Not What She Seems

by Victorine E. Lieske

  Words formed in her head. She didn’t want them to, but they came spilling out like refuse from a torn garbage bag. “I don’t know. There was a dead person on the floor. I lost it. Maybe I did go in a little. There was blood all over the place. I must have stepped in some of it by accident. I was scared. What if the killer was still in the house? I ran out as fast as I could. I wasn’t paying attention to what I stepped in.” Her face grew warm as she spoke.

  Detective Reed peered at her over his glasses. His stare seemed to penetrate through her.

  He knows I’m lying. She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead.

  “How did William’s blood get on the filing cabinet? Were you looking for something?”

  “What? No! What do you think, I saw William dead on the floor, then thought I would go peeking at his stuff? You people are crazy.” Samantha stood up and turned away to emphasize her disgust. But her true repulsion was for herself.

  The day William died, she had gone in the house. When she saw him lying there, she ran to his side. Blood was everywhere, and he was barely breathing. When she realized he was dying, instead of feeling sad, she felt relief. But then she realized that the paperwork William had been blackmailing her with would be found. She stepped over him, and went into the study. The file was easy to find, and she slipped out before anyone saw her.

  Detective Reed stood and leaned onto the table. “I don’t think you saw William dead on the floor. I think you killed William, then went rummaging through his files looking to destroy the evidence he had linking you to the embezzlement.”

  Tears threatened to break through. “I didn’t kill William.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit the truth. She hadn’t killed him, but she had left him there to die.

  ******

  Steven followed the real estate agent into the large front yard of the third house they would look at that morning. A decorative wooden fence ran round the property, and snow drifted up the west sides of each plank. Bits of shrubbery peeked out from the mounds of white in front of the large wraparound porch.

  He stuck his gloved hands in his coat pockets and looked around. “I love the woodwork on the door, and around the porch.”

  The agent smiled, her cheeks a bit pink from the cold. “The door is original to the home, built in 1890. I love the fish-scale shingles on the siding. It completes the wonderful Victorian look.” She pointed up at the house as she spoke, her shoulder-length hair blowing in the breeze.

  “The yard looks well maintained. I like the arch above the walkway when you enter,” Steven said.

  “The sellers have taken very good care of the property.” She took one more look around before heading up the steps. “Wait until you see the inside; the original woodwork is gorgeous.”

  Steven stalked through the doorway, and knew immediately he would be making a bid on the house. The entry way opened up to the living room through beautiful French doors. A large circular staircase wound its way up to the second floor, turning into a balcony that overlooked the spacious front room. The agent spoke as they toured the house, pointing out the features that Steven already felt like he knew.

  “I’d like to make an offer. I’ll pay full asking price if the sellers will let me move in before we close.”

  “I’ll get the paperwork.”

  ******

  Emily hung up the phone, her pulse racing.

  “What is it?” Vincent came around the corner, buttoning his shirt, his tie hanging loose off his shoulders.

  “They’ve dropped the charges against me. I’m free to leave.” Warmth rushed to her cheeks, and she sat down on the arm of the chair, pressing her hand to her forehead. Her first thought was to tell Steven. He would be so happy, but the empty hole in her chest swallowed her joy, reminding her that he had left. He was gone because of her.

  “That’s a relief. Not that I didn’t think they would, of course.” Vincent was by her side in seconds, pulling her into a quick embrace. “I’m so happy for you.”

  The brisk aroma of his cologne brought back instant memories of times spent with William and Vincent before she was married. She blinked them away.

  Vincent fiddled with his tie while Emily came to her senses. “They’ve released William’s estate to me.”

  Vincent’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “The money they were holding—William’s bank account. They’ve released it to me.” The hole inside of her grew. That was the money William blackmailed from his father.

  “Oh, that. Well I’m glad. Now you’ll have enough to start over with.” Vincent’s smile seemed forced.

  “I don’t want it,” she said, almost without thinking.

  “What?” He looked at her like she had grown a third eye.

  “I mean, I need it, but I can’t take it. That money belongs to Theodore. He should take it back.”

  Vincent furrowed his brow. “Emily, I don’t think Theodore would take it back. Not from you, not like this. It was one thing, when you were missing. All he had to do was file the paperwork, and he would have gotten it eventually. Priscilla wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But now that you’re back, he can’t take the money from you. She’ll find out about it; he can’t hide that much money.”

  Emily exhaled. Vincent was right. Theodore wouldn’t take the money back. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.

  Vincent’s face softened. “Look, I know William did some pretty lousy things, and he left them for you to deal with. But don’t think about the money that way. Theodore gave him that money. William was his son. No matter what happened between them, he loved him. He would want his son’s child to be taken care of. He’s not an uncaring man, Emily.”

  She stared at Connor, still in his pajamas, sitting on the floor playing with his dinosaur. Blinking, she held back the emotions threatening to run rampant. “You’re right.”

  “Now, I’m only going to work a half day today, so I’ll be back after lunch.”

  The telephone rang, startling Emily.

