Winter’s End: Winter Black Series: Book Nine

by Stone, Mary

  “Have a sit.” Arthur fell into an easy chair, dark brown with random silver lines where peeling duct tape held the upholstery together. Winter balanced on the edge of the couch and Autumn perched next to her. Arthur peered down his nose at them both.

  The glasses that balanced precariously at the end of his nose indicated that he was trying to get her in focus, probably through bifocals or progressives. The thickness of the lens indicated it was likely a fruitless endeavor. The look he gave her was narrow and more than a little disapproving.

  “You’re Bill’s girl?”

  “I am.” Winter smiled, trying to give off a harmless, even innocuous vibe.

  “And who’s this?” He turned the basilisk gaze toward Autumn.

  “This is Autumn Trent.” Winter made the introduction awkwardly. Autumn was beyond pissed off right now, she could see it in how she sat ramrod straight.

  Still, she had to give her friend credit for being a professional. She only nodded and even smiled as she looked around the room. “Hello. Lovely place you have here.” To her credit, she only faltered a little on the words.

  “It’s a shithole,” Arthur growled. “Too damn old to clean, too damn old to do much of nothing anymore. No one comes by to help, so I get to live in this filth. If I was a dog, people would be coming from all over and throwing money at me to get me out of the squalor, but an old man, more or less,” he waved off the world at large, “no one gives a good damn.”

  Winter swallowed hard, thinking hard how to best get what she wanted. So far, this wasn’t going at all how she’d thought it would.

  Maybe that was the problem.

  She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped. “I was hoping you could tell me a little about my family.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well, like I said, my parents were killed when I was young.”

  “Yeah.” Arthur made a hand gesture indicating she should get on with it. “You did say that. A couple of times now. Something you want me to say about that? Offer you a tissue?”

  “No.” Winter shook her head. “No. I just want to know about my family. The other members of it. The ones I haven’t met.”

  “Not many of them worth knowing about.” Arthur crossed his legs and reached for a can of beer at his side. “No one’s got any money, no one gives a damn about anyone but hisself. Don’t know what you’d want out of any of them.”

  Autumn raised her hand. “Do you have a restroom I might use? It was a long drive.”

  Arthur gave the impression that he was debating whether or not to allow Autumn to use his bathroom. “It’s no good,” he finally said. “Water pipes burst ‘bout a month ago. Too damn old to fix ‘em.” He considered her a moment longer and relented. “There’s one upstairs, second door on the left. That one still works. You can use that.”

  “Thank you.” Autumn stood and smoothed her pants, rubbing her palms on the fabric. Autumn’s special talent involved touching someone to read them, but there were those who didn’t need to be touched, people like Arthur who emanated their personality so much that even Winter could feel it. It must have been very difficult for Autumn to be in the same room.

  “Bill adopted me when I was a baby,” Winter began. It didn’t matter so much what she said, as long as she kept his attention on her and not Autumn. She was giving Autumn the opportunity to explore and dig around Arthur’s house unencumbered. “I don’t really know anyone on his side of the family.”

  “Not surprised.” Arthur took a healthy pull on his beer can. “Bill always did think a great deal of himself. Too good for the family, he was. At least to hear him say it.”

  “Too good?” Winter knew she was being sidetracked, but her father had taken on near mythic proportions in her heart after his death, and to hear someone like this man denigrate him got her back up, and she seethed at the accusation.

  “Sure. After he married that knocked up woman, he never kept in touch, ignored his family. Even kept you and your brother away.” He gave Winter a hard look. “If you want to know the reason we’ve never met, he’s it. Got hisself a city job, started making decent money. A year or two later, he bought a fancy house in the city. None of his kin never heard from him again.”

  Well, she’d gotten that question answered at least. This side of the family somehow knew that Jeannette had been pregnant with Winter before she met Bill.

  “Was there a relative named Douglas Kilroy?” Winter tried to keep the question as light as she could but knew she’d failed the moment she saw Arthur’s eyes go black and cold.

