Altered to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  “I want my mom’s stuff.” Hank’s features were twisted in anger. Behind him, his truck was idling, waiting for a fast getaway. His hand pressed harder, now grinding into my collarbone. Fortunately, my winter coat took most of the pressure. “My mom said you got some stuff from her yesterday.”

  Grimacing and blinking back tears, I brought my free arm up, using it to lever him off me. I contemplated screaming, but I didn’t want Hope or Sierra rushing out here. Hank was on the verge of a complete violent meltdown. How could I talk him down? I slipped past him, inching toward my car. I’d be safe inside. “I don’t have it.”

  Using his body, he forced me against my car, a hand resting near my throat. “I don’t believe you. Open your trunk.”

  So he could shove me inside? No way. No how. Withdrawing my keys from my pocket, I stabbed Hank in the side and pressed the unlock button. The car bleeped. Screaming, he jumped back before surging forward with his hand raised.

  I scrambled into my car, smacking Hank with the door, then secured myself inside.

  The back door of Scrap This opened. I fumbled with my keys, jabbing them toward the ignition. Don’t come out. Don’t come out. Sierra peered out, eyes widening when she saw her enraged husband. Another pair of eyes looked out from his mother’s side. Henry.

  Hank punched my window. Instinctively, I screamed and covered my face. His fist bounced off the safety glass. Shooing Henry behind her, Sierra eased the door closed. I fumbled with my cell phone, trying to press the correct password code.

  Hank ran to his vehicle, burning rubber as he turned the corner.

  I took a few moments to compose myself, holding my cell to my heart like a comfort blanket. It shook against my heart. Call Ted. No. If I did, he’d want me to stay at the station until he tracked down Hank. I had a job to do. If I was going to do canvassing for Bob, I had to learn how to handle rough situations. Running to Ted wasn’t the answer.

  Seventeen

  I pulled into the front parking lot of Buffalo Wild Wings and wedged my car into a small space in front of the restaurant. Snow had started falling, and if it picked up, I wanted to walk the shortest distance from the door to my car. The spaces were a little tight and there were spaces right behind me. My reversing wasn’t the best and—so far—I had never hit another car. This was going to test my capabilities. A lot. I should’ve drove around to the side lot, but the pinging of my phone to announce text messages was driving me crazy.

  I took the phone from my purse and scrolled through them: Hope and Cheryl reminding me to be careful, Wyatt with a list of suggestions (sent in separate texts) of where the hidden door might be based on his memory, and one from Malcolm Davis saying he was about fifteen minutes away and drove a black X5 BMW.

  His car shouldn’t be hard to spot as there weren’t many BMWs in this area. I brought up my web browser and typed in the vehicle type. It was a very expensive looking car, and there weren’t any BMWs in the lot. Then again, his fancy sports utility vehicle wouldn’t fit in any of these spaces.

  Before I drove to the side lot, I responded to the texts. I texted my grandmothers I was at the restaurant and promised not to do anything careless. I told Wyatt to use any pictures they’d taken of the renovation to look for the secret exit. I refrained from answering Malcolm. He was either driving, or likely didn’t care that it was okay with me. At least I had time to move my car.

  I backed out, thankful there wasn’t a car currently behind me, and made my way to the other lot. I should’ve parked here to begin with, more spaces and no fear of running into someone parked directly behind me. No BMW. Good thing I brought reading material with me to pass the time.

  Settling into my seat, I took out Esther’s teenage diary and began to read.

  Dear Diary,

  My days have been filled with such joy. Some days I feel I benefit more from Margaret’s presence than she does mine. I have learned so much from her. It is so lovely to be around people who take an interest in me. The doctor says Margaret’s illness will take away her ability to move, but she will still have some years left. I will do all I can to fill that time with happiness. Mr. Montgomery says I am a Godsend to them.

  I turned the page.

