A Shadow on the Ground (23 page)

“You came with him here, didn’t you?”

Peach stared at Morgan. A slow blush crept up the fleshy folds in her neck.

“How did you know about the flag, Peach? Did Denny tell you about it when he came to the bar? Or did he tell you today when he brought you here to help frighten Opal into telling him where it was? What did you do? Keep watch in the hall so you could warn him in case someone heard an old lady screaming?”

“That flag belongs to Denny, and you know it. All he did was ask Opal where it was, and she flew mad—I mean,
crazy
mad. She said she was tired of you and Sean hiding parts of the estate from her. Then she went at him like a banshee. He had to hold her wrists to keep her from choking him.”

“She’s a seventy-seven-year-old woman. She can’t open a jar of pickles without help. How do you think she could choke him? Put him in a headlock and use her knees?”

“Denny said you wouldn’t believe him.”

“Honey, Denny will say anything,
do
anything to get what he wants. You don’t need that kind of man in your life.”

“You don’t know what I need.”

“Peach, he hit me once—twice, actually. When he’s drinking, he can’t control his temper. I know firsthand he hasn’t changed.” She softened her tone. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You don’t want me to have Denny.” Peach pushed a coil of brassy blond hair back from her forehead. “You’re so selfish, Morgan. You’ve had everything handed to you since the day you were born: a big house in Riverbirch, a fancy college education, a husband, money.”

“I worked hard for the money I made.”

“Oh, right. Giving piano lessons. How hard is that?”

“You’d be surprised. It isn’t easy scraping bubblegum off ivory.”

“Oh, please.” Peach’s plump face twisted in disgust. “You don’t care about Denny. You just don’t want me to be with him because you can’t stand to see other people happy. You’ve been alone for so long, you can’t remember what it’s like to fall for someone.”

“Like you fell for Sean? And Andy? And Ethan? And Harlan Spannagel? You’ll fall for anyone who’ll buy you a shot of bourbon. Anyone you can use.”

“You’re just like your brother. You think you’re so high and mighty, but you don’t have a clue what the real world is like. You don’t know what it feels like to be desperate. I’ve had to work every day of my life doing things for money you wouldn’t last two hours doing,
and
raising three kids. And now I’m getting laid off again.” She glowered at Morgan, her eyes wet with tears. “Denny could be the man I’ve been waiting for. If he’d just—so, where
did
you hide the flag? I looked everywhere. I—” She stopped. Her mouth opened and closed like a stranded carp.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Does everywhere include my bedroom?”

“I...I—”

“It was you, wasn’t it? You broke into my house and snooped through my things. I was in the next room. I heard you. Hell, Peach, not many people would have the nerve to sneak in while I was at home. I’ve gotta say, I’m a little impressed.”

“Oh, shut up. You have no right to judge me. You have no idea what my life is like. I work and work, and never get anywhere. I would do anything—
anything
—to get out of that rat infested trailer and give Crystal a decent life.”

“Even blackmailing Harlan Spannagel into changing his will?”

Peach’s blue eyes flashed.

“You and Ethan were arguing about it yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Harlan promised me that money. He
promised
. And believe me, I earned every penny.”

“Oh, I’m sure Harlan was flattered that a young, if slightly used woman found him attractive. He was a man, after all. But he was a smart man, and I doubt if he changed his will for you, no matter what you did for him. Or to him. What concerns me most, besides your extensive knowledge of blood thinners and your easy access to them, is the fact that you left threatening messages on Harlan’s voicemail, and he died the next day. What did you do, Peach? Slip some warfarin into his moonshine and wait for him to bleed to death? Didn’t take long, did it?”

For a woman of considerable heft, Peach moved like a ninja. Her hand whizzed through the air and struck the side of Morgan’s face before Morgan had time to blink, much less duck.

Morgan’s hand flew to her cheek. Her eyes smarted with tears.

Gage rounded the doorway. “I heard a—” His gaze flicked from Peach to Morgan. “What the—did she hit you? Morgan? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Morgan said.

“Morgan, I didn’t mean to,” Peach said.

“Yeah, you did,” Morgan said. “And you know what? You can have Denny. The two of you are perfect for each other.” She picked up Peach’s faux leather clutch and walked into the living room, still holding her stinging cheek. She opened the door and sailed it down the hall like a Frisbee. “Peach was just leaving,” she said to Opal. “And she won’t be coming back.”

