by Sara Rosett
Maggie signed her name with a flourish under a note, then handed the book to Livvy. “I know this has to be a sad day for you. I thought this might help you feel a bit better,” she said.
Livvy nodded, then quickly read the inscription. She closed the book and clutched it to her chest as she grinned at Maggie. I was about to nudge Livvy and remind her to say thank you, but she did me proud. “Thank you so much. It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Delighted,” Maggie replied as she stood back up. Livvy gave her one more shy smile, then sprinted down the hall.
“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much that means to Livvy.”
“I’m glad to do it. I was just thinking about what a difficult day this is for her—and the whole family, of course. I was devastated when my grandmother died.” She let out a sigh. “I was about Livvy’s age when it happened.” She’d been looking down the hall after Livvy, but seemed to gather herself and focus on me as she said, “Now, I really must leave. Pages to write, you know.”
I made another circuit of the living room, gathering empty plates. The crowd was thinning as several people moved to get coats from the pile in one of the bedrooms. As I walked behind the couch, I heard Roy say, “Ready to leave?”
Aunt Christine stiffened. “No. We can’t leave together. You go on.”
“But I want to run you home. I know it’s been a long day. Besides, I drove.” He stood up and extended his hand to her.
“No,” she shook her head and said in a voice so low that I could barely hear her. “You go. I’ll get someone else to run me home.”
Roy dropped his hand back to his side. “What is this, Christine? You’ve been acting strange all day.”
She didn’t look up at him. Instead, she focused on the plastic cup she held. “I can’t be gallivanting around with you on the day of his funeral. It’s not seemly. You go on.”
“Christine, no one is going to think twice if I give you a ride home.” He waited a moment and when Aunt Christine didn’t respond, he went and spoke to Bill and Caroline, then left. I helped Caroline put the extra food away, then I returned to the living room. Aunt Christine was still sitting on the couch with a pensive look on her face. Aunt Nanette and Uncle Bud were sitting in chairs beside the couch and were leaning toward each other as they talked.
“You doing okay?” I asked as I sat down beside Aunt Christine.
She started and then glanced at me. “Yes. Sorry. Lost in thought. Just thinking of what needs to be done. Dad’s icebox needs to be cleaned out—hadn’t even thought of that. And I left a stack of his envelopes sitting on the kitchen counter.”
“I’m sure next week will be soon enough. You’re probably ready to go home.” She did look limp with exhaustion. “You’ve already done so much,” I said, thinking of her scurrying around making phone calls and laying out food, making coffee and tea, then setting out extra chairs. “Maybe someone else can do that,” I said, and looked over to Aunt Nanette and Uncle Bud.
“Do what?” asked Aunt Nanette.
“The refrigerator needs to be cleaned out at Grandpa Franklin’s house,” I said.
“I can’t,” Aunt Nanette said without a hint of apology. “I have to get home and let Queen out—she’s been shut up in the house all day. And the next few days are full. We’re in the final countdown to Book Daze.”
Aunt Christine nodded, like it was a done deal, but I looked at Uncle Bud with raised eyebrows.
“Me?” he said. Clearly, the idea that he might be expected to clean out a refrigerator had never crossed his mind. “I can’t do it, either. Got to get back to the office. Check in. Meetings all weekend, too,” he mumbled.
I said, “Well, maybe Uncle Kenny or Aunt Gwen—”
“They have a business to run, as does Caroline,” Aunt Christine said flatly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“You do have more time,” Uncle Bud said. Looking relieved that he wouldn’t be checking expiration dates, he said heartily, “Yep, not all of us are lucky enough to be retired.”
“Yes, I do have all the time in the world,” she said dryly. Uncle Bud totally missed the underlying sarcasm. I got the feeling that the “you’re retired” card had been played many times as duty after duty had fallen on her as Grandpa Franklin aged.
Uncle Bud stood up. “More coffee, anyone?”
“None for me,” I said. Aunt Nanette declined, but she wanted more cheese and crackers and followed him into the kitchen.
