Murder in the Family

by Ramona Richards

  Molly jogged down the attic stairs, then leaned over the second-story railing. “Don’t come in here!” she called back. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Molly tucked the tote bag under one arm, then marched down and out onto the front porch, where a dark-haired man in a red-and-blue uniform waited. When he saw her, he lifted the matching ball cap off his head and held it down to one side. “Ms. McClelland, I’m Taylor Eaton.” He touched the label on his left breast pocket. “Cap’s Pest Control. We spoke yesterday. I’m sorry we’re a bit early.”

  Molly yanked off her mask and pointed at her ankles. The man glanced down, then took two quick steps backward. “Good heavens!”

  “Tell me this will kill these too.”

  Eaton nodded, still watching her ankles warily. “It should kill everything living in the house. Vermin, anyway. You should wash those off. I saw a hose around the side of the house.”

  “Let’s go.” She trotted off the porch, motioning for him to follow. He scampered after her as she strode around the corner.

  “Will it kill these, even under mounds of trash?”

  He looked back up at her face, brown eyes wide. “Trash?”

  “Hoarder. Hold this for me, would you?” She handed him the tote bag, which he took awkwardly, trying to juggle it with the other items in his hands. He finally tucked it under one arm.

  Molly picked up the hose and turned on the water, showering herself hood to booties.

  Taylor wiped his hand across his mouth. “Well … we’ve only done one hoarder house before. You have to remember this treatment was created to take care of termites, but it kills most everything else, including roaches and bedbugs.”

  “Rats?”

  “Them too. The fumigation took care of everything in that house at the time, but if you don’t clean it out, vermin have a way of finding their way back in. Especially once all their friends are dead. And quickly. Rats come looking to scavenge and rats bring—” He gestured toward her feet.

  “Fleas.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you have plans once we remove the tents?”

  Satisfied she’d drowned most of the fleas, she turned off the water. She pushed the hood back and tried to fluff her sweat-drenched hair. “They’re delivering the dumpster day after tomorrow. You suggested we wait three to four days for all the chemicals to disperse.”

  Eaton nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be back to aerate it starting Monday night, and we’ll take the tent down Tuesday morning, but there may still be pockets in the house, if it’s packed tight.”

  “Believe me, it is. I couldn’t even get to most of the windows and cabinets to open them like you asked. And the basement is impassable.”

  “We’ll run some air tests to make sure it’s all dispersed, but you might want to wear a mask the first few days you work.”

  “You smell this house? I’ll be wearing a mask for months.”

  He tugged at a stray curl over his forehead. “Ma’am—”

  “Molly, please.”

  He smiled. “Molly, I was born without a sense of smell. Never could. A bit of an advantage in this business.”

  Molly smiled for the first time that day. “No doubt that’ll be a comfort today, Mr. Eaton.”

  “Taylor.” He handed her the tote bag.

  “Thanks. Are you ready to start?”

  “Sure are.” He gestured toward the front yard. Molly returned to the corner of the house. Two large trucks filled the driveway. A large metal frame covered most of the first one, with tall poles supporting the long rolls of red-and-green tarpaulins on each side, while a plethora of ladders covered the top. Behind it, what looked like a shrunken tanker truck waited, an array of hoses running down the side and coiled on the back. Three men in identical uniforms gathered near the front of the trucks, smoking and pointing at different aspects of the roof. “It’ll take us about three hours to cover the house, then the fumigation will start. Is the gas turned off?”

  “It’s all electric.”

  “Good. I just need you to sign some papers.” He stopped, rubbing a leaf of the vines between his fingers. “These will probably be killed.”

  “That’s fine. They’ll have to come down anyway. The whole house will have to be repainted. And my guess is they’re hiding some badly needed repairs.”

  Taylor shoved his cap back down on his head. “We’ll try to save the roots.” He headed for the driveway, giving orders to the three men standing near the trucks.

