Deadly Heritage

by Marissa Shrock

  Mallory opened her purse, dropped her phone inside, and fished out a piece of paper. “Here’s her information.”

  He reached for the paper but missed and dove for it as Mallory bent over. They collided, and the contents of her purse skittered on the floor as his chair fell backward.

  Merciful heavens.

  “I’m very sorry. Are you okay?” Hamlet waved the paper in victory before shoving it in his pants pocket and uprighting the chair.

  “Of course.” Mallory scooped up her purse’s contents and shoved them inside. “No harm done. I should’ve been more careful.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t tell Carmen about this.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She tucked her purse under her arm and sauntered away.

  Hamlet dropped into his chair. “Well. That was certainly uncomfortable.”

  We all burst out laughing.

  Halfway through dinner, Dakota took his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. A few minutes later, he was still scrolling.

  Hamlet nudged me and nodded toward Dakota. “That’s why I hate cell phones.”

  “I know.” Dakota often had his face in his phone at family gatherings. It drove me crazy, but I didn’t want to irritate my boyfriend by having a side conversation with Hamlet, so I turned my attention to the remaining asparagus spear on my plate.

  In spite of the music, Stella must’ve heard us, because she poked Dakota. “Hello?”

  He looked up. “Sorry. I just got a news alert from a story I’ve been following. The police identified the body the construction workers found a few weeks ago.” He turned his phone toward Cal. “Have you helped on the case?”

  “Some.” His tone made it clear he didn’t want to discuss work.

  “Who is it?” Hamlet asked.

  “Keith Jefferson.” Dakota shook his head. “He was from Richardville. I remember hearing about how he disappeared back when Dad was in high school.” He turned to Stella. “The poor guy came home from college for the summer, and he went out to run one morning and never came back.”

  “That’s right,” Hamlet said. “My mom told me how unsettled all the kids in the area were because they never knew what happened, and there were all kinds of rumors.” He glanced at me. “I’m sure his family will be glad to get closure.”

  I looked at Mom who was busy talking to Dan. “I’m sure.” In my lap, I twisted my napkin.

  “They found the body in the woods twenty miles from the roads where he usually jogged. What does that mean?” Dakota looked at Cal.

  I shoved a piece of chicken around my plate, and Cal shifted. My brother wasn’t usually this awkward. Although, maybe I’d never noticed because it ran in the family. Or was this his way of coping with the news about Daddy?

  “I can’t comment,” Cal said. “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” My cousin Eric’s voice boomed through the speakers. He’d been asked to be the master of ceremonies since he worked in radio broadcasting. He’d also worn his bacon-print tie for the occasion, much to Aunt Rhonda’s dismay. “It’s time for the bride and groom to cut the cake.”

  Grandpa and Wanda walked to the corner where the cake was displayed, and they neatly cut and fed each other a piece, which was no surprise because Grandpa hated watching brides and grooms smash cake in each other’s faces.

  “Do you think someone hit Keith and then moved his body?” Dakota asked as soon as the cake cutting was over.

  The verdict was in. Investigating ran in our family. Nosiness was genetic.

  “It’s possible.” Cal folded his napkin, put it on the table, and stood. “Will you excuse Georgia and me for a moment?”

  I was thankful for the escape.

  “Babe, put your phone away.” Stella gave Dakota a gentle whack on the arm. “Nobody wants to talk about that case right now. We’re trying to celebrate.”

  Trying was the key word.

  “Sorry.” His cheeks reddened as he stowed his phone in his jacket pocket.

  Cal and I walked out of the reception hall, into the foyer, and stood next to the staircase.

  “I need to leave.” He rested his hands on my upper arms.

  “Was it my brother? Because Stella and I can get him to be quiet. He’s a lot like me, asking questions when he should keep his mouth shut, and I’m sorry they put Hamlet at our table. I’m sure Wanda did it because he’s friends with Dakota, and—”

  “It’s not your family or Hamlet. It’s work. We’ve had major breaks in two cases, and I can’t stay away any longer. I’m sorry about the timing.”

