Thirteen

My body jerked upright. A thud sounded at my feet. I squinted, turning my head to avoid the sunlight streaming into my eyes. Pain arced through my neck, and I kneaded the sore muscles. I fell asleep reading Esther’s diary.

Was there another book? The last page I had read was Esther’s first week working for Mr. Montgomery and his wife. Part of me was creeped out about Clifford Montgomery’s attention toward Esther because of her age, and I knew what was coming, but I also felt happiness for her as someone was finally treating her with tenderness.

Ted’s ringtone blared. I bet that was what woke me up. I snagged it from the coffee table, the light for the battery flashing red. I was in the danger zone.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Not so much. Pancake Storage was broken into last night. All the contracts for the units were taken and their computer smashed to bits. Did you leave anything in the unit you won?” Ted asked.

“Wyatt was clearing it out for me,” I said. “He brought some items over last night, but I don’t know if it was everything.”

“I’ll give him a call. And...” Ted voice shifted from concern into his Mr. Detective tone. “I’m sending over Officer Mitchell to pick up the items from the attic and the storage unit.”

“You’re going to what?” I squeaked out. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset he was confiscating all the history or sending Mitchell. Mitchell did not like me. Not that the feeling wasn’t mutual. “You can’t do that.”

“Of course, I can. It’s evidence in a murder. I have a warrant for the items in the attic and the storage unit, including the ones you have. I’m following regulations, Faith,” Ted said, annoyance loud and clear.

“I wouldn’t expect you not to. I meant you can’t send Officer Mitchell to get them. There are other officers on the force, send one of them. You know my history with Officer Mitchell.”

“Precisely why I’m sending him. Don’t interfere with his job because he will drag you to the police station.”

In handcuffs. I plugged my phone into the charger. Before I ran upstairs to shower and get dressed, I placed the items from the couch back into the plastic bags. I hated giving it all back, but I had no choice. Okay, I could bar Mitchell from my house but that wouldn’t be the wisest or law-abiding thing to do. I put the bags and the boxes from the attic near the front door. I placed the box that was dropped off at Scrap This on my craft table. There wasn’t anything to tie it to Ollie—yet. If I found something, I’d call Ted to pick it up. In case it was, I’d wear gloves when I looked through the items later.

I beat my record in taking a quick shower and was downstairs in fifteen minutes, presentable to the world. No calls from Ted or Mitchell, so that meant the officer hadn’t dropped by yet. My cell rang. I unattached the cell from the charger. It was Georgia. Did something else disappear during the night?

“Good morning, Georgia. Is anything wrong?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever be able to clear out Edward’s junk, but knowing there is a purpose for his collections is making it easier.” She sounded bright and cheerful. Not at all the same fretful woman as yesterday. “I have some items I thought you’d like for the town’s scrapbook. I have them boxed up for you. I’d like for you to pick them up this morning.”

This morning? I had a slew of items on my to-do list: find out more information from Ted, talk to Wyatt, meeting with Steve’s dad, research the Everton and Montgomery family, call Bob, look into adverse possession and how or if it would affect Scrap This...not to mention working at the scrapbook store. “I can stop by tonight.”

“If you can’t come by for them, I’ll just toss them out.”

“I do want them.” Maybe he had a diary of Esther’s or the missing pages had been in Georgia’s family trunk. “My schedule is just full this morning.”

“It’s not good for me to keep this stuff here.” Worry leaked into her voice. “Sorting through Edward’s belongings has been hard for me. I’m afraid if I don’t part with them soon, I’ll decide to keep them again. My sons are insisting that I purge some of the items in the house. If I don’t show them I’m making an effort, they plan on doing it for me this weekend. I don’t want that. They’ll throw everything away.”

Neither did I. A car pulled into my driveway. I peeked out the window. It was a police cruiser. Officer Mitchell. “I’ll stop by in fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I ended the call then opened the door before Mitchell knocked. I pointed to the boxes and bags. “All those boxes and bags are what Ted wants.”

“Why are you in a rush?” Mitchell grabbed a bag by the tied knot and heaved it over his shoulder.

“I need to get to work,” I said to his back.

“Work as in the scrapbook store, or work as in poking around in investigations?” Mitchell asked on his return trip.

