Murder in the Family

by Ramona Richards

  Jimmy’s words, echoing from a wreck almost ten years ago, when storm winds had tumbled their last SUV. Don’t panic!

  Molly tried again to take a deep breath, but the shoulder harness pressed hard into her chest. “Okay,” she said aloud. “Brace.”

  Molly brought her knees up, pushing her feet against the dash, one arm against the roof, now below her. She released the buckle. She still rolled onto the roof, but not as hard as she could have. She lay still a moment, still assessing.

  The stench of gas and oil remained overwhelming. All of the windows had shattered, the doors twisted, but the passenger cage of the SUV had survived. She just needed to get out. The cracked windows still held firm in the frame. She shifted to look at the back. The tailgate had twisted, pulling away from the SUV, tearing the plastic sheet covering the opening for the back glass. Freedom!

  Pushing debris and clutter aside, she crawled toward the back and clawed at the plastic like a cat tearing its way out of a bag. It shredded, and she yanked it inside the Explorer, thrusting it behind her. Molly scrambled out, scraping her back and one arm on the tailgate, and driving bits of wood and shards of glass into her palms. She dug her fingers into the dirt of the ditch, pushing her way through the dark brush to the shoulder of the road. She collapsed, gasping deep breaths of air, shivering violently.

  Sirens. She could hear distant sirens. Someone must have seen it. God bless ’em. Molly choked back a hysterical laugh that came from nowhere. As the sirens closed in, she forced herself to stand, waving as the first headlights came into view. An ambulance slowed, doused its siren, and the doors flew open as the EMTs leaped out.

  Molly sat down hard, giving herself over to their care.

  17

  “Your brake line was cut.”

  Molly stared at Greg, but his words barely registered. The ER docs had found a number of injuries she’d been unaware of, including a cracked rib, cuts on her right arm and calf that needed stitches, and sprains in her back and shoulder. Tiny cuts and abrasions littered her arms and legs. They had discharged her just before dawn, but she still floated in a painkiller haze.

  Now Molly and Russell sat in the front of his Mercedes. They had been about to leave when Greg slipped into the back seat. She looked at Russell. “Are you getting this?” Her speech felt thick. “I can’t …”

  He nodded. “You just listen. We’ll go over it later.” In his lawyer tone. This was serious.

  Russell twisted to look at Greg. “Are you implying someone tried to kill her?”

  “Anytime there are no skid marks before an accident, we look at the brakes and the driver immediately.”

  “I was with her last night. She wasn’t drunk.”

  “We know. We had her blood alcohol level checked.” Greg addressed Molly. “You told the officers at the scene the brakes felt soft when you left the party.”

  Molly took a moment to process the statement, digging through her memory of the accident and aftermath. “Yes. When I turned from Maple onto the highway.”

  “We pulled the brake line right after we towed it to the garage. It had a slit in it, about two inches, straight along the line. It had been leaking, and when you touched the brakes during the turn, the pressure probably pushed out the rest of the fluid. The brake fluid container was empty. You parked in Liz’s drive last night.”

  Molly nodded. Something else swam around in her memory. Checking the fluids before the party …

  “You parked away from everyone.”

  “The techs—”

  “Were inside. But one of them noticed where you’d parked. There was a substantial amount of brake fluid on the gravel in that spot.”

  Russell tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “So this is twice someone has tried to kill her.”

  “Or just hurt her. Scare her. Something tells me these people aren’t big on thinking things all the way through. Where are you staying tonight?”

  The question confused Molly long enough for Russell to answer. “I’m taking her to my condo.”

  “Security?”

  “Yes. Residents only admitted to the lobby. No guests without prior permission. Guard twenty-four seven. She’ll stay there until after the will is probated on Wednesday.”

  Greg paused. “If this is even about the will.”

  All three fell silent, and Molly cleared her scratchy throat. “It’s about the money.”