  “Don’t bother,” Molly muttered, as she walked to the Explorer and tucked the tote bag out of sight next to her gun case under the seat. She peeled out of the Tyvek suit. A fine sheen of sweat covered her body, and the cooler April air hit her skin like a refreshing shower. She flopped the suit up on the hood, then went to the back of the SUV to dig a bottle of water out of her cooler, which she had resupplied that morning at the local convenience store. The cooler, like her camera bags, went everywhere with her. Life essentials.

  Molly sat down in the shade of the open hatch and cracked open the top on the water. She felt tempted to turn it up over her head, but decided the wet t-shirt look might not be a good idea. She settled for fluffing the curls and shaking the sweat out of her hair. Then she gulped down half the bottle before she took a breath.

  “Good golly, Miss Molly!”

  Molly turned to see Finn striding up the drive beside one of the big trucks.

  “Morning to ya!” He touched the bill of his John Deere cap, then handed her a towel.

  She took it, but raised her eyebrows at it, then Finn.

  He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. “I’ve had to wear one of those blasted suits before. Ya kinda wind up simmering in your own sweat.”

  Molly laughed. “You do at that.” She began to dry her arms and legs.

  Finn motioned with one thumb toward her yard. “You’re starting to draw quite a crowd this fine day.”

  Molly looked past him, immediately glad she hadn’t given herself a spring water shower. Neighbors, curious looks on their faces, had begun to wander in from all directions, their eyes warily watching as the pest control workers dragged the long rolls of tarps off the truck and began lining them up on all sides of the house. Taylor, who’d already climbed a ladder to the roof, walked around on the gables and valleys as if the steep pitches were a second home. He padded corners and eaves with some kind of tape, moving from one to the other quickly.

  “I guess it will be a bit of a circus. Striped big top and all.” Molly took another swig of water and draped the towel over one shoulder.

  “And every good circus needs concessions.”

  Molly looked back at him, puzzled. “Beg your pardon?”

  He snatched off the ball cap, clutching it in his hands. Obviously, this was a habit of his.

  “Well, I was wondering, y’know, with the way this is a-going and all, after all, people watching a show get mighty thirsty, even on a day fine as this. You yourself …” He motioned at the half-empty bottle in her hand.

  “Want to open a lemonade stand?”

  “Well … actually, I’ve got this big ol’ pickup perfect for tailgating. The missus and me, we take it to all the big games.”

  Molly laughed as the image of Finn selling ribs and beer out of the back of his truck came to her. “Fine. Just don’t trash the lawn. And don’t gouge on the prices.”

  “Whoop!” He shoved the cap back on his head. “No, ma’am!” He turned and jogged away in a half-limp half-trot, as if his left hip didn’t work quite like it was supposed to.

  She turned back to the house and watched, fascinated, as Taylor’s men moved the rolls about, climbing ladders, tossing ropes, pulling the tarps up and over the house. It was an efficient and fast-moving effort, and the first of the red-and-green tarps headed for the cupola on top of the house before Molly finished her water. It unfurled, the stripes slipping over the gutters and to the ground like a heavy flag. Taylor, back on the ground, pulled long hoses from the second truck
and headed into the house. Molly gave a hesitant grin as he entered the house for the first time, stopped, backed out, and shot a look at her over his shoulder. They nodded at each other, then he continued his work.

  As the second rolled tarp ascended, an engine rumbled behind Molly, and she turned to see a massive, Alabama-crimson, dual-wheeled Ford pickup easing up Maple Street. She had to smile, some of the more pleasant memories of her childhood creeping back in as the truck slipped easily among the crowd that continued to cluster in her yard and street, the signature white A of the University of Alabama emblazoned on the doors. In the truck’s bed, a slender blonde sat on a wooden crate, keeping a tight hold on an oversized grill. A long, thick plait swayed against her back as her body moved in sync with the truck. Her face held a lovely tranquility and soft smile. Molly got the feeling she had spent a lot of time in that truck bed. “Hello, Mrs. Eccles,” she whispered.

