The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (top romance novels .TXT) 📕

Meghan found a lawn chair among the detritus and memorabilia. She unfolded the chair a few feet from the forever sleeping Hilma.

“You are a perplexing woman,” Meghan said. “I don’t know if everyone in town disliked you or feared you. I’m sorry someone did this to you. I think they intended to do more, but at the time, you had a relatively airtight house.

“That worked in your favor. I think with what happened to your house tonight, and it was more than intentional. If it happened Friday night, everyone would think the house fire and your death were accidental. We both know that’s not true. And you know who killed you, don’t you Hilma.”

Meghan sighed. She saw the pinky finger of her left glove tore open at some point, exposing her little finger. She didn’t feel it because she’d been too busy to notice. When she removed the glove, her hand was slick black with ash and fire residue. She wiped her hand on the snow pants absently.

“I don’t know if whoever started that fire knows you’re safe or thought you were in the house. It does tell us that the person is still here. Up until now, I wasn’t sure.”

Meghan sighed again. Breathing smoke added to the headache she had upon arrival in Noorvik. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs like angry tethered horses.

“So, I’m curious,” Meghan said after a yawn. Her words caught in the exhale. “You went to the store every day. Margery says you used the ATM once a day. Did you shop with the entire amount you withdrew, or did you take more than you used at the store? That makes me wonder how much cash you had inside the house.”

She sat in the dark. The flashlight beam pointed to the ceiling. Meghan thought about Hilma’s relationship with Barbara. They were related but not relatable. Barbara didn’t need the money. She apparently didn’t need Hilma. Something made them connect again. The prospect of facing mortality had a profound effect on people. Elders think about the road they traveled and who they left behind.

Barbara made life choices that forged an independent path. She had a stable and lucrative job.

Chapter Fifteen

 Meghan returned to public works and locked the door. Eric and Lester looked grim. Meghan checked her email after shedding the soiled winter garments. Anderson sent a brief email acknowledging her latest issues in Noorvik. He didn’t offer any encouragement, only a little luck. She needed to get another pair of gloves.

Meghan scanned the online retail store pages, sitting in the chair at the steel desk.

“It’s my fault,” Lester said. He was first to speak once they were together again.

“No, it’s not, Lester.”

The office space had a homey, lived-in appearance, with the paper plates and coffee mugs. Now there was a layer of a structure fire that added to the scent of cigarettes and motor oil.

Meghan hopped up, remembering the bag of groceries she left outside. She slipped on the boots and stomped to the door again. The snow along the base of the building had another layer of freshness. She reached into the drift barehanded, expecting to snag the bag. When her reach dipped into the snow up to her elbow, Meghan pulled out her arm. She kicked at the snow. The bag wasn’t there.

“Of course,” she said. “Why not?”

Meghan slammed the door. She jumped on the floor mat, kicked off the snow. She kicked off her boots. On the way back to the main office, she stepped in a puddle of melted snow, soaking her sock.

“Yup,” she said, “Makes sense.”

Her mood soured, out $50.00 in snacks and necessities, Meghan grabbed a slice of dry, cold pizza from the box on the clutter covered desk. She dropped in the chair again and sunk her teeth into what amounted to tomato sauce coated greasy cardboard.

“I think Hilma hoarded cash in the house. I talked to a girl at the store.” She chewed through the slice of damp cardboard, forgetting her manners to not talk with her mouthful. “She told me without fail, Hilma used the ATM every day.”

“Maybe she spent a lot at bingo,” Lester said.

Meghan was always open to options. Reasonable doubt mattered, building a case. She frowned at him. “Is that possible?” she asked. For Meghan, bingo was cliché, and something older adults did in movies about nursing homes.

Eric snickered at the question.

“People can drop $500 or more a night playing.”

“I’d have to check, but the top win in the big game is about $1000,” Eric added.

“That seems unreasonable,” Meghan stated. She shrugged and added, “But anything’s possible. Can you check on that, Eric? If you’re not busy tomorrow,” she said with a smile. “I want to get a hold of the bank to see if they’ll release the ATM footage for Friday. At least we can paint a picture at the store. There’s a camera at the store too—”

“It doesn’t work,” Lester said. “It’s a bluff. I talked to someone at the corporate headquarters in Anchorage yesterday, I mean Saturday. The camera stopped functioning a few months ago. They didn’t get around to fixing it yet.”

Meghan leaned back in the office chair and stretched with a groan.

“I think we’re looking at burglary first, now arson, and manslaughter,” she said. “Let’s assume Hilma had a wad of cash in the house. We’ll say she got money out of her bank account every day for years. If she got the daily limit, which I saw was $100. Then she had at least $3650. But that goes back years.

“Even if she spent a lot of money at bingo, she had money left over.”

“Someone put it together after all this time,” Eric added.

“You think Norman did it?” Lester asked.

Meghan didn’t answer immediately. “You saw those kids tonight. That fire