  Greg shrugged. “Or the jewelry. We got a report from one of the pawnshops in Birmingham. About a week ago, someone tried to pawn a necklace that had been part of a robbery in Gadsden. But the shop owner actually read his flyers from the police and the insurance companies, and called the police. Fake ID on the guy who tried to pawn it, but Birmingham PD crossed the necklace with one of our pieces. They were part of the same robbery.”

  Molly tried to clear the confusion out of her brain without much luck. “Are you saying Aunt Liz was holding stolen goods?”

  “Probably without her knowledge.”

  “Definitely without her knowledge,” Russell added.

  Greg opened the door and got out, bracing the door open. His words were more clipped, leaving no room for discussion. “Don’t come to the house tomorrow. Stay at Russell’s and rest. The techs will be done later in the day, and I’m going to set up a perimeter and put a deputy on the premises. You can resume work after the probate hearing.” He closed the door and was gone.

  Russell watched the sheriff march back to his patrol car, then he turned to Molly. “He’s got a bee in his bonnet.”

  “He hates me.” She poked her tongue with one finger, then scowled at her fingertip. Why did her tongue feel numb?

  Russell looked Molly over carefully. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “He wants us to keep our distance. Says I’m clouding his judgment.” Molly grimaced. She was whining. She hated whining.

  Russell chose the better part of discretion and started the car, pulling out of the lot. The streets of Gadsden were mostly empty that time of morning. The sun had edged up over the horizon, casting a gold-and-purple haze over the city. Molly stared out at the buildings, trying not to think about Greg. Maybe he was right. They should stay away from each other, especially with her heading back to St. Louis when this was done.

  So why did that thought make her chest ache?

  Russell spoke, his voice carefully even. “The docs called in some medicines for you at a twenty-four-hour place. I’ll swing through and pick them up, then we’re going to get you settled. I’m hoping you can sleep before these meds wear off. When they do, you are going to hurt like the dickens.”

  “Thank you. What am I going to do for a car?”

  “Nothing today. Where’s your insurance information?”

  “In the glove box. Along with my phone. And my purse.”

  Russell cast a quick glance her way. “Molly, your purse and phone are in the back seat. The EMTs grabbed them.”

  “Oh.” The scene swirled in her head, now just a blur of flashing lights, encouraging voices, and kind hands. “That’s how the hospital had my insurance.”

  “What about your camera bag and computer?”

  “At the hotel.” A pulsing throb had begun near the base of her skull.

  “I’ll get the car insurance from the garage, and I’ll follow up with the insurance company. We’ll take it from there. One step at a time.”

  “Thank you. Seriously. I don’t know if I could get through this without you.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll overlook that you wouldn’t be in this without me.”

  Molly chuckled, then groaned, pressing a hand to the side of her head. “Don’t make me laugh. And don’t blame yourself for this. This die was cast before either one of us was born.”

  The next twenty-four hours passed in a sleep-riddled haze. Tucked into Russell’s guest bedroom, Molly dropped back into a drugged sleep. Russell woke her twice, just checking on her. Pain jerked her awake after eight hours, but more pills took care of that. The s
mell of coffee awoke her the final time. She found her camera and computer bags tucked in next to a dresser. Her purse and phone lay on top of it. A small duffel bag on a chair near the bed held fresh underwear, jeans, and a clean shirt. She dressed and headed down the stairs, each step made with care and a firm hold on the banister.

  Russell sat at a small bistro-style table in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading something on his tablet. He looked up in surprise and stood. “Well, good morning! How are you feeling?”

  Her voice croaked from lack of use. “Like I’ve been in a car accident. Oh, wait …” She grinned, then grimaced.

  He chuckled. “At least your humor survived. Coffee?”

  “Please and thank you. Just black.” Molly sat at the table. “Thanks for the clothes.”

  “I thought I was going to have to show Leon pictures of the wreck before he’d let us in. He’s gotten quite protective of you.” He poured a cup of coffee from a maker on the counter and set it in front of her.

