The thought came unbidden, but it rang true. The overwhelming grief she’d seen that day in her mother. The sobs, the inability to catch a breath. The soul-wrenching sense of betrayal.
And that had been family. Blood family.
“Family takes care of its own. That’s what we do.”
Her mother’s words. And Aunt Liz’s. They learned that from Gram … had to. It was just like her grandmother to put family first, no matter what. Even when Bird did not.
Molly released a long sigh, then pushed herself up and headed for the bathroom. She pulled a half-dozen tissues from the box in the wall. She still trembled from the rush of adrenaline, but she dried the tears and washed her face.
Her mother had pulled herself together and gone on. With life. With work. So had Aunt Liz. They did it. So could she.
But she could not face talking to Jimmy. Not yet. She sat back down at the desk, took a few deep, calming breaths, and carefully composed a text.
Got the package. Can’t talk right now, but wanted to let you know. Congratulations on the new job. I’m proud of you. Always. Glad you are there to take care of Sarah. Always said you two were a cute couple. Will look over contract. Thanks. Will call soon.
She reviewed it twice before finally hitting send. In a few moments came a return text, short, thankful, and contrite.
Thanks. Hope you’re okay, not too hurt. Sorry to send it that way.
She responded. She would take the high road with this, no matter the disappointment and grief.
No problem. Will all work out for the best. Talk later.
No response, which was a good thing. Molly wasn’t sure she could be pleasant much longer. She still felt numb, gobsmacked, but fury lingered just at the edges.
And Leon won’t like it if you start smashing up the furniture.
She snorted, humor pressing through as she thought of the older man’s reaction to one of her temper tantrums. She hadn’t thrown a really good one since arriving in Carterton, although the scene with LJ came close. Not many people could handle them. Sarah had always hid. Jimmy tried too hard to calm her down and usually wound up making it worse. Mickey could handle them because he had a similar temper.
I bet Greg could handle them.
Hm. Molly thought back to that first day. While she had read Kitty and Bird the riot act, Greg had stood to one side, bemused … and more than a little pleased. He’d liked that she’d taken charge. And his reaction to her confrontation with LJ had been more concern for her in the aftermath than LJ. Or LJ’s finger.
Greg Olson did not find her intimidating. This was new.
This was a good thing.
Molly rolled her shoulders to work some of the tension out. “Okay, you can’t sit here mourning all afternoon. Or thinking about Greg Olson. You have things to do.”
She reached for the contract and took off the binder clip, setting Jimmy’s note to one side, upside down. This was going to hurt for a long time. But she would not let it derail her. Pain could be dealt with.
I know that well. After all, I have a lot of practice. So stop it with the self-pity. Get on with it.
And she did. She found an email address for the magazine and emailed, requesting a time for the interview. She reviewed the station’s contract, then emailed Hunter Bradley, looking for some follow-up information and perhaps a phone conversation about expectations.
Then, the rest of the afternoon, she worked with Liz’s journals, and only occasionally did she glance at her phone, suddenly realizing that more than responses from Jimmy or the emails she’d sent, she wanted to hear from Greg. Instead she tried to focus on her aunt’s words, especially the journal from the leather bag. Only a few entries covered the pages of that one, stopping right before Liz died. The last three hit harder, bringing Molly to a halt.
March 2
Peggy, poor child, lost another baby over the weekend. This is the third. No trouble getting them. She just can’t hang on to them. And she so wants one who might be normal, only I’m not supposed to say normal. Not sure anymore what I’m supposed to say. But without disabilities. She worries what’ll happen to Edward when she gets too old to take care of him. Thinks only one “normal” brother isn’t enough. Just hope she doesn’t ruin her health—or her sanity—trying.
March 12
Molly, I hate to be addressing these to you. No telling who’ll wind up with them. Hope you do. But it’s getting weird. Something’s happened, something bad. I don’t even want to talk about it. Still don’t believe it happened right here in my house! I’m such a wimp! I hope you don’t hate me for what I’ve done. I hope you can get it all cleaned up.
March 13
Bad day. Afraid to sleep. It’ll be over soon. They are afraid of me. Of what I know. Mollybelle, watch your back.
Molly closed the journal and shut her eyes. Maybe the journals hadn’t been the best idea, given her current mood. The next day, March 14, Liz had died, buried in a mass of trash in her own home. And right now, Molly desperately wanted to hang Lyric … Kitty … LJ … whoever was responsible … from the closest tree. Finally, she calmed down enough to call Russell with a request that caught even him off guard.
“I want to see Aunt Liz’s autopsy report.”
13
Molly pushed on with the journals, stopping occasionally for a break and to make lists—one for Greg regarding the journals, a separate list of questions for Russell concerning the autopsy, and a preliminary list of names she wanted to compare with the material in the will and the names on the furniture. Russell had promised he’d have the autopsy report for her the next morning, and they agreed to meet in his office at nine. By the time her text alert sounded, Molly needed another breather.
Pick you up at 6. Will buy dinner.