  Nothing said “small-town Alabama” to Molly like a community coming together over some event, drawn by food and fellowship. She missed this. Sure, she’d witnessed this type of gathering in other small towns, but she’d always been the observer, the outsider.

  The crowd parted as the truck passed the driveway, some of them calling friendly jibes at Finn. With the driveway blocked, he turned it directly into her front yard, bouncing across the shallow ditch, about halfway between her drive and the house next door. He threw it into park, then hopped out. Together, the couple eased the grill down to the ground, then shoved four large coolers into place around it. Distracted, some of the folks began wandering closer.

  Finn encouraged them with an impromptu sideshow patter. “Come on over, folks. The big top is gonna take a while going up and coming down. It’ll be a fine day for something cold and something hot. We’re gonna cook dogs, just two bucks. Burgers will be three. Drinks a dollar, too. Pull up a chair and we’ll make it a party do.”

  A few of the neighbors gave him a friendly wave of dismissal, but others laughed or grinned, stepping a bit closer.

  Molly chuckled. “Well, Aunt Liz, I may still be the outsider, but Molly’s definitely back in town. And she brought the circus with her, big top and all.”

  6

  Molly stared at the text from Russell, then shook her head. Bird’s headed your way with an injunction. Be there soon. She swallowed the last bite of one of Finn’s hotdogs, then reached down beside the lawn chair he’d offered her and picked up her Coke. Taking a slow sip, she looked up at the big top, now puffed out a bit with the air circulation inside. Behind them, the motors on the chemical truck hummed, pumping in the last of the pesticide.

  The text confirmed her instinct last night about telling Bird and Kitty when all this would start. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

  “What’s that you say, Miss Molly?” Finn dropped into the chair next to her and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He clutched a pair of tongs in one hand, and a smear of charcoal decorated his left cheek.

  She turned the phone so he could read the text. Finn leaned toward her and squinted at the screen. He leaned back with a grunt, turning his attention to the house again. “He’s a little behind his game today, Bird is. They’ll be all done and wrapped up by the time he gets here.”

  “Probably because I told him the fumigation would start around two.”

  Finn laughed, then glanced at her. “Why in the world is that old sod called ‘Bird’ anyway? That can’t be his real name.”

  Molly tucked her phone in her shorts pocket. “Nope. His real name is Thomas John. Got the nickname from his habit of climbing trees when he was a kid. Aunt Liz told me he would not stay out of the trees, even as a toddler. At first, just for fun. Later to avoid chores. Mama and Aunt Liz started calling him ‘Birdie Boy,’ and it stuck.”

  “Hmph. That why his oldest girl is Tommie Jane?”

  “Yep. Bird was convinced she’d be a boy, so they didn’t even pick out a girl’s name. Just planned for the boy to be Thomas John Junior. Had to make do when she was born. RuthAnn was named for someone on Nina’s side of the family.”

  Finn frowned. “Then how come Leland isn’t a junior? Ain’t he the oldest?”

  Molly nodded. “He is, but I have no clue. In fact, he’s the oldest of my generation. My brother is second.” She paused, watching the tents pulse with air movement. After a moment, she stood abruptly.

  Finn swiveled to look up at her. “What’re you up to now?”

  She grinned at him. “I feel the urge to take some pictures.” Molly returned to the Explorer, opened the back, and unlocked the padded bag that held her equipment and pulled out her favorite Canon and a short lens. She attached the lens, checked the battery, and closed everything up. Then she turned her lens on the tent, the crowd, and the sky, snapping away as she returned to her seat. When she aimed it at Finn, he posed expertly with the tongs and a broad smile.

  She laughed, then settled and turned thoughtful, the camera resting in her lap. “How in the world did Bird find a judge on Saturday?”

  Finn swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, demonstrating how that smudge got there. “That would be Judge Keeley. Poor craiter lost his wife last Thanksgiving, God rest her soul. Can’t stand to be at home ever since. Goes fishing a lot with his courthouse buddies. But if he ain’t fishing, he’s down at the courthouse. Heard ’em say he even sleeps on his office couch sometimes. Wonder what grounds he used.”

