NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  The back of the attic was more of a mess than the front. Old clothes, comics, and toys were strewn around. Samuel had been looking for something. But what? Set off to the side was a box filled with yearbooks and photographs. A magnetic photo album on top was open. There were pictures of a younger Samuel with various women and an empty spot where a picture had been, a few tendrils of the backing paper remained on the sticky sheet.

  I flipped to the next page, again another missing photo. Throughout the book, there was a photo missing here and there. Who had Samuel removed from his photographed life? Lynne? Or had someone removed themselves from it?

  I tucked the book under my arm and carried it down. The last thought refused to leave me. Had someone else tampered with the book? Did Samuel invite someone to his mom’s home or had someone found a way into the grieving mother’s home?

  I tested the garage door. It was a sturdy metal door controlled by a standard door opener remote. Easy to hack. I knew that because Scotland warned me of the possibility if I switched over to one. He insisted I take him shopping with me when I replaced the door. I’d call Paul and ask him to check Helen’s door for security issues.

  Helen was sitting on the couch, staring at a scrapbook on her lap. Her thin fingers caressed the cheek of her son. “This is his last scrapbook. I never thought I’d make a last one.”

  I placed the one I found in the attic on the coffee table. “Would you like to look at it with me?”

  Tears shone in her eyes. “Are you sure? I know your relationship with Samuel was painful at the end. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

  “He wasn’t who I expected him to be,” I treaded carefully, “and I’m sure I wasn’t who he expected either. Some people make great friends but not so good spouses to each other.”

  “Was that how it was with your first husband?”

  I nodded. “I’m great at making friends just not in finding true love.”

  “Or our expectations for true love are a little unrealistic. Even if a person loves you, they will disappoint you. Nothing is perfect. Even true love.” She closed the book. “How about we look at this later? The snow is still falling. We should get going before the snow starts sticking more.”

  “Did you find the divorce decree?”

  She shook her head. “Not in the attic either?”

  “Nope. I found a photo album in the attic with some photos taken out of it.” I opened it up.

  Frowning, she flipped through the pages. “I’ve never seen this album. I fussed at him for not taking any pictures when he was in college. Said he didn’t have any and here they are. Why did Samuel hide it up there?”

  And lie about it. “Do you mind if I take it with me?”

  “I don’t know.” She clutched it to her chest.

  I pointed at the picture size blank spots. “There was someone who didn’t want to be in his book anymore. It might be the person who killed him.”

  “Take care of it for me.” She kissed the book then handed it to me.

  “Do you still feel up to doing your errands?”

  She planted her hands onto the couch cushion and pushed herself up. There was a fire in her eyes and her mouth was no longer trembling. Her strength had returned. “Yes. Let me get my mail.”

  Twenty

  “Do you mind parking by Harold’s Hotdogs? I’ve been cooped up since last Monday. I’m having a good day today and would love to stretch my legs some.”

  “Are you sure? It’s raining.” I was surprised she was having a good day. Helen had arthritis in her hips and the dampness in the air usually set it off, coupled with a wet sidewalk, it would be harder for her to walk.

  “I know the weather, and I know my body. I need to stretch out my muscles and joints or I’ll never be able to use them.” There was a tenseness in her voice I never heard from her.

  She was an adult and could make health decisions for herself, plus I was sure she didn’t want to be reminded about her precarious health situation. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago and had been in remission though the last mammogram had a hot spot. As Samuel and I divorced soon after her last appointment, I hadn’t heard if it was nothing or if the cancer had returned. If she wanted me to know about her health, she’d tell me.

  “I’m sorry.” I pulled into a space right in front of Harold’s. “I was out of line.”

  “Don’t you fret. The last few days have been trying for both of us. I’ll just head over to the bank then the post office. I’ll meet you back here.” She grinned at me. “After I stop at Harold’s for a corn dog. I have a hankering for something fried even if it’s not good for me. Want one?”

  “Sure.” I had meant to decline as Christmas cookie season was about to start, but the impish look in her pale blue eyes had me wanting to throw food caution to the side. “I’m going to head over to the bookstore. Rachel usually places an order for a Christmas sign depending upon her theme.”

  “While you’re there, you can ask if Cassie is scheduled to work this week. If the girl doesn’t come see me, Grandma will come to her.” Helen centered a knowing look on me and exited the car, the bright red envelopes of her Christmas cards sticking out from her purse. She knew I hadn’t planned just to go see about business. I was also checking on Cassie.

  I headed toward One More Page, the bookstore owned by my friend Rachel Abbott. The store was in the middle of Main Avenue, making it the perfect location viewing of the annual Christmas Parade. It was why her window decoration sign was important to her. She knew a lot of people would see it and she wanted to draw them in. Rachel had a standing order for every Christmas, and I always made it right after the Morgantown Holiday Bazaar as she knew I was swamped making products for the show.

  The doorbell buzzed as I entered the store.

  “Welcome to One More Page,” a voice echoed from the back.

  For the most part, Rachel was a one-woman show. She made enough to stay afloat but not to hire more than one part-time worker, two times a week. Cassie’s love of reading and frequent visiting of the bookstore got her the job.

