A Crafty Christmas (21 page)

Morning was Sheila's favorite part of the day. She loved her run; the hour or so she took to clear her mind and get her body moving was like meditation or prayer for her. But this morning she was excited that Donna would be home for the week. Her daughter, who had given them such fits as a teenager, was now a star student at Carnegie Mellon University, where she was majoring in design. She was getting good grades and applying for internships, doing everything she should be in order to keep up that scholarship.

Rusty, Sheila's oldest son, was sitting at the kitchen table when she walked in, his earbuds in his ears, listening to music. He looked up, smiled, and nodded. He planned to go to the local community college and major in business, wanting to join Steve's company. He was a great guide and knew the mountains almost as well as his dad. It was a solid plan. Sheila liked that.

Steve was in the living room with Gerty, their fifteen-year-old daughter, watching the morning news. She waved at them as she ran up the stairs to get her shower.

Sheila was feeling better today. After a few days at home, in her own bed, surrounded by most of her family and friends, she felt more at ease. She had even talked herself out of thinking the man she spotted the other day was the creepy guy from the cruise. She had a doctor's appointment today, as a precaution, to check her over post-concussion. After that, as far as she was concerned, good riddance to bad vibes about the cruise. She had plenty of time to talk to Steve about the new job opportunities. David's Designs was giving her until the end of January to sign on.

Showered and dressed, Sheila was ready for her and Steve's day of last minute Christmas shopping. Christmas was still two days away, Sheila told herself; no need to panic.

“Hon, you ready?” Steve called up the stairs.

“Yes, yes. I'm looking for my purse. I don't see it up here.”

She came down the stairs.

“Do you need your purse?” Steve said.

“Yes, I do,” Sheila said.

“I don't see it in here, Mom,” Rusty called to her.

“Let me think,” she said, sifting through her memories of the past few days. When was the last time she had seen her purse? “Ah-ha,” she said. “It's in the basement.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I'll meet you in the car,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her.

Sheila looked over at Gerty. “We'll be back soon, honey. Call your dad's cell if you need anything. Mine is probably dead.”

She descended the basement stairs, flipped on a light switch, and gasped. Her uber-organized scrapbooking room had been tousled. What the hell?

Papers were splayed all over the floors, embellishments scattered everywhere. Her eyes traveled along a path of red paper to her glass sliding door, where there was a crumpled heap at its edge. There was someone in her basement, lying on the floor!

She backed up the stairs, her legs trembling, heart pounding against her rib cage.
This could not be. This could not be.

Backing up, she smacked into a body coming up behind her, causing her to scream.

“Mom?” Rusty said. “You okay?”

She swallowed and tried to breath, which took way too much coordination than what she had at the moment.

“Get your father,” she managed to say.

“What's wrong?” he said, and started to go down the stairs.

“No!” she said. “Get your father.”

“Mom?” Gerty was off the couch now and headed toward Sheila.

“Get back, both of you,” Sheila hissed. “There's someone in the basement.” She closed the door behind her.

“I'll call nine-one-one,” Gerty said.

Rusty was out the door to get his father in a split second. Steve came back in the house, bewildered and holding his keys, jingling in the sudden silence. Then came Gerty's voice: “Yes, that's the right address.”

“What is it?”

“There's someone in the basement,” Sheila said.

“In our basement?”

She nodded.

“What are they doing?” Steve asked. He was moving toward the gun cabinet.

“Just . . . just lying there,” Sheila said between breaths.

“The police are on their way,” Gerty said. “Mom? You okay? You don't look so good.”

“Get your mother some water,” Steve said, opening the cabinet and getting one of his rifles out. “Sheila, please go and sit down. I'm going downstairs to see who the hell is in the basement. I think you all need to wait outside on the porch.”

“No!” Sheila said. “Let the police deal with it, please.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Gerty said, sidling up to her mother.

“They will be here any second, Dad,” Rusty said. “Please put the gun away.”

