Murder in the Family

by Ramona Richards

  Right. The journals. Under the bed. Molly pulled the covers up on the bed and knelt beside it, taking a deep breath before tackling what lay beneath. She dug a mountain of old food containers, crates of books, and two suitcases from under Liz’s bed before she spotted the two boxes shoved up toward the head of it and covered with old magazines and mousetraps set with cheese long since dry and useless. Molly tugged them out, then gingerly tripped all the traps and put them aside. She sat the boxes on top of the rumpled blankets. One held journals, one pill bottles. The journals were the most recent, with dates on the front from a few months before Aunt Liz died to a few years ago. The most recent one must be the one she’d found with the cash.

  The pill bottles were mostly large supplement containers. Vitamin C. Turmeric. Echinacea. Molly assumed they were all empty, but the box weighed a bit more than she’d expected, so she shook a few. Nothing. Then … one rattled. She opened it and peered in to see only cotton. Gently she pulled out the cotton to see what remained inside.

  Entwined in the cotton was a diamond pendant on a thin silver chain. It sparkled as Molly turned it over in her hand, and an image hit her, one from a photo of her aunt taken many years ago. Liz, dressed to the nines for a church dinner, this necklace shimmering around her throat. Her mother had kept a framed five-by-seven of it near her bed. She’d often used it as an example of what they could all be.

  “You look just like her, Molly. If you’d just brush that hair. Isn’t she lovely? We could all look like that.” Her mother meant it as encouragement, but at thirteen, it had made Molly resent her aunt. Beautiful and kind or not.

  It had never occurred to that young Molly that the necklace was real. Clearly, it was—and worth a small fortune.

  Molly dropped the necklace and bottle on the bed and grabbed another bottle, digging the cotton out. Then another. And another.” More jewels, earrings, loose stones tumbled into her hands. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. A dragon’s hoard. No longer a small fortune.

  Molly stopped breathing. A surge of rage at Nina Morrow shot through her like a bolt of fire. She wanted to scream, to roar in frustration and anger. She grabbed the footboard of the bed and squeezed, the fury shaking every muscle. The grief—of losing Liz, her family, the curse that pure greed had laid on them—rolled over her in waves, and Molly sank to the floor, tears flooding her eyes and cheeks. She sobbed, her gasps for air coming in deep, endless rolls. She jerked the mask off, and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to make it stop.

  “Try this.”

  Molly jerked back with a yelp, staring up at Greg. Tyvek covered and impassive behind the mask, he held out a large handkerchief. “You were taking too long.”

  She swallowed hard and accepted the handkerchief, wiping her eyes and mopping tears from her cheeks and neck. She blew her nose quickly, and looked up at him over the cloth, eyebrows raised.

  He shrugged. “I knew you’d either found something horrific or had gotten hurt.” He glanced at the splay of jewelry on the bed. “I had no idea it was both.” He picked up one of the empty bottles and turned it over in his hand. “Nina’s pill bottles. So much for Sunday school craft projects.”

  She squeezed her nose and lowered the handkerchief, swallowing again. She tucked the cloth away into one of the suit pockets. “Help me up.”

  He held out his hand and pulled her upright. “There’s more going on in that head than any of us suspects.”

  She nodded and slipped the mask back on. “You did warn me about Nina. I guess I thought I was immune by this time.”

  “You’d have to be dead to be that numb. You’ve been gone twenty years. That’s time to let wounds scar over, feel not as painful. You’re ripping a lot of things open. It’ll probably get worse before it gets better.”

  “So much for having a truce.”

  He shook his head. “A ceasefire is not peace.”

  “True dat.” She started gathering jewelry and shoving it back in the bottles. “Can you lock these in your trunk? The Explorer is too open now. I’ll grab the journals.”

  “You got it. Ready to give us marching orders?”

  “I am. Carry on.”

  After the two boxes were tucked away in Greg’s cruiser, Molly stripped off the Tyvek and slipped a t-shirt over her tank top. Returning to the porch, she addressed the deputies gathered around her. They had spread the tarps, and several sections of latticework had been ripped down and stacked to one side of the house. She stood on the porch, feeling much like a general about to do battle. And maybe, just maybe, she was.