Aunt Christine was tapping her finger against her lips. She’d already moved on from the irritation she’d shown toward Uncle Bud. She said thoughtfully, “You’re right, I can leave the icebox until later, but I forgot to mail the envelope with the electric bill, too. It’s due in next week. Tuesday, I think. I really should go by there and pick it up along with the rest of the envelopes. If it goes in the mail today, then it won’t be late.” She pressed her hands against her thighs as she stood up with a sigh. “I’d completely forgotten about all these little details, but now that the funeral’s over, I’m remembering them.”
“The bill probably isn’t that urgent. They’ll just send another bill with the late fee and that will go to the executor of his estate.” I stood up beside her as she moved slowly around the couch.
“Dad never missed a payment—that was another thing that signaled something was wrong. He forgot to pay a whole stack of bills. When I saw those bills with their due dates just a few days away, I nearly fainted. Dad never, ever missed a payment. No, I really should go over there and put the envelopes in the mail. I wonder if Nanette is ready to leave.” She leaned down to pick up her purse, her movements slow and laborious like she was weighed down.
“How about I run you home and we’ll pick them up on the way?”
She looked up, surprised. “Ellie, that would be so kind.”
I found her coat and mine, then went to check in with Mitch, but he’d rounded up the kids and was playing a game of flag football with them in the backyard. I told Caroline I was going to run Aunt Christine home and she said, “Oh, thank you, dear. She does look like she’s almost asleep on her feet. She never would admit that she’s tired, but I think the whole thing—discovering him and the investigation—has taken a toll on her.”
We were barely out of the driveway before Aunt Christine’s eyes drifted closed, so I drove her straight home. Her eyes popped open as I stopped behind her small car, which was sheltered in the carport. The honeysuckle vine on the side of the carport looked thicker and the flowers seemed to be a deeper red. “Oh! Did I fall asleep? How embarrassing. I hope I didn’t snore.”
“No, nothing like that,” I said. “I’ll run back to Grandpa Franklin’s and pick up the envelopes, if you’ll give me his key. I can drop them in the mailbox on the way back to Bill and Caroline’s house.”
“You don’t have to do that. There’s a post office just a little ways back up the road. It’ll just take a few minutes—”
“No, I insist. You’re tired and I have to drive right by Grandpa Franklin’s house on the way back. I saw the post office and I can drop the envelopes there. Besides, you need to let someone do something for you every once in a while.”
She blinked and said, “Well, that’s a new thought. I’m usually the one who . . .”
“Does everything,” I said, finishing her sentence. “I know. I can tell. You go on and get some rest. I’ll help with the refrigerator, too. Just give me a call and tell me when to meet you there.”
“That’s nice of you, Ellie,” she said as she worked a key off her key ring. “Mitch picked a good one when he picked you.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that . . . ,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty as I thought of the speculation Detective Kalra had cast on Roy and Aunt Christine. And I’d wondered about her strange behavior, too. I didn’t think she’d feel so charitable toward me if she knew that. Sure, I wanted to help her out. I knew what it was like to have people dump things on you. Being a part-time, stay-at-home mom meant I was very fa
miliar with the neighbors who expected to be able to leave their kids with me when school was cancelled or when they had a dentist appointment. What else could I have to do except watch their kids? After all, I was home all day, anyway.
“Oh, I’m right about you, Ellie. No one else would offer to help me clean out an icebox. You’re a good one.” She levered herself out of the car, then leaned back down to speak to me. “Let’s see, Monday . . . it’ll have to be before the meeting with Gus.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Gus Wallis, the attorney,” Aunt Christine said. “The reading of the will. It’s at one.”
“Oh, right. I don’t think Mitch and I are going to be there.”
Aunt Christine said, “You and Mitch have to be there. All the seconds have to be there.”
“Seconds?” I asked. Was she more tired than I realized?
