Molly waited in the solitude for an answer, but even God was quiet tonight. Her mind had finally slipped into a doze when the sound of the first shotgun blast rocked the silence of the room.
9
Molly screamed, bolted up, and dropped between the two double beds in the room. She snagged her phone on the way down. Another blast from the shotgun sounded as the 911 operator answered.
Molly shouted, “Someone’s shooting at the StayLodge!”
The third shot rocked her door. Pellets penetrated the wood, lodging in the wall behind it.
“They shot my door!” Molly dropped the phone. She grabbed her gun case off the nightstand. She popped it open, removed the Glock 9mm, inserted the magazine, and pulled the slide back to chamber a round. She braced her back against the nightstand and drew her knees up. She could still hear the operator calling to her, but she didn’t want to let go of the gun.
She clenched it tight in both fists, listening, waiting for the next blast. In the distance, sirens wailed. A motor revved in the parking lot, then came the squeals of tires on pavement. A motorcycle.
Molly didn’t move, every muscle tensed. When she heard the big V-8s of the sheriff department’s cars roar into the parking lot and the shouts of friendlier voices, she lowered the gun, shaking hard. She shoved the Glock beneath the mattress, then wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to control the shaking. But she didn’t stand until Greg Olson called her name through the door.
“I’m here!” She pushed slowly off the floor and stumbled to the door. She couldn’t believe how relieved she felt to see him.
Greg’s eyes widened with concern. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I’m shaking right down to my boots, but I didn’t get hit.” She looked at the door, which was riddled with shotgun pellets. “Not so much my poor door.”
“Not just your door.”
“What?”
“Are you all right to walk?”
She nodded, even though her knees still felt weak. Greg reached to take her elbow. When she stumbled off the sidewalk, he wrapped his arm around her waist, steadying her. They moved out into the parking lot, now awash in flashing red and blue lights. Three cruisers clustered in front of the motel, and an ambulance sat just beyond them, the EMTs out and on alert, waiting for a signal to move in. Most of the guests had started edging out of their rooms, peering around doors and leaning over the second floor rails.
Greg motioned to two of his officers. “Start the canvass. Find out if anyone saw anything. Check with the night manager about surveillance.” They headed off, and he turned Molly so she could see the rear of her Explorer.
The rear glass lay on the ground, splintered. The back end of the SUV had been dimpled and pierced by hundreds of pellets. The cleaning supplies she’d bought had been scattered around, stomped and broken. Spray-painted across the blue tailgate were the words “Go Home or Die” in white.
Fear turned to rage, and Molly felt her heat rise from her gut into her face. “Son of a—” She cut off the word and turned to Greg. “You know who did this, right! Bird! LJ! One of their evil minions.”
He nodded. “Did you see them?”
She barked a harsh laugh. “Ha! I was too busy cowering between the beds.”
“As you should have been.”
He studied her so closely, Molly wondered if Russell had told him she had a gun.
His voice was annoyingly calm. “You know you were right earlier. You need to get in front of this. You can’t fight fire with fire.”
“Revenge is best served cold.”
“Molly.” He drawled out her name into at least four syllables of warning.
She crossed her arms and looked at the back of the Explorer, a different idea easing into her head. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get some spray paint this time of night.”
Greg started to shake his head when one of the deputies spoke up. “I got a couple of cans in the trunk.” At his sheriff’s startled look, he shrugged. “Took ’em off some kids trying to tag the water tower last night.”
“They still do that around here?” Molly asked.
“They try,” Greg answered. “Seniors. Every year about this time. What are you going to do?”
“Answer their demand. Then start cleaning this mess up.”
“Let us get some pictures first.”
She nodded, then closed her eyes and stiffened her spine. If Bird had been in front of her at that moment, she might have beat his head in with one of the broken broom handles. Or, possibly, shot him. Greg was right. Neither was a good idea. But this underscored that she couldn’t remain reactionary to their behavior. She had to find a way to get in front of all this.
