Boiling Over

by Thea McAlistair

  “What?”

  “You’re always gossiping and flirting with her. Favoring her. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

  He gaped at me. “I’m not going to even dignify that with an answer.”

  “It’s not crazy. I can see it happening. If you’re saying it’s not happening, then you’re saying I’m crazy for seeing it.”

  He sighed. “That is not what I meant.”

  Why couldn’t he get angry? If he would yell with me, maybe I could let it all go and everything could go back to how it was. But no, it couldn’t go back. There was nothing to go back to.

  “Get out of my room,” I growled.

  “Alex, you’re being childish—”

  “I said get out.”

  I pushed his arm. He apparently hadn’t been expecting it and stumbled back a step, his head smacking into the low ceiling. He flinched. All at once, my anger sank away, leaving me staring in horror.

  “Oh, Christ, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it,” I squeaked.

  He didn’t respond except to look at the floor with betrayal scrawled across his face. He raised his head and straightened his robe. “I will see you downstairs when you’re ready,” he said as calmly as he had ever said anything to me, but still not meeting my eyes.

  He swept out of the room and down the stairs, too quickly to be natural. It was only as he reached the bottom I noticed Pearl was peeking out of her room. If she hadn’t seen me shove him, she had heard. Shit.

  Instead of doing the smart thing and going after Sev or trying to talk to Pearl, I panicked and slammed the door, trapping myself in my room. Breathless with remorse, I leaned against the frame.

  Now look what you’ve done. Sev hates you. Pearl hates you. Bella’s going to die in prison. You’re going to be stuck in this flea-bitten town. Broke. Homeless. Alone.

  And I was really alone. Donnie and Martin couldn’t bail me out anymore. They weren’t even there to give me a stern look, to warn me off whatever terrible thing I’d come up with. Was this who I was without them?

  I continued to wallow until I heard the door open and close and the car start up. A glance at my watch showed I’d been pouting for over two hours. Part of me was furious no one had bothered to check up on me before leaving, but why should they have? Clearly, I wasn’t in any state to be talked to like a civil person.

  If only we hadn’t come here. No, actually, if only someone hadn’t decided to off Walter Trask as we were driving up. Then Bella wouldn’t have had any reason to come up or get arrested. I wouldn’t have spent the last few days hunting down irritating neighbors instead of being with Sev and Pearl. Maybe I would have learned to cook so Crista wouldn’t have had to come around every day. But no, someone had killed him and then someone had broken into Crista’s house, making her cry and then she’d had to go and call and—

  Wait, I knew who had broken into her house. It was Richard’s flask hidden in my desk. I was sure of it. Why had he tried to burgle her? Just to cause trouble? Or was he trying to cover up something? There was only one way to know: I was going to have to find him.

  Listening at the door, I didn’t pick up any sounds from downstairs. A quick pace around the house revealed only Daisy’s presence. Presumably Sev had taken Pearl to drop Crista off, but my brain started doing circles, convinced they had run off and left me. I shoved the thought away and cleaned up. I wanted to be out of sight by the time they got back, and more importantly, I wanted to punch Richard Trask in the face.

  I stormed into the library. “Arthur!” I called, letting my voice boom through the otherwise silent building. “Where is Richard?”

  Arthur jumped in his seat, sending papers scattering. “Mr. Carrow, I would like to think you know better than to shout in here.”

  I stomped up to the desk. I was in no mood at all for being chastised by a human beanpole. “I want to know where Richard Trask is right now.”

  “Whatever do you—”

  “Crista Manco’s house got broken into last night, and I have reason to believe it was him. So, quit sheltering some good-for-nothing drunk, and tell me where he’s hiding.”

  Arthur straightened and stilled his face into something more severe than I expected. “He is not here, Mr. Carrow, and you are welcome to check. I told you I would lock the door to him, and I am a man of my word. He has disturbed the peace of many of the ladies in town and has caused Mr. Kelly quite a bit of distress as well. I will not allow him in again.”

