by Vikki Walton
“It doesn’t. At least I don’t think so.” Trish dropped her keys in her purse.
“Someone must have come and taken the trash away.”
“Sadly, there’s nothing that can be done now. I guess that’s that.”
“We have to find out who took it.” Christie strode toward the street and the front of the house. I’m going to talk to that neighbor.” As she pointed, the curtain in the window across the street from Hector’s once more fell into place.
Trish grabbed Christie’s arm. “Listen, you can’t just go barging in like a bull in a china shop. I live here. Let me see if I can get any answers from them.”
“Probably a good idea.” Christie nodded.
“Back in two ticks.” Trish walked across the street and knocked on the bright pink painted door. The door cracked open, revealing an older woman spying out. Seeing Trish, she opened the door wider. Christie couldn’t hear the conversation, but the woman smiled and waved at Christie, who waved back. In a few minutes, Trish returned.
“All she’ll say is that she saw white trucks during the day and a blonde woman taking some bags away.”
“Terrific. That doesn’t help narrow it down for us. All the Webster team drive white trucks, and of course, Emma and Kimberly are both blonde. Heck, even Shana May is blonde depending on the day. How good do you think her eyesight is for spotting someone?”
“Hmm. That’s a good question. I would say fairly good. Why do you ask?”
“She may be the only witness who can testify to who went in and out of that house.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
Christie responded. “What?”
“I doubt she’s really got a great memory. She called me by some other woman’s name.”
Christie wiped sweat from her forehead. “Ugh, this heat is something I’m not excited about. I guess we’ve done all we can do.”
“Yes, best to leave it. It was probably heatstroke, like you said.” Trish nodded and dug her keys from her purse.
Christie motioned for the pair to get in a vehicle. Once inside the truck with the AC jacked up, she said, “What about my phone though?”
“What about it?” Trish set her bag in her lap and started digging through it.
“I didn’t text Hector. So who did and why?”
Trish shrugged. “Maybe your Pop did it.”
“Pop barely uses the phone. He certainly doesn’t text and he’s the one who found my phone.” She moved an air vent to blow cold air on her.
Trish pulled a lip gloss from her bag and swiped it across her mouth. “Maybe you forgot you texted Hector.”
Christie retorted, “I didn’t forget about texting him. I’ve never texted him.”
Trish sighed and threw the gloss back in the bag. “Just trying to help here. I mean things have been a bit crazy. It wouldn’t be surprising to do something and forget about it. Where did your dad find your phone?”
Christie adjusted in her seat. “On the ground. By the back of the Jeep.”
“Maybe you just dropped it during all the commotion with your dad. Just saying. It could have happened.”
“No, I…” Christie thought back to when she’d last seen the phone. Had she just dropped it and not noticed? But she’d walked by the Jeep all the time. No, she would have seen it. The deputy would have seen it. Except…she had moved her Jeep under the tree, so it would stay cooler in the shade.
Trish wiped a corner of her mouth with her finger. “Look, you’ve been going through a lot. It wouldn’t be surprising if you dropped your phone in all the commotion. Or forgot that you’d texted Hector.”
“But I didn’t. That’s one thing I do know for certain.”
“Okay.”
Trish’s “okay” only placed more doubt in Christie’s mind. Had she texted Hector and simply forgotten? She’d said she was going to contact the Websters about the accident. But she wouldn’t have texted Hector. She certainly wouldn’t have had him meet her by the creek.
“Come on. We can figure it out later.” Trish waved toward the window of the neighbor’s house. “Headed home?”
“No. I’m going to visit some of the new shops on Main Street. Want to join me?”
“Nope, I’ve got to get Jess to another practice. Thanks for the invite.”
After leaving Trish, Christie spent the rest of the day running errands and getting reacquainted with the lovely little town of her childhood. She’d called Pop about catching a movie, but he’d told her to go ahead without him. Arriving home after dark, Christie exited the Jeep and opened the door to see Pop asleep in a chair. She smelled something burning and from the kitchen, a haze of gray smoke twisted into the living area.
Chapter Twelve
“Pop! Pop! Get up! The kitchen’s on fire!” He grunted but didn’t move. Christie grabbed him up from the chair and hurried him out to the front door. She helped Pop into her vehicle. After moving her car away from the house, she ran around to the back to the kitchen.
The kitchen door stood open, and heavier smoke poured through the opening. Christie couldn’t see any fire, but she gingerly opened the screen door. Propping it open, she peeked inside. On the stove, a cast iron skillet churned with thick black smoke. Flames licked the sides.
Christie grabbed a large bag of baking soda from under the sink and scooped a cup out. She carefully sprinkled the baking soda over the area and as the smoke calmed, she poured more of the baking soda into the pan. Grabbing an oven mitt, she placed a cast iron griddle pan on top as a cover. Smoke trickled out the sides, but it looked to be contained. With the pan covered, she turned off the back burner and slid the pan to the side.
Looking around, she saw blackened, soot-covered walls. If she hadn’t come home…no, she didn’t want to think about it. She choked back a sob. Christie went around to the truck where her father’s head lolled to the side. He was still groggy.
