“Hmph. Also didn’t help that Bird kept growling and saying they’d have to take this into their own hands.”
Russell got in and shut the door. “Yeah, I’m going to let Greg know about that.”
Molly didn’t want to think about Greg at the moment. She snuggled down in the passenger seat, grateful for the seat heater. “I love this car.” Warmth radiated through her sore back and hips. She’d not taken a painkiller that morning, in hopes of staying alert for the hearing. Now everything began to ache, especially her side. She stretched it, trying to relieve some of the pressure.
Russell noticed. “I’ll get you back to the condo, so you can rest this afternoon. Because if Greg releases the house this afternoon, I know you’ll want to get back to it in the morning.”
“I do think a short break from all this would do me good. Maybe watch a movie.”
“Mi satellite, su satellite,” he responded. “I’ll head back to the office with the paperwork. And I do actually have other clients. I need to return some calls.” He paused. “How are you doing financially?”
Molly shrugged. “I’ve had to dip into savings to cover a lot of the expenses, but I’m all right. But it’s going to take a lot of storm videos to build it back up.”
“Still going to take the job in St. Louis?”
“At this point, I don’t have much choice. The contract calls for a signing bonus, which will help a lot, and a minor stipend for April through September. They’ll get first option on anything I produce and first rights if they buy it. There are minimums set for purchases, but I doubt they’ll ever pay more than that. It’s not a great deal, but it’s only for a year. It’ll give me time to establish my name as the only member of the LLC.”
“You don’t really sound all that excited.”
Molly looked out the window at the passing cars. “It’s a default position. I’m not fond of default positions. But it’ll give me some stability while still letting me work on my own. I’ve been a freelancer for more than fifteen years. I suspect I’ll have a hard time being tied to one place.”
“Do you even have an apartment?”
Molly laughed. “Nope. I have a storage bin in Tulsa, with stuff that I’ll probably move to St. Louis. I travel with my computer and camera equipment, and a few clothes. We mostly stayed in motels, sometimes we slept in the SUV.” When Russell remained silent, she turned to face him. “Russell, understand. It was not a life I had to lead. It was one I wanted to lead. I was not only happy, I was deliriously happy.”
Russell kept his eyes on the road. “But now everything’s changed.”
“Right.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes before Russell spoke again. “When this clears, the estate will pay you back for what you spent on the house. Keep a record and put an invoice in the files.”
“You don’t have—”
“It’s not about generosity. Or me. It’s about settling the estate. As her executrix, you’ll also have to pay the last medical bills, the funeral bills, her credit cards, the utilities on the house, and the property tax owed when you sell it. You are legitimately one of her creditors, and as executrix you can take out a 10 percent fee. Don’t be foolish about this. There’s going to be plenty of money in the estate. Even after the bills are paid, even if you don’t sell the house, you’ll still be able to help a lot of people.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m going to only say this once, then I’ll drop it. I will not pressure you.”
“What?”
“Don’t sell the house. Keep it. Rent it, use it as a base, whatever. But don’t sell it. After all, the South has a lot of great storms too. And, Molly?”
“Yes.”
“Default positions are always the worst options.”
Molly mostly slept. Back at the condo, she took a pill and piled up on the couch with a dozen pillows and the remote control. A half hour into an episode of Midsomer Murders, she sank into a heavy, quiet sleep. She only woke when Russell came home bearing a pepperoni pizza and a gallon of sweet tea. Over supper, they talked about basketball, the best pizza in Gadsden, lenticular cloud formations, and whether the Nashville Predators would go to the Stanley Cup playoffs again. Nothing legal, nothing to do with estates or cranky relatives.
But, as Molly took another painkiller before bed, she got the uneasy feeling that this was the calm before the storm.
Which started gathering on the horizon the next morning before she was even out of bed. She woke to a text from Greg, brief and to the point: The house is clear. All yours.
Then there was an email from Jimmy, also short to the point of being curt.
Sarah’s dad has seen a lawyer. Expect papers within the week. Probably just after the ones our lawyer sent. Sorry for the double whammy. I didn’t know he was doing this now. I know the LLC will absorb it, if it comes to that, but he’s heard (not from me!) that you’ve inherited a lot of money. Insurance is covering Sarah, but he wants copays and damages. I thought you should be warned.
Sorry it’s ending this way. Really do hope all is going well in Alabama.
Right. She forwarded the note to Russell with the addendum: Would it be a conflict of interest for you to be my lawyer in this?
His response came almost instantaneously, which told her he was up and had his phone handy: Let me see what I can find out.
Molly stared at the screen a moment, a little surprised at how good it felt that someone had her back. A relief. A reassurance.
Comforting.
And something she had never felt before.
She got dressed and headed downstairs.
After breakfast, they drove into Carterton, stopping first at the hotel to gather the journals, butcher paper, and all her notes. Future work would be done in Russell’s office, with access to a printer and an assistant who would help her with family research. Russell then drove her to the house, where they found a cluster of people in the front yard, waiting patiently. She immediately spotted Linda, Finn, and Sheila, greeting them with a grin and a scold.
“Do you people not have jobs?”