Molly looked at the phone, then texted Greg back: I’ll be ready. She’d already taken a shower and changed clothes when one of the earlier journal entries had truly gotten under her skin. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but her nerves were still raw from Jimmy’s note. The shower had helped calm her down, but she was glad Lyric was out of reach and Kitty strangely absent. Hanging them from a tree for what they’d done to Aunt Liz still appealed to her.
At six, she answered the door to find Greg standing there in jeans and a polo shirt. It was a great look for his lean frame, and she found herself grinning in appreciation. He looked only slightly sheepish in return. “Had to change from the crime scene anyway. And since I’m off duty, I thought I’d check out a look other than the uniform.”
“It works on you. Although the short hair still says, ‘Cop.’” She grabbed her purse and walked with him to the parking lot, where she stopped, wide-eyed, when he unlocked a black Dodge Charger.
He feigned surprise at her reaction. “What? Sheriffs have private lives.”
She whistled. “That’s one hot car. You could chase down a few miscreants in that.”
He chuckled and opened the passenger door for her. “It’s fast, but it doesn’t have the power of a patrol car.”
She slipped in and buckled her seatbelt as he walked around. As he got behind the wheel, she whispered, “It even still smells new.”
He whispered back. “Air freshener.”
She laughed, grateful for the easy banter between them. It had been a tense few days. “So what did you find at the house?”
He put the car in reverse. “It was Freddy. He still had his wallet in his back pocket, but we’ll confirm with fingerprints. He’d been printed for his job, and he had been picked up once in Tennessee for suspicion of pandering—”
“Pandering? Are you serious?”
He shook his head. “A misunderstanding. I talked to a police chief up there who said that Freddy was … a little naïve. He always believed the best in people. He knew this girl who convinced Freddy to drive her to a couple of hot-sheet motels so that she could pick up some Avon orders.”
Molly stared. “He believed her.”
“Every word. Even tried to convinc
e the cop he was wrong about arresting her.”
“Bird said that Freddy was sweet on Lyric.”
“That makes sense. He’d believe her to be wonderful, and she’d love that, every scoop of it. I’ve asked her father to bring her up here tomorrow morning for an interview.”
“Y’know, I kinda hope she has nothing to do with this. That someone else told her he went home.”
“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
She waved away the notion. “Nah, I still want to string her up for what they did to Aunt Liz. But I do think she needs a break if it means getting her permanently away from Kitty. Anything else major at the house?”
“Just one. After the coroner removed the body, we were examining the area around it, and we found another stash of jewels.”
Dismay shot through Molly. “Not another one! I seriously didn’t know Liz had so many tucked away. Russell could have helped her get a safe deposit box if she thought they might be taken.” Greg remained silent, and Molly’s curiosity piqued. “What?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think these were Liz’s. They were in a small metal briefcase, and some of the loose jewels were wrapped in fabric and secured in small bags. Two of the necklaces didn’t look like anything Liz would wear. I don’t think they’re hers.”
“You think they’re stolen?”
“I do. I sent photos to buddies I know in Birmingham’s Burglary Division and Gadsden’s Property Crime Department. If anything this substantial’s been reported, they should have it.”
Molly absorbed this information, with a nagging thought in the back of her head. “Would a case like that survive a fire?”
Greg didn’t hesitate. “Yes. It’s built for that.”
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about staying in the house.”
“I don’t think you should stay there until it’s empty and sterilized with bleach.” “Speaking of—”
“Not for a few more days. We have a team there around the clock, but it’s still going to take some time. We need to finish processing the area around the body … and I want to take a second look at where Liz died. Have you cleaned that area?”
“Not yet. I was saving it until I’d gone through more of her journals. I have a feeling there’s more in that room that I need to search for with care. Not just start lugging stuff out.” She paused. “But I have asked Russell to pull the autopsy report. I’m meeting him tomorrow at nine.”
Greg took this in. “What do you hope to find in the report?”
“Not sure, really. But I’ve seen where Finn found her. I guess … settle some of my curiosity.” Molly suddenly realized how this must sound to him. “I mean, I know you investigated—”
“We did.” His tone was a bit tight.
Hush, Molly, you’re going to trip over your own tongue. She waited.
Greg slowly smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Truth is, the coroner looked at the scene and immediately decided it was an accident. So did I. There was blood on a table she’d hit on the way down. She had become fragile. EMTs had already been to the house a half-dozen times because she’d fallen. To tell you the truth, we had no reason to think otherwise. It never occurred to us that someone would want Liz Morrow dead.”
Molly felt a stab of pain. “I didn’t know all that.”
Greg glanced at her. “All what?”
“About her frailty. Her falling. She had written that she was ill …” Her voice trailed off and she stared out the window. “But I didn’t realize …”
“Molly,” Greg spoke quietly. “I don’t think she let anyone know how bad it had gotten. Not Finn, not even Russell. And Lyric and Kitty were just biding their time.”
“I still want to hoist them up the nearest pine tree.”
“Get in line. I think about half the county has some grievance against them. I even have a report from Nina reporting Kitty for stealing eggs!”
