NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  Bonnie covered her face with her hands and released a heartbroken moan. “I just want to bury my husband.”

  “Helen, Samuel’s mom. He tells her everything and stores things at her house. I bet she has the divorce decree.”

  “Why would Samuel give his mother his divorce decree?”

  “She’s making a never-ending scrapbook for him.” Or at least it had been never-ending. My heart broke for her. A mother should never have to complete the scrapbook of their child’s life.

  “She hates me. There’s no way she’d help me.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, not quite knowing if I was telling the truth. Helen had not been happy with Samuel when we divorced. She assumed, rightly, that it was all his fault and told him in no uncertain terms he was an idiot. Samuel had been shocked. He was the quintessential momma’s boy and it was the first time she chose another person over him.

  “She didn’t like me when we were married and hates me more now that Samuel is dead. She thinks I’m setting you up and is telling whoever she can.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Not in those words.”

  “I’ll stop by Helen’s for you and see if she has a copy.”

  It was Monday. Errand day and Helen had no one to take her, unless Cassie stopped by to check on her grandmother, but I had a feeling the girl was deep in anger and grief and had no thoughts for anyone else. Since Helen was still thinking fondly of me, she might give a hint about Samuel’s possible newly attained wealth.

  Before I drove to Helen’s house, I called Brett. I adjusted the heat in my SUV. The temperature was dropping. I hoped he had time to meet for lunch before he headed back to Virginia. I wanted to know what the judge said. Then again, it might be better not to be out in public when we discussed my case.

  He answered on the third ring. “Be brief. I’m in Alexandria. Emergency hearing. Had to postpone the meeting in Season’s Greetings to tomorrow.”

  When you had an in demand, hotshot attorney, you weren’t at the top of the list. “The RV was trashed, local police have it under protective custody. Some guy named Gary Meadows posted on Samuel’s Facebook that he told him trouble follows. And, I had a run-in with Detective Grayson. He was interviewing my mother.”

  “He was what? Hold on.” Brett excused himself. A door opened and closed.

  I shifted in the driver’s seat, jotting down some ideas for some new Christmas gifts onto the notebook I kept on the passenger seat. My best ideas always seemed to come at the most inconvenient times. If I waited to write them down, they’d vanish, no matter how much I believed that I wouldn’t forget them. I never remembered any of my great ideas at a later point in time, but the bad ones always reappeared over and over.

  Brett returned to our phone conversation. “Detective Grayson questioned your mother? A woman diagnosed with dementia and living in a memory care unit.”

  Tears rushed into my eyes. I swiped them away. “Yes. He says questioning, but my mother said he was blaming her for Samuel’s death.”

  “That’s improbable.”

  “That’s what the detective said. He insists my mother misunderstood. For some reason, he believes my mother was the last person to see Samuel alive.”

  “Why does he think that?”

  “Samuel was at Season’s Living on Thursday morning. Another guy confirmed he was there that day but said Samuel didn’t come into my mom’s room.”

  “Stay away from the detective.”

  “I’m not going to him. He’s going to my mom. I won’t let him harass her.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What if he does it again before you can take care of it? You’re busy.”

  “Merry, have I ever let you down?”

  I bit my lip. When he was helping me wasn’t the time to remind this ex-husband of all the times he hadn’t.

  “I withdraw that question. If the detective comes around, you tell him to call your attorney. Nothing else. No matter what he says or asks, the response is call my attorney. I’ll be in Season’s Greetings tomorrow. I’ll call Season’s Living and advise the staff to call me immediately if an officer comes to speak with your mother.”

  “You’re my mother’s attorney too?” Brett was picking up a lot of new clients: me, Grace, Abraham, my mom.

  “If the detective makes it necessary, yes. I’ll be sure to fill his superiors in on why Detective Grayson doesn’t want to make that a necessity. On the other issues, I’ll contact the local police and see if they have any theories on who vandalized your RV. I’ll have members of my team investigate Gary Meadows. Stay off Samuel’s Facebook page. A detective just might place something on the deceased’s timeline to prove that an ex-wife is fibbing when she said she had nothing to do with the man.”

  “I know how I can prove that I wrote the correct day. My neighbor Cornelius Sullivan. He started a post on the Season’s Greetings Facebook page complaining about the RV being in front of my house. If I had it there Thursday night, he’d have called the cops then. Just like he did last night when Grace and I were unloading it. He fussed about it Friday morning when Cassie drove it to me.”

  “There’s some good news.”

  I kept friend requesting Gary Meadows to myself.

  Nineteen

  I turned on the radio before heading to Helen’s house, planning to get caught up on the goings on around our area. The news came on and the big story was a warning of an impending snow storm coming Wednesday evening as people were traveling to their holiday destinations.

  “We advise travelers to leave early on Wednesday or wait until Friday. It’s a doozy of a storm, and the less people on the roads the better. If you’re one of the ones who think snow can’t stop you, pack plenty of blankets, water, and non-perishable foods before you venture out. Expect worse bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic than usual on the interstate.”

