Altered to Death

by Christina Freeburn

  Cheryl slipped past us. “I’ll let you finish expressing your regrets to Faith.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Can you please let my ma know I came over?” The hat twisted faster, round and round. If he didn’t stop, he’d never be able to get it back into the proper shape.

  Cheryl nodded.

  Wyatt watched her walk into her house then shut the door. “He didn’t do it.”

  “What?” I gaped at him.

  “Graves. Lucas. He didn’t kill my dad. Davis has proof that the Army sent Lucas overseas when my dad disappeared.”

  There was a slight twisting sensation in my heart. Wyatt looked so confused and despondent. He didn’t know what to believe, and he didn’t want to believe that a man he liked had killed his father. I used a gentle voice. “The medical examiner isn’t going to be able to narrow down the crime to this tight of a timeframe. I know when Donald Lucas joined the military. He could’ve committed the crime before he left for Basic Training or if he took a leave between basic and his individual training. Or even after AIT. He’s not off the hook.”

  “But he is. The police released him this morning.”

  “There was evidence against him. The necklace.” I told Wyatt had I had found.

  “It ain’t enough to prove he did it.”

  “The box—” I stopped. Words spun around in my head. Why would he leave the documents at Scrap This’s door?

  He didn’t. Sierra found the box. I picked up my cell from the end table and punched the number for Sierra.

  “Let me guess,” she answered. “You’re going to be late again.”

  “Why did you lie about the box?”

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice shook.

  “On Thursday you said you found a box at the back door of Scrap This. After I just got to the store. It wasn’t there when I arrived.”

  “Someone dropped it off—”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  Wyatt frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, and I silenced him with a sharp look.

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Georgia is scared because items were disappearing from her house. That’s why she thought someone murdered Edward. Why didn’t you just tell me you brought the box over? The items were from Georgia’s house.”

  “Because you hate Hank.”

  “Hate is a very strong word.”

  “You don’t like him. You think he’s abusing me. What conclusion would you have jumped to if I told you Hank was being secretive? Lying to me.”

  That he was having an affair. Instead, Hank was secretive because he was trying to prove his family were Evertons. “You should have been honest with me.”

  “I wanted...” Her voice changed, higher-pitched with a forced cheerfulness, “...the day off, but I can cover for you, Faith. I know you have research that must be done.”

  Hank was home.

  Every new piece of information I obtained brought with it more questions. It was time to speak to one of the men who seemed to be at the center of it all.

  Graves, formerly known as Donald Lucas.

  The wheels of the ATV cut through the thickening snow. The cold wind seeped through my coat and cotton gloves. I clung to Wyatt’s waist, blocking out the memories from the last ATV trip I took. I hoped this one was less adventurous. “Wouldn’t it have been safer to drive over in our car?” I shouted over the engine.

  “Only the four-wheels can get through the cleared spots to Graves’s house. I mean Lucas’s house.”

  “We could’ve parked at the Everton lot.”

  “And have someone spot your car and call Roget? That wouldn’t be good for us,” Wyatt said.

  True. Ted would not be happy that Wyatt and I were going to talk to Lucas. He’d want us to leave it alone and let the police continue searching for evidence, not try and get the truth from the most likely suspect. If Lucas would even talk with us.

  “How did Lucas come to own the cabin?” I asked.

  We were driving out to the middle of a wooded lot behind the Everton mansion, going about two miles into it. There was nothing out here but trees, rocks, and the creek. The closest structure was the Everton mansion, which had been abandoned for decades, and it was three miles away. This wasn’t a cabin a person just happened to spot from the road.

  “From what I know, he just started squatting in it, and no one cared as no one owned it. Graves...Lucas said big cities and their noises made him skittish. He didn’t like loud.”

  And it was also easy to live off the grid living in a hidden cabin, in a place where you’d already been.

  Wyatt pulled off the narrow dirt path, slowing down as he veered between two large pine trees. The cabin appeared in the distance. It looked quaint and beautiful with the snow gently falling on it. The bone sculptures were hidden by the snow, making it look like Lucas came out and built snow critters all around his property. The snow was filling in footprints leading from the front door to a pen made from chicken wire.

  Wyatt pulled to a stop a few feet from the cabin and pointed at the small pen. “Something’s not right.”

  A small pig was huddled in a pile of hay. I didn’t know much about pigs, but I figured if it was cold for me, it was cold for a pig. Especially since it didn’t wear a coat, scarf, and gloves.

  “Ain’t no way he’d keep Sadie out in this cold, even if she does prefer to be outdoors.” Wyatt slid off the ATV. “You wait here for second while I check the cabin. People never liked him much when he was just an ugly man, they’re going to hate him now that he’s been labeled a murderer.”

  Sadly, Wyatt was correct. Lucas had always been thought of as a monster. Attractive people were considered nice, smart, and good while unattractive people were often seen as mean, stupid, and evil.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. I expected Lucas to come out and see who just pulled up. You’d think he’d want to know who was trespassing on his property considering he was suspected of killing someone. If it was me, I’d fear it was either someone seeking revenge or a reporter.