“Floozy!” Opal spat. She held her wrists in the air like she had a gun at her back. “That woman is nothing but a floozy! Harlan didn’t have a chance. She snatched him away from me while I was nursing my dying husband. Snatched him right out from under my nose. Like a common...
Floozy!”
she hollered one last time. Gage closed the door behind Peach.

Gage gently pulled Morgan’s hand away and inspected her face. “Looks like we may need more ice.”

“I deserved it,” Morgan said. “I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut.”

“I’m very fond of that mouth,” Gage said. “Open or shut.”

“I accused her of poisoning Harlan.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Not exactly the way I would have handled it, but...she is a legitimate suspect. She had access to prescription blood thinners and she thought Harlan had changed his will to include her. That’s one hell of a motive.”

“But she was at work when he died.”

“She said she left work early. She was already at your house, waiting for you and Crystal when I arrived. I have no idea how long she’d been there.” He opened the freezer and pulled out a frozen bag of breaded okra. “If she’d given Harlan a lethal dose of warfarin, she couldn’t know the exact time he was going to hemorrhage. We don’t know what Harlan’s time of death was, but she might have had time to stop by his place before you got there, find him dead, and stab him with your brother’s knife. Do you think she did that? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Morgan said. “Payback, maybe?”

“For what?”

“I think Sean rejected her. When he was passed out, she was all over him, patting his arm, stroking his hair, comforting him as if they were a couple. But when the sheriff came to arrest him, he looked straight at Peach and said, ‘What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone.’ Of course, he was smashed at the time.”

“Sounds like he was sober enough to know he didn’t want her around. We need to talk to Sean, find out if he did reject her and when. She’s at your house five days a week picking up Crystal. If she wanted to frame Sean for Harlan’s murder, she could have found his knife, then held on to it and waited for Harlan to hemorrhage, then—” He stopped. “Okay, that could take forever. This theory is a little farfetched, even for me.”

“Come on. We need to hurry. I thought of something else we need to look for at Harlan’s besides the files.”

“What?”

“When I was at his house, I noticed some pill bottles lined up on his dresser. I don't know what they were for, but there were a lot of them. I wonder if the sheriff confiscated them.”

“Hard to tell. But if he took too many pills, then he did it of his own volition. You said they were already on his dresser, so no one forced him to take them.”

“No, but he may not have known how harmful they could be. He was always medicating himself. He'd do anything to keep from going to the doctor. But he wasn’t stupid, and he knew how to use a computer, so I can’t believe he would take a bunch of drugs and supplements unless he'd researched possible interactions.”

“Unless someone suggested he take them. Someone he trusted.”

They got in the Jeep.

“Is this a good idea?” Gage asked. “It’s a quarter to three. By the time we get to Ethan’s house, he’ll be on his way back.”

“No, he won’t. He’s meeting the pastor at three. The church is halfway up the mountain. We’ll be fine.” She laughed. “Hell, Gage, you’re the P. I. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it in my other pants.” He pulled onto the highway. “Hold that okra on your face. You don’t want to look like you’re storing nuts for the winter.”

At exactly three o’clock, Gage maneuvered the Jeep into the tall grass beside the Spannagel's fence. He cut the motor and turned to Morgan. “So, what’s the plan? You are going to tell me the plan, aren't you?”

“Break in, find the stuff, and don't get caught.”

Gage sighed and opened the door. “Well, at least we have a plan.”

“I’ll take care of the guard. You find the key under the planter. Keep an eye on the road. Meet you in four. Mrs. Cowden may be half blind, but she can hear snow melt.”

Morgan ran across the road and waded through the weeds until she came to the Cowden house. She slipped on the porch, rang the doorbell, and counted to twenty. Then she sprinted back across the road and jumped into the ditch. She ducked down, panting, feeling like she was ten-years-old again. She’d always loved ringing doorbells and running, but back then, the rush of not getting caught had been worth the risk. It would take several minutes for Mrs. Cowden to get out of her chair and lumber downstairs. When the old bat realized no one was at the door, she would either call the sheriff or start firing the hunting rifle she kept in the foyer.