“Pop! Pop! Wake up!”
He looked at her through blurry eyes. “What…what’s going on?”
“You left a pan with bacon grease burning on the stove. You could have set the house on fire or been killed. What were you thinking?” Her anger boiled over.
“I did no such thing.”
“Pop, I barely saved the kitchen. It was minutes, if not seconds, from going up the back of the wall. If that would have happened, the entire place would have gone up in flames.” She broke down in tears.
“Ah, girly. Don’t go on crying. It’s okay.” His words slurred.
“It’s not okay, Pop. You could have been killed.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Pop, look at me. Did you take any medication?”
Christie looked at his pupils. There was definitely some sort of drug in his system.
“Come here, now, darling.” He took her in his arms, and she wept quietly on his chest. After she’d composed herself, he held her arms and looked at her. “On my honor, I did not leave that pan on.”
She sniffled. “Did you cook bacon today?”
“Yes, but I turned off the stove.”
“Maybe you thought you had but left it on or turned it on by accident.”
“Or ‘ya-Hootie’ did it.”
Christie moaned. Ever since she was a child, a running family joke had been that when something would happen that no one would fess up to, her father always said it must have been ‘ya-Hootie’ who had done it. “Pop, be serious.”
He moaned and pulled his arm next to his chest.
“Are you hurt, Pop?”
“Naw. I just must have slept crooked-like. It’s just a bit sore, is all.”
“Should we take you to the doctor? Did you breathe in any of the smoke?”
He waved her away, and she backed up as he exited the vehicle and stumbled. “I’m all right. No need to fuss.” He sat in one of the wooden chairs under the trees.
Christie followed suit and sat in the chair opposite him. “Pop, why didn’t you wake up? Didn’t you hear the boys barking? Did you take a pain pill
?”
“I just got so sleepy all of a sudden. I think I let the dogs out when Marie stopped by.”
“Marie came here?”
“Yes. She came over because she wanted to see how you were getting on, and she brought me a piece of pie, too. We had a nice chat, then she left.”
“Then you cooked the bacon?”
“Naw. I cooked it earlier.” He looked at Christie. “Don’t be giving me those looks, Missy. I’m telling you; I didn’t leave the stove on.”
“You could have forgotten.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you could have.”
“I could have. But I didn’t. I haven’t. I wouldn’t.”
Christie sighed. They were getting nowhere. “Pop, I’d feel better if you went in for a check-up.”
“I don’t need to go to no doctors. I’m fine.”
“If you’re in pain from your shoulder, that’s what pain pills are for. But they can make you sleepy. I just need to know if you took one or two. We don’t want something to happen where you’re asleep.”
“I did not take any of them pills.”
She rose. “Let’s talk about it later. For now, I need to start wiping down the kitchen walls and cleaning up.”
Inside the kitchen, she surveyed the damage. Not bad, but it would take some elbow grease. Before she started, she called Trish, but the call went to voicemail. Christie left Trish a phone message, telling her what had happened. She then got Marie’s phone number and called her.
“Marie. Hi, it’s Christie. Sorry to bother you so late—”
“No problem. You sound upset. Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. Listen, my Pop said you stopped by earlier.”
Marie answered, “I did. I wanted to see how you all are doing after the accident and, well, everything else.”
“Pop’s doing okay. But here’s the reason I’m calling. We had a grease fire in the kitchen and—”
“Oh, no. So sorry to hear that. Are you all okay? Do you need someplace to stay?”
“Thanks. We’re fine, and the house is okay. Just some smoke damage in the kitchen that shouldn’t be too difficult to fix. That kitchen could use a good painting anyway. From what I can gather, I believe it started from when Pop fried some bacon earlier. He said that he didn’t leave the stove on. I’m just trying—”
“I did smell bacon when I arrived, but everything was fine when I got there.”
“Did you go in the kitchen?”
“Yes. I went in to get forks to share the pie I brought with me.”
What am I missing?
“Just another question, Marie. When you left, were the dogs inside or outside?”
“I think they went outside. They were barking something awful, so I think there must have been an animal around. Your Pop let them outside, and they took off to who knows where. Then, we went out front to the oaks.”
“Okay. Well, thanks. Wait. You all weren’t in the house when you ate the pie?”
“No. We thought we’d go out front and enjoy the shade and cool breeze.”
“Appreciate it. Thanks again. Goodnight.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I can paint, too.”
“Thanks for the offer.”
After they said goodbye, Christie disconnected the call. First Curtis’s accident, and now, her father’s near-miss. Those were some incriminating coincidences. Yes, both men were elderly. The incidents could be connected or simply things that happened. She rubbed her head and saw her reflection in the kitchen window. She pointed at the reflection, “Hey, you! I could use some help figuring this out.”
“Who you talking to?”
Christie screamed. “Pop, don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me to death.”
“If everything’s okay now, I’m going to watch the news. You coming, ‘ya-Hootie?’” He grinned at her and left the kitchen.
She opened the door and stood on the back porch. She heard a crack. Searching the copse of trees, she couldn’t see anything.
Probably a deer.
