Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  She scrambled to her feet. “Mama?”

  Maniacal laughter raised goose bumps on Jill’s little arms and back.

  From behind, a grotesque figure rushed at her mother. It struck, and her mother fell from the second-floor railing, screaming and arms flailing.

  Jill woke and leapt from her bed.

  Run! Somewhere. Far away. Somewhere her aunt would never find her. Somewhere … but there was nowhere to go.

  Her knees buckled. She eased herself to the floor and clenched her teeth. She would not cry. Not even if Maggie was right.

  “God, help me.” She could barely breathe the words.

  I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind.

  A spear of morning sun touched her through the window as the words wrapped her in comforting peace. She needn’t be afraid. God would surely see her through this strange mission to the end.

  She pushed up onto unsteady legs and made it to the bathroom where she splashed her face with cool water. While she washed and dressed, she forged a plan to grab a ride to the city and dig out every available scrap of information on her mother’s death. She would find what she needed to put her torment to rest.

  Hurrying down the back stairs to the kitchen, Jill arranged for Mrs. Fenton to care for Button. Sprinting through the house, she burst out the front door in time to catch Clay and Uncle Drew climbing into the Jeep.

  “Wait!”

  Clay searched the store fronts up and down the street. Jill’s flushed, determined face as she caught a ride with him to Munising hours earlier still left him uneasy. In a town this small, she should be easy to spot, so where had she gone?

  He crossed the street and glanced through the café’s expanse of windows as he was about to pass by. In the crush of noontime patrons, she sat alone against one wall at a table for two, her laptop open. Whatever she had ordered remained untouched as she studied the screen. Her brow crinkled.

  He opened the café door and made his way through the crowd, hoping to reach her before she spotted him. No such luck.

  Clicking her wireless mouse, she closed the laptop and slipped it into its case, carefully lowering it to the floor between her chair and the wall. She pulled her salad and milk toward her.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “Please.” She indicated the lone vacant chair.

  He sat down facing her. “I think you should know. Someone rigged the fireplace to malfunction.”

  She paled, searching his face. “You’re sure? How?”

  He couldn’t blame her for hoping he was wrong. “My guess is by tampering with the damper to make it appear to work at first, then setting it up to fail as the heat increased.” He locked into her shocked gaze.

  “You’re certain.”

  “The fireplace was in good working order before and after. I checked it both times.” He propped his forearms on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice further. “Jill, you’re not safe at Windtop.”

  “How do I know you didn’t rig it yourself?”

  He hadn’t seen that one coming. “First of all, it’s too dangerous. Too much could go wrong, and I would never risk harming you. Only by dumb luck was I in the house when Carver called for help.”

  Blushing, she looked down at her hands. “I‘m … sorry. I didn’t really believe it. You’ve been too kind. But I had to ask. I don’t know you.” She looked up again, her incredible eyes searching his. “Who are you, Clay? Why are you here?”

  He itched to reach for her hands and reassure her, but he’d stay with the facts. “I am a renovation contractor, but you’re right. That’s only part of the story.” A story he still couldn’t reveal to her.

  “You—” Her voice caught and turned so soft he barely heard the words. “You know something about my mother’s death, don’t you?”

  All right, he’d tell her as much as he dared. “I have strong suspicions but can’t be sure. I’m missing a crucial piece of evidence.”

  Without blinking, her beautiful wide eyes stared. “Tell me! I’ll help you find it.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. He still couldn’t risk it, for her sake as much as his. The hurt in her gaze weighed on his heart like a molten lead.

  She leaned toward him. “Then tell the police. Let them deal with it.”

  He clenched his jaw and then sat back as the waitress arrived to take his to-go order. When she left, he continued. “Without that evidence, they’d never listen. In the meantime, you would do me a favor if you returned to Chicago where you’d be safe.”

  She stared at him unblinking. “You don’t know my family.”

  “I didn’t say anything about your family.”