“You know, the second generation of Averys. My brothers and sisters, we’re the first generation. You, Mitch, Felicity, and Dan, and so on, are the second generation. Your kids are the third. Much easier to say firsts and seconds have to be at the reading of the will, if you see what I mean.”
“Oh. Of course.” I’d forgotten the special terminology the Averys used. I’d found out it was pretty common in the South to refer to different generations of a family with unique names. After years of being a military spouse, I should be good at decoding jargon, but the lingo of the Avery family still got the best of me at times. “All right. How about we meet at Grandpa Franklin’s house at ten on Monday? I’ll return the key to you then.” It had already been decided that we’d be attending church with Bill and Caroline on Sunday. Aunt Christine went to a different church closer to her house, so I wouldn’t see her until Monday.
“Good idea. See you then. The envelopes are on the kitchen counter, already stamped. Thank you for the ride,” Aunt Christine said before she shut the minivan’s door. I waited until she was inside, then drove to Grandpa Franklin’s where I parked beside the kitchen door and retrieved the key from the minivan’s empty cup holder where I’d tossed it.
I trotted up the steps and unlocked the door. It stuck a little, so I shoved it and stumbled into the kitchen when it finally opened. I caught my balance, then switched on the light. The curtains were still closed and the room was gloomy. I shivered. The house felt extremely drafty. Someone—Aunt Christine?—must have turned down the heat. I chafed my hands together as I crossed the kitchen and picked up the stack of envelopes. My heels clumped loudly across the hardwood floor. I’d dressed up for the funeral, breaking out my little black dress and heels. I wore them so rarely that I was amazed they still fit. I was more used to wearing T-shirts, tennis shoes, and jeans, only occasionally throwing on business casual pants and a nice blouse for consultation appointments with potential organizing clients. I also had on a black cardigan under my thick wool double-breasted pea coat, but I still felt shivery and wished I’d grabbed some gloves or a scarf.
I glanced through the stack of outgoing mail to make sure the electric bill was there. It was, but with the temperature in the house so low, I didn’t really see why Aunt Christine was worried about it. The furnace clicked on and I felt a gush of cool air hit my ankles before a blast of warm air followed. I frowned and stuck the envelopes in my pocket. If the heater was on, it certainly wasn’t doing much good. Maybe I should check to see what the temperature was set at? I glanced around the murky darkness of the living room, wondering where the thermostat might be. I stepped out of the kitchen and noticed a light in the small hallway off the living room was on. I didn’t see a thermostat as I crossed the room, but the air grew increasingly colder as I neared the hallway.
I don’t know what it was—the icy air or the contrast between the dark living room and the bright hallway—but something made me move more slowly as I neared the hallway. The slice of braided rug, mirror, and open bedroom door looked completely normal. But I could feel the cold air on my face now and I could see the light wasn’t emanating from the overhead fixture in the hallway. It was coming from the right, shining up at an angle. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
It’s nothing, I told myself—probably just a night-light. But as I got closer to the door frame, I saw the light was a narrow beam, splashing up the wall, widening as it neared the ceiling. I was suddenly aware of my heartbeat rushing in my ears as I leaned cautiously around the door frame.
There was a man sprawled at the end of the hall.
Chapter Eleven
My heart slammed into overdrive as disjoined thoughts formed. Definitely a man. No one I recognized right off, but his face was turned away from me toward the stairs. He wasn’t moving at all. Was he okay? I couldn’t see his chest moving, but it was pretty dim in the hallway, even with the light from the flashlight.
Get out. Get out now. Don’t look. Just get out.
I walked backward a step, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave without seeing if he was all right. I stepped back into the doorway, then inched a bit closer to him.
My stomach lurched at the unnatural angle of his head. There was no way he was alive. Blood had pooled under the side of his face on the floor. I looked away and I forced myself to breathe in and out. Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.
