Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  The housekeeper sent Jill into the library. Ever curious, Button explored the conservatory plants at the far end of the room while Jill dusted every shelf and knickknack in the library itself, polishing the furniture and shining the glass breakfronts on the bookcases. She came to the oak book stand near the desk and removed the ponderous family Bible in order to polish the stand to a fine sheen.

  As she placed the book back on the stand, she paused to open it. Through the years, Bradwell names had been faithfully recorded inside its ornate front cover with the dates of their births, deaths, and marriages. Yet how many of her ancestors actually read this Bible?

  Button came to sit at her feet. He fixed her with large golden eyes, tilting his gray head to one side.

  As she moved to close the cover, the tiniest corner of a stray paper protruded from its gilded pages. She pulled it out, and her heart stuck in her throat.

  Small, well-formed words in her mother’s handwriting stared back at her. My Dearest Jill.

  She wobbled to the chair behind the desk and lowered herself carefully onto its warm leather. Her heart thundered as she realized it had been written on the day of her mother’s death.

  Her gaze lingered on the opening words. My Dearest Jill. Even after she had run away, her mother continued to love her.

  Tears blurred the words on the page. Before any could escape and mar them, she snatched a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped them away. Then she read:

  You may never see this page, but I feel compelled to write. I have so much to tell you.

  First, about your father. When I was young, I ran away to marry him against my parents’ wishes, so please don’t blame yourself for leaving to find him. In some ways, we are so alike. I understand your need to try though my deepest hope is that you do not succeed.

  My dearest daughter, I will always love your father. I wish I could tell you why finding him might harm you. But then, if you already have, you know why, and my heart grieves for you.

  As for leaving as you did, I blame my silence about him for driving you away that night. How hard it must have been for you during your last years in school, locked away from everyone and everything because of my fear. Please forgive me.

  When the police told me you drowned in the channel during that storm, my heart refused to believe it. As long as there is breath in my body, I will never believe it. I don’t think Maggie does either. But my purpose in writing is to tell you something far more important.

  Yesterday I went outside. Yes, I did! For the first time in a long time. The sunshine looked so inviting, and I longed to care for the rosebush by the porch steps. Years ago when your father sent it, I planted it at Windtop because here is where we met and fell in love. On that very spot, we shared our first kiss.

  Anyway, I was so engrossed in working the soil around it, I never heard the woman come up the drive. Her unexpected appearance frightened me, and I ran into the house. I watched her from the window as she put a paper under my trowel. I waited a long time after she left before I went out to get it. I read it over and over through the night, and …

  The letter stopped mid-sentence.

  Her mother had wanted to tell her something exciting. Why had she not finished? Who or what interrupted her?

  A knowing chill spread through Jill’s heart. In her trembling hand, she held the first real evidence that Susannah Bradwell Shepherd had not killed herself.

  An anguished cry burrowed up from her heart. Choking it back, she clutched the letter and ran from the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wave after wave of wind roared through the treetops from the island’s northern heights, gaining volume as it approached and receding as it passed. Jill had beat a coming storm like this on the night she fled the island to find her father. This time, however, she wasn’t fleeing the island.

  Racing to the carriage house, she snatched the keys from a nail inside the open door, launched herself into Windtop’s Jeep, and gunned the engine. As the Jeep jounced west toward the heart of the island, she felt every jarring bump of the sandy road but didn’t let up. She had to reach Echo Lake before the storm broke.

  Nestled near the center of an island which measured only eight miles by three, most days the placid lake offered peaceful privacy. She badly needed that peace and privacy right now.

  There! There it is.

  Turning off the road, she parked beneath a giant beech tree and propelled herself on foot the last few yards. Dark clouds roiled above. Lightning streaked the sky. A sparrow cried piteously as it darted into the surrounding forest.

  Here she had come many times as a teen when life overwhelmed her. It had comforted her to gaze upon the waters that remained strangely calm no matter how high Lake Superior’s storm-driven waves lashed the island cliffs. Those waters had offered her peace in the midst of her storms.

  Here she had imagined the father she never knew casting a line, slowly reeling it in while waiting for her. Tall and strong, he seemed the promise of safety that she dearly craved. At the sound of her footsteps, he would turn with a welcoming grin, and she would run to him.

  Here she was again, stumbling past the tall wild grasses to reach the lake’s shore. This time, she sought her God whom she had come to know in the last few months. He was now the One who soothed her heart. He was also the One who sent her back to this island.

  She held her mother’s letter up toward the rain-gray sky. “Heavenly Father.” She choked out the words rising from her tattered heart. “Please say it isn’t true. Tell me Mother wasn’t murdered. Tell me …”

  But how could he?

  Collapsing on the sandy shore, she sobbed, her head soon tight with pain. Her heart couldn’t take it if her family had anything to do with her mother’s death.

  Deafening thunder cracked as if a giant tree were rent from top to bottom. Chill rain poured from the sky as Jill sprang to her feet and ran for the shelter of the Jeep. Through the windshield, she stared with unseeing eyes into the blinding downpour.

  Don’t trust anyone!