  “Are you sure you should go in there rather than call the police? You just said something might be wrong.”

  “Or not,” Wyatt said. “Sadie might have been howling for some pen time.”

  There was no smoke coming from the chimney. It was cold. Snowing. Wouldn’t Lucas want to keep himself warm even if his pig was happy being out in the cold? I pointed up. “He hasn’t built a fire.”

  “Stay here with the ATVs. If someone comes, take off.” Wyatt left the engine on, motioning for me to scoot forward. “Don’t matter who it is. Leave. Ain’t nobody in their right mind will come out to visit Graves.”

  This was getting worse. My insides quaked, and every instinct screamed for me to leave. I fumbled with my phone, trying to send Ted a text. The gloves made it hard to hit the correct letters. Finally, I settled on a shorthand version of my location and sent it.

  Wyatt tapped on the front door then opened it. He stepped inside.

  Everything seemed to freeze as I waited. The snow had stopped. The sound of the creek halted. My lungs started to burn. I realized I was holding my breath. Slowly, I released it. The quietness was shattered by a curse.

  “Call 911!” Wyatt screamed. “He’s dying.”

  I ripped off my gloves and hit the three numbers. Bobbi-Annie said an officer and an ambulance were on the way. I ran inside.

  Lucas was lying on his side, his breath escaping in a garbled rattle. Hands were clenched as if he was in a great amount of pain. His complexion was pale, almost the same shade of gray as his long, greasy hair.

  “Help is coming.” Wyatt knelt beside his friend, stroking the man’s shoulder and talking softly. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I don’t know if he wants to be,” I said, my gaze riveted on a sheet of paper on a small, dilapidated table. Be
side it was a bottle of narcotic pain medication.

  The handwriting was slanting, a mix of smooth and jagged lines made up the words. The page had been folded and unfolded numerous time, eight boxes on the paper. The letters precise and perfectly formed, slanted across the page.

  Boys, I apologize for you finding out like this. There was no other way. Or time. My life is over. Ending. I fear where I will go if my conscience is not clear. If the truth is not known. It is the one sin I’ve carried and never sought forgiveness. Please do it for me. Ollie Harbaugh was killed. By me.

  Twenty-Three

  Two paramedics carried Lucas out on a stretcher. The ambulance couldn’t get through the trees and rocky terrain and parked a quarter mile from the cabin. Wyatt joined the paramedics, taking a different side of the stretcher to help them carry it to the ambulance. It had taken the ambulance and the police almost twenty minutes to arrive. Wyatt and I feared Lucas would be dead by the time they made it through the snow.

  Someone tipped off Steve, and he had arrived a few moments after the police. He stared after his client, a troubled expression on his face.

  “Your client is one complicated man.” Ted watched the paramedics cart away his suspect.

  “Lucas wanted to protect the Buford’s claim to the house until he found the last piece of proof needed. He knew it was out there and wanted the renovation stalled,” Steve said. “Everything I read looked legitimate.”

  “Why not just tell them?” I asked. “Why wait so long?”

  “He suspected someone killed Ollie,” Steve said. “He believed he was just as guilty for keeping that thought in his head all these years.”

  “Looks like he was keeping quiet about his own criminal activity.” I wrapped my arms around myself as a tremble worked its way down from my head to my toes. The temperature was dropping.

  Sadie oinked from the pen. Her small face pressed against the chicken wire, snout pushing out. I walked to the pen and squatted down, petting her velvety nose. She scampered back to the pile of hay and burrowed underneath, only her shining eyes visible. What would Ol’ Yowler think about having a small, pink house guest for a few nights?

  “To think, I always prided myself on being a good judge of character.” Steve walked away, saying he was going to follow the ambulance to the hospital.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a dig at me or if Steve was referring to the fact that he moved to Eden with the intent of proving I had set up his cousin to take the rap for a murder I committed—only to discover his cousin was guilty of the crime he was sent to prison for. Steve seemingly had a knack of starting off on the wrong side.

  Sadie pushed her snout into my hand. Her body trembled.

  “What’s going to happen to Sadie? She can’t be left out here in the cold.” My fingers itched to open the gate, but I was afraid she’d escape.

  “Wyatt said he’d take her to his mom’s house. She has a place for the pig.”

  A branch cracked. We turned. Karen was tromping through the woods toward us. She paused to snap a photo of the man on the stretcher. Officer Mitchell held up a hand, blocking the shot.

  “Time for you to leave.” Ted gave me a gentle push in the back. “This is an active crime scene, I must request for both of you to leave.”

  “My ride is helping the paramedics. I’m not very good at driving the ATV.”

  “Head up to the Everton mansion, and I can have an officer take you home from there.”

  It was a three mile walk back to the mansion. In the snow. And cold. “Can someone take me? It’s a trek.”

  “Sorry, Faith, you’re going to have to walk. I need my officers here.”

  “I have a few questions.” Karen whipped out a tape recorder from her pocket. “I’m curious about why Faith is here at a crime scene.”

  “I didn’t know it was one until I arrived,” I said.