  “You didn’t have to. But if I’m in danger as you say, we should work on this together, help each other.”

  “You can help me best by going home and letting me handle it.”

  “That’s not happening, Clay. I have too much at stake.” She grabbed her purse and laptop and hurried away.

  He sighed and sank back. At least she hadn’t fired him yet.

  Jill paid her bill and left the restaurant. Standing out on the sidewalk, she fumed. Her morning had vanished, and what had she accomplished? The sheriff’s and coroner’s records proved as useless as the brief news articles she had downloaded to her laptop. No matter how closely she scrutinized those documents, nothing came close to supporting Maggie’s accusation.

  Now, this encounter with Clay left her with more questions. Why did he refuse to tell her what he knew? What crucial evidence was he looking for?

  She combed the fingers of her free hand through her hair. She couldn’t return to the island yet and wasn’t in the mood to shop. Lord, what do you want me to do?

  Amelia Tanner’s sweet face came to mind, along with a pang of regret. How disappointed the dear woman had been when Jill declined her dinner invitation yesterday. Maybe a visit this afternoon would make up for it.

  Pink hollyhocks and yellow sunflowers peeped over Amelia’s picket fence as Jill approached the open gate. Juggling two pots of mums along with her purse and laptop, she walked up the porch steps and knocked on the screen door.

  A shuffling sound came from within before Amelia’s silver-haired head popped around the edge of the door. “Jill! What a nice surprise.” She unhooked the door. “Come in, come in!”

  Peace wrapped around Jill as she entered the homey combination living and dining room.

  Amelia nodded toward the potted mums. “What’s all this?”

  Jill smiled. “For you.”

  The elder woman glowed with pleasure. “Whatever for?”

  “To say thank you for inviting me to Sunday dinner even though I wasn’t able to accept. I hope you like them.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Amelia crooned.

  Jill glanced around the room. “Where should I put them?”

  “The foot of the stairs would be fine.”

  While Jill arranged the potted flowers to one side of the bottom two steps, Amelia continued, “Do you have time to visit?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Have you had lunch?”

  “I had a salad at the café.” Those few bites would have to hold her.

  “You need more than that, and I was about to eat a little beef stew. It’s hot on the stove, and I made fresh lemonade.” She grinned, her eyebrows arched. “What do you think?”

  Her stomach growling on cue, Jill laughed. “Sounds heavenly.”

  Amelia pushed her walker toward the kitchen. “It’s good to have company.” She stopped to catch her breath.

  “How about letting me get the stew and lemonade,” Jill offered.

  The older woman smiled. “That would be nice.”

  In the galley kitchen, Jill poured lemonade into two tall glasses and dished up two bowls of savory stew while Amelia added another setting of napkin and silverware to the dining room table. Jill joined her to enjoy the best stew she had tasted in years.

 
After their meal, Jill washed the few dishes and straightened the kitchen before returning to the living room where Amelia sat at a large, rectangular, wooden structure.

  “My quilting frame,” she explained. “I nearly have ten queen-sized quilts ready to sell at the church booth during the Fourth of July picnic.”

  Jill bent closer to inspect the two layers of cotton fabric in a tiny flowered print. They were separated by a middle layer of soft, white batting stretched across the horizontal frame. “Is it hard to do?”

  “Not at all.” Amelia threaded a large-eyed needle with a short length of dark green yarn. She poked it down through the layers and up again about a quarter-inch away. Tying a double knot with the yarn, she clipped the ends to a one-inch length. “See? Nothing to it. Do you want to try?”

  “May I?”

  “Of course.” Amelia threaded another needle and grimaced. “Oh bother. I’m almost out of this color. I have extra skeins upstairs. Would you mind getting them for me?”

  Jill headed toward the stairs. “Where do I look?”

  “The bottom dresser drawer.” Amelia returned to work with the remaining yarn.

  At the head of the stairs, Jill entered the only bedroom and found the dresser. A white cotton scarf edged in hand-crocheted lace covered the top, setting off the framed picture of a warm-eyed young woman.