The four of them stood in the dining room, with the gun cabinet door swinging slowly back and forth, creaking. Gerty held a glass of water. Rusty stood with his hands at his sides, pleading with his father.

“Please, Dad.”

Steve held the rifle with both hands. He was trembling with fear and anger as he looked at his family. Finally his eyes found Sheila's. “Okay,” he said. “But if they are not here in five minutes, I'm going downstairs. I have a right to protect my family. Sheila, I'll put the gun away and you go outside and wait with the kids, please.”

The room sighed with relief when Steve put his gun back in the cabinet and looked at his watch. They heard sirens in the not too far off distance.

Gerty handed Sheila the water and led her mother to the porch, where they both sat down on the lawn chairs. Rusty and Steve followed behind.

Sheila drank from the glass. Water. Glass. Daughter. Son. Husband. She tried to focus. But it all blurred and then melted together as she oozed back into the wicker chair pillows.

“Sheila!” she heard her husband say before she closed her eyes.

Beatrice and Jon were walking back from the grocery store when they noticed the police cars and ambulance at Sheila and Steve's home. Beatrice dropped her bag of groceries and ran toward them.

“Bea!” Jon said, picking up her bag, as well as holding on to his own, following her as best he could.

Beatrice didn't bother asking the group of neighbors gathered what was going on; she barged through the line of officers and onlookers.

“Ma'am,” one officer said, stepping in front. “You can't go in there.”

“The hell I can't,” Beatrice said.

The officer was visibly taken aback. “What's the relationship?” he said.

“Very good personal friend. She's like a daughter to me,” she said. She looked at the officer. How old was he? Sixteen? She took a closer look. “I know your mama, boy.”

The officer grimaced.

“Now step aside,” Bea said.

Bryant came to the front door, which was open, and nodded to the officer to let Beatrice come up the front porch stairs. Jon followed with the bags of groceries. “He's with me,” she told them.

“What's going on?” she said to Bryant, who shook his head in resignation.

“Beatrice, I'm glad you're here. Sheila has passed out. The medics are looking after her. I'm sure she'd like to see you,” Bryant said.

“You're here because Sheila has passed out?” she asked, confused.

“No, I'm here”—he lowered his voice—“because there's a body in the basement.”

“What? Who?”

He lowered his gaze. “We're not sure yet, Beatrice. The crime techs are down there now. After they're finished we'll search for ID.”

He stepped aside and let Beatrice and Jon enter the house. Sheila was on the floor, her husband and children close by while the medics talked with her, took her pulse, and so on. Annie sat on the couch and her eyes found Beatrice's. Annie was pale and her eyes held fear.

“What's going on? Why are you here?” Beatrice said, and sat next to her.

“We were in Bryant's office when the call came in,” Annie said.

“We?” Beatrice said.

“The FBI officers and myself. I think they are downstairs,” Annie said.

“Bea?” Sheila said when she saw her. “Beatrice!” She was still groggy.

“I'm here,” Bea said, feeling a sudden welling of emotion. “I told your mother I'd keep an eye on you. I guess I haven't done a good job of that.”

“There's a body in my basement,” she said, amidst the activity around her, ignoring what Beatrice said. “Can you believe that?”

“Can you please be quiet?” the medic said. “Don't talk. Save your energy. Please.” He listened to her heartbeat.

“She passed out after she came up here and told her husband and kids to call the police,” Annie said to Beatrice.

“She discovered the body?” Beatrice asked.

Annie nodded. “From what I've been able to piece together, she was looking for her purse and thought she left it in the basement.”

A couple of uniformed police officers left the room after muttering something in the medic's ear.

“Okay,” the medic said. “We're going to sit you up. Nice and easy.”

One of the medics and Steve helped Sheila to sit up on the floor. Steve kept her propped up.

“You okay?” he said.

Sheila nodded. “I think so.”