  She pulled her mother’s letter from her jeans’ pocket where she had thrust it to protect it from the rain. So Maggie Pierce had been right after all.

  Leave, if you can.

  It was too late. She would never escape the killer who had already tried twice to end her life. She shuddered. Did that killer live in her house?

  Jill hugged her waist to stave off the damp chill encasing her.

  If only Clay would tell her what he knew instead of insisting she leave. Didn’t he understand that if she wanted to live, she had to stay and fight for the right?

  The rain slowed, pelting the Jeep with scattered raindrops. From sodden leaves overhead, they dripped in an uneven staccato while sunshine burst through the cloud cover. As quickly as the storm had begun, it vanished.

  Jill lowered the Jeep’s windows and breathed in the clean, damp air. As she sank back against the seat, she recalled Ruth’s words. You have grave and dark days ahead, but don’t let anyone frighten you away. Don’t leave until you have completed all the Lord has sent you to do!

  Did that all include finding her mother’s killer?

  Pressing her lips together, she turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared in response. She backed the Jeep onto the East-West Road.

  She had work to do, and God willing, she would finish it.

  Jill’s damp and gritty clothing chafed as she made her way up Windtop’s grand staircase. No doubt, her hair looked as unkempt from her stormy excursion. She had to hurry in order to hide the letter, clean up, and collect her wits before facing the family.

  But when sunlight showered down bits of rainbow color from the skylight, the second-floor railing beckoned. She gripped its silken surface and peered below as her imagination played its version of her mother plunging to her death. With a sharp intake of breath, she stepped back.

  “Cousin.” Carver stood so near she could feel the heat of his breath. “Indulging in your favorite
obsession?”

  Whirling around, she fought to breathe evenly and clenched her fists to keep from slapping the smug expression off his grinning face. She owed him nothing, and he’d get nothing.

  He checked her over from head to toe and chuckled. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  She gritted her teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The clicking of a woman’s high heels on the entrance hall floor below ended as her aunt took to the stairs with quick footsteps. “May I ask, Jill, what you found so important that you left Mrs. Fenton to finish all the work?”

  Jill stared at a woman both tall and strong enough to kill her petite sister-in-law.

  Lenore’s red mouth twitched. “You refuse to answer.”

  Jill trembled in the dampness of her clothes as her aunt’s gaze swept her. “For heaven’s sake, where were you? Never mind. Make yourself presentable before dinner. Carver, I hope you have a moment. We need to talk.”

  Maneuvering around her aunt and her cousin, Jill escaped. A hot bath, freshly washed hair, and dry clothes … she longed for all three, but as for dinner …

  She had other plans.

  Jill entered the dining room, clutching the shoulder strap of her purse where her mother’s unfinished letter lay hidden. Uncle Drew’s soft gaze found her, and her imagination flashed to him pushing his sister over the railing.

  No way could he do that. To save her sanity, she had to get away this evening.

  Her uncle’s brow furrowed. “You don’t look well, Jill. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” A bold-faced lie, but she was in no position to share her agony with him. “I just want you all to know I have other plans for tonight.”

  She backed away.

  “Don’t go yet, Jill. Please,” Tia said. “I have wonderful news, and I want you to hear it.”

  Wonderful news in this house of heartache?

  “I’m telling my story at church!” the girl gushed.

  Carver howled. “Why, Sis, how quickly you’ve become a first-class fanatic. Excellent work, Jill.”

  Uncle Drew leaned in from his place at the head of the table. “What’s this all about?”

  “Pastor McGee asked me and I said I would.” The girl’s brown eyes sparkled.

  Jill swallowed. That was good news.

  Tia rushed on. “Oh, and I’m going to play the organ Jill donated to the church.”

  Lenore slapped the flat of her hand on the table. “You are not!”

  “When does this take place?” Uncle Drew asked.

  “Wednesday night and I want you all to come. Please, Mother.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Carver?”

  “Sorry, Sis. You know church and I don’t mix.”

  Tia’s glow faded. Her voice softened with pleading. “Dad?”

  Uncle Drew hesitated, and then nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Tia threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She looked up. “You’ll come, won’t you, Jill?”

  Despite the pain in her chest, she managed a subdued smile. “You know I will.”

  “Well, now,” Uncle Drew said, “shouldn’t we eat?”

  As the others sat down to their dinner, Jill slipped away without another word. Amelia would know if her suspicions about her mother’s letter were right.

  The city’s warm evening fog enveloped Amelia’s home as Jill approached. Though the front room was brightly lit, she observed no movement beyond the screen door or windows.

  She paused at the bottom of the porch steps. Maybe she shouldn’t trouble her friend with her suspicions. Yet she had to tell someone she trusted, someone who was blessed with wisdom.

  A quavery voice came softly through the screen door. “Lord, I don’t know what to do, and I’m so afraid!”

  Jill crept onto the stout porch and drew near the window. Was Amelia in trouble?

  The dear elderly woman knelt at her living room chair, her eyes closed and her head bent over folded hands propped on the seat cushion. “Is Sonny looking for Janice’s killer? I’m so afraid he’s planning something awful.” She snatched a tissue from a nearby box and blew her nose. “Please, Lord, don’t let him …” Her voice choked off.