Someone cleared his throat, and she opened her eyes to see a deputy holding out a can of red spray paint. She took it. “Perfect. Thank you.”
One of the other deputies called to Greg from across the parking lot. “Sheriff! You gotta see this!” He jerked his thumb back toward the manager’s office. Molly followed Greg as he strode over. The three of them crowded behind the front desk, where four small monitors displayed images from the cameras around the property. Two were aimed at the front desk, fore and aft, and one showed the back parking lot. The fourth one was pointed at the front parking lot, currently crowded with cruisers and bystanders. The monitor for that camera, however, had been rewound to earlier in the evening and showed a quiet parking lot. The time stamp was from before the attack.
Greg nodded at the manager. “Play it slow, Leon.”
The slow-motion image showed a small blue, black, and purple motorcycle head into the parking lot and spin into a 180-degree turn, ready to pull out again. It carried two rather small and lithe people, dressed in all black and wearing ski masks. The rider slid off and sprayed the words on the tailgate. He tossed the can to the driver, then pulled a pump-action shotgun from a holster strapped to his back. He pointed it at the Explorer and pulled the trigger. The glass exploded. He backed up, pumped and hit the Explorer again. He stepped around the SUV, pumped the gun, and fired at the door of Molly’s room. He holstered the gun, then started pulling the supplies out through the SUV’s broken window and stomping and kicking them. After a few seconds, he mounted the bike and they sped out of the lot.
Molly sighed. “Obviously too small to be Kitty, Nina, or Bird. And you can’t see a license plate.”
The deputy snorted. “Don’t need one. You recognize that bike, don’t you, Sheriff? That’s LJ’s bike.”
The manager looked up at him. “Leland Junior?”
Greg nodded. “Yep,” he said slowly. He looked at Molly. “The same bike he reported stolen this afternoon after his encounter with you.”
The shooting incident had taken less than five minutes to occur. The aftermath took more than three hours. The deputies made pictures, started the paperwork, helped Molly pick up the trash and tape a thick but clear plastic sheet where her rear window should have been. She kept the spray paint only long enough to draw a red line through the white words and write, “No!” over the end of the word “Home.”
When she was done, Molly stepped back and studied the results.
Greg Olson walked up beside her. “Defiant much?”
She grinned. “Since I was fifteen.” Still staring at the back of the Explorer, she asked softly. “Where are you from?”
He hesitated, glancing at her. “You so sure I’m not from around here?”
“You’re Southern, but you are not from central Alabama. Around here they don’t just flatten vowels, they squash them with an iron skillet and stretch them out in the sun to dry.”
He snorted a laugh. “My folks were from Pell City, but Dad joined the army before I was born. I’m a military kid, lived all over. Folks around here say I don’t sound like I’m from anywhere.”
“So you sound like you’re from everywhere.”
“Something like that.” He put his hand on her arm, turning her toward him, his face somber. Molly had an id
ea what might be coming, but she just waited. This was his call.
He glanced toward the door of her hotel room. “You have a gun in there.” It was not a question.
“And a permit.”
“I know. I checked.”
“I figured you would. Did Russell tell you?”
He nodded. “You didn’t shoot back.”
“Nope. 911 is always the first choice. And nothing to shoot at. I wasn’t about to put my head up and give them a target, just to take a look. They didn’t come through the door. But I did pull it out. And would have pulled the trigger if they got in. I would have defended myself.”
He waited. After a moment, Molly relented. “I have it because of what I do. I’ve mostly used it on snakes and rabid animals. Storms stir up a lot of unexpected activity. I’ve had to fend off a looter or two. Shot at a gator once, mostly to make it go away. I’m trained. Right now, I’m a single woman on the road alone. And I knew this situation might turn ugly.” She looked back at her SUV. “I didn’t know it would be this ugly. This quick.”
“Try not to shoot Bird.”
