The Family Tree: a psychological thriller

by S. K. Grice

  I rubbed my arms and paced the living room floor. Soon, my children would share this place with me. Though, at the moment, I could’ve used the company of an adult to join me in celebrating my victory.

  It wasn’t even noon, and I was ready to numb my loneliness and grief with wine. I opened the refrigerator and reached for the chilled bottle of Pinot Gris, but hesitated, closed my eyes and remembered the innocent faces of Jennifer and Eric. My shoulders slumped, guilt wrapping so tight around my chest that I had to catch a breath.

  The wine was too tempting, and I knew one glass wouldn’t be enough to quench this thirst for love and acceptance. I closed the refrigerator door. I didn’t need to anesthetize myself anymore. My children were coming back to me. Soon, I’d have everything I needed.

  Keys jingled and I heard the front door open.

  “Jolene?” Melissa called out in a strained voice.

  * * *

  My breath released and I moved into the living room. I hadn’t expected her back from Richmond until tonight. I hesitated in front of the fireplace—a heavy weight of dread landing on my shoulders. Melissa was guiding a shaking and frazzled Nancy to the sofa. Something was horribly wrong. I rushed closer. “What’s happened?”

  Melissa’s normally tanned face had been stripped of color. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past hour.” Her voice cracked. “Something awful has happened.”

  “I’m sorry… I was at my child custody hearing. My phone’s been off all morning.” I looked down at Nancy on the sofa, unnerved by her bulging eyes staring off into space. She’d clearly been traumatized. I sat next to her on the sofa and kept my voice calm. “What happened?”

  Nancy turned to me. Her weathered face had aged twenty years. “Jackson…he’s, he’s… dead. He’s been murdered.” She bent over and sobbed into her hands.

  Murdered. The word sucked air from the room. I clutched at my throat and stumbled for words, but I had no voice—only images of a vibrant and alive Jackson parading across my mind with his hearty laugh, his larger-than-life presence. I shook my head. “No—it can’t be. I just saw him the other night.”

  “I know.” Melissa looked down at me. Her forehead wrinkled. “And I’m sorry, Jolene, but I had to tell the police you were at his house.”

  “W-why did you do that?” My eyes darted between Nancy and Melissa. Their looks turned cold and chilling, like those of two ghosts.

  They think I had something to do with Jackson’s murder.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Melissa walked in circles around the living room, patting her chest. Nancy sat next to me on the sofa and bawled into her hands. This didn’t seem real. Jackson. Dead. I’d just been at his house. “Melissa, tell me—what the fuck is going on?”

  Melissa stopped in front of the fireplace and took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you exactly what happened. Nancy called me this morning from the police station. Told me she’d found Jackson dead.” She paused. Lines deepened on her forehead. “I drove straight to the station from Richmond. When I got there, the detectives asked if they could talk to me—you know, because I’m a friend of Jackson, too.”

  “Of course. But how did my name come up?”

  “They asked me if I’d seen Jackson and if I knew who he’d associated with in the past few days. I mean—I saw him at Ocean Joe’s on Friday, and I told them that.” Her face twisted into agony. “I’m sorry, Jolene. I wish I didn’t have to mention it, but I couldn’t avoid telling them I knew you went to his house on Saturday night. They would’ve found out eventually, and I had no reason to lie.”

  My shoulders slumped. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. The police are just doing their job. Besides, I have nothing to hide. He was alive and well when I left.” I turned to Nancy. “But why were you at the police station?”

  Nancy scooted a few inches away from me and dabbed her puffy eyes with the back of her hand.

  Melissa sat on the sofa on the other side of Nancy and patted her back. “Go ahead,” she said in a motherly tone. “Tell Jolene what happened.”

  “I found his body,” Nancy said, clasping her hands to her chest and rocking. “I found his body. I called the police.”

  A ball of grief and tension filled my chest. “Found him… how?”

  Nancy wiped the mascara dripping down her cheeks. “We planned to meet at the target shooting range yesterday afternoon. When he didn’t show, I called him, and, well, he always returns my calls. Always.” She dabbed a tissue under each eye and then wiped her nose. “So, I decided to stop by his house this morning. I left early for work so I could catch him before he went to his job site.”

