Deadly Heritage

by Marissa Shrock

  “Maybe it’s nothing. But if you start nosing around, things could get awkward with your family. Let Cal handle the case.”

  I turned down the heat and unzipped my coat. “Wanda shouldn’t be offended if I tread carefully. Besides, even if she is the mystery person, she didn’t kill Beverly.”

  Brandi brushed a smudge of dust from her jeans.

  “Wait. You think Wanda might’ve killed Beverly?” My voice launched into chipmunk territory. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I followed her gaze as she looked out the window. The neighbor boys were building a fort between pelting each other with snowballs.

  “I highly doubt it,” she said softly.

  Her gentle tone did little to reassure me. But…

  “But how well do you know Wanda?” She met my eyes.

  “You’re suggesting an elderly woman staged a break-in at her friend’s house, stole her money, and shot her. Over what?” Wanda was an energetic seventy-six with longevity in her genes, thanks to a mother who’d died last year at the age of one hundred, but this was absurd. Brandi was usually more sensible than this.

  “That does sound far-fetched, but how well do you know her?”

  I huffed. “Fine. Not very well. When she was the high school nurse, I visited her office maybe one time. She and Grandpa haven’t dated that long, but he’s known her since high school.” I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. “She’s a sweet lady and one of Beverly’s best friends.”

  “You’re right.” Brandi shoved her sock cap into her pocket. “I know better than to speculate. I don’t know what got into me.” She opened the door. “I’m really sorry. Forget I said anything.” She hopped out of the truck and waved as she entered her house.

  With the uneasiness settling in my gut, forgetting wouldn’t be easy. What if Wanda wasn’t the nice woman we believed she was?

  Before I headed to Heather’s house, I decided some coffee from Latte Conspiracies was in order, because it’d be perfect with Brandi’s cookies. Not to mention, the shop’s owner, Bobbi Sue Miller, always knew your business before you did, and she’d been an excellent source in the past. Though, I wasn’t sure how much gossip she could’ve heard with the snow keeping everyone hunkered down.

  Sure enough, there wasn’t much activity in downtown Wildcat Springs, though the streets had been cleared. Unlike a regular day, I had my choice of parking spaces close to the entrance. I pulled in beside a black Escape emblazoned with a logo for a visiting nurse service.

  When I entered the coffee shop, the bell jingled, and my eyes fell on the lone, gray-haired woman sitting at one of the tables facing the brick wall.

  I stuffed my gloves in my overall pockets and approached the stainless-steel counter. Bobbi Sue’s lanky—but handsome—son Hamlet appeared from the back room. I’d heard that he’d recently returned to Wildcat Springs after spending several years acting in theater productions. Now he was planning a house-flipping career.

  “Good day, Georgia Rae.” Hamlet had a thing for sweater vests, and I swear he had one for every day of the winter months. He’d worn them since high school, when he’d been my brother Dakota’s best friend.

  “Hey. How’re you doing?”

  His blue-gray eyes sparkled as he puffed out his argyle-bedecked chest. “Excellent—now that you’re here.” His deep voice held a note of admiration. “What can I get for you?”

  I glanced at the clipboards that held the specialty drinks’ descriptions. “Large dark roast coffee—to go.” It was a departure from my usual order, but I wasn’t in the mood for a Moon Landing Mocha, an Area 51 Latte, or a Crop Circle Cappuccino. “What’s new in your world?”

  “I’ve decided to move back to Wildcat Springs permanently since my girlfriend and I parted company.” He rang up my order.

  “I’m sorry. But it’s nice to have you back in town.” He’d been based in Chicago for the last four years.

  “Thanks. I bought the old Williams place out on 900 East. It needs a lot of work, but I don’t mind.” He took the money I held out and punched my loyalty card.

  “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks.” He dumped it in the tip jar next to the cash register. “My ex is a nice person, but we weren’t compatible. She wasn’t willing to move to Wildcat Springs since she loves city life, and this Hamlet prefers hamlets.” He grabbed a cup and poured my coffee.