  “Thank you, all of you, for coming. I appreciate you more than I can say. We are going to tackle this front to back, first floor to attic. We need staging areas for the furniture, which will be the rooms on the first floor, mostly these two front ones.” She pointed to either side of the house. “The first tasks will be to empty these two rooms of broken furniture and anything NOT furniture. If a bag is obviously garbage, drop it in the dumpster. If you can’t tell what it is, place it on that far tarp. Boxes too, although those will need to be reviewed before going in the dumpster.” She gestured toward a 20x20-foot tarp on the right side of the house. “That’s where the dumpster will be. Broken furniture, catalogs, newspapers, and phonebooks, don’t even ask; just dump. Be ruthless. I certainly will be.

  “The middle tarp is for uncertain items and boxes that need to be sorted. The last tarp is for things that clearly need to be cleaned and put in the pavilions or back in the house. This will include things like knick-knacks from shelves, books, photos, stray dishes, etc. If the ones who started on the latticework want to finish that, have at it. But no one, NO ONE, goes into the house without a Tyvek suit. For now, the risk of disease is still too great.

  “We’ll want to stop by three, since anything not in the dumpster or ‘Free’ tent will need to be set back inside for lockup. Does anyone have any big garage or industrial fans I could rent?”

  “I do!” The voice came from the side yard, and Molly stepped down off the porch to see Linda Allen and Sheila Eccles walking up. They both carried buckets full of cleaning supplies.

  An unexpected sense of relief flooded through Molly as she trotted toward them. The neighborhood was still on board. Why would I doubt it? She greeted both with a quick hug. “Thank you so much. You really have the big fans?”

  Sheila grinned. “We do. Finn keeps them for tailgating. Those parking lots get hot.”

  Linda lifted one of the buckets. “I know we can’t go in the house, but if y’all will fill these with hot water, we’ll start cleaning what they bring out.”

  And with that, the biggest cleanup operation Molly had seen outside the aftermath of a tornado began. Two of the officers helped Sheila carry four fans, which were set up in the house in an attempt to bring fresh air into the effort. The dumpster arrived just after noon, and as the latticework thudded to the bottom of its pit, Molly ordered pizzas, sandwiches, and gallons of sweet tea and Cokes. The food pavilion became the break room, and everyone worked, nibbled, and worked some more.

  Nina and Bird arrived around one o’clock, but they didn’t approach the house. Bird backed the truck into the yard, but he and Nina got out with fast-food bags, perched on the tailgate, and watched. Molly started to approach them, but Greg stopped her, holding her arm near the elbow and pulling her close enough that no one else could hear his words.

  “Truce,” he said. “Not peace.”

  She stared over his shoulder at Nina, who glared back. “So I can’t strangle her?”

  “Ill advised.”

  “I’m tempted to give her a box of empty pill bottles.”

  “Don’t bait the bear.”

  “Wonder where Kitty is.”

  “And don’t borrow trouble either. Maybe she’s just somewhere sulking.”

  “Plotting, more like it.”

  “You have a suspicious mind.”

  “Realistic. Why is it that the rest of us are sweating like iced tea in the sun and smell like
three-week-old gym shorts, and you still smell like Old Spice and soap?”

  His laughter “did her heart good,” as her mother used to say. He released her and stepped back. “Because I’ve been on the second floor with a fan.”

  “You’re still in Tyvek.”

  “Good genes.”

  “Ha! Find anything interesting?”

  He watched her face closely. “This was in a book. I don’t think it was a bookmark.” He handed her a folded twenty-dollar bill. “So I’d suggest you check all the books.”

  Molly glanced at the house. “Which reminds me. Where are all her books?” She pointed at the front room on the left. “That used to be her library. Floor to ceiling shelves crammed with books. The shelves are there. The books are not. I can’t believe she would have gotten rid of them.”

  Greg shrugged. “Maybe she had to sell them?”