  Dear Diary,

  Margaret and I spent a lovely day talking about all the intricacies of life. She has gifted me a towel set to add to my hope chest, even though I told her I wasn’t the type of woman men noticed. I disappear amongst my sisters and all other girls. I have never been asked to dance. She was shocked.

  Margaret said I have a mysterious beauty. Regal. My intelligence shines in my eyes, and the smiles I let out on occasion brighten the world. She says it is a shame no one else has noticed. But at least I will know the man who does is one of noble character and will cherish me forever. She told me to never become someone else. Do not play the games other young girls do that aspire for a husband. To be me and me alone and I will find a treasure of a man.

  I do pray she is right.

  Dear Diary,

  Mr. Montgomery, Clifford, as he and Margaret insist I call him, complimented me today. Not that he does not do so every day I am here caring for his wife, but today it was specific. It was about me. He said I was a charming woman! Not a girl. But a woman. I was a charming woman with a keen wit and a mind eager for knowledge. If his son had not been married, he would be encouraging a union between us. He and Margaret both wish fervently I was a part of their family. Oh, if only I was. I have never felt such love as I do when I’m in their presence.

  Dear Diary,

  I do not have much to say today except it was a sad day. Margaret barely had strength to lift her head from the pillow. I hope she rallies. Clifford and I need her.

  I devoured the pages. Day by day, I saw the affection growing between Esther and Clifford. It started off as a friendship, two people who love and cherish one woman coming together to comfort each other as they watch her fade away from them.

  Dear Diary,

  I am so ashamed. I do not know if I shall ever return to the Montgomery house again. My heart breaks for Margaret. She will not understand my refusal to see her anymore. I fear that my leaving will turn her health back toward that bleak and hopeless place. But then I fear it will be worse if I stay and she learns of my betrayal. I kissed Clifford. It should have been nothing, just a happy birthday peck on the cheek as I turned eighteen today. I found myself turning my head, yearning for his lips to be on mine. The warmth. The shock that went through me is indescribable. I am a wanton woman for I had wanted another. And another.

  My heart beats so fast when I think of the kiss. Our kiss.

  What am I to do? I do not think I can look at Clifford again without wanting another. What type of woman am I to yearn for a touch from a man who is not mine? A man who belongs to another? A man who is the husband of my friend.

  An alarm bleeped. I jerked upright. The delicate pages crunching under my tightened grip. Glancing up, I spotted a black BMW parked in the far end of the lot. I swiveled. A bald man in an expensive suit strode toward the door. Steve’s dad. I smoothed out the pages of the diary and placed it into the glove compartment.

  Nervousness jangled through me. Now what? What was I going to say? I should’ve been thinking of that on the drive here instead of having a redo of the earlier situation with Hank and envisioned the perfect dressing-down and a well-placed karate kick or two. Only in my mind could I perform a perfect roundhouse kick.

  I checked my phone to make sure I didn’t have a message go straight to voicemail. On occasion, my phone had a habit of not ringing, and I’d only know someone called when I hit the button to check the lock screen for the time. Nothing. Not a surprise as my phone had announced every text message I received. I was procrastinating, plain and simple. I took in a deep breath and let it out. Stop stalling, I scolded myself, you wanted this meeting. Gather your thoughts and march in there. It’s time to
save Eden.

  I hoped the dramatic pep talk would fire me up and force out the overabundance of confidence that roared through me when I was determined to right wrongs...true or perceived. It was the mundane instances in life where I was wishy-washy and spent hours, if not days sadly, making a decision that should’ve taken all of five minutes.

  It was one of my quirks Ted loved and hated at the same. I didn’t blame him. I felt the same way about it. I wished I was like my grandma Cheryl who made instantaneous decisions. She didn’t fret about all the tiny mini choices you might be making by picking one option. The one that sounded best, fit in with her way of doing things, or into her time schedule was the way to go. No second guessing.

  Exiting my car, I slipped on my heavy coat. The temperature was dipping, and the clouds said a lot more snow was coming. I hoped I made it home first. I hated driving in snow.

