Boiling Over

by Thea McAlistair

Sure enough, there was a body. Ed’s, to be specific. His skin was pale, and his blue eyes stared into the canopy. I bent down to touch him. Cold. Or at least as cold as he could be in the ever-present heat. I chanced moving his arm. Stiff. So, he’d been dead somewhere between half a day and two, probably closer to the half since he wasn’t nearly as far gone as Trask. How had he died? The fox had gotten his ear, but the rest of him seemed intact, and considering everything else, I doubted Ed had keeled over from old age.

  Ignoring my squeamishness, I flipped the body onto its front. A fair-sized hole near his shoulder had spilled quite a bit of blood onto the leaf litter. Murder. With something pointy and on the thin side. A pickax maybe? Maybe even his own.

  I stood and walked back toward his shack, hoping to see something out of place, but I hadn’t taken enough stock of Ed’s organizational skills the first time I’d been up here to determine the usual order of things. Tools were lined up along the walls, some on hooks, some propped.

  Something rustled. I whipped around. The fox again? No, it was a person. I could feel them—they were making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I swallowed and scanned the clearing edge. No one showed themselves. Not taking my eyes off the forest, I groped the wall for something to use as a weapon. My hand came back with a regular hammer. Not the best thing, but it would have to serve.

  I took a breath and crept forward. If I bolted, I might be able to reach the track before anyone caught me and run home. Hopefully whoever was here wouldn’t follow me.

  I took a careful step. Nothing. Another step. Still nothing. Running in three, two—

  Something metallic flew toward my head and searing pain exploded above my left ear. My eyes filled with water, and the world pitched to the side. The underbrush shattered beneath me, sending the distinct scent of crushed leaves into my nostrils.

  “Alex?”

  My name echoed in the trees. A shovel, bloodied along the curving edge of the scoop, dropped next to my face. I caught a glimpse of a man’s shoe as its owner turned and fled, rustling plants as he ran off. I struggled to find the strength to stand amidst the pain. I heard my name again, closer this time, and more rustling. Running.

  “Alex!”

  I realized I knew the voice. Sev? His hands were on me, turning me, clutching me, pulling me in. I blinked, trying to focus on his face, but everything blurred to gray. Then it faded to black.

  Sev was talking; that much I could tell. The words were muffled, like someone had jammed my ears full of cotton. I opened my eyes and got ready to tell him to let me sleep, but the world wheeled around me. In my disoriented state, I could just tell this wasn’t my room—the ceiling here was flat. Where was I? I turned my head, and pain roared up along its side. I caught a glimpse of Sev’s brass headboard before I squeezed my eyes shut again.

  “Alex, can you hear me?”

  I peeked again. Sev’s face floated above me with a concerned expression. He said something else, but the words got lost before I could understand. I reached up to brush away whatever made everything so dulled, and my hand met nothing until I touched the side of my head. The feeling of cotton being packed against my ear was almost accurate; there were bandages wrapped around my head and piled into a pad in the space around my ear.

  Everything came rushing back. Ed’s fresh corpse hidden in the undergrowth. The shovel careening toward my head. The sound of someone making their escape. I lurched up and turned lightheaded. I flopped back down with a groan. My skull felt like it was going to break apart.

  Sev grabbed my shoulder. “It’s all right; you’re safe.”

  “You don’t understand,” I wheezed. “Someone killed Ed.”

  “I know. I saw.”

  “Wait, how—”

  “I don’t know if you remember, but you told me you were going up there. I got worried and talked Mr. Gaines into coming with me to look for you.” Sev made a face. “You enjoy taking years off my life, don’t you?”

  “It’s not like I’m trying.”

  Sev ran fingers through my hair, but the action made the headache worse, so I batted him away. He drew his hand back. Unfortunately, I had gained just enough consciousness to realize I’d upset him, but not enough to figure out how to apologize.

  I rubbed at my eyes. “How long was I out?”

