Like always, Sierra had an excuse for Hank. Another opinion I kept to myself. I wiggled a book out of the box. The leather was cracked and there was no title. I put it off to the side. “I don’t know how removing memories from the house will help her.”
“She adored her husband, and this project that meant the world to him wasn’t complete. Georgia doesn’t know how to finish it.”
“Why don’t you help her?”
“The boys and their antics take up my time.”
“Sounds like a nice project for Hank and his mom,” I said.
I wanted to get my hands on the genealogy items—the Brodarts had been in Eden almost from day one—but Hank and I weren’t fond of each other. I was sure he’d want me in his mom’s business as much as I’d wanted him in my grandmothers’ affairs. Not at all. We tolerated each other for Sierra’s sake. He still held a grudge over the fact I believed him capable of murder, and I’d never forgotten how he manhandled me in his anger. He was a man I didn’t trust, nor wanted to cross.
Sierra’s phone blasted out a siren sound. Frowning, she dug her phone out of her purse and stared at it as if some weird alien was in her hand.
“Did your boys change your ringtone?” I held back a smile which she might take for a smirk.
“No, it’s the school.” Sierra answered the call and paced up and down the hallway. She made quizzical and agreeing sounds adding in an “Is that so?” on occasion. She rubbed her forehead. “How can that be? I just dropped them off.”
I knew exactly how. Not the details of what they’d done, but Sierra’s three boys could destroy property, sanity, or patience within a couple of minutes. The trio wasn’t nicknamed “the Hooligans” for nothing. While Sierra often complained about her boys’ behavior and antics, I knew there was no way she’d appreciate me criticizing them.
Sierra rubbed her forehead, her lips turning down. “I see. Yes, I am on my way.”
“That has to be a world record for the boys,” I said.
Sierra glowered at me. Her phone trilled the theme of The Wizard of Oz. Tears filled her eyes and she swiped her finger across the screen. “Georgia, I’ll be there when I can. I know it’s important. The school called. Yes, the boys. No, they can’t wait. I’m sure no one stole Edward’s notes. You probably misplaced it. I can’t help you look for it.” Her frantic gaze fell on me. Her eyes widened for a moment, and a pleading smile trembled at her mouth. “Don’t cry.”
That did me in. Georgia was recently widowed. She’d been married for fifty years and lost the love of her life. She needed patience and attention. I nodded and pointed at myself.
“I’m so sorry I can’t come, but Faith can.” Sierra nodded a few times then ended the call. She hugged me. “Thank you so much. You are a life saver.”
Two
From the end of the block, I noticed the deteriorating conditions of Georgia’s house. It had been a charming two-story house that looked like it was created from a picture in a fairy tale. As a child, I adored it for the whimsical trim and bright colors. Now the paint was faded, the muted tones giving the home a woebegone appearance. Shingles were missing from the roof and the white picket fence was gray with slats missing.
I pulled into Georgia’s driveway and got out. The asphalt was cracked and a portion in the middle was crumbling, sending small pieces to ping against my car. The white paint on the grand columns on the side of her covered porch was peeling, and the walkway that had once been an intricate pattern of beige and reddish stepping stones was now loose with some cracked down the middle.
If Hank wanted to get a renovation business off the ground, he should start with fixing up his mom’s place and use it as a calling card. Who’d want to hire a man whose mom owned a house that was falling apart?
The front door opened, and Georgia stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked terrible. Haggard. My heart broke for her. So many memories she had to sort through and decide if the precious memento was one she should keep or give away. She motioned wildly for me to come inside, shooting furtive glances to the left and right, like she was waiting for something to come out and pounce on her.
Georgia flapped her hand more furiously, not appreciating my calm walk toward her porch. “Hurry, hurry.” Georgia hustled me inside, slamming the door shut and bolting the door. “I’m so glad you came. You’ll be more of a help to me than Sierra.”
I felt a twang of hurt for Sierra. “Sierra loves you very much and would do anything for you.”
Georgia headed down the hall. There were boxes stacked up by the walls. The living room looked like it was in the beginning stages of becoming a contender for an episode of Hoarders. “She wouldn’t be able to help with this.”
I continued to defend my friend to her mother-in-law. “She’s very capable.”
“I adore her, but she has no experience in tracking down a murderer.”
I slammed to a stop. “What?”
“I said Sierra has never found a murderer, you have. You’ll be able to help me find out the truth. It’s in Edward’s papers. I know it.”
I should’ve been more specific on my what. A murderer? What was Georgia talking about? On second thought, I didn’t want to know. “Sierra said Edward was working on a genealogy project, and there could be some items that might be good to include in the town’s scrapbook. I was hoping I could help you sort things out.”
Georgia wrung her hands. “Some of Edward’s items disappeared. They’ve been stolen.”
Or misplaced. I wasn’t surprised Georgia couldn’t find something in the house. I peeked in the hallway bath and it was just as cluttered as the living room, foyer, and hall. What Georgia needed was an organizer. Maybe I should mention Georgia’s situation to my grandmothers and see if one of them could help her.