  “It’s Merry. Stopping by for ideas for your window sign.”

  “Great! I’ll be out in a few, placing an order for a new book that the internet is buzzing about. Want to get it in before the parade. I hope it makes it here in two weeks.”

  “Wishing you tons of customers.” I walked over to the window and studied it. So far, it was a blank canvas, nothing to indicate the theme Rachel wanted. She usually had a few items on the large sill…books, stuffed animal, trinkets.

  “Santa.” Rachel’s voice carried over to me. “It’s all I got right now.”

  Not as elaborate as her usual themes. It was easier to work with, which was good since my current life focus was figuring out a better murder suspect than me. I turned slowly, mapping out each area of the store in my head. Santa. North Pole was done at the craft show. We could narrow it down to one part of the North Pole.

  “Santa’s workshop,” I said as Rachel entered the store area.

  She grinned. “I was thinking more along the lines of Santa’s office. For the front window, I’d like a naughty and nice list, the nice side I’d have names of residents, and the naughty will be well-known book villains.”

  Brilliant and easy. “I can have that done by the beginning of next week.”

  “Great. I’ll send you the names.” Rachel trailed off, her smile hinting there was something she wanted me to know but was above gossip.

  I considered Rachel a good friend and enjoyed her company. The one aspect of her personality that annoyed me was her insistence she wasn’t a gossip yet told everyone what she knew…once you inquired about it. She felt she wasn’t gossiping if she didn’t bring up the topic. I guessed she wanted to tell me something related to Samuel. It was currently the most gossip worthy topic in Season’s Greetings. I’d venture into the subjec
t by asking about Cassie.

  “How has Cassie been? She’s a little angry with me so I haven’t wanted to call her since her father died.”

  Rachel heaved out a sigh. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Cassie.”

  What had Cassie been saying about me to Rachel? “Has she done something that worries you?”

  “I haven’t seen her since Samuel died. I left a message that I’d hold her job until she felt up to coming in.”

  “That’s nice—”

  Rachel held up a hand, silencing me. “On Thursday, a woman was talking to Cassie. It seemed like an intense conversation. Cassie seemed really upset. I walked over, and the woman left. I caught a bit of their conversation. The woman mentioned something about selling a vehicle.”

  Maybe I hadn’t been the first one Cassie asked to buy the RV. “Who was she?”

  “I hadn’t seen her around town before. Cassie seems to know her. I saw them in front of Milton’s office this morning.”

  My divorce attorney. Why?

  After returning home from dropping off Helen, I called Milton. The message went straight to voicemail. The man was still hunting. Maybe the woman with Cassie needed an attorney, or Cassie was so distraught over something that the woman walked with her to Milton’s office, doing a kindness for the girl. Milton and Samuel had been good friends for a while until they had a falling out awhile back, one Samuel refused to talk about. Cassie had talked about the fishing trips her and her dad had gone on with Milton when she was little. The teen was probably still fond of him, and it wasn’t a surprise she’d want to see Milton after her dad died. It was likely Samuel had Milton draw up a will, or Cassie was checking to see if Milton knew about a will.

  But who was the woman? And old friend of Samuel’s? Could she be the person no longer in the photo album? Or Lynne?

  I spread the photo albums on my workspace and booted up my computer. The pictures seemed to be from when Samuel was in college at WVU in Morgantown. It was a large school. I flipped through the album again, trying to find another familiar face among the pages. Since Season’s Greetings was within two hours of WVU, a lot of graduating seniors attended the large university. Was the missing photo a picture of a local resident?

  I couldn’t remember Samuel mentioning who he hung out with at college. He had so many friends on Facebook, it would take a long time to narrow down which ones were from his college days, and the detective might be monitoring the page.

  Cassie would know. Did I want to drag a teenager into this mess? If Samuel wasn’t the one who ripped out the pictures, then it was tied to his murder. I couldn’t bring her into this. I wanted her safe.

  There was a number one in a blue circle on the corner of the icon for my messenger app. It was a message from Gary Meadows.

  I don’t usually friend strangers, but a pretty woman in Christmas attire catches my interest. Not to mention the seasonal name. Merry Winters. Decided you were worth a risk.

  I wasn’t quite sure he was, but I had no choice. Or so, I told myself. I saw your message to Samuel Waters and was wondering how you knew him.

  How is that your concern?

  He was my ex-husband.

  I watched the messages. No response. My heart thudded. Was this a spy for Detective Grayson? Brett had warned me about the possibility. Would they come beating down my door any minute? Nothing I typed sounded sinister or like a confession. I read what I wrote. Nope. All sounded innocent.

  You are that Merry Winters.

  What did Samuel say about me?

  You were a stickler for rules. He should’ve given you what you wanted when you asked for it. Wondered if it was too late.

  Yes, I responded back quickly.

  I guess he got what he deserved.

  My fingers flew over the keys; tap, tap, tap, the clicks coming fast and furious. That’s a horrible thing to say about a person. He didn’t deserve to be killed.