  Pretty speech for a man sitting behind a desk all day, but pretty speeches weren’t always the truth. I swept into the stacks, scanning every person-sized hiding spot and even squinting into some smaller ones. No Richard. No one at all. Just the stacks of books going dusty. I stomped back to Arthur and his desk.

  “Are you satisfied, Mr. Carrow?” he huffed.

  “I’m only satisfied that he’s not here. Any ideas where else he might be hiding?”

  “No. I don’t think anyone has seen him since yesterday. Though I heard a rumor” —he leaned in and lowered his voice, as if there were anyone else in the room to hear—“that he was the one who killed Walter and has hopped the border to escape the police.”

  “He what?”

  He looked at me over the top of his glasses. “Just repeating what I heard. I can’t say one way or the other.”

  “Who told you?”

  Arthur shrugged. “A few people. I believe they heard it from Miss Gaines. You must know by now how that child loves to gossip.”

  Well, he wasn’t wrong. I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do on a total of four hours of sleep was ask Fran where she’d heard about Richard’s escape, or worse, have to talk her into admitting she’d made it up for attention. I muttered my thanks and left.

  Someone almost ran into me as I stepped out the doorway. They mumbled an apology and kept going. I looked in the direction they were headed. A small parade of people was hurrying down one of the side streets. The one Walter Trask’s house was on, in fact. Possibly coincidental, but considering my luck, probably not. I followed.

  The parade turned into a crowd in front of the brick building I’d snuck into yesterday. That couldn’t be good. I edged around people until I got to the front. The door was swung wide open and Officer Wallace stood on the threshold blocking the way.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Ain’t your business,” he answered.

  “Huh, like it’s not my business what you read on the weekends?”

  His face went flame red.

  “Great, so you’re going to let me in before I turn around and tell everyone here, right?”

  Still flushed, he edged just enough to the side so I could slip past him. There was some general mumbling behind me asking why I was being allowed in, but Wallace shut it down with some sharp words.

  It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust from the bright sunlight outside to the dim foyer. The shapes of furniture loomed beyond. A person stood amongst them—Kelly, hands on his hips, looking up. Confused, I followed his line of sight.

  Well, I’d found Richard Trask. Too bad he was hanging by his neck from the balustrade of the second-floor landing.

  Kelly turned. On seeing me, he glared and said, “Should have known you’d show up.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I imagine he hanged himself. Note was on the table.”

  I glanced over—there was indeed a scrap of paper under a weight on one of the solid side tables. I hurried over before Kelly stopped me. In bold, almost elegant cursive the note said:

  I killed Walter, and I am sorry. May God forgive me. —Richard

  Remarkably smooth handwriting for a fidgety drunk. If Richard had written this note, then I was the King of England.

  “How’d he get in here?” I asked.

  Kelly rolled his eyes “The back door was broken in if you must know, but that’s the last you’re hearing from me. Wallace! Get this man out of here!”

  Wallace’s gripped my shoulder and pull
ed me out. For a split second, I considered fighting him, but what good would it have done except get me in more trouble? He dumped me outside with the other spectators.

  I waited around for what felt like forever before an ambulance crew arrived and got the poor drunk bastard down. Richard’s death wasn’t suicide, that was clear. He finally had the house and no brother to share it with. And he hadn’t seemed like the type of person who wore guilt like a mantle. But Kelly didn’t see it like that. Richard, the troublemaker, was dead, and his note tied up Walter’s murder nicely. Two birds with one stone, as far as he was concerned.

  They brought the body out covered by a sheet, and I watched the sad procession from a few feet away while Wallace shooed off the townspeople who weren’t blackmailing him. Should I let them go without voicing my suspicions? These deaths didn’t concern me. In fact, they helped me. If Richard was decided to be the killer, Kelly would have to let Bella out of jail. I glanced at the sheriff. He frowned at me.

  “There, are you happy?” I said. “Now let me post whatever the bail is for assault and let Bella go.”