  “I understand.” I tried to hide my disappointment that he wouldn’t be there to dance with me.

  “Pat’s on his way back.”

  “He doesn’t need to—”

  “Yes. He does. It’ll make me feel better.” He met my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I said the word with more conviction than I felt.

  “I’ll call you later.” He kissed me on the cheek and strode out the door.

  I took a few deep breaths before I turned and trudged toward the reception hall.

  “Now, I need all the single ladies to join the bride on the dance floor,” Eric said. “Georgia, that means you too.”

  I froze in the doorway and flashed my dear cousin a tight smile.

  Life Lesson #6008: Never trust a man wearing a bacon-print tie.

  As usual, my timing was impeccable, and since this wasn’t a huge wedding, there weren’t exactly many single ladies.

  “Come on out, Georgia.”

  I plodded to the middle of the dance floor but waved at the crowd. A couple of Wanda’s widowed friends joined me, along with Fiona Sylvan and two preteen girls who stood next to each other giggling and ducking their heads.

  Fantastic. Not only was this situation embarrassing, but I had too many other things on my mind. Beverly’s murder. Daddy’s murder. Clara’s murder. Cal’s current case overload. All the secrets past—and present.

  “Go, Georgia!” Dakota wolf-whistled. Apparently, he’d been taking notes from Preston and Austin on how to be annoying.

  Wanda turned her back to her bouquet-toss victims, and I vowed to be a good sport for Grandpa’s sake.

  “On my count,” Eric said. “One. Two. Three.”

  Wanda hurled the flowers over her head. The two older ladies raised their hands. Fiona stepped back. The girls rushed forward, while I made a half-hearted attempt to lift my arms.

  The bouquet ricocheted off the disco ball and plummeted toward the girls. Good. They could fight over it.

  One girl batted at the other but whacked the flowers instead. This sent them hurtling toward my face.

  I swiped at the bridal projectile, my finger snagging a loop of silver ribbon.

  A ribbon just like Clara’s.

  From prom night.

  In May 1980.

  The crowd cheered, and I raised the unwanted flowers in forced victory, because I was almost sure that one night held the answer to three unsolved murders.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I had to ask Fiona another question—just to make sure my theory was right. Maybe it was wishful thinking, and after all the recent stress and years of waiting for answers about Daddy, I’d concocted a ridiculous solution.

  I clutched the bouquet and turned toward her. “Fio—”

  “I need a picture with you and the bride.” The scrawny photographer blocked my path. He pointed to Wanda, who was beaming.

  “Sure.” I tried to keep the panic from my voice as Fiona walked back to her table and laughed with the other museum volunteers. I put my arm around Wanda’s waist and gripped the bouquet.

  “Awww! That’ll make a nice picture. Big smiles.” He raised the camera.

  I managed to comply.

  “She’ll be next,” Wanda said to the photographer as I escaped the dance floor and wove my way to Fiona’s table.

  “Al
l right, single gentlemen, it’s your turn. Come on out for the garter toss,” Eric said.

  Michelle rushed over and grabbed the microphone out of his hand. “You too, little brother.”

  Good work, Michelle.

  “Fiona.” I scurried over to her seat.

  “Nice catch.” She picked up her water goblet.

  I knelt next to her. “Thanks. One follow-up question from something we were talking about earlier today.”

  She took a drink. “Sure.”

  “You said Mallory wrapped her car around a tree back in high school, right?”

  She furrowed her brow, which was quite a feat considering her love of Botox. “Yes.”

  “When?” I clutched the bouquet.

  “Prom night. Well—it was probably the morning after a night of partying. She was so drunk she missed the driveway and hit that big maple in her dad’s front yard.” Fiona sniffed. “You know, the weird thing was, after Clara and I started talking again years later, she told me they hit a deer that night.” Fiona shrugged. “I guess she was so drunk she thought a tree was a deer.”

  Try Keith Jefferson.

  I scanned the room. Mallory was nowhere to be found. “Thanks, Fiona.”