“Oh, how I love small-town life. Stolen eggs. Jewel thieves. Murder.”
“It keeps me on my toes.”
Jimmy is from a small town …
Molly blinked back the thought and turned her face toward the passenger window. Not now.
But after a moment of silence, Greg asked gently, “What’s wrong?”
She waved away the question. “Nothing.”
“Molly …”
“It’s not about here.”
“Didn’t ask if it was. But you definitely went somewhere else right then. Somewhere painful.”
Molly felt a twinge of annoyance as she looked around at him. “Are you psychic now?”
“No,” he replied slowly, “but these windows are reflective at night. You can stare out the window all you want. I can still see your face.”
A laugh burst from Molly. “You’re wicked.”
“True. But concerned. Talk to me.”
She told him about the packet from Jimmy. “I heard right back from the magazine. The interview is set for Sunday afternoon. It’s a good opportunity, and they’ve already agreed to buy a couple of the pictures. Would help pay for some of the stuff I’m doing here. The job? Maybe.”
“Is the job something you want?”
Molly looked back out the window. “I don’t know. It’s becoming harder to make any kind of living—much less a really good one—as a freelance storm chaser. It would allow me to keep doing that, but I’m not thrilled with being anchored in St. Louis. And I have to admit it hurts that they won’t be with me. I thought … I guess I thought that our partnership was more than jobs to them. We’re friends. We’ve been through a lot. For it to just … end.” She shrugged. “It’s a lot to think about with everything else going on.”
“Change is never easy, even when it has to happen.”
Molly heard the pain in his voice, and spoke softly, “What was she like?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Sweet. Kind. Pretty much my opposite.”
“How did you meet her?”
He grinned. “College. Juniors. I was in criminal justice and she was an English major. We both took psychology. Married before the year was out. Her parents didn’t like me much. The military brat. A cop. But they got over it.”
“Good for them.”
“Ha! They fully expected to have to support us. But I got a job right away, and we did okay.”
“What was her name?”
“Anna. Anna Marie.” Greg’s face softened, and he fell silent. They rode without speaking a few moments, then Molly turned her head as the Gadsden city limits sign disappeared over her shoulder. “Wait … Where are we going?”
Greg’s grin was mischievous. “I thought you might be tired of the Waffle House and the Bistro. Top O’ the River has the best catfish in the area. Creole shrimp. Broiled crab.”
Her mouth watered. “Sounds like heaven.”
“They even have fried dill pickles.”
Molly stared at him, not entirely sure he was serious. “Um. Pass.”
He laughed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Molly slept solidly for the first time in days. She blamed the catfish, which had pleased a palate definitely weary of fast food and sandwiches. She’d even tried the fried dill pickles, pronouncing them a taste that had to be acquired over a long period of time, which made Greg laugh.
And she liked making him laugh. From the first day they met, he had been her best source of hope and information. He’d encouraged her, and he’d told her more about her family than anyone else could. He was responsible for her current truce with Bird …
Bird. The old man had called her late last night to ask in a harsh whisper if the body was really Freddy. When she confirmed it, he’d hung up on her.
“‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Alice.” Molly peered into the mirror as she attempted to put some kind of control on her curls. Her gut told her Bird’s drawers were in a twist because he knew something about Freddy’s death. She’d mention the call to Russell and Greg later.
Giving up on her hair, she fluffed it, slipped on a headband, and headed out. She’d never worn a lot of makeup—her job didn’t exactly demand it—but since arriving in Carterton, she’d abandoned it entirely. It was kinda freeing not to worry about how her face looked every time she left the room.
She got in the Explorer and turned the key. Nada. “Come on, baby. You have to start. I can’t afford a new car right now.” Molly waited a few moments and tried again. There was a hesitation, then the motor turned over. She let it run for a few moments, running her hand across the dash. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you the last couple of weeks.” She thought about the storm she’d left behind, when she’d almost tipped it over and had to use the four-wheel drive to plow out of mud. “Um, the past few months.” And then there were the storms she’d photographed over the last seven years.
“Okay,” she confessed. “Years. But you’re too much of a trooper to give up now!” With a grin, she put the SUV in gear and backed out of the space.
Molly was a bit wary of turning the Explorer off when she got to Russell’s building but had no choice. “Be good,” she whispered as she got out.
Immediately, she looked around for Kitty, but the parking lot was relative-free. She headed into the building, thinking about the astonishing events that had taken place since the last time she’d been here. She took the elevator up and entered Russell’s office to find it exceptionally quiet. “Right,” she said. “Saturday.”
“Molly?” Russell called from down the hallway.
“It’s me!”
“Lock the door and come on in here!”
She did, to find Russell seated at his conference table, several books and file folders set in neat rows in front of him. She thought she recognized Liz’s folder, but she couldn’t be sure. Legal folders tended to look alike.
“What’s all this?”
He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. I have the report for you, but I thought we’d go over how Wednesday will proceed, if you have time. Have you ever been through a will probate?”
“Nope.” Molly sat.
Murder in the Family Page 17