  He watched me as the stretcher headed toward the ambulance. “Richard might have killed Walter,” he said, “but I still can’t prove she didn’t assist him.”

  “Oh, come on! Even you have to know that’s bullshit. Let the lady out.”

  “She’s not a lady, Mr. Carrow. She’s a fire-breathing harpy with a gang of cronies stretching from Maine to Delaware. I know it, you know it, and the feds know it. The thing is no one’s ever been able to tie her to anything until now. So, I will hold her for assault and keep holding her until something else settles into the pan or she decides to make it easy.”

  “So, you’re torturing her because you can,” I growled.

  “I’m not doing anything she wouldn’t do, given the chance.” He began to step away. “Brother-in-law’s cousin. Seems like an odd person to care about.”

  Of course, he was trying to pin me. I shrugged. “My family’s all dead. Gotta stick with someone.”

  Kelly eyed me but didn’t make a move. “I advise you to drop this, Mr. Carrow. Extended family or not, she will very soon be up a creek with no paddle, and I’m sure you’d rather not get splashed when she falls in. You or Mr. Arrighi.”

  Threatening Sev—even vaguely—was the final straw. “Richard didn’t kill himself,” I snapped, “and you’re a fool if you think he did.”

  “Oh? Is there something you’d like to confess?”

  I ignored him. “You saw the note. I only met Richard twice, but even I can tell that’s not his handwriting. I couldn’t write that nice if you gave me a new pen and twenty minutes, and you think Richard Trask—whiskey-soaked Richard Trask—dashed it off on his way to hang himself? He probably didn’t even hang! Go look at his neck!”

  Kelly froze. Oh my God, had I gotten through to him? He turned back to the ambulance and shouted at them to wait a moment. They obeyed, and he rushed to the body. I followed, not about to let my chance to gloat in Kelly’s face escape me. In one sweep, the sheet slumped to the ground. As I suspected, Richard’s head was on straight—no snapped vertebrae—and the bruising on his neck was in a distinct handprint pattern.

  “See?” I said. “Someone strangled him and draped his already-dead body over the rail and planted the note. You’ve been had, Sheriff Kelly.”

  He flushed a brighter red than I’d ever seen anyone go and whipped around to face me. “And where were you last night?” he snarled.

  “Well, at some point after midnight, Crista Manco’s house got broken into, and she panicked and came to us. She stayed in our house the rest of the night. I think she’s home right now if you want to ask her.”

  He squinted. “She went to you and not the police?”

  “Funny thing, she doesn’t seem to trust you. I told her that was ridiculous, of course, but you know how women are. Always getting ideas into their pretty little heads once someone ignores them for a week when they ask for help finding their husband’s murderer. Who isn’t Bella, by the way. I just want to put that out there plainly.”

  Kelly regarded me for a moment with an expression that said he wanted to hit me as much as I wanted to hit him. He ended up being, if nothing else, a man of restraint because he only rammed my shoulder a little as he stomped away.

  One of the stretcher bearers tutted as he retrieved the fallen sheet. I stepped out of the way. Maybe Richard deserved a better send-off than me, a pissed-off cop, and two random strangers, but that wasn’t what he was going to get. I got a twinge of memory from the smell of alcohol still radiating off him: I’d found my father dead of a stroke at the kitchen table, glass still in his hand. His body had been carted off in a similar way, except the cop had been more disinterested than angry. And Donnie had been there, leading me away from my near shack of a house that had held no joy for me.

  Suddenly, I was very sad. Bits of the past like that got to me. Unexpected and small, they still brought all the pain back. Donnie hadn’t deserved what he’d gotten.

  The slam of the ambulance door broke me out of my musings. Murdered men, even dissolute ones, needed someone to pick up their pieces. Donnie had done it for my father, and as loathe as I was to do it, I would do it for Richard Trask. Donnie would have expected no less.

  I walked away, running the facts through my head. There weren’t many for Richard, or at least not any I’d have easy access to. Kelly wasn’t going to let me get near the note or the body again. But that didn’t matter. Clearly his death was related to his brother’s.

