That day at the Theiss house after Weaver had fallen to his death, Sheriff Mearl had been understanding when he’d arrived. He’d listened to her abbreviated account of what had happened, how she’d found the incriminating letters, who Bradley Weaver had been and how he’d tried to kill her. How Frank had saved her by stopping him; how Weaver had ended up dying instead, by accident, as Frank had been protecting her. In the end, it had also been self-defense. Bradley had tried to kill Frank, too. It helped that Frank and Mearl were now, after years, good friends and Frank worked part-time with him at the sheriff’s department. There was no question that Sheriff Mearl believed what Abigail said had occurred. He’d believe whatever Frank told him, as well, when Frank was able to talk again.
Sheriff Mearl had sat with her and Frank as she’d waited for the ambulance, cradling Frank’s head in her lap. The sheriff had followed the ambulance to the hospital. As Frank was in surgery, and while they’d waited for the surgeon to finish, and come out to speak to them, she gave the sheriff a more detailed account of what had happened at the empty house. She gave him the tin box with the letters.
By the time Kyle and Glinda got to the hospital the whole story had come out and Sheriff Mearl left knowing everything he needed to know. He said he’d file the report and she and Frank weren’t to worry. Everything would be all right. Weaver had been a murderer who’d deserved what had happened to him and none of it was her or Frank’s fault in any way. No one would ever think otherwise. No charges would be filed against her or Frank. For Abigail, that knowledge was an added relief.
The secondary ramifications of the day’s events hit her hours later as she had spoken to the sheriff in the hospital’s waiting room. “It just came to me, Sheriff. If Bradley Weaver had been the stalker, the killer, of the Theiss family all those years ago, then Lucas Theiss told the truth. He hadn’t killed his family, was unjustly convicted, and has been imprisoned for over forty years for crimes he never committed. He was and is innocent. So now won’t he be able to have, at least, a new trial? Or could he be completely exonerated of the crimes, pardoned or something, and released? Jeanette’s letters I gave you and Weaver’s words to me before he tried to kill me, and then died himself, would surely prove Lucas is innocent and should be freed, right?”
“It’s possible,” Sheriff Mearl had answered her thoughtfully. “This is going to be a huge story, Abigail. A national story. Reopening this old murder case. One that has been a huge stain on our town for decades. The letters you found and what they mean. Your testimony to what Weaver confessed to you before he died. That’s solid proof that Lucas is innocent. Weaver almost killing you and dying himself when Frank saved you. Oh boy, the media is going to have a field day.”
“No doubt. But about Lucas Theiss...what do we have to do to start his freedom process or get him a new trial? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll handle it from here. You gave me the letters. And as soon as you’re able I want you to write down as much as you can remember of what Weaver said before he attacked you. Get it documented. Do that as soon as possible before you forget any of it. I’ll check and see if the lawyer who represented Lucas Theiss is still practicing, or is even alive. After forty years there’s no telling. If he isn’t available I’ll call a lawyer I know and see what steps have to be taken next; what should and can be done for Lucas.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Then the surgeon had come into the waiting room with news of Frank’s condition and after they learned he would make it through; the sheriff said he’d be in touch and drove back into town.
“If you or Frank need anything, don’t hesitate to call me,” he told her before he left.
When he was gone, Abigail had time to digest the truth. She’d almost died, but she was still alive. Frank would be all right, too. Lucas Theiss didn’t kill his family. Wow. So there was one good thing to come of the horrible day. Lucas Theiss would be exonerated and would be set free. Wait until she told Frank....
IT WASN’T UNTIL LATER that night, after her husband’s surgery and the Sheriff, Kyle and Glinda had gone home for the night, as she sat half-dozing in a chair by her husband’s hospital bed, him sleeping and her drifting in and out, that the day caught up with her. But she couldn’t go to sleep, couldn’t abandon Frank. Not yet. Not until he woke up and smiled at or talked to her...just one tiny smile or one little word.