  “Forty-five minutes? We couldn’t have been far behind you, and we brought you back here about a half hour ago.” He glanced out the window. “Mr. Gaines has gone to fetch a doctor. They should be here soon.”

  Most of what he said scattered against the wall of pain engulfing me. I couldn’t think straight. “Where’s Pearl?” I asked.

  “She’s with Crista at Miss Howe’s house. We didn’t think it was safe for them to be alone while I went to get you.”

  Ugh, he was so much smarter about these things than me. “Good thinking.”

  He watched me for a few seconds. “I’m going to let you rest, all right? I’ll be in the kitchen, so shout if you need me.”

  It was too hard to form more words, so I closed my eyes and grunted my acknowledgment. He patted my hand and then let me go. Something cool brushed against me, and I pried my eyes open to look. I caught a glimpse of something sky blue. After a moment, my vision focused enough for me to recognize Bella’s rosary beads dangling from Sev’s left hand. I looked at him, but he was already getting up. His lips were moving with silent words. The beads shifted.

  “Are you praying?”

  He paused. “Do you not want me to?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t answer.

  He sighed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, caro.” The beads pooled out of his hand onto the nightstand, a tangle of ceramic and brass chain. Without saying anything else or looking at me, he left the room.

  I lay there, for I didn’t know how long, piecing together what had happened. Ed had been murdered, most likely by the person who had killed Walter, since Ed was the only one who might have possibly witnessed it. And the killer had followed me as I went to see him. Were they the same person who had killed Richard? Quite possibly. What better distraction for a body than another body? And Crista’s house could have been broken into as a distraction as well. If she had gone to the police, they would have been over there and nowhere near Walter Trask’s house while the perpetrator rigged a suicide scene. But if Richard hadn’t been the one to break in, who had?

  I groaned against the pain making my brain slow. If I called for Sev, would he come listen to me ramble and tell me what I wasn’t seeing? Would he come at all? He’d been trying to break up with me as I was running to Ed’s place, and now I’d wrecked that too somehow. He was too nice to try to do it while I was laid up, so that made it, what, another two or three days before trying again? Could I make it three more days knowing what was coming? Maybe. Maybe I ought to use that time to apologize. Or would that make it harder for him? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him more. I’d already done too much. No, in fact, I hadn’t done enough. If I really wanted him happy and safe, I had to let him go. Or at least prompt him into letting me go. I didn’t have the courage to do it myself.

  It took me a few seconds to gather my strength and haul myself into sitting. I sat there, letting the world settle, listening to him bustle around the kitchen.

  If you really love him, you’ll do this.

  With that thought burning in my mind, I stood and stumbled toward the door. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll die of this head injury before I make it to the kitchen. But I had never been particularly fortunate, and I shuffled all the way there without keeling over. Sev had his back to me, facing the stove and muttering to himself in Italian as he glanced between a handwritten sheet of paper and whatever he was cooking. An apron was tied around him in neat bows. It might have been cute except I recognized it as the old floral one Crista had been wearing when we met her.

  “Sev?” I called. My voice was weak with fear and pain, and he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he’d chosen not to listen. “S
ev!”

  He turned. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  I steadied myself on the counter, gripping the wood with my nails. “I need to talk to you.”

  “You need to go lie back down—”

  “No!”

  He blinked at me in consternation and annoyance. Good. It would be easier if he was angry with me. “What?”

  “First of all, stop ordering me around. I’m your boyfriend, not your nephew or some kid you’re babysitting.” He opened his mouth, but I kept going. “Second of all, if you’re planning on leaving, get on with it because I can’t take the heartbreak of being yanked around.”

  My head throbbed as he stared at me. After a few seconds of silence, he asked quietly, “Why do you think I want to leave you?”

  The tears I’d been holding back overflowed and I sniffled. “Because I ruined your life. Who am I but some punk kid you fell in with who fucked up and got you into trouble and we’re fighting all the time now!” I lost whatever semblance of poise I had and dissolved.

