The Family Tree: a psychological thriller Read online

  I curled my hands around the warm cup. “I really appreciate you being here for me through all this.”

  She gave me a half-hug. “You shouldn’t have to go through this on your own.”

  “You loved Patsy, too. I’d really like you to have something of Patsy’s. I already told Denise and Nancy, if you guys see anything here that you want—you know, for sentiment, or whatever reason—it’s yours. Take it. They’re already roaming around upstairs looking for something.”

  “What about the estate people?” Melissa whispered.

  “I’ve already informed them I was donating some of the stuff. Just let them know what you’re taking so they can mark it off the inventory.”

  I wandered around the living room as buyers walked up the driveway.

  “These are gorgeous,” Nancy called out from the dining room. She came to me holding out a rectangular red velvet case.

  The box wasn’t familiar to me. “What’s in it?”

  Nancy lifted the lid. “Aren’t they pretty?”

  My knees weakened. Crystal candlesticks. The crunch of Mike’s skull exploded in my eardrums and drowned out all sound. I grabbed hold of the side chair and clutched my T-shirt at my chest.

  “Are you okay?” Nancy put her hand on my shoulder.

  The room spun, but I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Moving into this house was going to be a challenge; I was putting myself in danger of triggers, in the firing line of triggers for obsessive thoughts. My medication had been working, though, and the thoughts came and went fast instead of clawing into my mind. I was determined to get what I wanted: a stable home for me and my children. To be a sane mommy. I took a deep breath. “No. I’m fine. I-I just remember those, too. Patsy had meant to get rid of them after finding the chip. She was superstitious about things like cracked glassware.” I grabbed the box from her. “You don’t want these. They’re bad luck.”

  Nancy took the box back from me. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

  “I’d hate for you to be cursed. Like Patsy. Like Annette.” I pressed my clasped hands to my chest. Desperation clipped my tone. “Let’s sell them. Better yet, let’s throw them in the trash.”

  Nancy’s face twisted. “I don’t think they’re cursed. These will bring back memories of Patsy’s parties and the holidays.” She took out the cracked candlestick and held it up to the light coming through the front window. A rainbow prism reflected on the wall. “It’s just a small nick. No one will notice.”

  I snatched the candlestick out of her hand. “Please, Nancy. Take anything else. It’s just… if I see these candlesticks at your house… all the bad luck, I-I—”

  Nancy’s expression shifted from bitch-you-just-told-us-to-take-what-we-want to flat-faced confusion. She shoved the chipped candlestick at me. “Okay, then. Take them.”

  My face burned with embarrassment as I put the candlestick back in the box and closed it. But this was one item that had to disappear. “Sorry, Nancy. I don’t mean to overreact. But this is so hard for me.”

  She shrugged and looked away. “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing else I really want anyway.”

  “Everything going okay in here?” Melissa held a Tiffany-style lamp. Her face wrinkled into worry.

  I didn’t know how long Melissa had been standing there, but the concerned look on her face told me it had been long enough.

  Nancy tilted her head toward me. “All is good.”

  Melissa nodded at Nancy and then pointed to the velvet box. “What’s that?”

  “Just candlesticks.” I held the box tight. “Something Patsy thought was cursed. I-I’m surprised she kept these.”

  Melissa looked at me with wide-eyed curiosity. “Well, show me.”

  I opened the box but didn’t look inside.

  Melissa’s face brightened. “Oh, I remember those. Patsy used them all the time.” She looked at them longingly.

  Nancy wrinkled her nose. “She’s worried they’ll make her sad and bring bad luck.” Her tone didn’t hold back on sarcasm.

  Melissa set down the lead lamp. “We don’t want to take anything that’ll make you feel sad.”

  I was acting odd, off-balance, and I didn’t want Melissa and Nancy to notice. It was important I appeared sane, capable. I was getting closer to my goal of having my children back, closer to fitting back into the world, and closer to developing friendships. I didn’t need to start acting bizarre now. “No… I’m okay,” I said.

  Denise walked into the room and gave me a look of pity. “Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear. I don’t need to take anything either. I mean, that’s what you’re trying to do anyway. Get rid of everything.”

  I blinked hard. It hadn’t been my intention to come across as grudging. “All of you, please. Take anything you want. Anything but these candlesticks.” I laughed it off. “Leave the bad luck for someone else.”

  All three women looked at me like I’d lost a screw. My vision blurred. It had happened again. I’d disappointed people. My erratic behavior was damaging new friendships before they even got started. I couldn’t risk that. Having friends was part of my overall plan to blend into the world again.

  At that moment, I needed to get away. “Excuse me, guys. I’m going to check in with the sales staff and make sure everything is okay.” I flew out the front door, holding the box close to my chest. Run. Run. Run. It was how I’d dealt with shame. Turn my head and run.