She studied her husband’s sleeping face and fought back the panic she’d felt earlier. As Frank had clutched his chest and slid to the floor in that house, she’d been terrified she’d lost him. Just like she’d lost Joel. A widow again. Frank hadn’t made a sound, he had just went down. She thought she’d have her own heart attack seeing him like that, unconscious, on the floor. Bending over him, nothing else in the world, not her struggle and near death at Weaver’s hands, Weaver’s lifeless body on the ground outside, not her paintings or anything else in her life, mattered. Frank was her life. He was everything.
The first thing she did as he laid on the floor, knowing his family history and guessing he was having a heart attack, was to run out to her car. She grabbed the aspirin bottle out of her purse. Sprinting up the stairs to where her husband lay, she opened his mouth and shoved an aspirin under his tongue. Myrtle had often said she should do that if someone had a heart attack around her. Abigail had then took Frank’s phone from his fingers and called for a second ambulance. Weaver might not need one, but Frank did. He was still breathing. She also called the police.
So now, all she wanted to do was take her husband home as soon as the doctor would allow it and reclaim their normal life. She didn’t care about the paintings or the Theiss house. She never wanted to go back there again. She could have died at that house. Frank could have died there. Glinda and Myrtle had been right. The place was cursed.
Chapter 13
The Summer Festival had arrived and everyone was in town enjoying the festivities. Laura had come home for the weekend so she could attend and make sure both Frank and Abby were all right. They hadn’t expected her home until sometime before Glinda and Kyle’s September thirtieth wedding, so it was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. The full family would be together for the festival and after her close call with Bradley Weaver and Frank’s heart attack, Abigail, all of them, were grateful they could be together. They’d had a scare with both incidents. Their children, everyone who loved her, who loved Frank, wanted to see and be with them. It was more than a reason to gather and celebrate.
Frank had been home from the hospital for about a week. He swore he was feeling better than he had in months, but Abigail was still making him take things easy. They’d go to the festival but she would make sure Frank didn’t overdo it. They’d meet and visit with their friends, eat the best of the festival’s food, and stay long enough to hear Nick’s band play in the courthouse park’s new outdoor pavilion; then she and Frank would go home.
Frank thought she was being overly-protective, yet he hadn’t argued with her. His heart attack had scared him, too. He’d told Abigail he thanked God every day they were both still alive. That Weaver hadn’t killed her and his heart attack hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t about to complain about anything.
The day of the festival, the final day of August, was unseasonably cool, after the heat wave they’d endured in the weeks before, and the sun was shining. A perfect day for a town festival.
As the normal town ritual required, everyone gathered at Stella’s Diner for breakfast on the morning of the day. She and Frank were the first ones to get to the cafe and they ordered their breakfasts–she making sure Frank had a fairly healthy one with a side of fresh fruit–and decaffeinated coffee. Frank wouldn’t stop giving up his beloved coffee, but had switched to the variety with less caffeine and cut down on the number of cups he consumed each day. Every once and a while, though, he’d still sneak a cup of real coffee and, with an accepting smile, Abigail looked the other way. What harm could it really do?
The diner’s door
swung open and Alfred waltzed in.
“Hi there, squirrel man,” Frank called out at the old man as he passed by their table. “How’s Rocket doing?”
Alfred paused before them, a grin spreading across his face. “Hello there Frank and Abigail. Rocket’s fine. He was big and healthy enough, so I set him free a couple days ago. I built this small wooden home for him and nailed it to the tree in my backyard. I keep it stocked with squirrel food, nuts and fruit, and water and he returns there every night to sleep. He’s still my buddy, too. When he sees me he runs to me, jumps on and runs all over me, sits and eats on my shoulder the nuts I give him. He’s always real tickled to see me. So I haven’t lost him.”
“That’s great, Alfred,” Abigail said. “So all’s well that ends well.”