  Tingles ran down my neck and my blood ran cold. I remembered the noises I’d heard outside Jackson’s window. Was Nancy in the habit of randomly showing up at his house? I couldn’t rule out the possibility that it had been her I’d heard.

  Nancy blew her nose then took a deep breath. “So, this morning, when I got there, Buddy was in the backyard, running the length of the chain fence, barking like mad. I rang the doorbell and noticed the front door was cracked open. Jackson never leaves his front door unlocked, so I figured he was just inside.” She paused and her face contorted.

  Melissa stroked her back. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Go on.”

  “No one was in the house. Everything looked normal.” Nancy took another breath and her shoulders shuddered. “Buddy was still barking, so I thought Jackson was in the backyard. I went back there—didn’t see anyone, but Buddy nudged my hand and ran to the fire pit at the far end of the yard.” She bowed her head, her shoulders shuddering as she sobbed.

  I rubbed my hands on my thighs. I didn’t want to pressure her, but if the cops had my name, I wanted to know exactly what had happened. Using my quiet voice, I pressed on. “What did you see, Nancy?”

  She looked to the floor and spoke in a monotone. “The fire pit—it was filled in with a mound of dirt, and a small tree was planted in the middle.”

  The ground dropped and my chest fell like a collapsed soufflé, sucking all the oxygen out of my lungs. Someone saw us. “D-did you say a tree?”

  Nancy nodded. “Buddy pawed at the soil around it.” She made a scratching motion, imitating the dog. “He sniffed and barked at the ground. I-I took a closer look.” Her breath hitched. “At first, I wasn’t sure—then I saw it. A hand sticking out of the ground—Buddy was licking the fingers.” She wiped her eyes. “I knew it was Jackson when I saw his silver ring.”

  A chill stabbed my core, and I pressed a fist to my stomach. The tree. The tree. I wanted it to be a coincidence. “What kind of tree was it?”

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed, her voice flattening. “Why does it matter? Someone killed Jackson and tried to hide his body.”

  “They didn’t do a good job,” Melissa said.

  I pressed my fists against my temples. Dark terror spread from the crown of my head to the pit of my stomach. The tree had been intentional. Someone knows. I’ve been right all along. Small stars burst in my vision, growing larger, brighter, and multiplying until I was blind and all I could see was Mike’s rotting body under the tree.

  Shit. Now wasn’t the time for a panic attack.

  “Jolene,” Nancy’s graveled voice cut into my thoughts, “what were you doing at Jackson’s house on Saturday night?”

  I put my hands on my lap and stared into a dark space of my mind’s making. Nancy was talking—I heard her muffled voice—but a vision dragged me way back. Back to someone running across the lawn on that dark night long ago. Someone knows.

  “Jolene.” Melissa’s sharp tone sliced into my thoughts. “Nancy asked you something. What are you going to tell the police when they ask what you and Jackson did on Saturday night?”

  It took a moment for my eyesight to adjust. “Sorry. I’m still in shock.”

  Nancy squared her jaw and pointed a finger at me. “Why were you at Jackson’s house?”

  Heat rose up my neck and a primordial urge to attack swirled throu
gh my blood. Nancy’s accusatory tone had worn thin. I mourned Jackson, too. But I’d seen her jealous and protective streak, and now wasn’t the time to rile her any further. I kept my voice gentle, but firm. “I ran into him at the Mini-mart, and he invited me over to watch a movie. That’s all.”

  Nancy’s scowl said she wasn’t convinced. “How long did you stay there?”

  “A couple hours. We watched Fast and Furious. Then, I went home.” Poor Jackson. Dead.

  “That’s right,” Melissa said to Nancy. “That’s exactly what I told the detectives. She got home around 10:30 that night.”

  The tree. The tree. I needed to redirect the conversation. Find a connection. “Was Jackson robbed? He has that huge sword collection…all the expensive computer and gaming equipment.”

