NOT a CREATURE WAS STIRRING

by Christina Freeburn

  “Because I wanted her to look at the photo albums and tell me who was missing. She was ignoring my calls. The only thing she was interested in was the ticket. I used it.”

  “When were you meeting her?” Grayson asked.

  I glanced at the phone. “An hour ago. She was going to come over. I stood her up.” Yet, there were no messages from her. “She must’ve looked herself. I bet she was the person who jumped over my fence.”

  “Do you think she kill—”

  My eyes widened. “No. She wouldn’t have killed her father. She loved him. He was her only parent.”

  “Birth mom is not in the picture?” Grayson asked.

  “She hasn’t seen Cassie since she was a baby. Samuel never talked much about her. Just that she had wanted a baby but realized after a few months she didn’t want to be a mother and left. He married again a few years later and divorced. Married again. Let’s just say that happened a couple of times. I think Samuel was looking for a mother for his daughter rather than a wife for himself, so the marriages never lasted long.”

  “Is there anyone else you can think of that has talked to you about the ticket? The lottery? Anything suspicious at all?” Grayson asked.

  “No.” I stopped talking as memories weaved in and out of my mind. Oh my God! No. It couldn’t be. With shaking hands, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and brought up my designing app. Think of it like a decal. Add each piece in the main component and check if it layers together. The name on the picture floated into my head.

  “Merry, what are—”

  I held up my hand. I needed silence, no extra words in my head. I wrote lottery in a large box and start piling in all the instances of vandalism. Comments I remembered. Long time to get RV. Checking the underneath storage compartment. Told me to check Samuel’s Facebook. Tears cascaded down my cheeks. No. Not my friend. Not my Grace. My heart shattered.

  Samuel had talked to Grace, but not about wanting to rent a booth. It was about Milton. The man who left her because their son understood the world differently than others.

  “Merry, what’s wrong?”

  “I know who’s been looking for the ticket. Grace Turner.”

  Brett sucked in a breath. “Abraham’s mom. My other client.”

  Grayson sent a sharp look in Brett’s direction before settling a sympathetic one on me. “The woman’s son was with you when you discovered Samuel’s body.”

  I nodded, tears clogging my breath.

  “Her son was the one I talked with Saturday. He mentioned you wanted him to help you move stuff out of the RV,” Grayson said.

  “Yes, the trees.”

  The trees. Abraham had to have the tree with the bit of red on the top. Abraham was frantic for that tree. Had Grace asked her son to get it for her? Was she afraid it could implicate her in Samuel’s murder? What if she came to Season’s Greetings to have it out with Milton and he told her about the lottery ticket. That amount of money would ensure her that Abraham would have the proper care he needed when she died. Her son, the light of her life, would be taken care of. It was her one worry about life, or rather death.

  “Do you think she might have killed Samuel Waters?” Grayson’s gentle voice broke me.

  “I don’t know.” I covered my face with my hands and wept.

  Twenty-Five

  Brett followed me home. Why wouldn’t he listen to me and go back to Virginia? It was a three and half hour drive home for him. I knew he thought I needed him. What I needed was to be left alone to sort out my emotional turmoil. Or as alone as one could be with a police officer and a detective keeping tabs on you. I had told the detective about Grace coming tomorrow and he said he’d be ready for her.

  I was certain I lost Brett when I stopped at the drug store and spent an inordinate amount of time in the feminine product section. In case that hadn’t worked, I ordered a pizza from the local pizzeria while I was parked in their lot and designed Christmas t-shirts while I waited for my early dinner. My plans for the remainder of the dwindling day was eat, craft, and try to keep my mind from Grace. None of those activities required Brett. I figured he had better things to do with his time. I was wrong.

  Thumping the back of my head on the seat rest, I moaned. Even though we had a cordial relationship, it didn’t mean he needed to protect me by staying the night in my house. There was a fine line between professional issues and personal. Samuel was personal. Brett and I had to keep our relationship professional. Attorney-client.