  Between the tears and my pounding head, I didn’t see him approach, only felt his hands on my arms. “Caro,” he whispered, “I want you to sit please. Before you hurt yourself more.”

  I didn’t have any energy left to fight, so I let him lead me a few steps forward and set me in a chair. The wobbly one, of course. I only looked up when he dragged the second chair around to face me and sat so we were at eye-level.

  “I am going to tell you three things,” he said, “and I don’t want you to say anything until I am done, all right? The first thing—and do not be offended—is that you are very young. I know that this is maybe the most you have ever hurt, and you think it’s the end of the world. Please believe me when I say it is not.”

  He paused, maybe waiting for me to interrupt, but I was too busy trying not to look him in the eye. He continued.

  “The second thing is that even with everything you think you have done, I love you, and you make me very happy.”

  “But I can’t!” I exclaimed. “We’ve been fighting on and off for days. And I hit you, for God’s sake!”

  “That was not hitting, I would know. That was an accident.” He said it so kindly I almost believed him. “And yes, we fought. I would have been surprised if we had not fought. We are both anxious and concerned and have our own ideas. We will fight again sometime. This is what I mean when I say you are young. You believe an argument is the end, and it is not.” He smiled at me. “Even fighting, you make me think. You make me want to be a better person than I am. And that is why I love you. All right?”

  I nodded as I went to scrub the tears off my cheeks with my hands. He tutted and pulled out his handkerchief for me.

  “The third thing,” he said, “is maybe the most important thing.” He tilted my chin up to look me in the eye again. “I would like it if you trusted me.”

  “I do though!”

  “Yes, some.” He smiled softly. “And where I come from, that is amazing. But I know there is a lot more going on in here”—he gestured at my head—“than you are saying. And I want you to know you can tell me.” For the first time in the conversation, he looked hesitant, but he kept going. “I have known a lot of pain, and I survived, and if I can help you, I will. I don’t want you to have to be alone.”

  I couldn’t answer him right away; I was crying too hard. He was right, of course. All my angst could have been avoided if I’d just spoken up, acted like an adult. “Okay, okay.” I looked up into his golden eyes. “Everything’s a mess and I can’t sleep.” Breathe. “I miss the city. And I miss Donnie and Martin. I miss everything so much. And some of the people here are awful. And I’m so afraid I’m making everything worse. And—”

  “Alex.” He put his hand on my cheek. “I didn’t mean you had to do it all now. No need to get overexcited when you should be resting.” He brushed his thumb against the bandages and chuckled. “You’re always in such a rush. There are many tomorrows.”

  I liked the sound of that: many tomorrows. There was time to figure it all out. My tears started drying up, or maybe I had run out. Either way, it gave me some semblance of calmness. Sev smiled at me, and I found myself drifting on his presence.

  And then I noticed the smell of smoke.

  Sev jolted up and swore as he turned back to the stove. The pan on the burner was indeed smoking and charred. He muttered to himself in Italian as he twisted the gas off. I jumped up and snatched a dish towel for him. He took it gratefully, using it to grip the pan’s handle and tip the contents onto a plate on the table. Now that it was close to me, I could tell the blackened mass was supposed to have been meat.

  “Pork chops?” I asked, waving the smoke away with my hand.

  “Yes,” he groaned. He tossed the towel onto the counter. “I told you, one of us has to learn how to cook.” He nudged the plate with a disappointed expression. “And I know you don’t eat right at the best of times. So, I asked Crista to help me. That whispering you think is us gossiping and flirting behind your back? She was trying to teach me. But I am a bad student.”

  Even burned, his attempt was more impressive than anything I would have been able to manage. “It’s mostly fine. You just need to chip off the burned part. Perfectly good otherwise.”

  “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better.”

  He smiled, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, and everything terrible I’d thought in the last few days melted away. I pulled him closer, partially to stay steady, but mostly because I wanted to hold him. Even just touching him softened my aching skull somewhat.