  My heart sunk. I might be alone for Thanksgiving. Or if not alone, without Scotland. There was a chance Raleigh could get off work early but not her brother. He was scheduled from eight a.m. to four p.m., and if the weather was bad, he’d likely need to stay. I knew the day that all my children couldn’t come home for a holiday would arrive, but I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

  “If you haven’t stocked up on necessities for the storm, make sure to do it today before the worst hits or the shelves are bare,” the newscaster advised.

  I was nearing One Stop, the gas station slash convenience store where the winning lottery ticket was sold. There was a huge sign with “Winning Lottery Ticket Bought Here,” written in a block font. Dollar signs were placed around the words. Samuel played every Tuesday and Friday, buying one Easy Pick and one ticket with his lucky numbers. Had Samuel won? Was that why the winner hadn’t come forward? They were dead.

  The message Gary Meadows left on Samuel’s Facebook page flashed in my head, Told you, man, trouble follows. The theory had locusts swarming in my stomach. I fisted my hand and placed it on my stomach, hoping it stopped the brewing battle. Would an employee be able to tell me if Samuel bought the winning lottery ticket?

  I parked in front of the store. I opened a browser on my cell phone and typed in lottery winner who—and the words “died tragically” popped up. With shaking fingers, I tapped on the link and read the stories. My hand shook even worse, so I tightened my hold on my phone, the case pressing into my palm and fingers, leaving a mark. Some of those tragic deaths were winners who had been murdered shortly after having won. I clicked over to my Facebook page and checked my friend request. Gary still hadn’t accepted it. Was that what he warned Samuel about? Samuel had posted his first vague Facebook post after the winning numbers had been drawn. Had he been boasting about winning twelve million dollars?

  Images flickered in my brain. The CDs in the driver door holder. Paper containers in the wrong order. Vinyl on the floor of th
e RV. The hole near the vent. The items in the wrong place in my garage. Someone was searching for the ticket.

  A person who knew Samuel bought it. Was that what Samuel had eluded to and what he wanted to tell me? He won twelve million dollars. Why tell me? To let you know what a catch you let get away. My self-respect and my mother’s well-being wasn’t worth twelve million dollars, or any amount of money.

  Coldness griped my scalp. I jerked my attention away from the phone and scanned the area. No one was lingering outside in the misting rain. There was one way to find out if Samuel bought his ticket here. Slipping out of my car, I yanked up the hood of my coat and ran into the store.

  The store was empty. Since I was there, I grabbed a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread, and toilet paper before the local stores were cleared out. I placed the items on the counter, searching for any sign of any more information about the winning lottery ticket. There wouldn’t be anything with Samuel’s face on it, but it might state the day the ticket was bought.

  “Customers have also been picking up a lighter and batteries in case the power goes out. Would you like to add some to your purchase?” The cashier asked.

  I followed his suggestion and added them to my order. Beside me was a case filled with scratch-off tickets and a machine to print out the lottery tickets. Right above was a security camera. And if my guess on the motive for Samuel’s murder was correct, the winning ticket brought him death instead of riches.

  I handed over my debit card. “Did you sell the winning ticket?”

  “Have no idea. I don’t know who won.” His gaze skittered around the store, almost like he was looking for someone else to help.

  “Why does my question make you nervous?”

  “We’ve had people asking us that ever since it was announced our store sold the ticket. My parents have been harassed by the police, scammers with fake tickets thinking my parents had the money to give them, and anyone else looking for a quick dollar. I keep telling my folks to take down the sign out front, but they said they had to have it up.”

  “Maybe the security footage shows who bought it.”

  He pivoted and stared at the camera that was pointed toward the machine and cash register. “If it does, I sure wouldn’t share it with anyone. People deserve their privacy. With as many whackos as there are nowadays, they deserve to be safe. Is there anything else? I see someone needs help in the back.” He placed my items into a bag, double bagged it, then handed it to me.

  I was on to something here. The snow crunched under my feet as I walked to my car. I’d talk to Brett about it and see if he could request the tapes. Later. I doubt he’d be happy I was on my way to Helen’s house. This was one of those times it was better to seek forgiveness from your attorney than get his permission first.

  With my mission on my mind, I carefully navigated the snow-covered roads to Helen’s house, praying the roads remained opened and relatively clear until we ran her errands and found a copy of my divorce decree.

  Helen lived at the end of a paved road, her nearest neighbors half a mile away. She liked the peace and quiet, and now I was worried it was too peaceful and quiet. If someone came after Helen thinking she might have money, there was no one near to help her.

  I parked in her driveway and carefully placed my foot on the walkway. It was slippery. There was a nice spot along the walkway to add some wooden hand rails that blended into the style of the house. I hated thinking of the widow falling on the ice when she went to get her mail. Helen didn’t own a cell phone and could be stranded for hours, injured and in the cold. Whether she wanted one or not, I was getting Helen a cell phone. Even if I had to enlist her granddaughter’s help. Helen had a hard time saying no to Cassie.

  Helen opened the door before I knocked. “Come in.” She shuffled out of my way. The gait different than her usual bouncing step. The light was gone from her eyes. She seemed frail. Old. The last few days had stripped her of her vibrancy—or rather the death of her son had.

  “I’m so sorry, Helen.”