  So, what had it been? Had he known something? Possibly, but everyone was sure Richard avoided his brother whenever possible. He hadn’t been a confidant for any secrets. He might have been a witness or been someone’s alibi, but there was no way I could find out now.

  The property? I glanced up at the brick facade again. Unimpressive. Besides, most people here had their own houses. What would be the point of having a second house in the same tiny town besides selling or renting it, and it wasn’t like Chickadee was hot real estate, the Reed house notwithstanding. Then again, Crista’s house had been broken into last night, and the only logical reason was someone had wanted to spook her after she inherited from Walter. But my main suspect for that was now very dead. Had he died before or after the house had been broken into? If it was before, how had his flask gotten there?

  Because someone planted it, idiot.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t help much. Richard might have abandoned his flask pretty much anywhere, or someone could have stolen it off him when he was passed out. And how Richard had even ended up at the end of a rope. The back door being broken in didn’t tell me whether he’d been killed inside, or outside and dragged in.

  I paced around the back of the house to look for signs of a struggle. Nothing except the shut door. I got closer to it. It was less broken than merely loose. Someone had jimmied the lock. Would Richard have been able to manage such a thing? Just like the graceful handwriting, I found it unlikely. But why drag the corpse anywhere? If they’d dumped him in the yard with no explanation, probably everyone, including me, would have assumed he died of alcohol poisoning or some such. So, someone had brought his body in for the drama alone. What good would that do?

  I’d have to go back to Walter’s circumstances. Forest. Blunt force trauma. The only evidence seen before half the town traipsed through were the footprints and broken glass Ed had seen. Maybe there was some bit I was missing? Could Ed have—

  My stomach pitched like a hawk in a dive. If Richard had been killed for almost nothing, then what had happened to Ed, who had been the only source of clues to who had killed Walter?

  I started running for the woods.

  Chapter Twenty

  In my frantic state, I made my way down the entirety of Main Street in about a minute, and before I knew it, I came up on the Reed house. I glimpsed Sev on the porch, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. My already-speeding heart skipped a bit, but there was no avoi
ding him.

  He straightened when he saw me. “Alex, there you are!” he exclaimed. “Come here. I want to talk to you.”

  Oh God. This was it. This was going to be the conversation where he broke it off with me. But I didn’t have time! I slowed just enough to pant out an answer. “Sorry, can it wait a little? I have to check on Ed’s shack. He might be dead.”

  Sev blinked as I moved past him. “You have to what?”

  “Ed. Shack. Woods. Dead.” I’d have to stop moving if I said any more, so I shouted over my shoulder, “Back in less than an hour!”

  I booked it across the backyard down the rutted little path, past the place where Walter Trask had met his end, all the way to the hut in the clearing. The smell of blood slithered into my nose, but I didn’t think much of it. Ed had a butcher’s shop hanging in the trees, after all. I skidded to a stop next to his butcher block and scanned the area. There was no sign of him.

  I groaned. How was I supposed to find him out here? I should’ve thought this through. Should’ve gotten Sev to come along and help. Should’ve told someone what I suspected. Should’ve done a lot of things.

  Exhausted and ashamed of myself, I found a patch of gore-free grass and sat. I couldn’t go home, not yet. Not when I knew what was waiting for me there. Maybe I could convince Ed to let me live in the woods here, so I’d never have to go back.

  Something flickered at the edge of my vision, and I turned. A fox was in the underbrush, tugging on something. A carcass, I figured. There were plenty of them around, and Ed probably didn’t bother to pick up everything. The fox was actually kind of cute—like a small, sleek dog—and I’d never seen one that wasn’t a pelt draped over a lady’s shoulders. Whatever it was after ripped away, and the animal turned. I got a good look at what it had in its mouth. It was a human ear.

  I yelped, and the fox bolted. Vomit threatened to crawl up my throat, but I managed to choke it down. After a few deep, hard breaths, I gathered enough courage to have a look. I crept forward, my heartbeat thudding out every noise.