Molly thrust her arm out behind her, palm facing Dina. “Stay there. Don’t come any farther.” She blinked and focused on the pile again, still hoping that what she saw wasn’t … really …
A hand. A human hand. A human hand in the act of decomposing.
The cleaning service team, four eager young women who started work on the front rooms of the first floor without hesitation, had arrived that morning. Satisfied that she’d made the right decision in hiring them, Molly had taken a break from the cleaning and sorting zoo to give Dina a tour of the house. When they’d reached the attic, Molly had picked her way farther back than she had before in order to give them both a better idea of exactly what cleaning the attic would entail. She had just shoved aside a stack of quilts when the hand flopped into view from out of the next mass of stuff.
Molly leaned over and tugged the topmost bag away from the heap. The rest of the man lay sprawled between layers of bags. Dear Lord, what have they done? She let out a long breath. Well, now we know. Here was the source of the odor they couldn’t clear, and quite possibly the reason for the shooting and the fire. He’d been there awhile, like the storm victims she and her own team sometimes found, days after everyone else had left. Like those people, this man had been abandoned, left behind to rot.
But this man had not died from flying debris or collapsing buildings.
Her anger sagged into sadness and she backed away. “God, help us,” she whispered, and turned to Dina. “Do you have your phone with you?” As usual, Molly had locked hers in the Explorer.
Dina nodded and pulled open a velcroed pocket. She held it out to Molly, who took it, pulled down her ever-present mask, and dialed Greg’s number from memory. When he answered, she said, “This is Molly. I’m in the attic. I think I’ve found what they were trying to burn.” Finn’s words echoed in her mind. Good-looking young chap, about twenty-five or so … “And I think it may be Frederick Davidson.”
As she described what she’d found, Molly watched Dina’s face go stark white, and she knew her own face must be just as pale. She listened to Greg’s instructions, then hung up and handed Dina the phone.
Dina was ahead of her. “We need to vacate the house.”
Molly nodded. “Everything has to come to a full stop until they can investigate and—” She hugged herself. “I can’t imagine how much evidence we’ve already destroyed.”
Dina shook her head. “Probably not as much as you’d think. We haven’t started with the chemicals yet, and this entire house is a giant exhibit of tainted evidence. He was murdered?”
Molly nodded and pointed to her chest. “Gunshot. At least one of them.”
“Figured.” Dina squeezed Molly’s arm. “We clean up a lot of crime scenes. The forensic stuff is never like it is on television.” She nodded toward the body. “I’ll bet he wasn’t killed up here. Even if they find something downstairs … it’ll be a mess, and it’ll have nothing to do with you or your attempts to clean out the house. Just remember … if you hadn’t been doing this, he wouldn’t have been found at all.”
Molly understood what Dina was trying to say, but it didn’t really help. She motioned for them to head downstairs. Dina turned and led the way. Just before she shut the attic door, Molly looked back. “Sorry,” she whispered.
Molly’s steps slowed as she descended the stairs. They had been making such great progress since Wednesday morning’s fire. After the shock of the blaze had worn off, everyone pitched in with a new sense of urgency. Neighborhood teenagers brought friends after school, and the retired guys she’d hired showed up with their wives. The cleaning and sorting sped up to a new level, and they had cleaned out not only most of the first-floor rooms but also the front stairs, the kitchen, and three of the upstairs rooms by the time Dina and her crew arrived Friday morning. Molly had closed off Liz’s room; she wanted to be more involved in that one.
The front lawn had become a scene of organized chaos, with a half-dozen or more people washing and sorting the hundreds of items. Molly directed where each piece went with an energy she didn’t know she had. The two-dollar tent had raised almost four hundred dollars. Bird and Nina had showed up each day to rake clean the “Free” table, but Bird no longer bothered with the dumpster. Nina still kicked around it some, but Bird spent more time on his tailgate, just watching, saying little.