  “Nothing was stolen that I noticed.” Nancy lowered her head.

  For all we knew Jackson had kept a secret cache of drugs and money which could have been taken, but I’d keep that thought to myself. “Jackson was such a nice guy. I hope the police quickly find the killer.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Nancy dabbed her eyes. “I’m fucked any way you look at it. The police said they might have more questions. How am I going to explain to Richard what I was doing at Jackson’s house at six o’clock in the morning? And the police… they might want to question Richard, too.” Her body slumped. “Fuck. My marriage is over.”

  Melissa stroked Nancy’s back and whispered, “It’ll be okay. Take deep breaths.”

  I stood and paced the floor. The initial shock had drained from my veins, but my heart pounded with fear. Nancy had every right to be worried, but so did I. The police knew I was one of the last people to see Jackson alive, and they wouldn’t waste any time tracking me down for questioning.

  My alibi was flimsy, but the clerk at the Mini-mart had seen me Saturday night with Jackson before I’d gone to his house, and Melissa had made a statement about the time I’d come home. I wasn’t too concerned about proving my innocence. But if this story blew up and my name appeared in the press, Aaron would read things the wrong way, thinking I’d been hanging out with a rough druggie crowd and making bad choices again. He’d worry for the safety of the children, and I could kiss my custody rights goodbye.

  But I had two weeks before Aaron and the twins returned from London. My best hope was that the police would find the killer and wipe my name off the radar before then.

  Breathe. I grabbed the corner of the fireplace mantel, lowered my head and slowed my thoughts.

  The tree.

  Jackson’s murder.

  My steps stayed even, from one side of the room to the other. This foreboding sense of danger wasn’t paranoia. I couldn’t lay low and carry on with my days as if what had happened to Jackson wasn’t somehow connected to what Annette and I had done to Mike. I needed to figure out the connection.

  Something bad is going to happen.

  I whispered and counted in sets of five. “One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five.” I repeated the process I didn’t know how many times until I heard my name. I stopped mid-count.

  “Jolene.” Melissa’s face read ‘what the fuck,’ but her tone was all concern. “Are you doing okay?”

  A banging in my chest muffled my hearing. This couldn’t happen. I couldn’t slide backwards. Melissa and Nancy stared at me with confused expressions, waiting for me to answer. “It’s my nerves.” I wrung my hands. “This whole situation has me shook up.”

  “I know.” Melissa rubbed her forehead. “We’re all shocked.”

  “I can’t put this off any longer.” Nancy lifted herself up from the sofa. Her thin legs trembled in her skinny jeans and black, over-the-knee boots. “Richard’s left two messages. I need to go home and tell him everything.”

  Melissa rose from the sofa and jingled her keys. “Let’s do this. I need to get back here to get ready for work. Joe said I could work double shifts the next few days to make up for the time I had to take off to care for my aunt.”

  A spasm gripped my gut. Melissa wouldn’t be home much the next few days. If the detectives came by to interview me, chances were that I’d be alone to deal with them. Then, I saw Nancy looking into the small mirror next to the front door, wiping mascara off her cheeks. My chest joined my gut and squeezed my entire core. I was being selfish to worry about myself when Jackson had just been murdered. I got up and gave Nancy a hug. “Take care of yourself. Be sure to let me know if you need anything.” Her body stiffened at my touch and she pushed away from me.

  “I just want to get home.” She turned and walked out the door.

  Ouch. Her tone held no kindness and that hurt. I hugged myself, realizing Nancy didn’t trust me.

  Melissa wrapped an arm around me. “She’s not always like this. She’s just stressed out right now.”

  “Of course. She’s been through a lot.”

  With everyone gone, I released a pent-up breath. It didn’t soothe my nerves. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and every nerve in my body snapped to attention. If I wanted to understand what was happening now, I had to allow my mind to wander back to that night. Every detail was crucial.

  The tree. Answers lay with the family tree.

  I bolted out the back door and across the yard, and then stopped. The tree was magnificent—a crimson explosion against the blue October sky. My breathing slowed and warmth filled my chest. I remembered how Patsy had loved the tree in autumn.