Molly peered closer at him. He was completely serious. “You think I would?”
“I do. I think you want to, more than you realize. Your anger about Liz runs close to the surface, and your rage about what happened twenty years ago keeps it fueled. That’s why you reacted the way you did to LJ today. It’s become almost instinctual.”
She gestured at the truck. “They haven’t exactly shown remorse for destroying our lives.”
“You know what they say about revenge.”
She cocked an eyebrow, a reminder of what she’d just said.
“No, I mean the one about digging two graves before you embark on it. Just keep in mind that he’s not worth the cost. None of them are.”
Molly focused on the back of her SUV again. “As I said. I have to get in front of this.”
“You do. I’ve come up with an idea, but you’ll need to talk it over with Russell. And it won’t be easy.”
“Sheriff?”
They both turned to the young deputy who approached. Greg motioned for him to speak.
The deputy cleared his throat. “Um … they … I mean, one of the patrols … they found the bike. It’s in a ditch not too far from here.”
Greg’s lips pursed in disgust. “Let me guess. Near the Davidson cut-through.”
The deputy nodded. “Yes, sir. They must have left the bike and hiked back over to the lake.”
“Okay. Impound it. Call one of the Johnson brothers and have them haul it over to the garage. We’ll look at in the morning.” The deputy strode away, and Greg turned back to Molly. “It’ll be useless for evidence, but we’ll still go over it. They left it at a trail that cuts from the highway over to a lake near Bird’s farm. Local kids use the lake for fishing, and they take the cut-through after school, then someone picks them up there. My guess is that they had a car waiting at the lake.”
“I remember. And no traffic cameras.”
“The only ones the city has are at the red lights in town. Some of the stores might have one pointed at the road. But if they had a car at the lake, they used the back roads to get away.”
“So what’s your idea?”
He reached for her arm again. “Let’s get you settled in another room first, then we’ll talk.”
Molly sat on the passenger side of Greg’s cruiser, staring at her childhood home. Now Bird and Nina Morrow’s home. She wasn’t sure that Greg’s idea for “getting in front of it” would work … and she could already feel a painful twist in her stomach. Russell had been doubtful as well, but thought it might be worth a try.
Greg had picked her up for breakfast and talked her through how the morning might go once they got to Bird’s. It was already nine, but there was not a lot of activity to show if anyone was awake. Molly could hear a tractor somewhere in the fields beyond, but doubted it belonged to Bird or anyone in his family. The land around the house remained a working farm, mostly because Bird rented out the fields and barns to neighboring farmers who kept them tilled and planted.
The sun rose behind them, shining on the house, and the midmorning rays revealed a light dust in the air as well as a general ambience of decay. The house had not fared well under Bird’s tenure. The porch sagged, the paint peeled, the roof buckled. Sprouts of grass burst from the gutters, making the house appear as if it had a bad haircut. The mulberry tree had grown, its canopy now completely shading the front porch, but the steps where she’d spent much of her childhood had pulled away from the house, canting to the left.
And the memories stung. Even the happy ones, times spent with Mickey or her grandparents, felt tainted, as if they had been spoiled by what came after. The house no longer represented any happiness for her. Just loss and an unrelenting ache.
This is going to be harder than I expected. Molly straightened her shoulders, however. A sense of determination to get this whole business over and done with pushed her on.
Greg touched her hand. “Ready?”
Bird strolled out of the house, wearing only jeans and an undershirt. He casually picked his teeth with a toothpick as he glared at them. Nina followed him out, looking equally unprepared for unexpected visitors. Her boxy housedress reminded Molly of something from the 1940s.
“As I’ll ever be,” Molly responded. “If we sit here in the car together any longer, the rumors will start.”
Greg snorted. “Don’t kid yourself. They already have.” He paused. “There are also rumors about Leland.”