  The answer came from behind them. “One I should have anticipated.”

  Russell’s words caught them off guard, and both twisted in their chairs to look up at him. They stood, and Finn motioned toward the grill, where his wife flipped the latest round of burgers with a long-handled spatula. “Want something to eat, Russell?”

  The lawyer started to shake his head, then hesitated. “Any hotdogs on that grill?”

  Finn perked up. “Absolutely, my dear sir. Loaded?”

  “Definitely. Peppers?”

  “Got ’em. Coming right up.” Finn headed for the grill, motioning the tongs at his wife.

  “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  Russell pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “If you haven’t noticed, you can’t get a car past the intersection down there. Whole neighborhood is blocked off with people coming to see what’s going on.”

  Molly took a quick shot of the line of cars stretching down Maple Street. “So what grounds did he use?” She motioned for Russell to sit, and she joined him.

  “That Liz deeded you the house but not the contents. Finn’s right. Bird found Edward Keeley in his office. He made a case that the will had not been probated, the contents still belonged to the estate, not you as a person, and that the pesticides might hurt those antiques, thus persuading Edward that the fumigation would have to wait until they were out of the house.”

  “But that’s not true, is it? Doesn’t the quitclaim deed specify personal property?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Bird argued that not everything inside belonged to Liz, which is also true, and that many things in the estate are specifically bequeathed to other people. His argument is that the fumigation could render them worthless.”

  “Which is not true.”

  Russell shrugged. “In my experience, injunctions are often issued in the name of ‘better safe than sorry,’ and the facts are sorted out later.”

  “Now what?”

  “We wait. Edward said he’d have a deputy serve the injunction today, so Bird headed for the sheriff’s office. In the meantime, Edward called me, and I phoned Greg Olson to give him a headsup. Greg will escort Bird over here and serve the injunction, but he won’t get in a rush with it.”

  Molly listened to all this, bemused. “Is this some kind of old boys network thing?”

  Russell half-smiled. “Let’s just say that if Bird wants to use the law to manipulate things in his direction, he should learn a great deal more about the law than he does. And he should learn to fish.”

  Molly laughed, a deep a
nd genuine guffaw. “I forgot how things were done down here.”

  “Oh, it’s pretty much that way just about anywhere, especially in small towns. It’s the social oil that keeps things civil and civilized. Hard to give a man too much grief if you’re going to bait hooks with him next weekend.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” She paused. “Do you have a safe in your office?”

  Russell glanced at her warily. “Yes. Why?”

  “I found something in the house I need you to store for a bit. It’s potentially a lot of trouble.”

  Finn appeared before them, a soda can in one hand, a bowed and overloaded paper plate in the other. “Here ya go, sir.”

  Russell grinned at Finn and took the drink, but his gaze returned to Molly, guarded, as he popped it open and sat it on the ground. He reached for the hotdog, took a big bite, and changed the subject. “Get to know any of your neighbors?”

  She grinned at him. “Hard not to when the party’s on your lawn.” Molly nodded at the woman standing at the grill. “Sheila Eccles. Finn’s missus. Met him twenty years ago when his University of Dublin debate team faced off with the Samford debaters. She says they still find debating exhilarating.”

  Russell chuckled. “I bet they do.”

  “See the lady in the blue tank top?”

  “The one who looks like Kim Kardashian from behind?”

  “Play nice.”

  Russell put the hotdog on the plate and placed one hand on his chest, palm flat. “Hey, I love the way Kim looks from behind. So who is she? Is that Linda?” Another bite and half the dog was gone.

  Molly nodded. “Yep. Linda Allen. Widow. Lives next door, on the left side, with three kids, her brother, and an assortment of dogs and cats.”

  “Liz mentioned her on occasion. Liked her a lot.”

  “Linda’s a sweet lady. Told me Blossom is still in the neighborhood and shows up at her house for food on a regular basis. She’ll make sure the cat’s taken care of for now.” Molly paused, swallowing hard.

  Russell leaned toward her. “What is it?”