  Arthur looked as though he’d been kicked. He sat bolt upright, the beer can crashing to the floor, spraying its contents on the bottom of the chair. “I think it’s high time you two got the hell off my land.” Arthur levered himself out of the chair and headed for the steps much more quickly than he’d been able to walk earlier.

  Autumn’s up there.

  Winter was hard on his heels, not sure what she was going to do, but she’d do whatever it took to get Autumn safely out of that house.

  “Mr. Williams,” she called to his back. “We’ll leave. I just—”

  Need to get my friend.

  The words stuck in her throat as the old man reached behind a door. Within seconds, he turned, and she was staring down the long black eye of a rifle.

  23

  Autumn took one look at the toilet and decided that even if she did have to use it, she probably wouldn’t. It was a bright orange-red, probably a result of rust in the pipes, and it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in her lifetime.

  She shook her head. There are some things that needed to be done no matter how old a person was, and apparently, Winter’s long-lost relative was unaware of this. Or simply didn’t care.

  This is one long-lost relative who should never have been found.

  Her sensitivities were driving her mad just by being in close proximity to the man. The feelings he gave off were bitter and hard. He struck her as a man who lamented his lot in life and comforted himself with the knowledge that it was all someone else’s fault.

  Realizing just how little time she had, Autumn got straight to work. She started by looking in the medicine cabinet above the sink. It was filled with prescription bottles, the sort of pills one might expect to see in the house of a man pushing ninety. Most of them were medicines she was unfamiliar with.

  Then there was Pipamperone. She knew that one. It was an antipsychotic, used to treat schizophrenia. The bottle looked full, but the fill date on it was over two months ago. Which meant only one thing in her mind. The man wasn’t taking his pills, and his schizophrenia was being left untreated.

  Not good. Better hurry.

  She looked around a bit more, noting the rag on the towel rack, the evidence of mice in the small dots of droppings around the base of the sink. The sink itself had a brown stain down the back of the bowl where the water had dripped, the rust and iron in the water wearing away and staining the porcelain. The threadbare bathmat in front of the sink had an aroma when she stepped on it. She winced and retreated hastily, trying hard not to breathe in too deeply.

  He’s right about one thing. If I had seen a dog living like this, I would have taken it to a shelter.

  The room next to the bathroom was the master bedroom—at least that was what she presumed. It held a queen-sized bed, though the sheets were in disarray and needed a good washing with a gallon or two of bleach. The rest of the room was clean, a stark contrast to the rest of the house, though she spotted the remains of a mouse still caught in a spring-loaded trap behind a dresser. It was difficult to guess how long it had been there, so mummified were the remains.

  A small wooden box sat on the bedside table. The box and table were polished and shone like they were brand-new, which made her think they, at least, received some attention. She looked over her shoulder to be sure no one was coming and crossed the bedroom to the box.

  The box was an ornate thing, carved of wood so rich the gr
ain gleamed as she held the object up to the light. Autumn didn’t know one wood from the next, but that piece could have been oak or walnut, or more likely given the ornate beauty, something more rare and expensive. Mahogany maybe.

  She slowly opened the lid, and her eyes widened at the contents. Inside was an old, faded picture that looked like it was taken in the sixties or early seventies. A slim, beautiful woman stood in front of a car, a large tank of a vehicle with raised fins. The car was definitely fifties, but the woman wore a halter top and shorts. That put it late sixties or so.

  The woman had a kind smile, though her eyes were sad. She leaned against the driver’s door of the car, her bare feet crossed at the ankles. In the background was the house Autumn was standing in now.

  She could feel an immense sadness with the woman’s picture, a heaviness that made her want to weep with the weight of it. Under the picture was a necklace, a fine gold thread from which hung a charm in the shape of a heart. There was a single stone in the middle of the heart, a bright stone like a diamond, though it might not have been a real one. The woman in the picture was wearing that very same necklace.