“There have been rumors about Leland since the day he was born.” She remembered those all too well, and had once felt sorry for her shy cousin. Two years older than Mickey, Leland had been born eight months after Bird and Nina had been married, which only added to the rumors. As a boy, he’d been dark and lean, in opposition to his parents and siblings, who were all blond, short, and slightly round. Bullies often used him as a mark, and for years, Leland had just accepted the taunts. Finally, one day he fought back, and the pestering scattered like autumn leaves.
“This is different. You might want to prepare yourself.”
“How so?”
“He’s not doing well.”
Molly glanced at him, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he opened the door and got out. She followed, hanging back just a bit.
“Y’all get off my property,” Bird called out. “You ain’t welcome here.” He gestured at Greg with the toothpick. “And I don’t want you arresting me because she’s getting close to me. It won’t be me violating that order. In fact, after what she did, you should be arresting her.”
Leland pushed open the screen door and stepped out, letting it slam behind him.
Molly bit her lip to keep from gasping. She hadn’t seen him in twenty years, but the change in him shocked her. Leland had always been lanky but wiry, with taut muscles, tanned skin, and a moviestar face. Now he was skeletal, his skin yellowish and taut, drawn thin across flaccid muscles. Purple shadows sat in hollows around his eyes, cheeks, and throat. He wore a tank top and khakis, and his shoulders, elbows, and wrists stood out like knots on a pine branch.
Molly winced as an odd thought hit her. He looks like Mother before she died. And the last images of Regina McClelland flashed behind her eyes, the same dark hair standing out against a yellowish, skeletal-thin frame, with muscles that could barely support her, as if she’d been consumed from the inside. Oh, dear Lord. Leland’s dying.
He nodded at her. “Hey, Molly.” His voice was rough and laconic.
She yanked herself back to the present and returned the gesture. “Leland.”
“I hear you’re as feisty as ever.”
“I guess word gets around.”
He gave her a weak half-smile and dropped into a rocker near the end of the porch as if all his energy had suddenly vanished.
The screen door slammed again as a sulky LJ came to stand next to Bird. A cross between the two other men, his cyclist’s build was e
ven more prominent in only cargo shorts. Blue eyes glared at her, the rage palpable in his face.
“Like Granddaddy said,” he called out, his focus on Molly. “Y’all need to get outta here. Haven’t you done enough?”
“We found your bike,” Greg said to the younger man.
LJ straightened and turned to Greg, his eyes narrow. “Where?”
“Probably right where you left it.”
“I told you that bike was stolen!” He took one step down off the porch, but Greg didn’t budge. LJ stopped, crossing his arms. “I don’t know where it was. When can I have it back?”
“Not for a while.”
“Why not?”
“It was used in the commission of a crime. While that’s being investigated, it’ll remain in impound.”
“A crime?” LJ twisted around to look at his grandfather, true confusion on his face. Bird remained impassive, but Nina shook her head and turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth.
Leland leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What kind of crime?”
“Attempted murder.”
“What?” This time, LJ was genuinely stunned, and Nina turned around, wide-eyed.
Bird came off the porch with two strides, and he poked a finger at Greg. “You are not here accusing us of murder!”
“Daddy …” Leland stood, a warning note in his voice.
“My grandson reported that bike stolen—”
“Daddy …” Leland stood, a warning note in his voice. “My grandson reported that bike stolen—”
“Daddy!” Leland’s shout finally got Bird’s attention, who backed off, running his hands back and forth over his head.
Leland focused on the sheriff. “Greg, tell us what happened, if you can.”
As Greg explained, Molly watched the Morrows react. Bird’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. He glanced hastily at Leland, then LJ, then his wife, and back again at Greg. LJ sat and crossed his arms, hunching into himself. The rage dissipated from his face as he stared at his shoe tips, leaving something akin to miserable confusion. Leland, as he always had, took the news placidly, nodding occasionally. Nina developed a thousand-yard stare across the fields.
Murder in the Family Page 12