“Let's just sit here a while,” the medic said. “You've had quite an exciting morning. We need to get those clothes off you, dear.”

Sheila looked at the young woman like she was daft.

“Looks like your bad luck followed you home,” Beatrice said.

Sheila's eyes and mouth narrowed as she looked at Beatrice.

“It's a precaution, but there was some poison found on the premises,” the medic said. She looked at Steve and continued. “You all need to take your clothes off and place them in a plastic bag. It would be a good idea to shower.”

Steve whispered something in the medic's ear. The medic nodded. Sheila gasped.

“Rusty, please go get a few trash bags,” Steve said.

“Why would someone even be in our basement?” Gerty spoke up. She had been sitting in the chair next to the Christmas tree, taking in the scene. “You wouldn't go in a basement to rob people.”

“Was it a robbery?” Annie asked.

“What else?” Steve said.

Annie started to say something, then appeared to change her mind.

“Anything taken?” Beatrice asked, after a beat.

“Not that I know of, but I haven't been downstairs,” Steve said as he and Sheila took the empty trash bags that Rusty had handed them and the family left the room to shower.

The rest of them sat in silence as the medics busied themselves filling out reports, gathering supplies, and the police moved through the house and talked to one another via walkie-talkies. Soon, Sheila and Steve and their children came back down the stairs, all with wet heads from the showers. Funny what these situations did to break down social mores; Sheila would not have been caught dead in public with wet hair on an ordinary day. Here she was, in front of half of Cumberland Creek as well as the police and EMTs.

Detective Bryant walked back into the room. “The site has been secured, finally. We can't bring the body out yet until we get hazmat in here. Sheila and Steve, do you think you can look at the body to see if you know the person? I have a photo here on my phone.”

“Why would we know the person?” Steve questioned.

“Just bear with me,” Bryant said. “It will rule out a lot of possibilities if you know them.”

“Well, okay,” Steve said after a moment. “I'll take a look, but I don't think Sheila's up for it.”

Beatrice took her in. Her coloring was coming back and her brows knitted together.

“You're damned straight I'm going to take a look at the body,” Sheila said.

Steve wrapped his arm around her and Rusty stood on her other side.

“Do you think she can wait until later to view the body?” Beatrice asked Bryant.

“If she needs to, but it's better as soon as possible. It will help the investigation,” he said, looking at Annie. Something was exchanged in their looks—Beatrice was certain there was more going on here than a robbery. She decided to sit tight and observe. She watched as the two FBI officers who had been to her house last week entered the room and then walked out the door.

“Come outside. I think this picture will show better.”

Sheila and her husband and son walked out onto the front porch. Annie got up from the couch and followed. Jon sat with their bags of groceries on a chair next to Gerty. They were chatting.

Bryant pulled out his phone and showed it to Sheila.

“It's him!” Sheila screamed. “It's the creepy guy from the cruise!”

Beatrice shot up from the couch and ran to the porch.

Sheila fell back into Steve's arms.

Annie placed her hand on Bryant's shoulder and leaned into him. “That was the same man I saw the other day,” she said.

He nodded.

“What the hell was he doing here?” Beatrice asked.

“Can't really ask him that, can we?” Bryant looked up at her with a smirk.

“Always a smart-ass, ain't you, Bryant?” Beatrice said.

“Is that the vic's wallet?” Annie asked.

“It's a wallet all right,” Bryant said. “But it doesn't belong to the vic.”

“Who does it belong to?” Annie asked.

“I can't tell you that. C'mon, Annie, you know that. Thanks so much for your help earlier, but I got this now.”

“Wait a minute, Bryant,” Beatrice spoke up. “Maybe we know this person and can help.”

He shook his head. “You've got to believe me on this one, ladies. You can't help. Not now. You know there's protocol here. We need to inform family and so on.”

Annie watched him walk away. Just like him to pull her in, ask for help, then not give them any information. She made a mental note to not be so helpful next time.