“Work as in making a scrapbook of the town history. I was hired by the historical society to create it. I am not interfering in an investigation.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Mitchell picked up a box and placed it in his cruiser.

Mrs. Barlow was taking a lot of interest in the happenings of my house. That was good. Within five minutes, everyone in Eden would know that the police collected items from my house, which meant whoever broke into Pancake Storage would know I no longer had anything at my house.

Unless they didn’t keep up on social media.

  

I neared Georgia’s house and spotted a raised, black pickup truck in her driveway. Georgia hadn’t mentioned a visitor. Was it one of her other sons? Matthew? It wasn’t Hank’s truck, so I wasn’t worried about stopping to pick up the items for the historical society.

Small flakes drifted down. The weatherman’s predication was coming true. We were getting snow. I hoped it stayed like this and didn’t become the fluffier snow that accumulated. I was not a good winter driver, and I had thirty-five-minute drive to Buffalo Wild Wings in a few hours.

I stopped at the curb and got out, retrieving my coat from the passenger seat. The mild, for February, temperature we had yesterday morphed into a biting cold. The wind stung my cheeks as I jogged the few yards to Georgia’s front door. The grass crackled under my feet.

Before I reached the door, it was yanked open, and Hank stepped onto the small porch. I glanced around the street. His car was parked a few houses down. Why hadn’t he parked in his mom’s driveway? Scrap it all. I should’ve checked out the whole neighborhood. Hank stared at me with fury.

His angry gaze snapped at me. “What do you want?”

“Your mom has some items for the historical society. She asked me to come get them.”

“She isn’t home.”

“She called me less than fifteen minutes ago.”

“She’s not here now.”

The corner of the curtains pulled back. Georgia peeked out, tears running down her cheeks. I pointed, keeping a light tone in my voice. “Isn’t that your mom?”

He spun. Georgia’s eyes widened and she released the curtain. “She isn’t feeling well today. It’s best you leave.”

Hank’s behavior was clanging all sorts of warning bells and cymbals in my head. “She insisted I stop by to get some things that were for Ruthann Pancake and the society.”

“You’re lying. I’ve been watching my mom all morning. She hasn’t made a call.”

That statement made me take root on her porch rather than leave. “I can show you my cell and prove your mom called me. I’m not leaving until I pick up the items your mom put aside for the society.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Neither is me leaving.”

“You’ll leave.” Hank stepped forward, hunching over to literally tower over me.

I hated bullies, and it appeared Hank was bullying his mom. I crossed my arms and glared up at him. “I won’t leave until I talk to her.”

“And I’m telling you that won’t happen. I’ll ask you nicely, one more time, to leave. You’re trespassing.”

“No, I’m not. Georgia asked for my help.” I refused to relinquish my spot on the porch.

“You’re not helping her. Don’t you understand that? Agreeing to help her find a murderer has upset her. I don’t want you encouraging her delusions anymore.”

She told Hank. “They’re not delusions. If you’d listen to your mom—”

“I’ve listened enough to her, you, and the police.” Hank grabbed my arm, starting to drag me from the porch.

“Let me go.” I grabbed onto the porch rail.

“I asked you to leave. I have no choice but to remove you.” Hank tried prying my fingers from the rail.

Two of my fingers bent back. I howled in pain. “Stop it.”

“Let her go, Hank.” A voice rumbled from the doorway.

Immediately, Hank released me. I turned.

Standing in the doorway was Matthew, Hank’s eldest brother. I remembered him from childhood. He lacked any kind of sense of humor and was so no nonsense he came across as surly. His eyes were an unusual color, not quite blue but not gray, almost a silver. He fixed a stern gaze on his brother before switching a softer one to me. “My mom isn’t up for visitors.”

“She has some items for me. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“If talking to you would make her feel better, I’d invite you in. Hank called me because our mom was experiencing chest pains. The doctor said it was anxiety related and she needed to rest and avoid any stressful situations.” Matthew flicked his gaze to Hank. “You and my brother are currently causing one.”

“The reason I came over is because your mom called and asked me to. She sounded fine just a little anxious for me to take some items to the historical society for the town’s scrapbook.” I hoped repeating my mission to Matthew would have him see I wasn’t there to harm anyone...and he’d just hand me the items so I could skedaddle on my way. I leaned to the side, trying to spot Georgia through the half-drawn curtain. She wasn’t visible.