  “To thine own self be true.” The edge of my mouth twitched as our eyes met.

  “Exactly.” He winked and slid my coffee across the counter.

  I should quit encouraging him, because he’d had a major crush on me back in the day. I glanced around the shop. “Is your mom here?”

  “No. She and Dad left yesterday morning on a ten-day Caribbean cruise for their anniversary.”

  I stifled a sigh. “Good for them. My mom and stepdad are in Hawaii. I’m jealous of anyone who gets to escape winter.”

  “Same here. But someone has to hold down the fort.” He pointed to the doors that led to Miller’s Books, the shop his dad Hemingway ran. “I kept the bookstore closed but thought our town’s denizens might need coffee.” He nodded at the woman who was typing on a laptop. “You and that lady are the only ones who’ve come in.”

  From my current angle, I got a better look at the woman. It was Beverly’s other daughter, Denise Schultz. I took that as a sign from the Almighty that I needed to speak with the woman. “Thanks, Hamlet.”

  “Wait.” He darted around the counter and blocked my path to Denise. “Are you still dating Detective Perkins?”

  “Yes.”

  He tilted his head. “You’re not engaged, are you?”

  “N-no.” The intensity in his chiseled face unnerved me and sent the teeniest, tiniest ripple through my stomach. What was wrong with me? “We’ve only been dating a few months.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and studied my snow boots.

  “If I were him, I’d have sealed the deal by now.”

  My face flamed as I looked at Hamlet. “Why? There’s no point in rushing things. It makes sense to get to know each other, and I’ve never understood people who meet someone and just up and get married so quickly.” I threw my hands up. “What if that person turns out to be a serial killer? How can you be sure? Didn’t it take you a while to figure out your ex-girlfriend wasn’t the right one for you? Not that she’s a Lizzie Borden, and it’s not that Cal’s an ax murderer, because he’s one of the good guys…but…but…”

  Why, oh why, wasn’t he stopping me? I took a deep breath and tried to read Hamlet’s inscrutable expression.

  He simply walked back behind the counter, picked up a rag, and swiped the stainless-steel surface. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve heard good things about Detective Perkins, so I don’t think you need to worry.” He smiled. “See you later, Georgia Rae.”

  “See ya.” Holding onto my coffee cup for dear life, I whirled around and marched to Denise’s table.

  Unlike her sister Clara, Denise hadn’t ventured from Wildcat Springs. She’d married, had a son and daughter, and worked as a home healthcare nurse.

  “Denise?”

  She stopped typing, removed her reading glasses, and looked up. “Hello, there.” Her splotchy skin and puffy eyes advertised her grief.

  “I’m so sorry about your mom. I thought the world of her.”

  She motioned for me to have a seat. “She thought a lot of you too.” She closed her laptop, folded her glasses, and set them on the table. “I had to get out of my house. I’m writing Mama’s obituary, though I doubt my sister will approve.” She grimaced and closed her beige cardigan. “I heard about how Clara snapped at you last night. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I waved my hand. “Clara was in shock. It had to be terrible, coming home after all this time and…” I didn’t want to think about Beverly’s death, let alone say the words.

  “Yes. It is.” She folded her arms across her chest. “But Clara chose to stay away.”

  “Why?”
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  She flinched. “I thought you, of all people, would know that.”

  The prom picture of Daddy and Clara together loomed in my memory, and a wave of heat made my overalls and coat feel suffocating. “But I don’t.” I unzipped my jacket.

  She folded her hands and met my gaze. “Your dad broke my sister’s heart.”

  Chapter Four

  “I’m sorry.” I twisted the alien-print cardboard ring circling my coffee cup.

  “Why are you apologizing?” Denise took a drink of coffee from an oversized, lime-colored mug.

  “Because Daddy can’t?” Winstons were incredibly loyal.