Gage crouched in the high weeds beside the car. He leapt on to the porch, swiped the key from beneath the planter, and unlocked the Spannagel’s front door. Morgan joined him in the living room.

“It's ten after three,” Morgan said. “If Ethan dropped the paper off without talking to the pastor, we've got about ten—twelve minutes. I’ll search upstairs for the pills. You look for the files.”

Morgan opened Harlan’s bedroom door and was surprised to find his room exactly as she'd seen it the day Harlan had died, with one exception: no pill bottles. She looked in his drawers and closet, lifted the lid of the old steamer trunk at the end of his bed. What had happened to them? Had they been confiscated by the police as evidence? Had Ethan thrown them away? The first thing she’d done after her grandfather died was rake all his medicine bottles into a bag and toss them in the trash.

She hesitated before opening the door to Ethan’s room, then wrapped her shirttail around the brass doorknob and turned. She looked under the bed, felt under the mattress, opened and closed his drawers. A black suit in a clear plastic cleaner's bag hung in the closet beside a freshly laundered white shirt. Funeral clothes. She picked up the shoebox sitting on the closet floor and lifted the lid. The sweet, pungent odor of vanilla and jasmine rose up, permeating the air. She pulled the white tissue paper apart and tried to comprehend why she was staring at an open bottle of her favorite perfume instead of Ethan’s shoes.

The soft, crunchy sound of tires rolling over gravel rumbled outside the bedroom window.

Her heart crashed into her throat.

She slammed the lid on the shoebox and shoved it in the closet.

“Morgan!” Gage yelled. “He's back! Time to haul ass!”

She ran into the hall. Halfway down the stairs, she remembered she'd left Ethan's bedroom door open. She spun on a dime, retraced her steps, and pulled the door shut. The sound echoed through the hall like a clap of thunder.

“Morgan!”

She started running.
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
She swung around the banister and stumbled down the stairs.

Outside, a car door slammed.

“Hurry!
Quick!
” Gage stood at the bottom of the steps. His eyes darted to the window. He held out his hand, and she clasped his arm. The strength of it pulled her toward him until she was airborne. His other arm circled her waist to steady her landing on the braided rug.

She hit the ground running.

“Back door,” she gasped. “Through there.”

“After you, my dear.”

They sprinted around the dining room table to the kitchen, then dodged another table and trashcan before escaping out the back door. The key sounded in the front lock. Gage pulled the door closed, then pressed his fingers against the wavy glass windowpane to keep it from rattling. They ducked under the kitchen window and slid to a stop at the corner of the house.

“Slow breath,” Gage said. “In your nose, out your mouth, count of four.” He grinned at her. “Oh, and act natural.”

The back door opened. “Sean?” Ethan said. “Are you out here?”

“Hey,” Morgan said. The rasp in her voice gurgled like she’d been swallowing water. Her pulse pounded in her throat. She flashed Ethan a bright smile. The skin where she’d been slapped pulled taut against her cheekbone.

“I saw Sean’s Jeep,” Ethan said.

“Yeah, the transmission on the truck is acting up again. We were...uh...”

“Good seeing you again,” Gage’s low baritone boomed jovially. He held out his hand, and Ethan shook it. “Morgan's been a basket case, trying to figure out exactly who in this sleepy little burg would want to frame her brother for your father’s murder.”

Morgan shot him a warning glance.

“So, I suggested she come back to the scene of the crime. See if anything jogs her memory that might help Sean’s defense. She didn't want to look around while you weren’t here, but I told her that since the two of you are such close friends, and you have her best interests at heart, you wouldn't mind.” He gave Morgan an indulgent, exasperated look, so exaggerated, it almost made her laugh. “But now our girl’s having second thoughts.”

“It was just so...gruesome,” she said. “We should have waited for you.”

“I was on my way to meet Pastor Byrd,” Ethan said. “Then I realized I'd forgotten the list of scriptures I want him to read at Dad's funeral.” He smiled tentatively at Morgan. “But if you think it will help Sean, I'll open the slaughterhouse for you.”

“No, no.” She glanced at the slaughterhouse anxiously. “I thought I'd be able to go back in there, but the memories are so...fresh. And now I...I just don't think I can.”