Not even about the fire. Unlike Greg’s prediction, Bird had been unusually somber on Wednesday, even asking once if she’d heard anything about it. When she’d mentioned that to Greg, he’d remained silent, although she knew he had to be adding it to whatever other information he’d gathered over the past few days. There’d been no sign of LJ or Kitty. Kitty’s injunction had hit a wall with the judge, and the truce Bird had made with Molly had been seen as a betrayal. But Molly wasn’t counting her out of the picture … not yet. The will’s probate date had, in fact, been set for next Wednesday, and Molly knew in her gut that Kitty would be there.
But now all their progress had come to a screeching halt.
Dina quietly rounded up her team. They left, with Molly promising to call when they were allowed back in the house. Molly pushed back the hood on her suit, twisting the mask in her hands as she called all the workers to the front porch. They clustered slowly, and even Bird slipped off his tailgate to wander over, a quizzical look on his face. Nina remained in the dumpster but stopped digging to watch. This is what they wanted—for all work to stop—and Molly observed them closely as she spoke.
“Folks, we’re going to have to stop work immediately.” A low buzz moved through the crowd, and she held up her hands. “Please. I don’t want this, but we have to vacate the premises. Something’s—”
Her voice broke as she watched disappointment cross most of the workers’ faces. They all, in some way, had an ownership in what they were trying to accomplish. Many had known Liz for years; this was their way of honoring her. Just in the past few days, as more workers had arrived, it felt as if all of Carterton had an interest in retrieving the house from its ruin. Thursday had been tremendous, as residents from different neighborhoods had stood next to each other, becoming friends.
Linda stepped up next to her. “What’s happened? Just spit it out.”
Molly straightened and took a deep breath. Linda’s right. Get it over with. The words came out in a rush. “We’ve found a body in the attic. A man who’s been shot. The sheriff’s department will have to take over, to investigate. We have to stop right now and leave it all.” Disappointment turned to shock as speculation shot through the crowd, the buzz building to a frenzy. It was Sheila Eccles who first put two and two together. She stepped closer to Molly and called out. “Is it Freddy?”
Everyone fell silent as Molly looked at Sheila, who explained quietly. “Finn said he was missing.”
Bird, a fierce look on his face, stepped forward. “Can’t be. Lyric said Freddy had gone back to Tennessee. She’d know, right?” At Molly’s raised eyebrows, he hunched his shoulders. “I mean, they were, you know, sweet on each other.” He looked around at Nina, who was as void of expression as anyone Molly had ever seen, staring only into the sky. “Right?” Bird asked her. Nina gave no response. Bird turned back to Molly, his chest and neck turning red, his voice insistent. “It’s not him. It can’t be.”
Molly’s eyes narrowed in confusion and she glanced at Linda, who looked equally puzzled. Why was he so upset that it might be Freddy?
Greg’s cruiser pulled up in the drive, and two other cruisers parked on the street. A van, painted with the sheriff’s logo and the words “Crime Scene Unit,” pulled in behind Greg. Greg got out, his expression somber, his eyes locked on Molly. She got the message.
She turned back to the crowd around her. “This is it, folks. I’m sorry. But we have to vacate. Officially, the house is now a crime scene, and we have to let them do their work.”
Sheila looked down at the wet rag still clutched in one hand. “If there’s even any evidence left.”
Molly st
epped forward, gently herding people away from her. “Ya never know.”
“You’ll keep us posted?” Sheila asked softly.
“I promise. Y’all will know anything I do.”
Molly stopped beside Bird, who hadn’t moved. Instead, he was staring at the attic windows. Behind him, Nina crawled out of the dumpster.
“Bird,” Molly said, “we have to move away from the house. They have to set up a perimeter.”
His voice came out harsh. “It can’t be Freddy. It can’t be.”
“Bird …”
“No! He was a good kid. Good to Liz. Helped her out. Helped us out on the farm some. Worked with LJ.” He looked at Molly, and his cheeks grew even redder, his eyes wet. “Weird that he got sweet on Lyric, but they were a lot alike, y’know? Not all there. It ain’t him.”