  She leaned into me. Sobs shook her body. “My boy. My boy is gone. Why would someone kill him?”

  I wasn’t sharing my theory with his mom. No reason was a good reason and knowing it was about money wouldn’t relieve any of her grief. I led her to the couch and helped her sink onto the cushion. “Let’s sit.”

  She grabbed a wad of tissues and mopped up the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop myself from crying.”

  “Don’t apologize.” I kept an arm draped around her shoulders. “Would you like to talk about Samuel?”

  The hardest part about death was no one wanted to talk about the deceased. When my father died, everyone acted as if uttering his name was a curse. People tripped over themselves with apologies if they uttered it. I wanted to tell them I loved hearing it. Needed to hear his name. I wanted a reminder that other people knew and loved him. Rather, a lot of friends behaved like he never existed, even going so far as to not utter the word “father” in front of me as if I’d break down into a wailing mess.

  “What I want is to find out who killed my boy.” She gripped my hand. The pressure turned my knuckles white.

  I shifted uncomfortably. She knew I was a suspect. If it made her feel better to hurl verbal abuse at me, I’d accept it. I hated seeing Helen look old and like she was giving up on life. Her granddaughter needed her now more than ever.

  She stroked my cheek. “No matter what the Morgantown detective hints at, I know in my heart you didn’t kill Samuel.”

  “It means a lot to me that you don’t believe that horrible accusation.”

  “Never about you, darling. Is there a reason you came by today? You have to know people will talk about it, and that detective could make a huge ado about you seeing me.”

  “I know Monday is your errand day and wanted to see if you needed someone to take you.”

  “I’d like that. I do need to get to the post office.” She nodded toward a pile of Christmas cards. “Have you seen Cassie? I haven’t seen my granddaughter since Friday. She stopped by briefly and no word from her since then. I was hoping she was staying with you.”

  “She’s not at my house. Bonnie told me told that Cassie hasn’t been there.” Worry flooded through me. Where was she staying?

  “I hope…” Helen trailed off, worrying her hands together.

  “What?”

  “It’s probably nothing. Knowing my granddaughter, she wants extra attention, and this is her way of getting it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the girl is probably sneaking in and out her window. I caught her doing it a few times and told Samuel. He said Cassie liked thinking she was a rebel, but he knew what she was up to. It was harmless. She was still showing up for her shifts at the book store, so he wasn’t concerned about it.”

  Until she fell climbing out the window and broke something. “I guess it’s good she has somewhere to go since she and Bonnie don’t get along.”

  Helen looked away, brows drawn down and her lip trembled.

  “What’s wrong? Please don’t tell me nothing.”

  “Rumors. One should never base facts on them.”

  “What are people saying?”

  “Lynne, Cassie’s mother, is in town.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. “Do you think Cassie is with her?” That was good. Right? Cassie needed someone to lean on. Except why now? After almost eighteen years, Cassie’s mother reenters her life—right around the time Samuel won money. Had Samuel reached out to his ex? Maybe Samuel had chosen Bonnie over Cassie and to soften the blow, had found a way to bring Lynne back into his daughter’s life. What better way to feel better about kicking your child out then handing her off to her mother?

  “I think Cassie is trying to play everyone against each other.” Helen let out a huge sigh. “Someone killed her father and she doesn’t know who to trust. The police are pointing
at you and I know Cassie is having a hard time believing that. Bonnie was at work, so it couldn’t be her.”

  With Bonnie having a solid alibi, it meant the other possible suspect was Cassie. “According to Cassie’s Facebook page, she believes I killed her father.”

  Helen clutched my hands. “She doesn’t mean it. She’s hurting and lashing out. Please don’t take it to heart.”

  It was hard not to.

  “Please tell me the real reason you came today. I’m certain your attorney wouldn’t approve of you being here. If you’re throwing aside advice, it’s because you need something.”

  She had me. “A copy of the divorce decree.”

  “The divorce decree?” She looked puzzled.

  “Mine and Samuel’s. Bonnie has been pestering me about it.”

  “Of course, she has.” Helen frowned. “The woman has left messages for me. I didn’t feel like talking to her.”

  “She called Milton and he’s out of town. I haven’t received one in the mail yet, but Samuel had to have one to get remarried, and he wouldn’t have thrown it away. Your house is the only other place I could think of that he’d store it.”

  “I don’t recall seeing it.” She tapped her lip. “Then again, my son knew I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Bonnie said it’s not at her house. She’s looked everywhere.”

  “I’ll check in Samuel’s scrapbook. Maybe he slipped it into the memory pocket. There are boxes in the attic of some of Samuel’s mementos. You can look up there. He was rummaging around up there Thursday morning.”

  The day he died. “Sure.”

  I went into her garage and pulled down the steps leading to the attic. Cold air shot down. More insulation was needed up there. I climbed up, making a mental note to add it to my list of projects for Helen’s house.

  Boxes were scattered all around the attic. Some open, some closed. Samuel made a mess up here. Was he looking for, or hiding, something? The first box was filled with Christmas decorations. I pushed it toward the door, planning on hauling it down for Helen. There were a few more and I moved them over.