  I wasn’t talking about that. Though the man shouldn’t have been bragging. Not all one thinks or owns should be discussed in public.

  He won the lottery. Didn’t he?

  There was another long pause before Gary responded back. You didn’t know.

  You did. You had warned Samuel about his social media vague bragging.

  Yes, Gary wrote. I told him he was setting himself up for a big fall.

  How do you know Samuel? He confided a lot to you. Was Gary the person in the photographs? Why did he pop back into Samuel’s life now? Did he live around or in Season’s Greetings?

  I waited for an answer, heart racing. I drew in deep breaths to steady my nerves. The longer there was no response, the more I suspected Gary was a ruse—Detective Grayson in disguise. How did I know who Gary Meadows was? Or that he was who he really was? A person could be anyone on the internet.

  After an hour of staring at my phone, I accepted the fact that Gary Meadows had nothing further to say.

  I ventured onto his Facebook page and it was filled with movie quotes and lyrics. Shares of places to travel, investing, and fishing. Nothing personal at all on his page. Foreboding weighed me down. Gary Meadows was a pretender.

  But why?

  The troubling thought followed me as I turned off the light and headed to bed. My life was filled with a list of unanswered questions. All of them centered around Samuel’s murder and being accused of it.

  Maybe tomorrow, I’d find an answer. Tonight, I was too tired. And truth be told, I was losing hope.

  Twenty-One

  The first hint of the sun rising streamed through the windows of my craft room, chasing away the darkness. A new day dawned, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I wanted to hide rather than venture out. Samuel’s death shook the core of my world. I was looking at people I knew with suspicious eyes and questioning their intent, including a teenage girl. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t who I was. I didn’t like my options: stay optimistic and risk my freedom or become hardened and save it in one way but lose it in another.

  I couldn’t sleep, so instead of tossing and turning, I caught up on orders. Trying to prove myself innocent of my ex-husband’s murder had consumed a lot of time. Christmas orders were coming in fast and furious. I had heard two cha-chings while I was working on the current order: a set of his and her wine glasses with a Christmas wedding theme. A Christmas wedding, what could be more magical? Surprisingly, I had two weddings and neither took place around Christmas.

  I hunched over one of Samuel’s photo albums as my Cricut chugged away, cutting out the vinyl for an order. My task light was shining down on the magnetic album. Ebenezer whistled by the door and thumped against it.

  “You can’t come in here.” I told him for the umpteenth time. “Customers don’t like their gifts coming with fur.”

  I glanced at my phone. No calls from Brett. I had left him a message this morning to call me since I had figured out why Samuel was killed. Either Brett was driving, or he hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with me. I knew he’d lecture me on not staying out of it, a fact he had to know I couldn’t do. This was my life. How could I stay out of it?

  Ebenezer banged again.

  “I fed you breakfast.” Even though I skipped it. “Quit it. I mean it.”

  He squealed. He reminded me of my daughter, having to say the last word.

  The vinyl was cut. I grabbed a transfer sheet, trimming it to fit the phrase perfectly. The best way to layer vinyl was to cut transfer sheet pieces to the exact measurement as the foundation piece and line up the edges of the transfer sheet before placing it down. I had ruined some projects before I discovered the tip on YouTube. Now, I saved myself a lot of time and frustration by watching videos first rather than through the good old trial-and-error method.

  “We’re a Couple of Misfits” played on my phone. Brett.

  I snagged my cell. “I know why someone killed Samuel. He wo
n the lottery.”

  “How do you know this?” He sounded aggravated. Not a good mood to start the day or our conversation.

  There was a thump in the hallway. Great. Now Ebenezer was hitting the wall near my bedroom. “Don’t you dare gnaw on anymore walls,” I corrected the rascal then answered Brett. “He always bought two tickets every Monday and Friday. Cassie keeps asking me about a ticket. It all fits together.”

  “Are the winning numbers the ones he always played?”

  “I don’t know. He bought one ticket with his special numbers and the other was an Easy Pick. Four of the numbers are his and his mom’s birthday.”

  “There was no ticket found on Samuel.” Horns honked in the background. “This traffic is horrendous.”

  “That’s because the killer has it. All the police have to do is wait to see who turns it in.”

  “The winner usually has a time frame between six months and a year to collect their winnings.”

  I grew quiet. Brett sure knew that quickly, either he played the lottery quite a bit or he knew the motive. The man was keeping things from me. “You knew?”

  “It’s what you’re paying me for. To find out those type of things.”

  “When were you planning on telling me?”

  “I didn’t have to, your message clued me in to the fact that you already knew.”

  I switched over from my Cricut program to a browser and plugged winning the lottery in West Virginia into Google. “Six months in West Virginia. Maybe they’ll turn it in sooner.” I didn’t want to be a suspect for six months.

  “If someone killed Samuel for the ticket, they’re scouring the newspaper. They’ll wait until things settled down before they claim the money. What proof do you have that Samuel bought a ticket that day and it was those numbers?”

  “What proof does the detective have that I’m guilty? My theory is just as solid as his.”

  “Yes, which is why you’re not in jail and still considered a person of interest.”