“Bird!” Nina said sharply. “You talkin’ too much. Let’s go. Ain’t nothin’ we can do here.” She tugged her husband by the arm, pulling him back toward their truck.
Molly watched them leave, and she was still staring as Greg approached her. “What was that all about?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “No idea. But it was very … peculiar. He was extremely upset … to the point of tears … that it might be Freddy.”
“Everything about those two is peculiar.” But he turned to watch the black pickup leave, his brow furrowing.
“No doubt about that.” Molly looked at the house. “So now what?”
Greg turned back to her and squared his shoulders. “First, you show the crime scene techs and me where you found the body. Then you—and everyone else—have to stay clear of the house for a few days. We’ll put up tape for a perimeter.”
She glanced around at the stacks of stuff on the tarps and in the tents. “No chance I can finish some of this?”
“Nope.”
“What if it rains?”
“Rain’s not due until next week. You’re the weather expert. You think it’s going to rain?”
Molly pursed her lips. She wouldn’t lie about this. “No.”
“You can’t be hanging around while we work. Nice try though.”
She sighed. “Worth the attempt.”
Greg pointed at the house. “Let’s go.”
Molly had no desire to return to the attic, and she shifted from one foot to the other as Greg and two techs suited up. When they were ready, she pulled up her hood, replaced the mask, and led the way. As they headed upstairs, she looked back, watching the techs glance around at the semi-cleaned rooms, and the ones on the second floor that had not yet been touched. Their eyes seemed to get wider with every step, and Molly understood how overwhelmed they must feel. The shock of her first look at the house still lingered in her mind, even though it felt like ages ago. “But less than two weeks,” she muttered as she stopped at the door on the second floor that opened onto the attic stairs. She looked over her shoulder. “The odor gets worse from here.” They all nodded, and she pulled the door open and flipped on the light.
She paused again at the top of the stairs, opened the door there, and pointed at the pile where the body lay. “It’s over there. You’ll have to be careful where you step. Several of the piles are on top of stacks of magazines. Easy to slip and fall.” She watched as they gazed over the heaping mounds that stretched across the attic, from one end to the other. The windows, filthy as they were, still allowed long streaks of sunlight to trail across the furniture and random piles of clothes, books, and linens. Dust motes danced in the rays, still stirred up by Molly’s earlier visit.
“No one should be left in a place like this,” she whispered. “How could they?”
Greg put a firm hand on her forearm. “Molly, go back to the hotel. Let us work. We’ll be here for a while.”
“I want to stay.”
“You cannot. I’ll come see you when we get a break. Go.”
Molly scowled, but turned and headed down the stairs. I don’t want to leave!
As she trotted out of the house and down the steps, she had to dodge a crime scene photographer taking shots of the house, the yard, and the neighborhood. Strands of yellow crime scene tape already bordered the yard, although her Explorer was still inside the perimeter. When she reached it, she yanked open the back of it and leaned on the tailgate, stripping off the Tyvek suit. She’d almost gotten used to wearing the hot, airtight suit, but it was still a relief to peel out of it and let the cool air dry her skin. She tossed the suit in the back and pulled a bottle of water out of the cooler. She swigged almost half of it, her eyes still on the house. The urge to continue work, no matter what, dogged her, and she finally looked away, closed the rear of the car, and got into the front.
She pulled her phone out of the glove box and checked it, frowning at a voicemail from an unknown number. She selected it.
“Hi, Molly, this is Leon, over at the StayLodge. You have a package here at the office. You can pick it up anytime.”
Molly deleted the message, curious as to who would be … ah, Jimmy! He’d said he was sending something. She put the Explorer in reverse and one of the deputies lifted the tape to let her out. Ten minutes later, she rounded the sharp curved hill in front of the StayLodge and pulled up in front of the office. Leon threw up a hand in greeting as she entered, a little beep-beep-beep sounding as she opened the door. She paused and looked back at the doorframe. “That’s new,” she said, grinning.