  “Hey, Sev,” I said, “I love you.”

  “Ti amo, caro.”

  He brought my face down to close the distance between our lips.

  Something clattered, breaking my reverie. I looked up. Fran stood on the threshold of the back door, openmouthed, an overturned pie at her feet. She’d seen everything.

  I broke away from Sev. “Fran—”

  She bolted.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sev ripped away from me and chased Fran onto the porch. I might have done it myself except I didn’t have the energy. If she was both scorned and shocked, there was no telling what she’d do.

  “Miss Gaines,” Sev snapped. I cringed. He didn’t show the mobster part of him often, but when he did, it was terrifying. She froze with one foot on the stairs. Hell, I’d have stopped if he’d used such a commanding tone on me.

  After a second, she crept back onto the porch and back inside, her eyes flicking between us. Sev let the screen door slam after her. Angry tears streamed down her face.

  “I just wanted to bring you food!” she wailed. “Mama said you got hurt and I… You could have said!” she snapped. “You could have just said instead of being nice and letting me think I had a chance…” She trailed off and sniffled.

  “Look, Fran, I didn’t mean to lead you on.” Well, I had, but I’d had the best of intentions. “I just wanted to make sure your parents weren’t hurting you. And believe me, if I could get you out of here, I would, because they’re both kind of shit.”

  She laughed bleakly through her tears. “They are pretty terrible, aren’t they?”

  “Please, Fran. You can’t tell.”

  She set her jaw. “I don’t tell everyone everything. I know to keep my mouth shut if people ask. I didn’t say anything about the key.”

  “What key is this?” Sev asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” I said. “But Fran—”

  “No, I’m very good! I never told anyone that Joe keeps a squirrel as a pet or that Judith and Maude fancy each other.” I sighed. Fran’s eyes widened as she realized what she’d said. “But I wouldn’t do that to you!”

  Sev rubbed at the bridge of his nose and mumbled to himself, resigned to the fact we were going to be the talk of the town in about fifteen minutes. How were we going to be able to get out of this one without Bella doing all the hard, dirty work? And if we left or were chased out, who was going
to spring Bella?

  But Fran was right here. If she was in the mood for being honest maybe she could tell me something else.

  “Well, Fran, here’s the thing. I believe you when you say you aren’t going to tell.” I ignored Sev’s incredulous expression. “I’m going to have to have you make up for barging in, okay?”

  “Oh, yes! That was rude, wasn’t it? And Mama always says, ‘Fran, you’re so rude!’ And I say—”

  “Great. So, I have a question. Did you know Richard Trask died last night?”

  She nodded. “I heard! So, did you see him when you went into the house after you got the key?”

  Wait. “Didn’t you tell Mr. Parrish you’d heard he ran to Canada?”

  She shook her head. “No. I only knew that he was hiding from Sheriff Kelly. I thought you might have found him hung in his brother’s house and left him because it scared you. It would have scared me!”

  So if she hadn’t told Arthur that Richard fled, that meant Arthur had lied. And if he’d lied… “Who called the search party to look for Walter Trask when he went missing?” I asked.

  Fran thought for a moment. “I think it was Mr. Parrish’s idea. He said he was worried Judith would get worried, so we should all go help.”

  I stood there, stunned. Arthur had lied twice: he’d said Judith had tried to trash the crime scene and that he’d heard about Richard taking off for the border. He’d known Ed had found the footprints and the glass. I’d told him about those myself. And glass—he’d mentioned to me he was wearing his spares. He could have broken his regular ones in a struggle. Plus, he had lots and lots of access to Richard. He could have stolen the flask. He was tall enough to reach around to unlock Crista’s door and probably just strong enough to lift Richard Trask over a balustrade. And he was head-over-heels in love with Judith and could very have been jealous of Walter. Did he have an alibi?

  “Fran, this is very important, okay? Did you see Mr. Parrish between Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon? What about last night?”

  “I don’t think so?”

  “Did anyone?”