  Vincent picked it up. “Hello?” He listened for a few moments, then he flashed a look at her that she couldn’t interpret.

  “Yes,” he said into the phone.

  Emily raised her eyebrows, watching him closely.

  Vincent frowned and he said, “I’m so sorry. Thank you for calling. Uh huh. Bye.”

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  Vincent’s hand brushed his moustache. “That was a friend of yours, from Huntington.” His face told her it wasn’t good news.

  “What? Who was it?”

  “That was Rose. Her husband passed away unexpectedly yesterday.”

  Shock rang through her. “Frank? Good heavens, that’s awful.”

  He took a step back. “The funeral is going to be on Wednesday. She wanted you to know, even if you couldn’t make it.”

  Her head began to spin. “Of course I can’t…” Her words trailed off as she thought about it. She was free to leave now. She even had money.

  Vincent must have been thinking the same thing. “Why can’t you?”

  She stood and paced the room. “I don’t want to take Connor to a funeral. I think it’s a little too grown up for him. Plus, he might be disruptive. And Richard…”

  “Richard is on the run. They found his car outside of town, ditched where he stole a better one. I’d be surprised if the police don’t have him in custody by Wednesday, the way he’s being so reckless.” He worked his jaw for a moment, as if he were thinking of what to say next. “And I can watch Connor for a day or two if you want to fly down there for the funeral. I have plenty of vacation time left. We’ll play with the trains and rent movies. He won’t even notice you’re gone.”

  As if on cue, Connor looked up at them, blinked a few times, and then went back to playing on the floor.

  Butterflies stirred in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know…”

  Vincent seemed intent on talking her into it now. “Come on, you obviously were close with
this Rose woman. How are you going to feel years from now, knowing you could have been there for her but didn’t go?”

  She stopped pacing and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I suppose I could fly down Wednesday morning, and come back after the funeral.”

  He frowned. “Yes, and you could also spend a day or two there with Rose. She might need her friends with her right now.”

  “Of course.” She put her hand to her forehead. “You’re right. I should be there for Rose.”

  “And don’t worry about a thing. Connor and I will have a great time.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

  Vincent placed his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. Connor loves it here. We’ll be fine. It will only be for a few days.”

  Emily slowly nodded. “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Theodore threw his car into park and turned it off. Aunt Edna’s appeared deserted, with just one college aged kid sitting in the corner sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a roll of antacids, popping two into his mouth.

  Yanking on his door handle, he stepped from his vehicle into the chilly morning air. The front door jingled when he opened it, and Edna came around the corner.

  She smiled, smoothing her apron when she saw him. “Mr. Grant, how nice to see you.” Her gaze darted around the room, resting on the young man in the corner before she said, “Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”

  A prickle of annoyance stirred in him. “Yes. Black.” He slid into a seat on the far wall where no one could see him from the outside windows. The young man folded his newspaper and threw some bills on the table before leaving.

  Edna took her own sweet time getting the coffee. When she finally came back, Theodore could feel his mood souring.

  “Do you need anything else, Mr. Grant?” She fingered the curls below her ear.

  “No. And we’re alone now, so you can drop the pretense. Emily has been released. What do you know? Is she planning on leaving town now?”

  Edna shifted her weight. “She doesn’t want to stay here, from what I’ve heard. My guess is she’ll leave town.” She sounded uncertain.

  Theodore cleared his throat. “I don’t like her staying with Vincent. Has he said anything to you?”

  Edna’s eyes flickered toward the door. Brushing her apron again, she said, “I’ve only seen him once since Emily began staying with him. He’s obviously still in love with her. All he talked about was her.”

  “Well, keep tabs on him. I don’t know how close they are getting to each other living in the same house.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. She’s very distant with him. She’s in love with that billionaire. Vincent is going through the same thing he did six years ago as he watched her and William grow close.” Edna pursed her lips.

  Theodore felt his stomach tighten. He didn’t want to get into another discussion about William. “The sooner she leaves, the better off it will be for all of us.”

  The door jingled and Edna stepped back. “Well, Mr. Grant, let me know if I can get anything else for you.”

  He nodded, dismissing her. Moments later he stalked out into the cold.

  ******

  Richard punched his fist in the air, just missing the computer screen. “Yes. Thank you Steven.” He stifled a grin. “I knew that coming here would be a good idea.” His voice echoed through the empty room.

  It was a chance, coming back to Stapleton so soon, but he knew the police would be looking for him in Iowa, and felt it was safe enough. He was right. No one paid any attention to the old Chevrolet he drove. His grandmother had not been happy to see him, but she’d let him in anyway.

  He glanced around his grandmother’s den. Wooden shelves lined the wall, nick-knacks and framed photos placed neatly in the midst of hard bound books standing like sentinels in a row. The novels he read in his youth were neatly shelved and dusted on the bottom row. One might think they had never been read if it weren’t for the cracks in the spines. They were the only things of his left in the house. All other reminders that he ever lived there had been purged. Perhaps it slipped his grandmother’s mind that he had once owned and read those books.