“Hmph!” Leon snorted. “Your attack made the owner nervous. He had the thing put in the next day. Making me crazy, beeping all the time. Worse than a smoke detector with a dead battery.”
She laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
He handed her a large manila envelope over the counter. “Or go mad trying. Sorry. It’s been here a couple of days. I’ve been off, and our temp is beyond lazy.”
She tucked the envelope under her arm. “No problem. Thanks!”
“Have a good evening.”
She got back in the Explorer and moved it closer to her new room, now on the second floor. The one downstairs had a new door and a new camera pointed to the lot in front of it, but she didn’t want to move again. She and Leon had struck up an easy friendship since the move, and she knew he’d look after her stuff while she was gone. In the room, she dropped the envelope on the desk and sat down, opening it carefully. She pulled out a stack of binder-clipped papers, which had a handwritten letter on top. As she read it, her heart and mind soared, then sank.
Dear Molly,
This is a good news/bad news packet, and I hope you won’t take what I’m about to say too hard. Believe me, it’s not easy to write.
The good news: Attached are two emails and a contract. After you left, I worked on your pictures and Sarah’s videos from the last storm. Not much else to do waiting around the hospital. I sent them off to a bunch of folks. One was a national adventure magazine. They’re doing a story on storm chasers next spring and want to interview you and publish a couple of your pictures. The contact number is on his email. The money he mentioned is pretty good, but you know how it is: get it in writing. Sarah’s videos got picked up by two local stations. Her dad signed for those. Not a lot of money, but enough to help out with the co-pay here. The insurance has been great so far. Thanks for keeping it on us. I know it’s been a stretch for you to do it sometimes.
The contract is for you. A job. A long-term one for a St. Louis station. You’d be a regular weather correspondent and storm chaser for them. Contact is a guy named Hunter Bradley. There’s more detail in his email. I sent them the pictures and some of the videos Sarah made of you describing the storms. The money is good not great, but I hope you’ll think long and hard about it … because obviously Sarah and I won’t be with you.
I didn’t want to do this by mail, but you know me. I’m lousy on the phone. I’d get all tongue-tied. And I started to do it by email, but that didn’t seem right either. Call me when you get this, and I’ll give you more detail.
You see, it’s now clear that Sarah’s go
ing to be here a long time. Even if she woke up tomorrow, she’ll have a long recovery. THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. I know you. You cannot blame yourself. Sarah is an adult and made her own choices.
But the bottom line is that I’m not leaving her. When she wakes up, I’m going to propose. And my money is running out. I’ve never saved a lot, and staying in a hotel ate my cushion. I’ve been applying for jobs, and I’ve accepted one at a TV station. I start next week. Editing videos; it is what I do best. I’ve moved to an apartment.
You can handle that contract on your own. Absolutely you can. But I didn’t want you to take it thinking we’re going to be a part of it.
They need to know your decision by the first of the month.
Sarah and I love you. You know that. But it’s time we went our own way.
Jimmy
Molly thrust the packet away from her as if it would make the bad news go away. Her heart felt so tight, she thought she’d pass out. She couldn’t get her breath, and she began to shake.
No. He can’t do this!
Molly pushed away from the desk, stood up, and leaned over it, fighting the dizziness, the nausea as a flush of heat coursed through her. Breathe, Molly, she scolded herself. Just breathe.
She gasped, sucking in a deep lungful of air. The tears came then, unbidden, a flood that streamed down her cheeks and neck. She straightened and looked at herself in the mirror through blurry eyes.
“What is he doing? He can’t! We’re family!”
No, you aren’t.
Friends. Business partners. But no matter how Molly felt, not family. Not to Jimmy. Not to Sarah. Just business. Molly stepped back, stumbled, and sat down on the floor with a thud, the blow racking her spine. The tears became sobs, and she leaned against the end of the bed as she let her grief out, anguished thoughts circling in her head.
He can’t … but he had. She was not the “big sister.” Just a boss. A partner.
This is why Mama passed out.
Murder in the Family Page 16