  Brett got out of his car. I shoved open my door. “Go home. I mean it.”

  “I’ve never known you to be so stubborn and refusing to see possibilities. Why can’t you see that you are in danger? You’ve always had quite the imagination.” The scorn in his voice was hard to discount.

  I knew his mind slipped to our divorce. We had a whirlwind courtship, met in May and married in September, and neglected to discuss important issues we’d face in our marriage and in raising children. Young love was always in a rush. After Raleigh was born, I was excited to start the Santa tradition. Brett wanted it nixed, saying it was lying and created a false sense of expectations and self-esteem issues for children whose parents couldn’t afford their wishes. It was another way for those children not to measure up and feel like Santa disliked them and contributed to the notion that poor equaled naughty as Santa only delivered to good.

  I had been crushed my husband wanted to deny our child an experience that showed wonder, magic, and belief in others. Belief beyond yourself was my true driving force. It was my life. My parents had taken in a child that wasn’t theirs and loved her. Saved me. My mother lived every day as a wonderful, magical moment with endless possibilities no matter what happened the day before or what you currently possessed.

  “To me, Christmas wasn’t about imagination. It was about tradition and hope.” I slammed the door shut, careful not to drop my pizza, and hit the lock button. It beeped. “I can’t do this. Go home.”

  “I loved your Christmas spirit. I just had concerns. I loved your hope. Your belief. I needed someone who had an abundance of it because I knew it was what I lacked. My mission wasn’t to be a Grinch in your life.”

  Brett believed I picked a holiday over him. He couldn’t understand it was about our different approaches to life. I believed I could do anything because my mom spoke of hope. I wanted that for our children. Brett disagreed. Hope without reason or a plan was setting people up for failure and was an unrealistic expectation that destroyed their spirit, not helped grow it.

  “There’s no reason for us to rehash this out in the cold. We’re divorced. You’re married.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to discuss what happened to us?” Brett whispered. “Because I’m married.”

  “Because we’re divorced, Brett. You know Raleigh still has visions of us rekindling our marriage in our golden years. I don’t want to give our children a false hope.”

  “I thought you were all about hope.”

  Twinges of anger were building. Why was Brett doing this? Balancing the pizza on one hand, I pointed at myself then at him. “Not about this. As I said, I embrace magic and reality. Santa will come but he might not bring what you asked for. Santa can’t bring you a live alligator no matter how good you are.”

  “You’re comparing me to an alligator.”

  “I’m comparing you to something that’s impossible to have.”

  “I’m not. I’m separated.”

  An emotion fluttered in my chest, a tangled mess of longing, fear, confusion, and anger. Why tell me now? Why not earlier? Why at all. Unless…no, we couldn’t—I couldn’t—redo the past. I turned my back on him and walked to my front door. “This isn’t going to work. You’re my attorney. It’s becoming personal and it shouldn’t. Why we aren’t married anymore doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with my being a suspect in Samuel’s case. We have to have a p
rofessional distance between us.”

  “If that’s what you want, I agree to those terms.” His tone didn’t match the words. “We’ll maintain a professional decorum. You are my client. Not my ex-wife. Not the mother of my children.”

  “Now that we have that settled, you can go home.”

  “I have some appointments in Morgantown. I’ll stay in Season’s Greetings tonight and head over in the morning.”

  “Why not now? You can stay with the kids.”

  He held up his hand and shook his head. “Remember, professional. No talk of children.”

  The man was exasperating. “Fine. If you prefer a bed-and-breakfast, there’s a lovely one in the heart of town. It has a wonderful view of the town Christmas tree and since it’s not lit it won’t disturb your rest. Or there’s a motel at the end of town. They have a business center and a gym. That might be more to your liking.”

  “To best serve my client’s needs, I’m staying here.” Brett motioned for me to step away from the front door.