  Jill pulled back from the window. A trembling seized her until her legs threatened to cave beneath her.

  Clay was planning something awful? Was this what he had been keeping from her, the thing that would keep them apart?

  Dear Lord, if it is, please stop him. Bring him to his senses before it’s too late.

  What about Amelia? Should she stay and comfort her? But how awful if her friend knew she had been listening to so private a prayer. Better that she should leave quietly and spare her friend who had enough trouble of her own.

  She eased away.

  “Thank you for hearing my prayer, Lord.” Amelia’s voice was shaky. “Now please send someone to help me get off my knees.”

  Jill stopped. Maybe God meant for her to hear Amelia’s prayer and be nearby to help.

  She knocked on the screen door. “Amelia?”

  “Jill, is that you? Please come in.”

  On her knees by the chair, Amelia looked up with teary eyes and a pink nose. “I’ve been praying,” she confessed. “I must look a mess.”

  “Would you like me to get you a cold washcloth?”

  “No, just help me up, please. I’m afraid these old knees don’t work as well as they used to.”

  Jill helped her friend settle into the chair.

  “I’m so glad you came. Did I forget that you were coming?”

  Jill shifted uneasily. “No, I just dropped by, but I do have good news. Tia is telling her story and playing the organ at church Wednesday night.”

  “She is?” Amelia clapped her hands. “Then we must celebrate. Are her parents—?” She interrupted herself, suddenly more somber. “How did her parents take the news?”

  “Her father may come. Her mother and brother said no.”

  Amelia sighed. “I see. Well, do you think they would mind if we had a little party afterward? Would Tia like that?”

  “I think she would love it, but I’ll ask to make sure.”

  Amelia tipped her gray-haired head, gazing intently. “Jill, you don’t seem yourself tonight. What’s wrong?”

  She blinked to stem her sudden tears. “Remember the story your friend Ruth told us about Mother?”

  Amelia nodded.

  Drawing a folded paper from her purse, Jill held it out. “I found this at the house today.”

  Amelia took the paper and picked up her reading glasses from the table next to her chair.

  Jill followed every lift of her friend’s eyebrows and fleeting change of expression. Finally, Amelia put the letter down on her lap. “Ruth will be thrilled to know your mother read the tract she left.”

  “I thought the same. But would you tell me … does my mother sound like a woman about to—” Jill couldn’t say the words.

  “—commit suicide?”

  Jill nodded. The ache in her heart nearly squeezed the breath from her lungs. Suicide had been hard enough to accept, but murder?

  Amelia looked at the letter again. “I didn’t know your mother, but these are not the words of a woman about to take her life.”

  “Everyone says Mother felt she had nothing to live for once she believed I had died.”

  Amelia held the letter up. “But she believed you were alive.”

  “Exactly!”

  “The whole letter is loving and sensible and—”

  “—clear-minded?” Jill offered.

  Amelia bobbed her head. “And if your mother were going to take her life, I think she would have finished this letter. Don’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jill closed her laptop and set it on the Jeep’s passenger seat. The click of its latch added finality. For two days, she had escaped to Echo Lake to lose herself in the mind-numbing frenzy of writing the house history
Nona needed. Now the project was done, and she had no more excuse to hide from the Bradwells.

  Or Clay.

  Closing her eyes against the lake’s sunlit waters and the forest’s verdant thickets, she breathed in the air’s fresh, woodsy scent and listened to the melodious chirping of songbirds. She’d have to go back to Windtop soon. It was nearly time to get ready for Tia’s big night at church. Especially if she intended to e-mail the Rogers’ project to Nona and take her mother’s portrait and trunk of memorabilia along to ship them to Chicago.

  She backed the Jeep onto East-West Road. One thing was sure. The moment she knew the truth about her mother’s death, her stay at Windtop would end, and she’d never look back.

  But will you forgive?

  The sudden voice in her heart startled her. So, God had noticed her spiral into seething anger these past few days.

  Forgive her mother’s killer? “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Then I cannot forgive you.

  The sadness in those soft words did not condemn her. They simply confirmed what she already knew from reading her Bible. If only her heart held such forgiveness, but it was no use pretending.

  “It’s too much to ask, Lord.”

  Gripping the steering wheel so hard her fingers hurt, she pressed her foot on the accelerator and roared east along the forest road.

  She couldn’t outrun God, but right now, she didn’t want to listen either.

  The moment Jill ran up Windtop’s porch steps, Tia jumped up from the wicker loveseat. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. I can hardly wait for tonight, but I was afraid you wouldn’t … but now … well, I’m a little nervous. And excited.” Tia paused, the joy draining from her face. “I wish Mother would come.”

  “She hasn’t changed her mind then?” Silly question. Her cousin’s downcast face said it all. “And your dad?”

  “Mom said not to count on him, and she’s right. He usually gets sidetracked at the mill.”

  “Maybe this time she’ll be wrong.”

  Tia shook her head somberly. “Even if he comes, you and he may be the only ones. I’m praying, but every time I ask Carver, he only laughs. I’m really worried about him, Jill. Would you pray with me?”