  Jill opened the bottom drawer and carried the four dark green skeins downstairs.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said. “This will keep me busy for a while. With four quilts to finish before Friday, I don’t have a moment to spare.”

  “I’d love to help,” Jill offered. She could use a welcome break from the tension at Windtop.

  Amelia kicked up her heels and laughed. “Was I that obvious?”

  Jill pulled up a dining room chair on the opposite side of the frame. With a needle in hand, she pierced the three layers every few inches, tied a double knot, and trimmed the ends.

  “Your granddaughter takes a lovely picture,” she remarked.

  Amelia blinked and cocked her head.

  “The picture on the dresser upstairs.”

  “Oh, you mean Janice, my grandson’s fiancée. She was a lovely girl.” Amelia tied another knot and trimmed the ends. “She died two years ago.”

  At the sadness lacing her new friend’s voice, Jill murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  “A hit-and-run.” Amelia poked her needle through the layers. “Maybe that’s why Sonny hasn’t gotten over it though I pray for him every day.” She smiled ruefully and cut a few more lengths of yarn. “Are you interested in someone?”

  Clay’s kind eyes and tender heart immediately came to mind, along with his exasperating ways. “I doubt it will work out.”

  Amelia’s gentle eyes held a question.

  “I don’t think he’s a Christian.” Another reason her new friend would understand.

  “You’re wise, Jill. I wish my grandson would learn to love someone like you, someone to draw him back to Jesus.” Dampness appeared on her lashes, and she pulled a tissue from her apron pocket.

  Jill sighed. No one lived for long without some heartache. “Would you like me to pray with you?”

  Amelia blotted her tears and nodded.

  Jill went to the woman’s side and took her thin hand. “Lord, thank you for Sonny and your faithful love for him. Please heal his broken heart and send the right person to love and draw him back to you.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Amelia agreed, “and thank you for Jill. Bless her with a young man who loves you.”

  The screen door rattled. “Amelia? May I come in?”

  Jill’s new friend quickly tucked the tissue in her apron pocket. “Please do.”

  A slightly plump woman in her thirties entered with a bulging shopping bag. “Here’s the yarn you need for those last quilts.” She paused as she noticed Jill. “Oh, you have company.”

  “Helen, this is a friend I met at church on Sunday. Jill, this is Pastor McGee’s wife.”

  “I’m so glad to meet you,” Helen said, putting the shopping bag down. “Amelia, are you sure all this isn’t too much for you?” She indicated the quilt on the frame and the two others folded in the corner waiting to be tied and hemmed.

  “I’m fine. Just pray they sell at the booth this weekend. How is the auction coming along?”

  “Auction?” Jill asked.

  “Amelia’s idea,” Helen said. “Our church is sponsoring a craft booth on the Fourth of July and an auction on the following Saturday to raise funds for a new organ and to paint the church.” She smiled sweetly. “Though it’s true, we could use a few more items for the auction.”

  “Between the all-school class reunion and the Fourth of July celebration this week,” Amelia went on, “we should find enough interested buyers. If the Lord blesses, we might even have money left over for missions too.”

  “What can I do to help, Mrs. McGee?”

  “Oh, please call me Helen,” the woman said. “Tying quilts is a big help already. I feel better knowing Amelia isn’t doing this alone. Every church woman is already working hard on some craft, including me.”

  “But I wish I could do more,” Jill said. “Ah … the furnishings!”

  “What?” Amelia and Helen chorused.

  “I have some lovely old furnishings in the attic that I don’t need. Could I donate them to your auction?”

  “Well …” Helen hesitated. “How many pieces are you thinking of?”

  “I think a truckload, and I believe I have a perfectly good organ too. If you think it’s good enough, you are welcome to it.”

  Helen looked doubtful. “That’s very generous, Jill, but are you sure?”

  “Absolutely, on both counts, but can your auctioneer handle it on such short notice?”