  Richard turned back to the computer. He logged out of Steven’s email account, and pushed the computer chair away from the desk. He stretched before wandering into his grandmother’s bedroom.

  The smell of lilacs mixed with a faint metallic odor filled the room. The heavy burgundy drapes were pulled back and tied into place, allowing the room to be flooded with morning light. His grandmother lay on the bed.

  “Did you hear that, Granny? Something is going good for me today.” Richard came close, and patted his grandmother’s wrinkled face. It was cold. She stared up at the ceiling, her mouth open, her favorite kitchen knife stuck deep in her chest.

  “I’ll be heading out now. I don’t know when I’ll be back to see you. But I promise to write.” A smile spread across his face. “Say hi to mom for me.”

  ******

  The organ played softly in the background as people shuffled into the funeral home. Rose stood in the foyer, with her sons. Steven watched as people hugged Rose and dabbed at their eyes. Her sons were beside her, ashen faced and nodding as they shook hands with those who came to offer condolences. Steven made his way up to Rose. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her for a few seconds before he stepped back. “I’m so sorry, Rose.”

  She nodded, and Steven squeezed her shoulder before winding his way through the crowd toward the chapel. He slid onto a bench in the back.

  Several stands with floral arrangements lined the front of the chapel. The tall stained glass window behind the pulpit depicted a large yellow cross with lilies decorating it. Frank’s coffin was in a viewing room, outside of the chapel.

  People filed in, taking their seats and whispering greetings to each other. The organist continued to play soft music until most people had been seated. Tall thin glass windows faced the parking lot to the west of the building. A flash of blond hair outside caught his attention.

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Steven closed his eyes, the pain in his gut almost too much to handle. Whoever it was outside looked just like Emily.

  ******

  Emily hustled up the sidewalk. She hadn’t meant to take as long as she did getting ready. Cars packed tightly in the parking lot told her Frank’s funeral would be well attended.

  She entered the funeral home and hung up her coat. Rose stood talking to a small group of people in an otherwise empty lobby. When she saw Emily, she smiled warmly.

  “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  Emily embraced her. “I’m sorry I had to come under these circumstances.”

  Rose nodded, tears glistening her eyes. “I’d like you to meet my sons. This is Justin and Timothy. This is Emily.”

  A look passed between the two before they shook her hand.

  Rose fussed with her dress. “We’d better go in there. I think they’re waiting for us.” She grabbed her sons’ arms and they headed into the chapel.

  Emily peeked inside. The room was packed with people. She wasn’t sure she could find a seat. As the priest stood, she noticed an empty seat in the back, and slid onto the bench.

  The priest began to speak about Frank. Images of him sprung to her mind. He always looked so strong. She could see him sitting at one of Rose’s tables, waiting for her to sit with him on her break. He had a way of making anyone feel at home around him.

  She pulled a tissue out of her purse. This was going to be a hard funeral to attend. Frank was still so young.

  She glanced around the beautifully decorated chapel. She could tell Frank had touched many lives. People of all ages sat along the benches.

  Someone turned toward her, and her stomach dropped.

  Steven. He’s here.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  The quiet street echoed his footsteps as Richard crunched over
the ice and snow lining the curb. Steven’s house stood a story taller than the others in the neighborhood. He walked up through the open gate. A quick surveillance of the house gave him confidence. The snow around the house had been walked on by quite a few people, leaving plenty of paths that he could step on unnoticed.

  He walked around to the back of the house. The first window he tried wouldn’t budge. After the second one wouldn’t budge, he started to worry that they were painted shut. But the third one slid open easily. He took a stick off the ground and shook the snow off. The window made the stick bow, but it held. His hand shot stabs of pain up his wrist and arm as he heaved himself up and through the opening.

  Richard stood, dusting the snow from his faded jeans. He lifted the window and threw the stick out before sliding it down. Turning, he found himself in a pantry, the walls covered with shelving units. A few boxes of cereal and some cans were placed neatly on the shelves, with large spaces in between as if Steven had already decided on an organizational system in which to store his food. Richard scoffed and resisted the temptation to knock the stuff over. Instead, he entered the kitchen.

  The clock on the stove reminded him the funeral would be over soon. He opened a drawer. Towels. The next drawer he opened had what he was looking for. He lifted a long carving knife, turning it in the light to examine the blade.

  Perfect.

  The drawer slid shut with ease. He walked to the living room, looking for a good place to hide. The room was bare. After wandering around on the first floor, he decided to go up the stairs. The hard wooden stairs creaked and groaned with his weight.

  He opened a closet door to find it was actually the stairs to the attic. Excitement rushed through him. He climbed the steps, grasping the rail with his good hand. One bare light bulb hung from the slanted beams of the roof. A window on the south side of the house shed a minimal amount of light on the contents of the room. An abandoned chair sagged in the corner, and a door stood slightly ajar on the opposite side. Richard turned on the light. He pulled the door open, revealing a small closet. In the dim light, he could make out a screwdriver, a wrench, a few wooden boards, and a coil of rope on the floor.