“I bet they’re around here somewhere,” I said. “Would you like me to help you find them?”
She took hold of my hand, dragging me toward the back of the house. “Yes, I want you to find the murderer. I knew you’d take me seriously. I’ve been asking Edward what I should do.”
Asking Edward? Find a killer? I was out of my league in the type of help Georgia required. She was talking to her dead husband. Sierra really should be here. I started dragging my feet—literally—hoping to slow us down to wherever Georgia was taking me. Not that I thought she was going to attack me. Even if that was in her mind, I was a lot stronger than her.
“I meant the missing items. I’m sure they’re in the house. Somewhere,” I said.
“Come. Let me show you what I’ve found.”
“What am I going to look at? Maybe we should call someone else? Hank? Sierra?”
She huffed out a breath, it sounded like a snort from a small dog. The disgust was clear. “They won’t listen to me. All I am is a grieving old lady who is rambling away and losing her senses. They shut me down every time I try to tell them Edward’s death didn’t have to happen.”
“Didn’t have to happen?”
She nodded, her lips pressed in a thin, angry line. “He was killed.”
“He had a heart attack.”
“That’s what the murderer wants us all to think.”
Oh boy. What had Sierra gotten me into? The whole town, including me, knew Edward Brodart had died from a heart attack after having heart problems for the last decade. Over the last year, Edward had been looking sicker and sicker every day.
“I came over because I wanted to interview you for the town’s scrapbook,” I said. “I wanted to make sure Edward and you were included. Your family is as equally important as anyone else’s.”
She halted. I had been watching her carefully, so I stopped my forward movement without knocking into her. Taking tiny steps to the left, Georgia turned until she was staring at me.
I fidgeted, unnerved by the intensity in her blue eyes.
“So you
know?” She leaned back from me, searching my gaze for some clue or answer.
“Know what?”
“That Edward found Esther’s diary.”
Excitement pinged through me. “Esther Everton’s diary?”
“Yes. He found it in an old chest in our attic. A chest that belonged to my great-great-grandmother.” She had an expectant look on her face. “I forgot that I inherited it after my parents died. My boys were young, and I never gave it much thought.”
“How did your great-great-grandmother get a hold of Esther’s diary?”
“I always thought it was for safekeeping. They had been close friends.”
A secret. Esther wanted to keep a secret from her family. I knew all about that. Of course, I never told anyone or wrote it down. But if Esther liked to confide in her diary, she’d have hidden it with someone. “Did you read the diary? Did it say why the Evertons left Eden?”
“No, I think it proved Edward was right.”
“About what?”
“In his research, Edward saw hints that there was a living descendent of the Evertons.”
“A secret baby?” None of the daughters had been married. Being an unwed mother in that time would be a huge stigma to the family. Wait…Esther’s diary was hidden. Esther and her parents must have left to hide her pregnancy from the town. “What happened to the baby?”
“She was adopted and was my great grandmother. I believe the diary proves it, but I can’t find it. Edward was so excited when he found it. He told me it proved we…I…was an Everton and the house the town claimed as theirs was actually mine.”
The Everton mansion belonged to the Brodarts? The town was renovating it. What did it all mean? “You weren’t interested in reading the diary yourself?”
“I was but Edward said he’d take care of it for me. He was going to speak to Ruthann Pancake and get legal advice from one of the county prosecutors about it. He didn’t want to hire an attorney yet. He figured if he showed them the truth, it would work out for us.”
“What happened?”
Georgia’s lip trembled. “After speaking with Ruthann, he became upset and said it was over. I told him if she didn’t believe him, we’d find more proof. He locked himself in his office.”
“Did he say why Ruthann hadn’t believed him?”
“No. He died later that night.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Was that why she thought Edward was murdered? He was so upset that he had a heart attack. I approached the subject gently. “His conversation with Ruthann upset him so much it affected his health? If she had listened to him—”
Slashing her hand through the air, Georgia cut me off. “No. It was deliberate. Someone killed him.”
Oh boy. This wasn’t going to go well. There was no way the county would prosecute Ruthann Pancake for murder over Edward’s death—and not just because she was Ruthann Pancake. Arguing with someone who had a heart condition wasn’t grounds for murder. “I hate to say this, but even I don’t think Ruthann fought with Edward to kill him. Why would she want him dead?”
Georgia narrowed her eyes on me. “Of course Ruthann didn’t. I’m not out of my mind. I’m talking about whoever snuck in here and stole the diary. They are trying to keep the truth silent.”
“The diary is gone?”
She nodded. “It went missing the night Edward died. He had kept it in his desk and it’s no longer there. I know someone who knew about Edward’s claims took it.”
“Who else knew?”
“My guess is the Historical Society and whoever works in the court house. Edward planned on talking to someone there about our rights to the house.”
“So someone on the county planning commission or in the historical society broke in and killed Edward? Over a house that was falling apart?”
Georgia flushed and tapped the side of her head. “That’s where it gets confused in my head, and I need you. You’ve figured out people’s reasons before.”
“This might be better to talk to your children about.”
Tears puddled in her eyes. “I tried. Hank told me if I mention it to him or his wife again, he’d have me locked up for being insane.”