  “You put that the hell down!” A snarl tore through the bedroom, and Autumn dropped the necklace into the box. She raised her hands and turned to see the wrong end of a rifle pointed directly at her head. Arthur had the gun butted up against his shoulder, his finger on the trigger. “What the hell you think you’re doin’ in here?”

  Autumn spread her arms, showing she was unarmed. The box was in her right hand, the photo in her left. “I’m sorry, I just…”

  “You just what?” Arthur snarled. “You just thought you’d rifle through my house? Looking for drugs? Looking for money? Answer me, damn you!” He rattled the gun, and Autumn could see his trigger finger turning white on the knuckle.

  “That’s enough.” Winter’s calm and clear voice was a counterpoint to the barrel of the pistol she placed against his head. She cocked the hammer and Autumn could see the sound registering in Arthur’s mind. Even so, he held the rifle on Autumn for such a long moment that she honestly believed she was going to die in this shithole.

  Arthur let go with the right hand, letting his left grasp the barrel as he lowered the rifle. “I ain’t got nothing worth stealing. That bauble you got, it’s not real. It’s a fake stone. I only got it for personal reasons.”

  “Yeah, I could tell you were a real sensitive guy,” Winter spat, her voice cold as the wind outside. “Wanna get his rifle?” She nodded in Autumn’s direction.

  Autumn set the box on the table and put the picture back inside of it. She left it open and carefully took the rifle from Arthur’s grasp.

  “Ain’t nothing but a .22.” Arthur gestured at the gun. “I use it for rabbits and the occasional coyote. Wouldn’t have done nothing so long as I didn’t hit her head. Just hurts like a sommabitch.”

  That wasn’t true, but most country folk considered that gospel since that type of rifle was underpowered and the bullet was small enough to be stopped by bones or muscle. At close range, however, with a careful shot, the results could be lethal.

  Winter relented a bit on her pistol, pulling back far enough to allow her room to walk around Arthur. “This will hurt a hell of a lot more than that.” She reached across her body with her left hand, the gun never wavering. She pulled out her badge and flipped it open. “Agent Black, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Ah hell.” Arthur spat on the floor. “A damn Fed? I should have knowed that bullshit about you being Bill’s daughter was nothing but a lie. You told it well enough, though. I can usually spot a lie.”

  “It’s not a lie.” Winter closed the wallet, gripping the badge in her left fist. “I am Bill’s daughter. I also happen to be an agent.”

  Autumn returned to the box and grabbed the picture to show to Winter. She carefully lay the rifle on the bed.

  “That’s Lynn.” Winter let out a low whistle. “Just as I saw her.”

  “That’s my wife,” Arthur spat, hunched in on himself now that he’d been disarmed. “How is it you know her name?”

  “Dad was very fond of her.” Winter was making it sound as if Lynn had been a common topic of conversation between her and her father, though Autumn would bet her next paycheck that Auntie Lynn hadn’t been brought up around the Black family dinner table.

  “All I remember about your old man was a noisy little brat who got into everything. Left a raging mess wherever he went.”

  “Charming.” Winter frowned, her weapon still trained on him. “Now, tell me something I don’t know.” Autumn could tell that her friend was losing her patience with the old man. He reminded her of Kilroy and had about the same respect for others as The Preacher did.

  “Like I’m an old man and don’t give a shit what you do to me, Agent Black?” He put as much vitriol and bitterness into her title as he could. After eighty-seven years, he had a great deal to put into it.

  “You’re not so feeble as you like to pretend,” Winter countered. She spoke to Autumn, but never took her eyes off Arthur. “You should have seen him running up the steps. He took them like a man half his age.”

  “Half my age?” Arthur laughed. He dropped his hand to his side, seemingly no longer concerned with the gun pointed at his heart. “Half my age is still twice yours.”

  The math was a little off, but his point was made. Besides, this was getting them nowhere. “Tell me about Douglas Kilroy.”

  “What about him?” Arthur sneered back at her.

  “How is he related to the family?”