  “That’s sweet.” Denise chuckled and set her mug on the table. “I didn’t tell you this to make you feel bad. I figured you’d probably heard your family talk about it.”

  I thought of Daddy and Clara’s prom picture. Clara had looked so happy, but hadn’t she clung to Daddy’s arm possessively? “I knew Daddy and Clara went to prom together.”

  “Yep. They broke up after that. My sister should’ve bounced back since she had a lot going for her. Not to mention a bunch of other guys wanted to date her.”

  “What happened?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know details. I was away at college, and Clara certainly never told me. All I know is that things went bad between Clara and your dad right around prom time, and the day after graduation, she left town and swore she’d never be back. Your dad still had a year of high school and, as I’m sure you know, that’s when he started dating your mom.”

  I tried to make sense of everything Denise was telling me. “But Daddy’s been gone for over nine years. If he was what was keeping your sister away, then why didn’t she come back for your dad’s funeral?”

  Denise set her jaw. “Because I told her not to. She had no right to stay away for years and then come waltzing back for Dad’s funeral. He would’ve loved for her to visit when she was alive, but she never made the effort. When Mom and Dad did go to Texas, she always made them feel like they were in the way.” She pressed her lips together. “Mom and I didn’t need the added drama. It was upsetting enough dealing with Dad’s sudden death.”

  Wow. “Denise, if I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?”

  “Sure. Unless you want me to tell you how much I weigh—in which case I’ll have to lie.” She didn’t crack a smile.

  Okay, then. With her slim figure, the number couldn’t possibly have been embarrassing, but whatever.

  “Last night, Clara said your dad died from worrying about my dad’s murder—that your dad blamed himself. Is that true?”

  She stared out at the street. “Dad died when it was his time. He felt awful about Ray’s killer going free, because he figured if he’d had security cameras at the elevator, then the detectives would’ve solved the case. He talked about getting cameras, because of vandalism and thieves stealing grain but never got around to it. I think he never thought anything bad would happen in Wildcat Springs.” Denise tossed a napkin over a puddle of coffee on the table, and the liquid bled into the paper. “Clara’s absence played more of a role in Dad’s death than anything. She’s just trying to make herself feel better by shifting blame. Don’t let her.”

  I nodded. The muffled, chiming melody of “How Firm a Foundation” filtered in from the United Methodist Church’s bell tower across the street. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Other than Clara coming home, was there anything your mother was worried or upset about recently?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” She didn’t meet my gaze and brushed non-existent crumbs from the table.

  Had Denise been the one arguing with Beverly at the museum? Could the conversation have had something to do with her separation from Jack?

  “I take it you aren’t buying the teenagers-looking-for-drug money theory.” A pained expression flitted over her features.

  “I’m not sure what to think.”

  “I completely understand.” She bowed her head.

  “I’m sorry.” I stood and rested my hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She met my eyes. “No. You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought of.”

  Did she suspect her own sister had shot their mother and staged the scene? I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking because there had to be a better way to find out. “I’ll let you get back to writing. I have one more friend I need to plow out. Thanks for your time.” I turned to leave.

  “Georgia?”

  I faced her. “Yeah?”

  Denise swallowed. “Don’t let Clara make you feel like you can’t come to Mom’s funeral.”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you for always being so good to Mama.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  After they’d become engaged, Grandpa and Wanda had purchased a condo outside of Wildcat Springs. Wanda had already sold her house and moved in, and Grandpa planned to join her after the wedding.

  When I finished clearing Heather’s driveway, I drove to the sea of copy-and-paste condos that surrounded a large pond. The maintenance crew had already made the rounds, so the driveways and streets were passable.

  I double-checked the house numbers, but knew I had the right place when I spotted Wanda’s snow-covered black Camry parked in the driveway and the silver gazing ball adorned with a ceramic cardinal.

  Wanda loved birds.