  “Us?”

  He looked a bit sheepish. “I asked Linda to gather your clothes. One woman to another.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. And I’m not surprised about Leon. He’s sweet. I bring him donuts when he’s working late.”

  Russell sat down. “A little kindness goes a long way.”

  “What are you reading?”

  He pushed the tablet aside. “The morning paper. Easier on the eyes than print.” He paused. “I got the car insurance from Greg.”

  “Thanks. Did you talk to the insurance agent?”

  “I did. They’re sending an appraiser to the garage on Friday. I asked about a rental car. He said it should be cleared and ready by Friday. You’re stuck with me until then.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “And I talked to Greg.”

  Molly straightened, a little wary. “Oh?”

  Russell watched her face. “He confirmed that the house won’t be ready for you to resume work until Thursday. He wants everyone to stay away except the techs and his accident investigator.”

  Molly set down the cup. “But the accident—”

  “Molly. It’s not open to discussion.”

  She stopped, fighting an unfamiliar ache in her chest. Greg still didn’t want her around. “Fine. I need to go to the hotel anyway. I need to finish prepping for tomorrow.”

  “I’ll drive you. We can bring what you need back here.”

  She stared into her cup. “So I’m not to stay at the hotel either?”

  “It’s obviously too dangerous for you to be there alone, especially with you not up to par. And with no car.” He took a deep breath. “Greg suggested you start carrying your gun with you.”

  Molly’s eyebrows arched. “I thought he didn’t want me to carry it at all.”

  “He doesn’t want you shooting Bird because you’ve been enraged for twenty years. Defending yourself from people who’ve already tried to kill you is another story.”

  “We don’t know they did anything. Not for sure. Right? The Explorer was old.” Molly felt as if she were fighting a losing battle, but still …

  “Brake lines do not deteriorate with long straight splits.”

  She pushed her coffee cup back. “I honestly don’t get it. Taking me out is not going to make this go away. The will, with me or not, will be probated. If I’m not the executrix, someone else will be appointed. Bird and Nina and Kitty and Lyric are never going to get what they want out of this! The law is just not on their side.”

  “And if it’s about something else. The jewelry? Freddy’s death?”

  Molly had no answer, and Russell sipped his coffee.

  “Talk to me, Russell.”

  “There are two possibilities. One is that this is an effort to get someone else as executrix. Someone on their side. The other is that it’s not about the will at all. That it’s about getting you and the cops and everyone away from the house long enough to finish what they started.”

  “It’s about the jewels.”

  “And the murders. And the only connection to Liz and her hoarding is that they chose her house as a hiding place. Greg thinks—” He broke off.

  “Greg thinks what?”

  He shook his head. “They got another hit on the jewelry yesterday, from a pawn shop in Montgomery. This guy turned away a piece because he suspected it had been stolen. He saw it later on one of the insurance flyers. Both pieces were reported stolen from homes in Gadsden.”

  “So Greg thinks Aunt Liz and Freddy were just wrong place, wrong time.”

  Russell stood and picked up both cups, emptied them into the sink, and placed them in the dishwasher. “Maybe. That’s one reason he wants you to stay away from everything. He needs time to process the evidence they’ve gathered and the information collected from the interviews he and his deputies have done. There’s suddenly a lot of material.”

  “And I’m a distraction.”

  “That, and every time you’re around, more stuff happens.”

  She stiffened, indignant. “I didn’t exactly add that blood to Lyric’s pillow!”

  “No, but if he hadn’t been so anxious to let you get back to work on the house, he wouldn’t have stopped the techs when they finished upstairs. They would have worked the whole house. As they should have.”

  Molly stared at him, leaning forward. “Wait. He stopped them? He told me they were finished.”

  Russell smiled knowingly. “Yes. You are a distraction.”

  She collapsed back against her chair. “This could get him in a lot of trouble, couldn’t it?”

