need to come see you?

  You can come see me anytime. But you don’t need to for any legal issues.

  She gaped at his text. Is he flirting? Now? No. Ignore it. Don’t misread …

  I assaulted him. He’ll press charges?

  No. Given the comments, he won’t dare. Not to me. You made him a laughingstock. But watch your back. Where are you?

  Hiding behind the BP at the edge of town.

  Good choice.

  Heading to the feed store for supplies.