  “Just ‘cause he killed your daddy, don’t mean—”

  “How did you know that?” Autumn interrupted when she saw Winter go pale. “How did you know he killed Bill?”

  “Didn’ you see them papers downstairs? It was in them, big news for a while. But this is family news.” The old man stressed the word “family” as though it should frighten her. “Your daddy thought he was too good for this family, that don’ change the fact that he was family. We all knew. We knew when it happened, and we knew when Doug was kilt too. Family is family.”

  Winter gasped and the gun rose in her hand.

  “Did you say anything? Go to the police?” Autumn asked, trying to ignore the way Winter was gaping at the old man, a look of betrayal and hurt on her face.

  “O’ course not. It’s a family affair, no business of theirs.”

  “My parents were murdered. My brother was kidnapped!” Winter surged forward, only just stopping short of putting her hands on the old man. Autumn tensed, ready to interfere. The last thing they needed was an assault charge.

  “And now you want revenge. Is that it? Doug’s dead. You want vengeance on the family? Then shoot me. I’m just an old man, no one will know or even care that I’m dead. No one but the family. The family will know I’m dead and who kilt me.”

  “Will they care?” Autumn asked.

  Arthur shot her a look as though remembering for the first time she was there. “Nope. Not a damn one of them. Didn’t care when Bill and his wife died neither. That’s your family, Agent Black. That’s the legacy you come from. Happy?” He looked mean enough to spit as he stumped over to a straight-backed chair and sat heavily. The wood creaked in protest, wobbling precariously. “You can leave any time.”

  Autumn put her hand on Winter’s arm. The rage and hate that came from that contact was almost too much for her to bear, but she shoved that aside and applied gentle pressure on Winter’s arm. “Please,” she whispered. “He’s right. It’s time to go. You got what you came for.”

  Winter’s jaw tightened and a vein stood out on her forehead. “Just tell me this.” Her voice was calm, reasonable, though the emotions she gave off were anything but. “Did the family,” she put a great deal of sarcasm in that word, “know before he killed my parents that he was about to?”

  “Don’t think so. I didn’t.” Arthur sighed, leaning forward so that his arms took the weight of his upper body. “Look, you going to
leave or not?”

  “But you knew after. You could have saved years of pointless investigation and all that pain. Kilroy could have been behind bars and my brother safe.” Her nostrils flared. “Did you know that bastard took my brother?”

  Arthur stayed silent, but his glare matched Winter’s. They were locked in a silent struggle of hate and bitterness. Autumn grasped her friend’s arm. It was getting harder to keep pushing aside the feeling that came with touching this hurting woman.

  The gun wavered in Winter’s hand. “Who was Kilroy to your precious ‘family?’”

  Arthur stared at the unsteady barrel and seemed to reach a decision. “My cousin. Doug was an only child, and his father was my uncle. He was a dick. Called himself ‘Preacher.’ Tried to make his son into one by beating him until he could give a sermon in his sleep. But Doug’s father, he had brothers and sisters, most of them died fairly young, it was a rough life during the depression and lots of young people never got old. About half got old enough to squeeze out their own kids. My daddy was one of those. Too bad too. He should have died when he was a baby.”

  “Then you would never have been born,” Autumn said in the silence that followed.

  “Win-win, ain’t it?” Arthur grinned, yellow and brown teeth showing age and neglect. “Hell, there’s a few people that wouldn’t mind that, if I ain’t never been born.”

  “I bet.” Winter bit off the words through a clenched jaw.

  “We’re family,” Arthur said and shook his head sadly. “Biology or no, you’re just like your daddy, too good for the likes of us. Maybe won’t no one care about one old man, more or less, but family won’t be ignored. Like me or no, there’s a price to pay. You hurt the family, the family will take its due.”

  “Like the ‘family’ took its due with my little brother?”

  “That was Doug’s idea.” Arthur met her gaze squarely. “You wanted to know why nobody told the cops? Because Bill, he rejected us all. He held himself and his precious bride and her get above us. The family wrote him off. Doug was family. Bill weren’t. Not no more.”