  Molly shook her head. “No. She would have sold the jewelry first. They have to be somewhere in the house. Maybe the attic?”

  “I’ll keep an eye out. I’ll start bringing down some boxes for the sorting pile later this afternoon. I’ve just been moving things around and trying to decipher what’s what. When do you want to start in Liz’s room?”

  Molly looked at the ground. She’d thought about this, about what Liz would want done with her personal things. But there was also a hard reality to consider. “Liz would want her clothes given to charity, but the chances are they are not fit for it. Between the infestations and the chemicals …” Her voice trailed off. “I just can’t … yet.”

  He put his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. There’s time. You’re already tackling a lot. And there’s no telling what else you’ll find in there. You see to everything else that’s going on. The room will keep.” He paused. “And the longer you’re at this, the easier it’ll be.”

  That sounded like personal experience, but Molly didn’t press. Now was not the time.

  As Greg returned to the house, Molly ran back and forth, answering questions and giving directions, as everyone fell into an efficient routine. Bags and boxes were brought out of the front two rooms and tossed into the dumpster or poured out on the tarps. Molly quickly decided what went into a trash bag or to the “clean it” tarp. She kept the camera busy as well, taking dozens of pictures and making sure she had everyone’s name.

  With most of the cleaning still to come, Molly gave Linda cash and asked her to go to Carterton Hardware and Feed and bring back more water, bags, paper towels, and new boxes for the items to go back in the house. Glad to have something to do, Linda left and came back with supplies … and three retirees who’d been hanging out with Betty, wondering what was going on up at “Miss Liz’s house.” Molly got them Tyvek suits and put them to work immediately, emptying furniture drawers into trash bags for the sorting pile.

  Eleven people can make quick work of even the tightest-packed rooms, and by two o’clock, everything was out of the foyer and front rooms except the furniture. Three of the officers began lining up the furniture in rows of similar size, with tables closest to the doors. Two other deputies got the unpleasant duty of bagging up all the food in the kitchen, while two others used brooms in an attempt to sweep out at least a decade of dust and debris.

  No dead animals yet, at least. Taylor had warned her that the bigger ones—rats, squirrels, moles—would probably try to get out and head for the attic or the basement. She definitely wasn’t looking forward to those areas.

  Linda and Sheila stayed busy washing picture frames and ceramic souvenirs, vases, keepsake plates. Linda took over the Hummel angels, bathing each one gently, drying them with a soft piece of muslin, and boxing them tenderly. Tears dripped down her cheeks the entire time. When Molly hugged her, Linda whispered hoarsely, “I just miss her so much.”

  Molly had one of the deputies return the angels to the bottom of the now-empty secretary, then helped Linda move on to a set of Depression-era glassware in an opaque blue pattern, which Sheila immediately suggested they hide from view. She and Linda stored those in a box and asked Greg to put them in his trunk as well. More items for Russell’s office. Molly documented it all, her camera never far from hand.

  But far more went into the dumpster and the “Free” and “Two-dollar” table than into hiding. As those two tables filled, Nina and Bird wandered over and began to pack up everything on the “Free” table into sacks and boxes they had brought with them. Molly paused to watch them, and Bird shook a spool of frayed ribbon at her. “You’re giving away some good stuff.”

  “Help yourself,” she said quietly.

  He paused near the “Two-dollar” table and picked up a small set of drill bits. He turned it over in his hands, an odd look of confusion in his eyes. He opened it, and looked up at Molly suddenly. “These were your daddy’s.”

  Molly took a step closer. “You mean Granddaddy’s?”

  Bird shook his head. “No. Not my daddy. Yours. Will McClelland. You didn’t know?”

  Molly felt cold and crossed her arms. “No. I don’t remember him at all.”

  Bird scowled. “Not at all? Regina didn’t talk about him?”

  Molly shook her head, uncomfortable and unsure where this was going.

  “Good man. A carpenter. Logger.” He held up the drill bit case, a question in his eyes.

  “Take it.”The hoarseness in her voice startled her, and she cleared her throat. “No charge.”

  He nodded and put it in his box.

  “When can we get into the house?” Nina asked.