  There was no mistaking the surprise that flitted through her expression when she swung the door open. “Come on in, Georgia.” She ushered me into the living room, which held a couch, recliner, TV, and a dozen or so boxes stacked in the corner. The smell of simmering hamburger and onions filled the cozy space.

  “If I’d known you had so much unpacking to do, I would’ve volunteered to help.” I pointed to the containers we’d lugged in two weeks ago.

  Wanda shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. The garage is full of boxes too, but my kitchen is set up, which is all I’m worried about right now. Most of these are full of keepsakes and knickknacks, but your grandpa has some packing to do if you have time to help this week.”

  “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She pointed toward the kitchen. “I’m working on some chili for supper, and I need to check on the hamburger.”

  “No problem.” I followed her to the kitchen and perched on the stool at the small island.

  “Want something to drink?”

  “Water would be great, please.” My eyes fell on a manila envelope sitting on the granite counter. Wanda’s name was written in Beverly’s handwriting. “I see Beverly gave you some pictures too.”

  “Yes. She gave them to me yesterday afternoon, but I haven’t looked through them yet.” She blinked back tears and grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator, which was covered in family pictures held in place by souvenir magnets from her travels all over the United States. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” She set the bottle in front of me.

  “Same here.”

  “What do you think about the interrupted break-in story?” She turned to the stove to stir the meat.

  Since Wanda had been known to repeat everything she knew, I treaded carefully. “I’m not sure. It’s weird that Clara stayed away for thirty-eight years, and right when she showed up, her mom got killed.”

  Wanda furrowed her brow as she opened a can of tomato juice. “Yes.” She dumped the juice into the pot and stirred. “It doesn’t sit right with me either. What’s your boyfriend think?”

  “He never says much about his cases, but I think they’re pursuing the break-in angle.” I took a sip of water and considered the best way to frame my next question. “Did Beverly seem out of sorts about anything lately?”

  “Not that I observed. She was apprehensive about seeing Clara again, but that was all she shared with me.” She pointed at the manila envelope sitting next to me. “Go ahead and open that. I want to see wha
t Bev put in there.”

  I picked it up, and resting underneath, was an envelope from the National Rifle Association.

  Interesting.

  “Are you an NRA member?” My stomach twisted as I held up the envelope.

  “Yep. My late husband had quite a collection of firearms, but I sold them when I moved here. Paul and I used to practice shooting like some couples play golf.” Wanda removed a can of tomato sauce from her pantry.

  Perfectly legal, right? Brandi owned a gun and even had a permit to carry it. I took a sip of water. “Do you and grandpa ever go to the shooting range?”

  “No, Ron would rather be bowling, but I went last week. I’ve got to keep my skills sharp.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “If someone breaks into my house, they’re going to be greeted by my Glock 19.”

  “Good for you.” I didn’t quite achieve the casual tone I’d been going for. I slid the pictures out of the envelope. “Speaking of bowling. How’d Grandpa’s league tournament go last night?” No sense in making her feel like a suspect, but verifying she had an alibi would go a long way toward making me feel better.

  Her face fell. “I forgot to ask him this morning. I didn’t end up going, because I had some wedding things to take care of, and I went to bed before the tournament was over.”

  In other words, Grandpa wasn’t her alibi.

  “I’m sure he understands,” I said. “Were you busy working on decorations?”

  “No.” She turned her attention to the chili. “So, who’s in the pictures?”

  Okay, then. Life Lesson #201: Never stir up trouble.

  Telling myself she’d probably been lingerie shopping and didn’t want to discuss the matter with me, I shuffled through the stack and stopped when I ran across a picture of Wanda sitting on a couch next to her first husband Paul. He was a nice-looking man with a square jaw. Both of them wore cowboy hats, boots, and matching blue flannel shirts. I flipped the picture over. The date was 2007. Paul had died three years ago from pancreatic cancer.

  “Nice costumes.” I held it up.