I gazed at the stairs, fighting down the surge of bile in my throat. I focused on the rug at the top of the stairs. It was wrinkled and twisted so that the edge of it lapped over the top step. There was a glove on a step about halfway down the stairs. My gaze was pulled back down the stairs. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. I stumbled backward and caught the door frame to the hallway. Police. I needed to call the police. Fingerprints—I jerked my hand away from the door frame.
A groan sounded behind me. I whirled toward the extra bedroom, then swiveled back so that I could see both the bedroom and the man’s body down the hall. I didn’t want my back to anything. As impossible as that was, that’s how I felt.
The eerie noise came again, this time fainter, and I saw the door to the extra bedroom shift an inch. It was open and I could see the room was empty. I leaned to the side and looked down the tiny strip of space on the side of the door where the hinges were. Through that sliver, I could see there was no one behind the door. The door wavered again, letting out another creaky moan as the hinges shifted. I released a jerky breath that sounded loud in the stillness of the house. A gust of cold air brushed my face as the door creaked and shifted another inch, revealing that the board that had covered the broken window was gone. The window was wide open.
I backed out of the hallway and hurried across the living room. I was running by the time I got to the kitchen. It’s amazing I didn’t fall as I skidded down the steps outside the kitchen door. I fumbled with the key fob and unlocked the van door with a click. I scrambled inside, locked the doors. My cold fingers trembled as I dug my cell phone out of my purse and punched in the three numbers that would bring the police back to Grandpa Franklin’s house.
After I’d given all the details to her, the 911 operator told me to stay on the line.
“I can’t. I’ve got to make another call,” I said.
“We need you to stay on the line,” she countered.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when the police get here,” I said, and hung up. I dialed Mitch’s phone number. He wasn’t going to like this one bit. The wind whipped a few dry pine needles against the windshield and I flinched. I realized I was shivering and turned the ignition key, then cranked the heat. The phone line rang as I watched the wind sweep some brown leaves across the driveway and into an eddy before they caught in the undergrowth of the bushes surrounding the back of the house. I knew the body inside the house was going to stir up everything that had been so carefully smoothed over. The questions about the disappearance at the funeral home would be looked into further and the Avery family wouldn’t be happy about that, Mitch included.
The call finally went to voice mail and I left a quick message with the basic facts. As I hung
up, a sheriff’s car pulled into the driveway and Officer Taggart emerged. I stayed in the van and rolled my window down as he came around.
“Hello, ma’am. You called nine-one-one?”
“Yes, I did. There’s a body in the house. At the foot of the stairs.”
“A body?”
“Yes. A dead body. I don’t know who it is.”
“And why were you in the house . . .?”
“I was picking up some mail for my aunt, Christine Avery. She gave me the key.”
“You were here the other day. You’re the daughter-in-law from out of town.”
“Yes, I’m Ellie Avery.”
He wrote down my name and contact information, then told me to stay in the car. “Is the door locked?” he asked, looking at the door that opened into the kitchen.
“No. I didn’t lock it when I ran out, just called nine-one-one.” A second car from the sheriff’s office pulled into the driveway and another officer joined Officer Taggart at the steps leading up to the kitchen door. I watch, fascinated, as they drew their guns and held them, arms stiff, and pointed the barrels to the ground. They exchanged nods and then went through the door. I blinked and shook my head. I felt like I was watching a cop show. The few windows on this side of the house reflected back the banks of trees and bushes with a slice of sky. I couldn’t see anything inside. I didn’t think there had been anyone else in the house, but I supposed you couldn’t be too careful when you entered a crime scene.
I shifted the heat to a lower setting and flexed my fingers around my phone. I was finally warm, but I wondered if Mitch had picked up my voice message. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Five more minutes. I’d give him that before I called Bill and Caroline’s house. I couldn’t put it off longer than that.
They should have found the man by now. I watched the door, which they’d left open, but no one appeared. I’d seen the dead man—before, when his face was whole and normal. I swallowed hard and forced myself to think about the clothes he’d worn—tan barn coat over a brown plaid shirt, tan slacks, and suede lace-up boots.