“Sheila, do you feel up to coming down to the station and giving me a statement?” Bryant asked.

She nodded. “I can do that. I was going to go shopping.”

“It won't take long, I promise. Wait a minute.” A medic interrupted and whispered something in Bryant's ear. Then he turned to the group.

“How long were you in the basement? How close did you get to the body?” the medic asked.

“I went all the way into the basement,” Sheila replied. “I didn't get close to the body at all. When I noticed the mess, and . . . and then I saw him, I backed up the way I came in.”

“Okay, we think it's best you go to the hospital first. Just to be safe,” Bryant said. “I'll get your statement there. That won't be a problem.”

“Okay,” she said, still pale, her voice not quite as strong as usual. Steve's arm wrapped around her. He hadn't left her side.

“In the meantime, nobody goes in the basement until our crew says it's okay,” he said.

“Please be watchful, ladies. I've got my guys on the ground and I've got a couple of roadblocks set up. Our vic wasn't alone in the basement,” Bryant said quietly to them, as if he didn't want his colleagues to hear him, then turned and walked away.

A few hours ago, Annie had been sitting in his office and helping him with the FBI investigation. They had almost concluded that the ship's murder might have been aimed at Sheila. Perhaps this guy had planned to finish the job. But he had been waylaid.

“Adam,” Annie called out as she followed him.

He kept walking, but she was on his heels.

“Listen, Adam, can you at least tell me how this guy died?”

He stopped and turned to look at her. A uniformed officer came up to him and got his signature on something.

“Annie, we still have to run the tox tests to be sure. But it looks like poison,” he said.

“What kind of poison?” Annie said, her stomach jumbled, her pulse racing.

“Definitely ricin,” he said. “We found a bag on him. And there was a spoon of it stuffed in his mouth.”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean . . .” What were the chances of the same poison that was used to kill the victims on the ship being found on this man? Annie's reporter intuition was pinging.

“What I mean is it looks like someone killed this person with ricin and they wanted to make sure he was quite dead,” he said. The way he spoke was odd. Usually so self-assured, he stumbled around the words. “He was quite dead. Are you going to be writing about this?”

“No,” she said. “I haven't been called to cover it. I already told my editor I'm on deadline for my book. So I'm out of circulation.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let's keep this little bit of information to ourselves. I don't want people to panic. Understand?”

Annie nodded. But her brain took over and began to leap to all sorts of conclusions.

“Sheila?” Annie asked.

“Let's hope she didn't touch anything down there,” he said with a serious tone.

A welling of fear ripped through Annie.

He slipped into his car. The FBI agents were already inside. One was on his cell phone. The other was looking straight ahead. Annie watched as the car pulled away before she turned toward her friends.

The red lights on the cop cars no longer spun and flashed. The paramedics were beginning to leave. A calm started to descend on what had been, a few hours ago, constructed controlled chaos with law enforcement professionals performing their duties.

“What on earth is going on here?” Annie turned to see Vera approaching up the street.

“Mama, you okay?” She ran up onto Sheila's porch and grabbed her mother. “Are you okay?”

“Unhand me, Vera Matthews. I am fine,” Beatrice said. “It's Sheila who's going to the hospital.”

“Hospital? Why?” she said, looking around for Sheila.

“She found a dead body in the basement and passed out. It's a safety precaution,” Beatrice replied.

Annie hoped she was right.

“A dead body!” Vera said. “What on earth is going on? Why does she keep tripping over dead bodies?”

“It is odd,” Jon said. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“You ain't heard the best of it,” Beatrice said. “The dead body in the basement is the creepy guy from the cruise.”

Vera gasped. “What has Sheila gotten herself into?”

Annie was starting to wonder the same thing. Someone had it out for Sheila, and either wanted to kill her or frame her for murder. And with the same substance that was used to kill Allie and Harold. But why? What could a little middle-aged scrapbooking woman have done to elicit such hatred?