  Never. You’ll never see the inside again. Molly turned to her. “A couple of days, maybe. Inside is a health hazard right now. I’m not letting anyone in without a protective suit. Too risky.”

  Bird looked over the tables again. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Linda put a hand on Molly’s shoulder as they watched Bird and Nina drive away. “You okay?”

  Molly patted Linda’s hand. “Yeah. Thank you.” She turned to face her new friend. “I don’t know why. It just never occurred to me that Bird would know anything about my father. But they were close to the same age. Small town. No reason he wouldn’t.”

  “If you ever want to go up on the mountain, talk to some of his kin, I’ll take you.”

  Molly smiled. “I appreciate that. Maybe someday.”

  Linda gave her a quick hug and went back to cleaning. A war of emotion churned inside Molly. Years of bitterness battled with the notion that Bird had sounded almost human. Caring, even, about a man who’d been dead for more than thirty years. Molly rolled her shoulders. Not now. Too much to do. She turned back to it.

  By three, Molly began the wind-down of all the work. Everyone was growing weary, but a huge dent had been made in what needed to be done. Two rooms were cleared and staged. And, as Liz had promised, papers taped to the back of some pieces of the furniture listed names and phone numbers in Liz’s handwriting. All the latticework had been stripped from the house, opening it up to full sun and the glorious April breezes. Denuded of the claustrophobic vines, the house looked almost welcoming again.

  Linda and Sheila still had dozens of items left to wash and insisted on staying until the last item had been sorted, cleaned, and returned to the house. Molly finally shooed them home as school buses drove through, depositing kids who bolted out their doors only to stop and watch the activity at the house. Eventually they wandered over and snagged the last of the pizza. The adults started arriving home from work around four, and they drifted about, looking at the tarps and tables, as the rest of the workers peeled out of sweat-drenched Tyvek and downed water.

  Items from the “Two-dollar” table, mostly souvenirs and vases, disappeared as well, as soon as Molly explained that the money would go toward cleaning supplies and food for the workers. When one little girl became enchanted by a musical figurine of Cinderella, Molly gave it to her readily.

  Finally, Molly locked up the house, locked the camera in its case, grabbed a bottle of water, and leaned up against the Explor
er. The last folks drifted away, and Greg came over to lean next to her. He wasn’t quite as free of sweat or scent as he had been earlier, but a whiff of Old Spice still lingered.

  He cracked open a bottle of water and took a long swig. “Russell’s on his way.”

  “You call him?”

  “He called me. He tried you without luck.”

  “Ah. I locked my phone and purse in the glove box. I really need to get that back glass replaced. Any idea what’s up?”

  Greg shook his head and drank more water. “Nope. But he sounded seriously disturbed.”

  They fell silent for several minutes, both just resting and watching the house. Greg finished his water, capped the empty bottle, and set it on the back bumper of the Explorer. He crossed his arms. “Did they tell you?”

  Molly knew what he meant. He’d been right about the rumors, and Linda and Sheila hadn’t been working fifteen minutes before they brought them up, along with Greg’s history in Carterton. “That your wife died?”

  He looked at the ground. “Yes. How did it come up?”

  “I asked why you had run for sheriff three years ago. Most people don’t enter politics halfway through their careers. Especially to run for sheriff.” Molly paused, unsure how to continue. “I’m sorry.”

  He remained still. “I’d been a cop for twenty years before we moved here so she could take care of her folks. I retired to help. After … I had to go back. To do something. But I didn’t want to be a deputy. I wanted some control.” He paused. “I guess that’s very telling.”

  “Tells me you’re not made of stone. There’s a few folks around here that think that.”

  One side of his mouth jerked. “Then they should stay out of trouble.”

  Molly hesitated. “Speaking of …”

  “Like I said, I have no idea where Kitty got off to, but my guess is you were right. She’s somewhere plotting, and it may have something to do with why Russell wants to see you.”

  “Mm.”

  They fell silent again as Finn waved at them from his yard and began to lope in their direction.

  “So do you think he knows everything about everybody in Carterton?” Molly asked.