Sheila laughed as Finn feigned shock. “Well, of course we do, Miss Molly! We also have vacation time and friends who need us. Remember, Liz meant a lot to all of us.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Plus, the sheriff says you’ll be out and gone back to the far Midwest in a few days. We wanted to take advantage.”
Molly bowed. “Thank you, kind sir. It is much appreciated.”
Linda giggled. “Stop fawning. What do you want us to do?”
“The basement. It must be emptied, as soon as we can. It’s what’s holding up finalizing everything.”
Russell told her he’d be back by four, then whispered something to Finn she couldn’t hear. Molly looked around the yard, taking stock. The pavilions still stood, although limp from the stretched ropes that held them. At least ten other people waited for jobs, so Molly put them to work, assigning tasks with the same efficiency she had in the beginning, just slower.
The third time she pressed her side and bent sideways for relief, Finn went to his house and returned with a big camp chair that had air pockets for cushions. “Sit!” he commanded. “Consider it the director’s chair. It’s going to take a while to dig out the basement, and you do not need to be going up and down the stairs. Just sit.” He handed her a bottle of water.
And for the first time in many years, Molly listened. She sat, watching as bag after box after bin emerged from the basement. With six people traipsing in and out, and another four helping to empty and clean, it went faster than she expected. Most of it, as she anticipated, went straight into the dumpster.
Just before lunch, Nina showed up alone. She pulled the truck up close to the dumpster and motioned vaguely at the “Free” table. “Can I …?” her voice trailed off.
Nina had been noticeably absent at the courtroom; now Bird was nowhere to be found. Apparently, something was keeping them apart, but Molly didn’t want to think about that at the moment. “Sure
,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, our agreement is still in place. Help yourself.”
With a shy grin and a “thank you,” Nina began to gather items off the “Free” table, and even stopped to peer at the “Two-dollar” table.
Molly wondered if the rumors about Bird’s abuse were true, but her thoughts were interrupted by a bin full of high-heel shoes. As Finn lifted the lid, Molly sighed. Ten years out of date and dotted with mold, none looked as if the four- and five-inch heels would support a child. She looked up at Finn. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “I know how some women are about shoes.”
She pointed at the dumpster.
Just before noon, she called Amanda at Bailey’s Bistro and had sandwiches, chips, and drinks made up for lunch. Finn retrieved them, and everyone took a break, ate, and enjoyed the great April weather. Yesterday’s rain had cleared the air of pollen and left the yard smelling like honeysuckle.
Back at work, they finished clearing the staircase and the area around the bottom of the steps. Finn kept taking pictures with his phone and bringing them to her, and she would send back directions on what to tackle next. Once the stairs had been cleared of boxes, storage bins, and garbage bags, they found a wall of storage bins and boxes that Molly feared would extend to the back of the basement. It was only two rows, but more than two hundred boxes had been brought outside before her long-forgotten question about the house—what happened to the books?—was finally answered.
Behind the storage bins stretched rows of bookcases and books, a virtual sea of them. Some of the bookcases were magnificent pieces, tall and solid wood with carved ornaments on their doors, but many were just plain, discount-store shelves. But all overloaded with books.
Molly called Linda over. “Can you explain this?”
Linda looked through the pictures, chewing her lower lip. “Oh, Liz …” she finally whispered.
“What?”
“You know Liz loved her books.”
Molly nodded. “She was a teacher.” She pointed to the left side of the house. “These two rooms were her library. Walls lined with fine bookcases. In the front corner, there was this big wingback chair with an ottoman. She’d read to us kids.”
Linda nodded and rubbed one eye. “She loved that chair. When the first family started bringing things to her, she tried to work around it. Then one day I was over here, and the books were gone. The bookcases were gone. And that room was full of someone else’s stuff. I never had the heart to ask her what had happened to the books.”
“Obviously,” Finn interrupted, “somewhere she thought they’d be safe.” He handed Molly a book wrapped in muslin. As she peeled the cloth away, she saw the title: The Hunt for Red October. She peered up at Finn, puzzled.
“That’s a first edition. Fine shape. Signed. Worth about two grand at an auction.”
“What?”
He shook his head. “There are dozens like it. Signed first editions.” He pointed at the book. “Now flip through it.”
She did, slowly, her eyes widening as she kept spotting flashes of green. “Oh, dear Lord,” she muttered.
“May He protect us,” Finn declared. “Looks like there are more than a thousand books down there, and every one we’ve opened so far has ten to fifteen twenty-dollar bills in them. Liz trusted banks, but she had a backup plan.”
They spent the afternoon removing the money. Molly halted all other activity, and she even made a careful trip down the stairs. She sat on one of the steps as Finn brought her stacks of books to go through. Everyone working knew all too well why it was vital to gather the cash as soon as they could.
Nina.
As soon as she’d realized what they’d found, Nina climbed in her truck and left, leaving skid marks at the end of the street. With Bird’s threat hanging in the back of her mind—It’s time we took matters into our own hands—Molly dared not leave the cash in the basement. They didn’t even count it. They simply piled it into one of the emptied storage bins.