Goosebumps rose on her arms. The feeling of being watched was overwhelming. If someone had intended to burn down the house, there had to be a reason. She was getting close. Unfortunately, she still had no idea who had wanted Hector out of the way or if this was even linked to his death. Christie went inside and turned out the kitchen lights. Searching for any movement, she finally relaxed.
You’re being silly
Another crack.
She swiveled around just in time to see a figure astride a horse riding away.
Chapter Thirteen
It was too dark, thanks to only a sliver of waning moon, so Christie couldn’t make out the rider. Had they set the fire or simply watched from the trees? The only way they could have gotten on this land was if they had come from the Altgelt homestead. They had to know Curtis was in the hospital.
Christie rushed into the house and grabbed her keys to the Jeep. “Pop, I’ll be back in a minute!” She swept past him.
Inside the vehicle, she cranked the engine and shoved the car in reverse. Rocks spit out from under the trees as she did a one-eighty in the drive. Christie slammed on the brake, then shoved the car into drive. She sped off, adrenaline driving her, but reality hit when she got about halfway down the road. Christie slowed the car down and put it in park.
What are you thinking? What do you plan to do once you get there—accost them?
Her head throbbed, and she leaned it on the steering wheel. Her mind raced. What were the real facts?
Fact. Hector was dead, but it could have been heatstroke; simply an accidental death.
Fact. Curtis was hurt, yes, but other than the fence being cut, there was no evidence there, either. Fact. A fire had started in a pan full of grease. Again, this could be accounted for if her Pop had taken medication. Her father was elderly, and he could have easily forgotten to turn off the burner on the stove.
There was nothing menacing about any of it; just a bunch of simple coincidences.
But she was concerned about her father being drugged. He had most likely forgotten that he’d taken a pain pill earlier and then taken another. But that scenario didn’t bode well for him being alone right now or in the future.
As for the rider, yes maybe they shouldn’t have been on their property, but trespassing didn’t mean the person was a murderer. If only she could have gotten a better look at them. Maybe they had smelled the smoke and had come to help, and when they saw that everything was okay, they left.
Christie shifted in her seat and slowly backed the vehicle to a turn-out on the road. Images filled her mind of the girl’s trip to Colorado.
You have to forget what happened there. It makes you suspect everyone of bad intentions and murderous thoughts. You’re letting your imagination get the best of you.
Yet the nagging thoughts wouldn’t stop intruding.
What about my phone? Someone took it and used it to call Hector. What would be the reason for that if not to make me seem culpable in something?
If Hector had seen the text, he would have thought she wanted to talk about her father’s accident or selling the property. Hector probably thought she wanted to meet by the creek so her Pop wouldn’t be part of the conversation and he didn’t know her so he wouldn’t have known that she never would have done that.
Returning to the house, she saw her father framed in the light of the door. His figure slumped against the doorjamb, and she could see him cradling the shotgun. She got out of the truck and yelled, “Pop, what are you doing?”
“Now, Christie, you don’t think I’d let a girl of mine go off without her ol’ Pop to protect her, do you?”
She took the shotgun from him. “Pop, thanks for loving me and making sure I’m all right. What were you planning to do?”
“If you hadn’t of come to your senses, I was coming after you.” He groaned and sat down on the closest rocking chair. “I’m really tired.”
C
hristie took the shotgun inside and secured it above the door. She returned to the porch and sat in the other chair. “Pop, I think that we need to have a talk.”
“Not now. Not today.”
“Okay.” She patted his hand. They rocked in silence, listening to the cicadas.
“Rain must be on its way.”
“We could sure use it,” she replied.
“Yep.”
The squeak of the chair legs beat out a rhythm, lulling them into silence. Christie gazed at the stars. They were so bright against the deep midnight blue sky. She took in a breath of clean country air. Tears pricked at her eyes. For so many who owned land that went back generations, this life of simple pleasures was being destroyed. She wouldn’t let this land become another statistic.
“Pop—”
“I ain’t selling.”
“Good.”
~~~
Another morning. Another miserably hot day ahead. The cicadas had been lying. No rain. She went out to the barn early in the morning before the heat became unbearable and mucked out the stalls. It was hard work, but Christie was used to physical labor, and she needed the outlet. She grabbed hay and spread it in the stalls, then filled the water trough. She watched as the foal nuzzled her mother, her tail flicking the flies away. Christie shielded her eyes from the glaring sun as she heard her name called.
“Christie, come in. Breakfast’s ready,” Trish spoke.
“Be there in a minute.” She went over to the boot scraper and ran her soles across the bars. With the bottoms clean, she headed toward the back porch, where she pulled the boots off and slipped into a pair of flip flops.
“Girl, you need a spa day. Look at those nails and toes. Pitiful.” Trish poured coffee into Christie’s cup. “Does it smell like smoke in here to y’all?”
Christie took a sip of the brew which was black and strong like she liked it. “We had a grease fire in here a few nights ago. Thankfully, I caught it in time.”
“Did you call the fire department?”
“No.”
“What? That’s how people get hurt; trying to put out fires by themselves.”