  Eric and Hamlet, along with a few young boys, stood in the middle of the dance floor as I darted back to the table, tossed the bouquet aside, and snatched my purse. “I need to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

  No one responded because my family was engrossed in watching Grandpa trying to remove Wanda’s garter as discreetly and quickly as possible. Frankly, I was stunned he’d even agreed to the spectacle.

  I kept an eye on the action as I high-tailed it toward the foyer. Grandpa slid the garter off Wanda’s leg and tossed it over his shoulder in one motion. The low pitch seemed destined for one of the little boys, but at the last second, Hamlet reached his long arm out and intercepted it.

  The crowd cheered as I burst into the hallway and made my way to the foyer. Two women lingered next to the restroom door, deep in conversation, but the vast room caused the voices to echo, and I could hear their conversation about taking meals to one of their sick friends.

  Wanting privacy, I pushed my way outside and yanked my phone from my purse. The weather had turned cold again, and the wind blowing across the barren fields punched through my lacy sleeves as I tapped Cal’s number.

  “Pick up, Cal.” I paced beside the tractor in front of the reception hall. His voice mail kicked on. I closed my eyes. “It’s me. I figured out who killed Keith Jefferson and how his death is relat—”

  A strong arm clamped around my throat, and a hand pressed against my mouth. I kicked and tried to scream as someone dragged me around the corner.

  Earl, in a baseball cap and flannel jacket, appeared beside me, yanked my phone away, and disconnected. “Sorry to crash your celebration, Miss Georgia.”

  “But we can’t let you talk,” Mallory whispered and tightened her grip on my neck, and I struggled for a breath.

  Earl’s fingers tapped against my phone’s screen as he walked toward a dumpster. Mallory followed, dragging me along. Hamlet’s silver sedan idled behind the dumpster.

  My limbs weakened. Surely Hamlet wasn’t…?

  My phone buzzed, and Earl glanced at it. “Hamlet’s on his way.” He wiped off the phone and tossed it into the dumpster before leaning into the car and popping the trunk.

  If I could get away from Mallory, I could definitely outrun Earl.

  “You should’ve minded your own business.” Without loosening her grip, Mallory shoved me toward the trunk.

  When I flailed, Earl slapped my face. I winced and lost my balance on my high heels. Earl and Mallory overpowered me and shoved me into the trunk. I screamed as she slammed the lid.

  Darkness enclosed me.

  “Mrs. Morris?” Hamlet’s deep voice cut into my coffin. “Where’s Georgia? She texted Dakota and told him to tell me to come out. What’s going—?”

  Thwack.

  A muffled moan. “Geor—”

  “Hamlet!” I yelled.

  Thwack!

  “Help!” Panic rose in my chest as I realized Mallory and Earl’s plan. They were going to kill me and frame Hamlet. Mallory’s fix-up ruse had been to steal Hamlet’s keys.

  I pounded against the trunk and screamed. “Help!”

  “Give me the ribbon,” Mallory barked.

  Was she really tying up Hamlet with decorative ribbon?

  A door slammed. Then another. And another. The engine revved.

  I searched for the emergency trunk release, but there was no glow-in-the-dark handle hanging down like in Brandi’s Fusion. When she’d purchased the car, we’d joked about how good it would be to have that if you were ever trapped. Either this car didn’t have an emergency release, or Earl or Mallory had been smart enough to clip it.

  “Hamlet? Are you okay?” I yelled and pounded the panel between the trunk and the back seat.

  The muffled hum of the engine and tires against the road answered.

  God, please help us.

  What were my other options? I ran my fingers around the edge of the trunk floor, searching for the hollow that contained the spare tire. Was there a tire iron I could use to pry open the trunk?

  Rolling aside, I tugged the floor upward and thrust my hand down, feeling for a tire. Instead, I found an empty well.

  No spare? Seriously?

  Time for Plan B.

  Drawing my knees to my chest, I reached for my shoes with the three-inch heels and slipped them off. I placed them next to my chest, so I’d be ready if I couldn’t punch out a taillight and get someone’s attention before we stopped.