“Yes, it is. I still have my little furry friend, but he’s happier outside in the trees with his squirrel gang. I see him climbing through the branches, leaping from one to another like a daredevil acrobat, with a mess of other squirrels, chasing and playing with each other.”
“Er, how can you tell him apart from the other squirrels?” Frank wanted to know. “Don’t they all kind of look alike?”
“I can.” Alfred nodded. “I just can. Well, he is a little smaller, skinnier, than his friends. But I recognize him every time. He seems real happy. So I did good.”
“Yes, you did,” Frank congratulated him.
Alfred’s face became serious. “Heard about the tribulations you two went through this month. Terrible thing. I’m so glad to see it all worked out. You’re still here.”
“Thank you. We’re happy to still be here, too.”
Then Frank invited him, “You’re welcome to sit with us if you’d like? We have a whole group meeting us here in the next half hour. The more the merrier.”
“I would, but I’m only here to pick up some breakfast for my wife and me. She’s at home waiting. So, thank you for the invite, but I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“Will we see you later at the festival, Alfred?” Abigail spooned some sugar into her coffee. It was her second cup.
“You might. The wife wants to hear some music in the park later. We heard your son, Nick, and his band is playing. She wants to be there for that. We’ll bring our lawn chairs, sun umbrella and all. Don’t want to get sunburned.”
“Great,” Frank told the old man. “Then you’ll see us there. Say hi to the wife for us.”
“I will.” Alfred then headed for the counter to pick up the bag with his breakfast in it.
Right after Alfred left, they were joined by Myrtle, Glinda and Kyle. Claudia might join them later in the day. She was home with Ryan who was still recovering from his African safari ordeal. He’d been sticking really close to home the last few weeks.
Abigail had told everyone once they’d seated themselves, “Claudia said she’d swing by later when Ryan was napping. He might even come with her. He’s thinking about it. He says he has to start getting out sooner or later. Get things back to normal.”
“I hope Ryan comes,” Glinda had voiced. “We’d all like to see him.”
Irma, a chocolate lollipop pressed between her lips, showed up to have breakfast with them after Myrtle called her and blabbed where they were.
Samantha was attending to some mayoral duty or other and she, Kent and baby Willie, would see all of them at the park that afternoon. She wouldn’t miss hearing Nick’s band for anything, she’d asserted; she’d be there for that. Samantha, excited and glowing, had also confessed to Abigail she and Kent were expecting their second child in the spring and not to tell anyone. Yet. She wanted to announce it herself when everyone was together in the park listening to Nick’s band.
Laura was off somewhere with Nick helping him and the band set up for that gig later in the day.
Abigail lounged in her chair and looked around the table, the diner, smiling. It was good to be there with everyone. The town knew what had happened to them at the Theiss house and since they’d sat down the townspeople, one or more at a time, had stopped by to tell them how relieved they were that both of them were okay, and to chat with them. Ask questions. Be their normal nosey selves. Abigail and Frank didn’t mind. People cared about them and that was all that mattered.
Some asked about the Theiss murder case and how the events that had happened to Abigail and Frank that evening at 707 Suncrest set Lucas Theiss free after forty years in prison. Along with their miraculous survival, it was the talk of the town that Lucas Theiss was now free because he hadn’t killed his family. Bradley Weaver, a divorced loner who had moved away from Spookie decades before, and was now deceased, had murdered them. He’d been the stalker Lucas Theiss had sworn existed. The stalker Jeanette had been so afraid of. Turned out she was right to have been scared of him. Weaver had shot Jeanette and her family, not Lucas. The police were now delving into Weaver’s past to see if he’d continued killing after the Theiss family.
Frank predicted they’d uncover other murders Weaver had committed. “A serial killer doesn’t usually stop killing, once he has started,” Frank affirmed, “unless something catastrophe happens in their lives or to them–or, like Weaver, they die.”
The afternoon Abigail had found the letters, Frank had had his heart attack, and Weaver had died, was the same afternoon Sheriff Mearl telephoned the county prosecutor about the situation.