A car pulled into the driveway. As I turned, red lights flickered on and off. Officer Mitchell stepped out of the cruiser.

Matthew smiled apologetically. “It appeared things were getting out of hand between you and Hank so I called the police.”

“That wasn’t necessary.” Hank glowered at his older brother.

“Not from my vantage point,” Matthew said.

Of all the officers to show up, not that Eden had a slew of them, it had to be Officer Mitchell, my law enforcement nemesis, and the man I had recently told I was heading off to work. This wouldn’t look like work to him, or at least not a scrapbook related job.

“Is there a problem?” Mitchell pulled the military-style belt up higher. Every single one of the sections was filled with something. Baton. Pepper spray. Handcuffs. Handgun.

“It’s resolved,” I said. “I’m leaving. I stopped by to see Georgia. She asked me.”

“I told her my mom didn’t want to see her, and Faith refused to leave.” Hank, on the other hand, didn’t want to drop the matter. I wasn’t sure why as he came out the worst in our squabble.

“She does seem to have trouble understanding the words ‘no’ and ‘leave.’” Mitchell placed a hand on my elbow. “Let’s go.”

I stepped away from him, a rush of anxiety roared through me. “You can’t arrest me. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Ever since he met me, Mitchell had been trying to shove me handcuffed into a back of a cruiser.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Mitchell said, once again taking hold of my elbow and guiding me away from Georgia’s house. “It could change if you insist on staying here. Matthew Brodart doesn’t want you here.”

“His mother does. It’s her house.”

“Leave the investigating to the police. Just because you’re marrying a homicide detective doesn’t mean you become one. Go do your job and we’ll do ours. Without your assistance.” Mitchell went to his cruiser, stopping at the driver’s side. “If you don’t care enough about yourself, prove you care about Ted. It’ll be a shame if he gets fired because of you.”

“Fired?”

“If you interfere in his case any more, the town just might think he’s letting you muck around in the investigation. That wouldn’t look very good for him.” Mitchell slid into his cruiser, blipped on the siren and drove off.

The front door flung open. Georgia stepped outside, clutching the ends of her bathrobe together. She was wild-eyed, pale-faced, and tear-stained. “Are you all right?”

Why hadn’t Mitchell knocked on the door and talked with Georgia? “I’m fine. Just a war of words.”

“This is all my fault. I told my boys someone finally believed me, and Hank figured out it was you.”

“Everything will be all right,” I tried soothing her. “You had reasons for your concerns, and you needed someone to really listen.”

“Can you please just leave my mom alone?” There was a deep pain in Matthew’s voice. Matthew wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his concern for her clear on his face. “Mom, let’s go look at the samples Hank bought over and pick out a color for the fence. You’ve been wanting to do that for the last year. I’m here and can take care of it for you.”

As a child, I had loved the light beige with the white trim the fence had. It reminded me of gingerbread pieces. Georgia gazed at the fence. I could almost see the happy memories floating in her mind. Children skipping by on their way to school, pretending to tear off a piece and eat them. Dressing up like a witch and cackling on Halloween as she handed out gingerbread cookies she acted like she tore off the tip of the fence post. Adding lights to them at Christmas time.

“This house was good to me. Now it’s time to move on.”

“You’re moving?” Were Matthew and Hank placing their mom into an assisted living facility?

She smiled, tilting her head to the side. “Hank and Matthew found proof that I am a descendent of Esther Everton and claimed the mansion for me. That’s why you can have all of Edward’s genealogy stuff. I don’t need it anymore. I know who we are. And soon so will everyone in Eden.” She slipped out from her son’s arm and went inside, humming a happy tune.

Matthew and Hank Brodart were Steve’s clients.

“Now that my mom told you a secret we’ve been wanting to keep, you can go. I’d like to get whatever was taken from the mansion as it belongs to my family.”

“If I had anything, it would now be in the police’s custody.”

“I’ll stop by the courthouse and talk with a judge and see what I can do about getting our property back. All of our property.” Matthew emphasized the last three words and shut the door. The deadbolt clicked into place.

I knew a threat when I heard one. The Brodarts planned on making my—and my grandmothers’—lives miserable because they believed I was doing that to their mom. And the only man who could advise me on how to stop them was on their side.