  Shifting to my side, I searched for brake light wires but encountered a solid panel instead. Please, God, help someone find us. I dug my nails along the panel and gave it a tug, but it held fast. As the car turned the corner, I braced myself.

  I rolled over on my other side and examined the trunk’s back wall for pass-through access to the backseat. My fingers rested on the opening, and I tugged it.

  Nothing. It needed to release from the other side.

  Gravel crackled under tires.

  The car stopped.

  No!

  Rolling onto my back, I gripped a shoe in each hand with the heels facing out. A door

  slammed.

  “You sure about this, sweetheart?” Earl asked.

  “Dad, it’s perfect,” Mallory said. “Hamlet told anyone who’d listen about how he’s fixing this house a little at a time. His next project is filling the old pool. We’ll use this gun and leave it behind to make it look like Georgia figured out that Hamlet was the one who vandalized the grain elevator years ago and killed her dad. We’ll stage the scene to appear that Hamlet planned to bury Georgia here but was overcome with remorse and killed himself.”

  “How you gonna explain Hamlet killing Bev? That ain’t gonna make sense to folks.”

  “I can make it look like Beverly suspected Hamlet killed Ray, and when Hamlet found out, he broke in and killed her. Now that Clara’s dead, there’s no eyewitness to the shooting.”

  “How you gonna do that?”

  “Technology,” Mallory said. “Don’t worry about it. I stole back the phone Beverly bought from me, and it’s still connected to my cloud storage account.”

  That was why Mallory had killed Beverly. She’d heard the voice notes Beverly took at the museum and knew she was getting suspicious.

  Dread swelled my throat, threatening to choke off my oxygen. The only thing I could think to do was stall. I thumped my fist against the top of the trunk. “Hey, masterminds. Before you finish us off, we’d like some answers.”

  Seconds ticked by, and my pulse thudded against my neck. Why had I gone the smart-aleck route? I curled my fingers around my shoes and readied myself to strike.

  “We’re going to pop the trunk,” Mallory said. “And the first thing you’re going to see is a gun, so I strongly advise you not to try anything.”
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br />   My heart constricted, and I released my grip on my high-heeled weapons.

  The trunk opened, and I sat up and raised my shaking hands in surrender. Mallory and Earl stood on either side of the car with guns aimed at me.

  They’d driven behind Hamlet’s house and parked next to the gaping hole that’d once been the pool. A pile of jagged concrete pieces rested near the trees that swayed in the bitter wind.

  I shivered.

  My stomach twisted. Nine and a half years. My family had waited all that time while my neighbor and his daughter held the answers about Daddy’s murder.

  “Don’t move. Tell me what you know—and who you’ve told.” Mallory narrowed her eyes.

  “You got three seconds to start talking.” Earl waved his gun.

  “Okay, okay! I haven’t told anyone—anything.” I closed my eyes and tried to sort the pieces falling into place. “Detective Perkins told us tonight that the same weapon used in Beverly’s murder was also used in Daddy’s murder.” I opened my eyes.

  Mallory and Earl exchanged glances.

  “Duh.” Her pretty features twisted, and for the first time, she looked haggard. “I overheard. Why do you think we’re here? What else do you know?”

  My mind swirled. “You both have a long history of covering up murders. It’s quite the family heritage.” I shuddered and stared at Mallory. “It all began back in high school when you and Clara Alspaugh were hanging out. You were popular. You had a basketball scholarship for college. After prom, you and Clara went to a party and had too much to drink. Maybe did some drugs. Early the next morning, you were driving home. That’s when you hit Keith Jefferson and killed him.”

  She didn’t flinch. “Go on.”

  “Clara had passed out, but the accident roused her enough that she asked questions. You told her you hit a deer and took her home. If you reported the wreck, you’d jeopardize your college scholarship. Earl didn’t want that to happen either.” I fixed my gaze on him. “I’m guessing you helped Mallory move Keith’s body twenty miles away from the scene of her accident.”

  “I took care of it myself.” He lifted his chin. “My little girl didn’t have no business burying a body.”