Then right after that phone call the sheriff had contacted the Innocence Project to ask them for help in obtaining a motion to set aside Lucas’s conviction. They immediately took the case. They spoke to a state judge on Lucas’s behalf; showed the judge the letters and Abigail’s written testimony on what Weaver had confessed to her before he died falling out of the window. Sheriff Mearl let the judge know the gun found on Weaver had been identified as the one that had been used in the Theiss family’s murders all those years ago. Ballistics matching with the bullets they located in the old evidence packet proved that. When the facts had been confirmed to be true, and the judge had the letters and Abigail’s statement in his hands, the judge contacted the department of corrections, and the warden of Lucas’s prison. Lucas had received the telephone call and, according to the prison officials, had been in shock over the turn of events, yet ecstatic the truth had at last come out, and he would soon be vindicated. It hadn’t taken long.
Two mornings later Lucas had walked out a free man. It had been that easy, that quick. Now he wanted to meet and talk to Abigail and Frank. Thank them in person. His saviors, or so he believed. He was merely waiting until Frank was feeling better and he said he’d pay them a visit. In the meantime, it was reported he was loving his new free life. For the near future he would be staying with a cousin, Gertrude, whom over the years had never stopped believing in his innocence and had kept in touch with him. Lucas needed time to decide what his next move would be and Gertrude was happy to give him that time, and a safe place to transition. Forty years locked up was a long time. The world had changed. Lucas needed time to catch up with it.
When Frank was home from the hospital, Abigail had Samantha drop by the cabin. She and Frank gave her the complete Bradley Weaver story with all the salacious details. Samantha published it in the Weekly Journal, and online, and so the town also learned everything that had happened at the Theiss house the day Abigail had almost been murdered.
The town now knew Lucas Theiss had been proven innocent of the crime of killing his family and had been released from prison. Abigail had sent a copy of the newspaper to Lucas Theiss at his cousin’s house. She and Frank both hoped Lucas would be welcomed back to the community. There was no reason he shouldn’t be.
While Frank was recovering in the hospital, Abigail had completed the paintings of the Theiss house. Deciding on a total of six in the series, she used what she had already begun, her memory, and the photographs of the place, and didn’t physically return to 707 Suncrest. She spent late nights at the kitchen table painting so she could spend the days at the hospital with Frank. She wanted all the paintings
to be finished before he came home. The way she figured; it would be best if she could put the nightmare there behind her. Behind them.
But when the paintings were lined up against the walls in her home for her to examine, she was proud of them and believed they were the best she’d ever painted. Each one was on a huge canvas sixty by eighty-four inches. The colors ranged from vibrant golds and crimsons to misty and hauntingly faded blues and grays. One version of the empty house showed it on a bright sunny day; another was in the summer twilight surrounded in fireflies; one was in the fall with the autumn hues highlighting the trees; one was the house as it might have appeared forty years ago before the murders, still shiny and whole; one was the house in the storm with the tornado above it in the dirty green sky; and the last was the house as it looked today with the collapsed wall. Abigail called the six painting collection: Seasons of a Murder House. She’d sent photos of the collection and the story behind them to a prestigious art gallery in St. Louis. The art gallery was crazy over them, and were going to put them on display for viewing and sale the following week. So she guessed she and Frank would be taking a trip to Chicago soon. Perhaps they’d even stay with Laura at her apartment for a night or two. Now that was a good idea.
Their breakfasts arrived at the table. Everyone was talking and laughing around her. They were making plans for the remainder of the summer.
“So,” Irma was conferring with Myrtle, “are we going on that fancy river cruise or not? Did you get the tickets?” The two women, Abigail had been informed by Myrtle, had decided to go on the cruise after all before the wedding. Glinda and Kyle had everything under control they said, so the cruise was on. Irma had gotten her wish. Sooner than later. The cruise wasn’t that long in duration, so why not?
All Those Who Came Before Page 24