  “Not till election time. But it could seriously damage the case if it goes to court.”

  “He sabotaged himself.”

  “Maybe. Right now, he’s just furious with himself, and more than a little concerned he’d take it out on you. So you need to stay away. Let’s get through the will process, then make plans. Are you ready to go?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They headed for the hotel but were back in Russell’s office well before noon. He set her up in a conference room with the files on Liz’s estate, the remaining journals, and her laptop. She checked email first, finding a note from Hunter Bradley, the St. Louis station manager, about a time for a conversation about their contract offer. The station had bought a number of her storm photos and videos over the years, so he knew her work. And she knew the offer was a good one, in light of what they normally paid. And it was not one she’d be likely to get anywhere else.

  But it felt … wrong.

  She couldn’t explain it, but there was no time to dwell on it. She responded, explained what was going on, and asked if they could talk on Thursday afternoon. They set the appointment for 4:30 p.m.

  An email from Jimmy informed her that Sarah was finally awake but not fully functioning. They were doing more tests. Oh, and a package from a lawyer would arrive soon, with documents separating Jimmy and Sarah from Molly’s LLC, which had them listed as full partners.

  Oh, joy.

  She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Molly wanted to take the high road with this, but a sense of betrayal, of abandonment ran deep in her. It made no sense; Jimmy was right all the way around. But he’d made a decision changing her life forever without even mentioning it to her until it was done. That part still hurt. She just needed a little more time.

  She hoped.

  She closed her email. Time to get down to business. Across the conference table, she spread the last two journals, her notes and inventory lists from the previous journals, and the estate file. She looked over the will and Aunt Liz’s specific bequests, then set them aside. She had already accounted for most of these, marked the locations of items in the house, and added them to the inventory. Molly continued to be astonished at the number of friends and relatives Aunt Liz believed to be deserving of help from the estate. They far outweighed the ones she thought should be disinherited, which seemed to be limited to Bird, his descendants, and a few random cousins.

  “E
lizabeth Morrow, you had a heart of butter,” she muttered, as she opened a journal. After several pages of recipes, reports of neighborhood events, and a praise of Finn’s work on her water heater, one entry stopped her cold.

  October 12th

  Bird and Leland stopped by today. Poor Leland. He looks so bad. He obviously has the cancer, even though they aren’t talking about it. Probably the same cancer his mama had. Hopefully, they’ll get better treatment for him than she got. I know Nina told someone at the Piggly-Wiggly that he was getting treatments, but I can’t tell they are doing any good.

  They came because Bird once again insisted on taking the secretary in the front hall. He keeps saying it came out of the old farmhouse before Mama died, and they should have it back. I suspect he’s seen one like it on eBay and knows how much it would bring at auction. I reminded him that his timing was off. That if it had been in the house before Mama died, then it would have been part of the estate that Daddy had sold to Regina—thus, it would have been in the house when he forced Regina to sign it over. Sometimes I have to keep throwing in his face that the reason Daddy didn’t leave a will is that he’d deeded everything to Regina before he died, to keep spats like this from happening. Couldn’t contest a will if ownership had already been transferred.

  Anyway, Mollybelle, you hold the line when this all comes down and don’t let Bird bully you. He forced your mother to give up ownership of the farm. Don’t let him do the same thing to you.

  The screech was out of Molly’s mouth before she could stop it. “Russell!”

  When he burst through the door, she thrust the journal at him. She stood up and tried to pace as he read, but the pain in her side stopped her. She stretched, pressing against the rib.

  “Russell, I swear to God I’m going to—”

  “Molly. Stop. I warned you. Don’t say anything against Bird right now.”

  She shook her finger at the journal. “But you see—”

  He scanned it. “I know.” He dropped the journal on the table and crossed his arms, peering over his glasses at her. “But you didn’t.”

  “Of course I didn’t know!” She pointed at the journal. “Is she right? Mother already owned the farm?”