  The warmth of the restaurant wrapped around me the moment I stepped inside, along with the sound from the multiple televisions at maximum volume. Standing by the hostess podium, I glanced around. Where had Malcom gone?

  A tall bald man waved from a section of the restaurant in the back with no televisions.

  A hostess hurried over. “Welcome—”

  I pointed. “I see my party.”

  I went over, plastering a smile on my face as I took in the counter height pub table and chairs. Great. Being a little over five feet, I loathed tall tables. I felt like a child trying to climb into the seat and getting down wasn’t an easy feat either. It made me feel a little inadequate and less like a grown up when I had to hop up and down from my chair.

  Malcolm raised his hand in the air and called over a waitress.

  She took my order first, I went with an appetizer platter that included pretzels, wings, and dip while Malcolm got a prime rib salad. Both of us chose ice tea, forgoing any alcoholic beverages.

  A low buzzing reached my ears. Malcolm stuck his hand into the trench coat hung behind him and took out a cell phone. He frowned. “Excuse me for a moment. I must take this call from the office.”

  There was nothing to do but wait and people watch. I wasn’t interested in the shows playing on any of the televisions, and I couldn’t hear any of them as the voices coming from them competed with each other. My brain was having trouble attributing the dialogues to the correct images. Dora the Explorer wasn’t one to talk politics.

  I was surprised the sitting area at the bar was full. Noon on a Thursday didn’t seem like a drinking time, yet every bar stool was occupied. The other seats occupants were men and women having quiet lunches with little engagement between them. It looked like single diners chose the bar area instead of taking a table.

  Two guys were pounding down beers and chasing them with a few bites of nachos. A man with short red hair was hunched over the counter, taking small sips from a mug of beer. The width of his shoulders and the hair raised my ire. Was that Bob? I narrowed my gaze on the guy. He lowered his shoulders even more, trying to hide his face with the beer. Yep, it was. Bob would’ve done better by wearing a hat.

  Need to work on your incognito skills, I texted him.

  The red-haired guy pulled a cell from his pocket. He turned. Bob lifted his phone up, letting me see him tapping on the screen.

  My phone pinged. I looked down. Work on your observation skills. I followed you out of Eden.

  Why? I texted back.

  Believed it necessary.

  I stared at my phone. What did he mean by that? My heart raced. Had he seen the altercation with Hank? I studied Bob. I couldn’t get a read on him. I didn’t think he witnessed it. There was no way he’d have sat in his car and let Hank get physical with me. Bob frowned. I averted my gaze.

  At a table toward the back of the restaurant, near the restrooms, a woman was pulling bits of chicken from a wing then dropping it into her oversized purse. I squinted, trying to get a better view of it. This was one of the times I wished eyeballs came with a zoom feature. Why didn’t she ask for a to-go box if she wanted to take her lunch home with her? Maybe the waitress was taking too long to return with one, but why not wrap up a whole wing in the napkins and put them inside rather than shredding them.

  I glanced around, Malcolm was nowhere in the vicinity. Had he stepped outside? I swiveled toward the windows. He wasn’t pacing back and forth in front of them. It was possible he was standing out front with his cell phone. I rested my elbows on the table and cupped my chin in my hands. He better hurry. I needed to get back to work.

  I placed my cell on the table, twirling it in a circle. I was starting to get the feeling this lunch meeting was a way to waste my time while a plan Steve and his dad concocted was put into motion. Just because they wanted to treat me like a fool didn’t mean I had to go along with it. There were other ways to find out the information. Wasn’t sure how yet, but I was good at brainstorming solutions until I thought of one that was doable—and legal—with the resources I had available.

  I started to climb down from the chair, slipping the strap of my purse from the metal back to my shoulder when I spotted a black nose poking out from the woman’s purse. I plopped back onto the seat, intrigued. The woman yanked off more chicken from a wing and glanced around. Quickly, I averted my gaze and pretended to search in my purse for something while peeking up from underneath my lashes.