  How, in the early days of its life, she’d planted a flower bed around the trunk—water-sucking impatiens which she’d cared for each day. That had been Patsy’s jam: making things beautiful.

  The tree had flourished, growing fast and strong; its bulging roots had long ago choked out the flower garden. In summer, it had given us a shady spot for the picnic table; in autumn, it exploded with color; in winter, Patsy had hung LED Christmas bulbs on the bare branches; and in spring, when the green buds reminded everyone of new beginnings, she’d hid colored Easter eggs in the cradle of forked boughs for the twins to find.

  This tree was part of the happiest seasons in my life. Part of my family. It felt natural to forget Mike was buried underneath its thick trunk.

  I stood there breathing slowly, helpless and yet desperate to get us out of danger.

  For the first time in a long time, I took a close look at the tree. The alligator skin bark and two knots high on the trunk which Jennifer had once said reminded her of a pair of eyes looking at the house. At least thirty-five feet high, its bulky, bare branches reached out like the arms of a giant Mandrake with hundreds of leaves as tiny red hands.

  A cool breeze brushed across my face. I pulled my cardigan tight across my chest and hugged myself as I gazed over the manicured two acres. Autumn color blazed through the surrounding forest of evergreens. Splashes of magenta, gold, orange, and red. But nothing compared to the crimson color of the family tree.

  Through the thinning trees near the road, I caught a quick glimpse of a car driving toward the end of the road. An image from that night slammed into my mind—the trailing ribbon of colored tail lights through the trees as we’d buried Mike. The Nichols’ car. I’d never asked Patsy or Annette what the Nichols had reported to the police all those years ago. Never had a reason.

  My head pounded, and the palms of my cold hands sweated. Looking back triggered obsessive thoughts. Thoughts which clawed into me like blood-sucking ticks.

  I wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not yet. As long as Aaron and the twins were still in London, I had time to dig deeper and figure out who killed Jackson. I took a deep breath. It was time to face my demons.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It drizzled rain on the morning Jackson was buried at the Lighthouse Beach Cemetery. The seats under the canopy for the graveside service were full of family and close friends.

  I sat in the aisle seat in the back row next to Melissa and Denise, dabbing my eyes and nose as Sarah McLachlan sang “In the Arms of an Angel
” through the speakers behind the pulpit. My watery eyes glossed over the photo of Jackson with his happy-go-lucky smile on the cover of the funeral program. He hadn’t deserved to die.

  “Guess what?” Denise held up her cell phone and spoke low. “Nancy just texted. She and Richard won’t be coming to the funeral.”

  Melissa curled her lip and spoke even lower. “Jerk.”

  When Melissa had suggested we make an appearance as a show of support and comfort to Jackson’s family, I’d agreed. I had other reasons for coming, of course. For the past two days, I’d stayed locked up at home, on edge and hoping the police had found the killer or had been too busy following stronger leads than to come and question me.

  The earthy smell of freshly turned soil permeated the air, clogging my lungs. I picked at the phantom filth beneath my nails.

  The tree. The tree.

  Dirt. Decay. Death.

  The music stopped and a young pastor stepped up to the pulpit and began the service with a prayer.

  Jackson’s mother hunched in the front row while his white-haired father sat straight with his hand on her back. Grief twisted up my chest and into my throat. His parents were suffering the agonizing pain of losing a child. Like Patsy had. Like no one ever should. But I needed to stick to my mission, not get lost in grief.

  It was said that most murders were committed by someone close to the victim, so while the pastor led a prayer, my eyes scanned the crowd, and I played a game of spot-the-killer. I stretched my neck for a better view of the crowd. At least a dozen people stood outside the canopy and beneath umbrellas. My two biggest suspects weren’t here, though.

  The way I broke it down, Richard could have killed Jackson out of jealousy, and Nancy was covering up for Richard. Considering his wife had been having an affair with Jackson, Richard had the motivation. Jealousy had been the cause of many murders. And how well did I really know him or Nancy?