  I took a gamble and stepped closer. “That’s not in her best interests. Her ex-husband was found murdered and she’s a suspect.”

  “Was a suspect. Grayson has seemed to move on to another. And the deceased is your husband.”

  “You’re a cruel man, Mr. Calloway.”

  “You have to face it. You’re still married to the man.”

  “Even more of a reason you shouldn’t be bunking down in my house.”

  A smile played at his lips. “Technically, you’re a widow. You’re not breaking any vows or doing something immoral by having a man in your house.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  He heaved out a sigh. “You’re right.”

  The front door opened with a push. In my haste to leave, I hadn’t tugged it close or locked it. This wasn’t good. Someone was looking for a lottery ticket and I basically handed them a written invitation to enter my house. “Brett.”

  “Merry, what’s wrong?” He dropped the phone back into his pocket and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, moving in front of me. This time, I didn’t block his attempt to offer protection.

  “My door wasn’t shut all the way.” I wandered into the living room and placed the pizza on the coffee table. Nothing seemed out of place. The living room was in the same order as I had left it. The couch cushions were in place. The mantel still had family photos line up.

  “Do you remember closing it?”

  “I can’t say for certain.”

  “Let’s check before we call the police.” Brett’s attention was on the photographs, all of them snapshots of daily life. Scotland and Raleigh opening Christmas presents, playing horseshoes in the backyard, Raleigh and I baking, Scotland teaching me how to play a video game.

  The wistfulness in his gaze spoke to my heart. I squeezed his hand. “I can print you out a copy of those.”

  He clasped my hand. “Let’s check the other rooms. Stay behind me.”

  Hand-in-hand, we crept in. Mine shook while his grip was firm and reassuring. The heat from his hand warmed mine. My temperature seemed to have dropped fifteen degrees. He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. The feeling of being all right evaporated when we moved from the dining room into the kitchen. The kitchen was a disaster zone. The refrigerator was open. The drawers tugged out. Food, plastic ware, and utensils had been dumped on the vinyl floor. The newspaper was shredded into pieces. If it wasn’t for the grip I had on Brett’s hand, I’d have tumbled to the floor.

  “I’m taking it you are not responsible for this mess.”

  “No.”

  We stood quiet in the kitchen, listening for footsteps overhead. Nothing. It was eerily quiet. Not even any scratching of tiny toenails on the hardwood floors or the muffled thump of a furry critter jumping downstairs.

  “Ebenezer.” I cried and ran out of the kitchen for the stairs. I took them two at a time, my short gait almost causing me to fall up the stairs. “Ebenezer.” My voice shook.

  Brett ran up behind me, with his longer stride, he overtook me and blocked the landing. “The burglar might still be here.”

  “Ebenezer’s missing. I have to know he’s safe.” My bedroom door was open. Dread filled me, crushing my spirit. Tears slid down my cheeks. I left Ebenezer alone all day. Defenseless. I should’ve come home sooner instead of waiting Brett out. I was a strong woman. I wasn’t a coward. I should’ve told him firmly he was not coming home with me and there would not be a personal relationship between us. Our lives were tied together because of our love for our children, but not combined.

  “Who’s Ebenezer?”

  “He’s my companion. He’s my pet. My traveling buddy.”

  “We’ll find him. I promise.”

  I pushed past him. We were wasting time. I ran into my room. It was trashed. My clothes dumped on the floor. The drawers tossed to the side. The wall had a hole where one of the drawers had hit it. I dropped to my knees and lifted the edge of the comforter. It was too dark. I wriggled underneath. Ebenezer wasn’t under the bed. I scooted back out, my fast pace tugging up my shirt and leaving a slight rug burn on my stomach.

  “Merry, we have to leave.” Brett held his hand out to me.

  I pivoted and crawled toward the dresser. Ebenezer wasn’t hiding there either. Where was he? I sat back on my heels. Panic was building again along with the tears. I stood and scanned the room. On the floor were small pieces of dry clay. I didn’t make pottery, but I knew someone who did. Grace. She was already in town.