When Russell came to pick her up, he just shook his head. “Liz, you crazy fool,” he whispered, but with such affection, Molly remained silent as they loaded the money-filled bins into Russell’s trunk. They rode in an equal silence back to her hotel. As he parked, she opened the car door but paused. “I’ll stay here tonight. The interview is at 4:30, and I’ll have a lot to think about after.”
He nodded but didn’t respond. She closed the door and went into her room, settling slowly into one of the chairs. She hurt, a bone-deep soreness, but the tightness in her chest was far more than anything the accident brought on. Molly couldn’t explain it, and she couldn’t imagine what she could do to relieve it. She felt stuck, mired in an emotional mud.
The interview lasted more than an hour and pushed Molly one step closer to St. Louis. Hunter Bradley was bright, well informed, and curious to the bone, just the kind of station manager Molly enjoyed working with. He asked a dozen questions about her training and experience, but even more about how she saw the job and what she thought about the contract. He was a bit of a weather nerd, and asked if she had ever photographed a Kelvin-Helmholtz wave cloud (of course) or seen the conditions under which Mt. Ranier cast a shadow on the clouds (not yet).
He even made her laugh. When she told him she felt the minimums in the contract were too low, he told her he would check with his “powers-that-be” and get back to her after the weekend. They agreed to talk again on Monday afternoon. It had been a great conversation, but it took the last wind out of her sails. Molly had finally hit a wall.
She set her phone aside, then took two more of her painkillers. Weariness swamped her, as well as the pain. She’d held both at bay just long enough to get through the call, and she wanted nothing more than sleep. She stripped, checked her bandages, then slipped between cool sheets and disappeared for a few more hours into a dream-free sleep.
20
As promised, Molly’s rental car arrived at her hotel Friday morning. She rode with the driver back to the agency, but was at the Victorian before nine. With donuts and coffee.
Her crew was ready and waiting.
They cleared the rest of the trash out of the basement but put the books back on the shelves. Molly wasn’t sure what she’d do with them, but Linda suggested a couple of the local libraries might be interested. They then turned their attention to the remaining three rooms on the second floor and the attic. Trash bags came out in droves, and the number of things in the pavilions began to dwindle. The dumpster, more than three-fourths full now, had developed the scent of mold and decay, so Molly called the company for a pickup on Monday. She was now confident they could finish the main clearing of the house by the weekend. She arranged for the cleaners to arrive Tuesday to finish their work.
Finally, she could see a light at the end of the tunnel. As the last areas of trash and debris dwindled, Molly walked around the house, making notes and taking pictures for the revised inventory. Most of what she had missed involved the more ornate bookcases in the basement, but there were two tables on the second floor that had been completely buried and an antique trunk in the attic filled with some fine lace curtains and tablecloths. She had these moved to the first floor, then she called everyone together in the front yard.
Fifteen people. She still couldn’t believe it. Fifteen people had given up days of their precious vacation time … and their lives … to help her. Plus the others who had been a part of that first week. She still had trouble accepting it. She knew she didn’t deserve it.
“Thank you. I will never be able to repay the kindness—and hard work—you’ve given me since I got here. I know you loved Aunt Liz, but you owed me nothing. Still, you gave and gave. I will try in some way to pay this back. But for now, just … thank you. I know you must be dog-tired. Maybe, once this is over and we have gotten some rest, we can party and refresh. For now, please go home, hug anyone you love, and get some sleep.”
They all hugged her first before wandering slowly back to their homes or
cars. Molly slowly sank down on the steps, watching them go. Linda and Sheila were the last, stopping to empty the dirty water out of the buckets they’d been using to clean the items for the pavilions. Sheila waved again as she headed home, but Linda came back and sat on the steps beside Molly.
“What now, girlfriend?” Linda asked.
Molly let out a long sigh. “Right now, I’m going to sit here and catch my breath. Then I’m going to make a couple more rounds through the house, compile more notes for the inventory. Then I’m going to have a sandwich at the Bistro and go crawl into bed. Tomorrow?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Probably decide if I’m up for some cleaning. I can’t distribute anything until the judge rules on the inventory lists.”
Linda looked at her hands, then slid one fingernail beneath another, to push out a bit of trash. “I actually meant, what are you going to do when all this is over with?”
Molly chuckled. “That would be the question of the month.”
“So you’re still planning on leaving us?”
Molly hesitated. “Linda, I’ve been through a lot with this. It’s taken everything I’ve got to get through it, emotionally … and financially. I don’t know that I have any choice.”
Linda gave her a quick hug, then stood, backing away. “Ah, but you do, Molly. You always have more than one choice. You may not like any of the choices in front of you, or think that they are good choices, but there will always be more than one.” She turned and sauntered back toward her home.
Molly watched her go, finally whispering, “You’re right. I don’t like any of them.”
The text came in from Linda just after seven. Molly had just finished the last bites of a roast beef and provolone sandwich, while checking social media on her phone and chatting with Amanda. The text scrolled down from the top, making Molly’s eyes snap wide. It disappeared before she could tap it, and she frantically clicked over to her messages. Yes, she’d read the words correctly.
Murder in the Family Page 23