  “Interesting.” Karen jotted something down.

  “What’s more interesting is that you just happen to show up? Still have a source inside the department?” I asked.

  Karen rolled her eyes. “Everyone in the town has the same source for information, Mrs. Barlow, her scanner, and her blog. She heard what was going and called me to ask if I knew anything about it.”

  “Ladies, please take your bickering somewhere else,” Ted said. “You can either do so on your own, or I can relocate you with the help of a squad car.”

  For that he’d be able to willing to forego an officer. “I’m going,” I said, eyeing the woods for the safest path.

  Karen placed a hand on my arm. “I can take you to your car.”

  Why not? There was something she wanted to tell me and it might answer some of my lingering questions...like why had Steve left the prosecutor’s office. “Fine.”

  I followed Karen to where she had parked. From the deep ruts in the snow, I knew the ambulance had also been here. Was Lucas still alive? I wanted to call Wyatt, but it was best to wait for him to contact me. “So why did you offer to drive me to my car?”

  “Don’t think I’m the good Samaritan type?” Karen unlocked the doors.

  “No,” I said, getting into the car.

  “I do appreciate your honesty.” Karen started the car. “Not much I do like about you, but there is that. Too many people around here like creating truths and pretending to be something they’re not.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Detective Roget visited my grandmother yesterday and had a lot of questions about Edward and Georgia Brodart and the diary he brought to her. She answered what she could and is rather put out that Roget refused to be forthcoming about his reasons. She’s counting on you to fill her in.”

  “I can’t share anything related to Ted’s investigation that I’ve learned.”

  “Grandma thinks you’d be open to a little trade, what you know for a notebook Edward left behind.”

  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  Karen pulled into the circular driveway of the Historical Center. The only other car out front was Ruthann’s Ford Focus. Ruth was a formidable and practical woman. Karen and I carefully made our way down the snow-covered walkway.

  “Rue said she’d meet us in the parlor. There was supposed to be a tea this afternoon, but the other members of the historical society bowed out. Rue said one should not waste a good tea.”

  We stepped into the parlor. Four tables were set up for the usual Saturday afternoon tea. A silver teapot was in the middle of each table along with a silver tray filled with tiny sandwich wedges and dainty desserts. Bone white tea cups, saucers, and plates with a light blue rim were placed at every spot.

  Ruthann poured tea into our china teacups. “Have a seat, girls. Faith, you sit there.” She nodded at a place setting that had a small spiral notebook beside the china plate.

  I sat, folding my hands in my lap to stop myself from snatching up the notebook. “Your granddaughter said you had some questions for me.”

  “I do appreciate a woman who likes to get right down to business.” Ruthann choose some sandwiches, using small silver tongs to place her selections on a china plate. “Your detective was very interested in who rented the storage unit you bid on.”

  “There was a possibility it was connected to Ollie Harbaugh’s murder,” I said.

  Karen took some sandwiches from the tray her grandmother passed her. “Doesn’t matter now as there’s been a confession.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. How did Karen know that?

  “Has there?” Ruthann studied her granddaughter.

  Karen tapped her purse. “Word on the street is that Lucas confessed.”

  Ruthann placed some sandwich wedges on my plate. “Why don’t you eat up? I’d hate for all of this food to go to waste.”

  “Did you hear that from Mrs. Barlow?” Was there a mole in the police department feeding her i
nformation?

  “I can’t reveal my sources.” Karen gazed at me over the brim of her tea cup.

  Steve? Had Steve told Eden’s most tenacious reporter about what his client did—or was attributed to him. Why had Lucas left the station only to go home and attempt to kill himself?

  Ruthann added sugar into her cup, tasted it, then dropped in one more lump. “Since Lucas wasn’t here when Ollie disappeared that would be hard for him to do.”

  Karen and I exchanged a startled glance. “Are you sure about that?”

  Ruthann clinked the spoon on the rim of the saucer. “It’s in the notebook Edward left here four months ago. I was planning on returning it, but he died before I had a chance to ring him up. Edward wrote down the day Ollie disappeared. It’s also why I was suspicious about the copies of the diary entry he brought me. The handwriting looked awfully familiar to his notes.”

  “Can I see the notebook?”

  “If you’re willing to answer some of my questions.” Ruthann stressed the word mine.

  “If I can I will.”

  Karen frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a good deal for you, Ru.”

  Ruthann patted her granddaughter’s hand. “I wouldn’t want Faith to get herself into trouble with her man. I’m sure she can give me someone information. Like if there are two potential Everton heirs.”

  That seemed safe to answer. “No. There’s only one. The other one was mistaken because they were missing some key pieces of information.”

  “I’m going to take it that Edward was wrong.”

  I nodded.

  Ruthann leaned forward, her blue eyes gleaming. “What did you find out?”

  “Esther’s baby had come too early and died.”

  Ruthann’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s why they left town.”

  “I think that’s why Esther and her beau, Clifford Montgomery left.”

  Ruthann gasped, her hand fluttering to her mouth. “Her father’s contemporary.”