Ouch. That was a little extreme. But Georgia should talk to someone since it was more likely her suspicions were her grief talking. Everyone in town knew of Edward’s heart condition, and he was doing nothing to help his health. His eating and drinking habits stayed the same.
“He talked to someone that night.” Georgia opened the office door and cautiously made her way into the room, almost like she was afraid of getting caught in there. “I heard him through the door. He was whispering and called out a few times to see if I was there. He didn’t want me listening. Edward was keeping a secret from me, and I think it killed him. Please help me sort all of this out. I have no one else. The answer is here. Somewhere.”
On the faded dark brown, green, and black oriental-style carpet was a double wide strip of duct tape leading from the doorway to the desk, over to a bookcase crammed with papers, file folders, and old books, over to a wood burning stove, and right back to the door. Geometric shapes were made on the carpet using yarn. Thirty-gallon garbage bags were covering up bulky items I assumed were chairs since they were placed on opposite sides of a standing lamp. An overstuffed garbage bag was on the desk chair. There was an old-fashioned wood stove in the corner. A broom and dustpan were leaned against it. At least Georgia was trying to clean out one room in the house, or rather trying to find the secret she believed her husband hid in the room.
What was the kind thing to do? Say no and tell Sierra her mother-in-law needed professional help in dealing with her grief? And an organizer.
“Please be careful where you step, and stay on the tape.”
I watched where I stepped, keeping my foot on the tape. It didn’t hurt to follow the path Georgia created even though I found it odd. Everyone had their eccentricities. Georgia’s was tape and hoarding. Mine was solving murders.
Georgia walked around the desk, stopping for a moment to stare at the surface. She lovingly ran her hand over the wood then continued to follow the tape trail past the chairs and to the wood stove.
A slip of paper drifted to the floor. I picked it up. It was a list of where Edward searched for information and of people he had wanted to speak with regarding his genealogy project. Ruthann Pancake. Steve Davis. Bufords, with a question mark by the name. “Do you mind if I take this?”
Georgia glanced at it. “Go right ahead. Maybe if you show them that you know Edward talked to them, they’ll confess what the conversation was about.”
Or I’d be told to mind my own business.
Floorboards creaked in the hallway. Georgia’s wide eyes stared into mine. Someone was in her house. Maybe Georgia didn’t have an overactive imagination. She gripped my arm. I scanned the room, grabbing the first available weapon I saw, the broom. An item clinked against an old metal stove.
“Mother. Who’s here?”
It was Hank. He sounded annoyed. I breathed a little easier knowing it wasn’t a burglar or a murderer.
“I’ll be right back.” Georgia patted my arm and offered me a shaky smile. Hank wouldn’t be happy about my being here.
“Whose car is out front?” Hank demanded.
The man sure didn’t speak to his mother nicely. I might make a snarky comment or two, or more, to my grandmothers in my head but never toward them, and I’d never take that angry tone. Though they had with me a few times…not that I blamed them. I didn’t think many grandmothers would be keen on their granddaughters sleuthing.
“It’s Faith’s.”
“What’s she doing here?”
I knelt and looked under the stove, trying to find what had hit it earlier. There wasn’t enough light for me to see anything. Reaching underneath, I prayed there wasn’t anything creepy, crawly, or slit
hery under the stove.
“She heard about your father’s genealogy project.”
“From who?” Anger tinged his voice.
“I don’t know. Maybe Ruthann. Faith was hired to create a town history scrapbook. She just wanted to see if there was anything she could use. I think it’s wonderful she’s going to include some information about our family for generations to read.”
“Mom, give it up. There’s nothing of importance to write about in our family. Don’t let Faith dig around in Dad’s stuff.” Heavy footsteps headed toward the office. “I want her out.”
“This is my house.” Georgia’s voice turned into steel. “I, and I alone, say who’s allowed in and who isn’t.”
Stubbornness, one of my not-so-good characteristics, took control over my actions. The fact that Hank, a man I didn’t like, wanted me out of Georgia’s house and away from his father’s research made me more interested in it. A part of myself I should work on—later.
“You don’t want me here? Is that what you’re saying?” Hank’s hurt feelings were clear in his voice.
“No. I just want to know your dad’s contributions to this town will be recognized.”
“What makes you think they’ll care now that he’s dead? No one did while he was alive,” Hank said.
I flattened myself onto the floor and stuck my hand under the stove. My hand hit an object. I pulled it out. A smallish skeleton key rested in the palm of my hand. I glanced up. There was no shelf near the broom. Where had it fallen from? Had Edward hid it in the bristles of the broom? I squeezed the key. There were deep scratches on it.
I rubbed my fingertips on the key, slowing down over the small etchings on the side of it. It felt like letters. Everton? A nervous flutter danced in my stomach. I couldn’t help it. I was starting to sway toward Georgia’s belief that Edward had been hiding something of importance.
“That’s not fair to say,” Georgia said.
“Fair or not, it’s the truth. If Faith is here looking for something, it’s for dirt. That’s what she does.”
Altered to Death Page 2