  My tears dried. “There’s a sledgehammer in my garage. Get it and meet me at your car.”

  “Merry?” Brett’s voice was filled with trepidation.

  I didn’t blame him. My temperament usually stayed at one place for a long period of time. Mood swings weren’t my thing—until it came to someone hurting my children. Then it morphed in a nanosecond and stayed in Mama Bear mode until I destroyed the threat. It was time to do just that.

  “We’re going to give Grace what she wants.”

  Twenty-Six

  Even though it was only six thirty, the sky was dark and clear, almost like it was cleaning the slate for the impending storm to arrive tomorrow. I wished it had come tonight then Ebenezer would’ve been safe at home and I wouldn’t be on my way with Brett to destroy what had, briefly, been a dream come true.

  “This is a bad idea.” Brett said, giving me the side-eye.

  I cradled the sledgehammer in my arms. “You can drop me off at the fire station and leave. Paul will help me.”

  “Who’s Paul?” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “A friend who’s willing to help me.”

  Brett clenched his teeth. Okay, that wasn’t nice. I needed all the help possible to destroy the dinette and get the ticket. It had to be in the bench, likely fallen through a crack. It was the only place that hadn’t been searched thoroughly. I knew of no other place Samuel would’ve hidden the ticket.

  “Bonnie might have the ticket. It might be why she’s so determined to have the divorce decree,” Brett said.

  “Which there isn’t one and I’m sure that truth is all over town by now with Milton arrested. If she has the ticket, she’d tear it up. No way would she let me have the money. Too many people know Samuel bought the ticket.”

  “How can you be sure she knows you’re still married to Samuel?”

  “I don’t want rational arguments right now. I want to get Ebenezer back.” I heaved out a sigh and clutched the sledgehammer tighter. “I feel this all-consuming need to bash something.”

  “Dinette is the best option.” Brett pulled into the parking lot of the fire station.

  Paul was already there, sitting on the hood of his sports car. He hopped off when we pulled up beside him.

  I got out, being careful not to hit Brett’s
car with the sledgehammer. “Thanks for meeting us here.”

  “Chief says feel free to use any of the crow bars.” He handed me a pair of safety googles. “No one has asked about the RV or done anything to it. An officer has been driving by a few times at night to make sure everything was quiet. I called the police to let them know we were doing some minor renovations tonight. I didn’t want them getting suspicious with all the cars in the lot.”

  Or other people might if there was more than one car here. “Brett, can you pull your car behind the building?”

  “Why?”

  “This way someone driving by won’t see two cars. It might make them not want to stop.”

  Brett narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” Paul said, opening the bay door. “I’ll move my car. If the kidnapper is a local, they’ll recognize it and know I’m here and won’t stop. An out of towner wouldn’t know and they’ll stop.”

  “Do we want a potential murderer stopping while we’re here?” Brett’s feelings on the plan came through clear in his voice. He thought we were out of our minds.

  “It’ll make it easier for the police to arrest them,” I said. “The officers know what we’re doing. I’ll ask Paul to contact the dispatcher and have them know only one car should be out here, if another is in the lot it’s trouble.”

  “You’re taking a big risk, Merry,” Brett said.

  “I just want this over with and Ebenezer back home.”

  “You’re risking your life for just a—”

  I spun. My hand wrapped firmly around the neck of the sledgehammer. “Don’t you dare say Ebenezer is just a guinea pig. He’s innocent. And defenseless. Only a cruel, soulless person would harm an innocent being.”

  Paul opened the bay doors and motioned us inside. About time. Less talk. More action. I opened the door to the RV and stepped inside. No happiness wrapped itself around me. No feelings of joy. All of it had been sucked out of the place that had for a brief moment been a dream come true.

  “Good riddance.” I donned the safety glasses and took aim. Crack. The dinette shuddered and shifted slightly. I smashed it again. And again.