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

Lester finished looking through the house for weapons, drugs, or alcohol. He found the empty cardboard box that once held twelve plastic bottles of cheap whiskey. He brought the box into the living room and dropped it on the floor.

“Where’d you get the booze?” he asked.

“One thing at a time, Lester,” Meghan said.

She understood Lester’s motivation. As a recovering alcoholic, living in a dry community made it easier for him to avoid getting drunk. But people who don’t struggle with addiction can’t understand how hard the holidays were for alcoholics. Inundated with target advertising on radio, the internet, and television touted holidays weren’t fun until fueled by beer or mixed drinks. Alcoholics had it worse in December than at any other time of the year.

“What the hell is going on?” Meghan shouted.

They were seated before her, six adults who had potential and chose to ignore rules and disrespected their community.

“You’re acting like a bunch of irresponsible children. Where’s Norman? Where’s Matthew Anuun? All of this, it’s all on you as well. We know you’re all responsible for Hilma’s murder—”

“That’s not true,” Franks said. Meghan knew out of all of them, a young mother facing jail, not seeing a child again, impacted her way of thinking. It sobered her up some.

“Really?” Meghan pulled the $20s from the pockets that she collected along the snow trail. She threw the money on the table in front of the group. “This cash belongs to Hilma Fisher, doesn’t it?” Meghan kicked the coffee table out of the way when no one answered. “Doesn’t it!”

“It’s your fault,” Boyd snapped.

“My fault? What are you talking about?”

“You said the troopers are coming. We got the whiskey out to finish it off before they got here. We’re supposed to get rid of it.”

Meghan shook her head. “Jack, do you understand what’s going on here? You’re guilty of Hilma Fisher’s death. Even if you had nothing to do with her murder, the fact you’re sitting here with her money makes you guilty of conspiracy to commit murder and burglary. It has nothing to do with the bootlegged booze. This is way worse than that.”

The banging on the door startled Meghan. The rest of the group jumped in unison. The door opened to Edmond York, running inside carrying a hunting rifle.

Meghan crossed the room and snatched the gun from his grip. She yanked the bolt back and cleared the live round from the breach. Meghan handed the rifle to Lester.

“What are you doing, Edmond?”

“Freddie said there was trouble up here.” York looked from Meghan to the gathered group huddled on the couch.

Meghan had at least seven players in the troubling game. Eight people still needed accounting for their whereabouts and level of involvement in the crimes.

Freddie Kesuk and other concerned community people filed through the front door.

“Everything okay?” he asked. Freddie didn’t wear a hat. His hair stuck out from static in the air — the concerned look on his face outdone by the fly away wispy hair. Meghan knew everyone, including herself, had begun to overreact. They needed to calm down. Eric called in the local militia when the state troopers weren’t available.

“Look, I appreciate everyone coming to the rescue. So far, everything is as okay as it can be considering the circumstances. Can someone please spread the word to make sure all firearms aren’t missing and secured in their homes?”

Faces leering through the doorway suddenly disappeared like snowshoe rabbits ducking in berms. Anyone outside the door started spreading the word like oral social media posts.

Meghan went back to face the group. She stared at Franks.

“Diana, help us get to the bottom of this,” Meghan said.

She had to ignore the additional audience watching from the doorway. Freddie, Lester, and York stood inside the living room, barring anyone else from coming inside.

“I heard Marie and Lachlan arguing in the kitchen. They were worried about the troopers taking their weed.”

Meghan held up her hands as the siblings’ lobbed obscenities at Franks for ratting out their marijuana grow operation in Noorvik. She wanted everyone to stay on track, deliberate on the essential bits of the last few days. She used the platform to address the group as well as other community members close.

“I get all of you aren’t responsible for what happened. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to keep doing illegal things. I see the bootleggers came early for Christmas this year. Right now, I’m more concerned with the six people I have here. Right now, one or more of you know what happened at Hilma Fisher’s house on Friday night. And I saw each of you at her residence on Sunday night when it burned to the ground. It wasn’t an accident. One or all of you know who did it.

“Now, Christine Singleton came to us about forty minutes ago. She told us someone threatened to kill her if she talked. I’m assuming none of you got involved in that, but where is Norman Fisher?”

“They left,” Boyd said.

“What do you mean, ‘they left?’” she asked.

“I heard them fighting with Christine. Matt was real upset with Norman. They’re going to Kinguyakkii.”

“How long ago did they leave?” Meghan asked. She looked at Lester.

The answer came from a bony shoulder shrug.

“What about the money?” she asked. “Where did the money come from?”

Boyd shrugged again and added. “I know Matt and Norman were talking about the fire. They got into a big fight. I know Christine got into it too. She got punched in the face.”

“Who took the money?” Meghan asked.

No one made eye contact with her again. The six leftover culprits had to answer for each of their parts in the theft, fire, and murder.

“Everyone sit tight,” she said.

Meghan went into the kitchen with Lester following.

“We need to go after them,” she