  “I could ask him,” Helen said, “but please don’t act in haste. You might regret it. Think it over and let me know. No matter what your decision, Jill, we certainly appreciate your offer.”

  As Helen departed on her next errand, Jill noticed the time on Amelia’s mantle clock. After tying off a final piece of yarn and trimming it, she looked with satisfaction over the work she had accomplished. At least something in her life was turning out all right.

  “I’m having so much fun, Amelia, I’m sorry I have to leave.” She gathered the needle and scissors to put them away. “But my ride will be waiting.”

  Amelia insisted on walking her to the door. “Thank you for visiting and for the lovely flowers.” She paused as if trying to decide. “I wonder. Would you mind if I gave one of the pots to my friend? She can’t get out like she used to.”

  Jill kissed Amelia’s thin cheek. “Please do that.”

  With a lighter heart, she returned to City Dock and the trip back to Windtop.

  Lord, you were so right. My visiting Amelia was just what we both needed. Thank you for giving me this loving place to rest—far from the troubles at Windtop.

  At Windtop, Jill ran up the porch steps. Her aunt and Mrs. Fenton were studying the arrangement of wicker tables set up on the veranda’s wide expanse.

  “I think they’re evenly spaced now,” Lenore said. “Make sure each table seats four.”

  As Jill tried to skim past unnoticed, her aunt whirled about. “We certainly could have used your help to get ready for the historical society’s luncheon tomorrow. I am exhausted.”

  Exhausted? If anything, Lenore appeared exhilarated and primed for an argument.

  “You will attend, won’t you?” It was more a command than a question.

  No hovered on her tongue. More important things demanded her attention, but a little nudge in her heart made her think again. What if the Lord wanted her there? “I’ll arrange it.”

  Lenore scrutinized her. When her aunt turned away, Jill slipped into the house, glad to escape without further confrontation. The less she was forced to contend with her aunt, the better.

  Jill stopped short of Elma. The small Persian rug at the foot of the grand staircase had been pus
hed to one side, and the frenzied girl scrubbed the floor with all her might. A strand of limp, brown hair escaped her maid’s cap.

  She looked up at Jill and pointed to the stain on the parquet floor embedded in the wood pieces. “It won’t come out.” Her chin quivered. “Mrs. Bradwell won’t like it. She sure won’t.”

  Jill stared at the stain, and a terrible knowing spread like fire in her chest. Trembling overtook her limbs. The stain resembled … a pooled liquid.

  Her mother’s blood!

  The fire in her chest threatened to explode and her stomach revolted. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she lurched forward to skirt Elma and race up the stairs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jill slammed her bedroom door and pressed her hot forehead against its cool surface. Her temples throbbing, she pushed away and paced, unable to dislodge the image of her mother’s blood embedded in Windtop’s floor.

  Tears flooded her eyes. What was she doing in this hateful place? She had come to find peace. Peace to go on with her life without regret. Yet everywhere she turned, reminders of her mother’s pain and her own failures assaulted her.

  If she were smart, she’d do what Clay begged of her. She’d pack her bags and get out. But if she did that, she’d be buckling to her old habit of running when things got tough. This time … this time … Lord, please help me stay and face whatever lies ahead. No matter how much I want to run.

  Run from what? Even Clay had only suspicions. Now she had them too. They crawled within her and gave her no peace. Yet neither of them had any proof. So with God’s help, she had to stay until she knew one way or the other.

  As she palmed the tears from her cheeks, something warm and fuzzy rubbed her ankles. She looked down to find Button, her little bundle of comfort. She picked him up and sank into Maggie’s rocker. No more full-fledged bawling sessions. She was done with tears. She’d dig until she found the truth.

  As Button nuzzled her neck, Jill’s gaze found the fireplace. Clay believed someone deliberately set it to malfunction. Yet she’d spent the entire morning looking for some piece of information to settle her doubts about her mother’s death and came up with nothing. “Lord, we need more than dead ends.”