  The woman lowered the chicken and a fluffy ball of black fur with cute perky ears stuck out half its body and scarfed down the food.

  A waitress approached the bar and the woman shoved the puppy’s head back into the purse and covered the opening with a cloth napkin, which soon disappeared inch by inch into the bag.

  “I’m sorry that took so long,” Malcolm’s voice came from behind me.

  I pushed down the urge to get a little sassy and forced out some politeness. “I figured it was an important call.”

  “That it was.” Malcolm sat down not offering a hint of explanation of what the call was about. Oh well, that wasn’t why I was here and time was ticking away.

  The waitress carried over the food. Before she set one plate down, Malcolm pulled out his credit card.

  “I’d appreciate if I could settle the bill now. I have other obligations this afternoon and I’m expecting an important call and might have to leave in a hurry.”

  The waitress forced out a smile. I’m sure to her he came across self-important. I had the same impression.

  “Of course, Sir. Would you also like me to bring over some carry out containers in case you don’t have time to finish your meal?”

  “None for me,” he said, “but the young lady might like one.”

  The waitress nodded and hurried off.

  “Thank you for agree—” I started.

  Malcolm raised his arm, pushing back the sleeve of his jacket and dress shirt and checking the time on his gold watch. “I’m short on time. Let’s skip the pleasantries and jump to the heart of the matter. I want to know about the satellite office in Eden and you want...”

  I wasn’t the one who snuck off to have a private conversation. “The city had transferred the ownership of the house that had belonged to one of Eden’s founding families to the historical society, and now some unknown person says it’s theirs. I had wanted to know the name of Steve’s client who owns, or says they own, the Everton mansion, but I found out this morning. From the short talk I had with your secretary, I got the impression you didn’t know about the office in Eden. Steve’s career change happened so suddenly, I’m curious about it. If he’s working for you, you’d know why.”

  “He said he was working for me? There are two other partners in the firm.”

  I rummaged around in my memory, but I couldn’t grasp onto Steve’s exact words. Had he said his father’s office? “Wouldn’t he still work for you? Even if one of the other partners approved the office.”

  Malcolm cut the prime rib into smalle
r bites and maneuvered them around the plate, spreading out the lettuce and other salad fixings. “Technically, you’d be correct. Not everyone reports directly to me, nor do I keep up on all the hiring and firings in the firm. I have an HR department for that.”

  “You didn’t know about the office?”

  Malcolm slipped a cell phone from the trench coat hung on the back of his chair. He swiped his finger across the screen and tapped rapidly on the keyboard. “I had brought up the opportunity to Steve two years ago, and he never took me up on it. For some reason, he must’ve felt now was the time.” Malcolm dropped the phone back into his pocket. “I never officially closed out that deal so someone in the office must’ve finalized the arrangements. It would’ve been nice if I was informed.”

  “Is it normal for your employees to create other branches of your firm without your approval?”

  “Here’s your receipt, sir, and the box.” She placed both at the corner of the table then went to take care of other tables.

  Malcolm rubbed his chin, studying me for a long moment. I fought the urge to squirm. “You have done me a huge favor, two actually, so there’s no harm admitting that I have some people on staff who take care of that side of the business for me. If I know of an area in West Virginia where I think our services would be beneficial, I’ll let the scouting crew know and have them check it out along with bringing me names of any attorneys in the area who’d be a good fit.”

  “With Steve being your son, they wouldn’t have thought twice on moving forward with it without talking to you first.”

  “Correct. I’ve been consumed with two particular cases over the last six months so they probably didn’t feel it was necessary.”

  “I wouldn’t like someone tying me into a huge financial commitment. Rent in Eden isn’t that expensive, but it’s not super cheap. Most business rentals require a two-year lease.” We had found this out when Scrap This was undergoing repairs after a fire. Grandma Hope and Cheryl had wanted to rent a space for a few months, but none of the owners agreed to a short-term lease.