  At the bottom of the verandah steps, I took a deep breath of fresh air.

  Estate sale lookie-loos drove slowly past the house. A car door slammed nearby, and I blinked. Bargain-seekers ambled up the driveway. People. I didn’t want to talk to people. I only wanted to get rid of these damn candlesticks.

  A sales attendant was in the driveway greeting and directing people into the house. I slipped into the open garage for a moment to regain my calm. A disarray of shoes and handbags spread out over three tables triggered my need for organization. I set the candlesticks on a table displaying old bottles and books found in the attic, and then went to work organizing. I separated the shoes by color and arranged them in rows of five. “One, two, three, four, five.”

  “Excuse me,” a man said.

  The voice startled me, and I blinked a few times, easing my mind from my ritual. A man in khaki pants and a white button-down shirt smiled at me. He was too preppy for a typical garage and estate sale buyer. I didn’t trust men who wore long pants and button-downs on a Saturday. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I think you can.” He laughed like we were friends. “I understand you’re the owner of this property.”

  I rolled my eyes. Whatever he was selling, I didn’t want it. “That’s me. But all sales are being handled by the attendants wearing name badges.”

  He held out a business card. “Name’s Shep Black. I’m a local developer and—”

  I waved my hand at the card. “Oh, I’m not interested in selling.”

  “You know the McDougal property across the street sold?”

  A muscle in my neck twitched. I hadn’t even known it was on the market. “Hadn’t heard.”

  “Sold for one-and-a-half million dollars.”

  I bit my lip. Damn, what I could’ve done with that money. “That land’s been vacant for a long time. Are the new owners building a home there?”

  “Not a home.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Twenty homes.”

  “What the—you mean the city has approved a subdivision?”

  “Plans are in the final phase of approvals.” He looked around the house. “Are you planning to develop the property?”

  “Look, I’m not going to waste your time. I’m bound by contract not to sell or develop this property in my lifetime. I couldn’t sell it even if I wanted to.”

  “Contracts have loopholes.”

  “Not this one.” I pictured a developer razing the oak tree and finding Mike’s decomposed body. I shivered. Never.

  A middle-aged woman in Bermuda shorts came insi
de the garage and rummaged through Patsy’s collection of antiquated soda and medicine bottles. Shep jabbered on about other properties in the area that were up for sale. Interesting, but selling wasn’t an option.

  Then, I noticed the woman in shorts holding the candlestick box. My stomach knotted as she removed each candlestick and examined every detail.

  “I’ll let you get back to your sale.” Shep held out his hand. “Thanks for your time.”

  I shook his hand, but my eyes were on the woman as she removed each candlestick and examined every detail.

  “I’ll go ahead and take these,” the woman said. She closed the box and looked at me. “Now, where do I pay?”

  Just then, Nancy came into the garage from the front of the house. “Hey, you. There you are. The lady running the estate sale is looking for you inside the house.” She looked at the woman holding the candlesticks, and her expression shifted from perky to deflated.

  My skin burned under Nancy’s glare. “Uh… thanks, Nancy.” I turned to the woman. “You’ll find someone inside to help you.”

  The lady walked away with the candlesticks, taking the memory while leaving the tension.

  The muscles in Nancy’s jaw tightened. “I need to head home now. Richard and I are going to the garden center.”

  Guilt and shame squeezed my throat. Nancy had been so supportive, and all she’d wanted was the candlesticks. I’d hurt people who cared about me, and if I didn’t watch my step, no one would want to be my friend. I’d make up this candlestick debacle to her somehow. I rushed to hug her. “Thanks for coming by this morning.”

  Nancy walked off, leaving me alone with my misfit personality.

  Chapter Eleven

  I paced the living room floor of my new home. It had taken another three weeks after the estate sale to finish the painting and update the place. The old-fashioned curtains had been replaced with white shutters. My slate-colored linen sofa and armchairs fit easily into the room. The country dinette and a cozy corner and comfy two-seater were similar to how Patsy had liked her large kitchen arranged, but I’d made the house feel like my own. Still, the emptiness and shadows played games with my mind.

  I’d been living in the house for four days now. Melissa had moved into Patsy’s old bedroom upstairs and we’d spent the past few nights together eating take-out and drinking wine. I’d grown used to her chirpy chatter. But tonight, she was working the late shift at Ocean Joe’s, and I was alone with nothing but my thoughts for company.

  Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

  My heart jumped a beat. It was the damned landline again. As I walked into the kitchen, I considered letting the answering machine pick up.

  Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

  I stared at the phone on the countertop. None of Patsy’s old friends had called or left a message on the answering machine like Mrs. Nichols had assumed would happen. So far as I knew, the last time the phone had rung, it had been that creepy heavy breather.

  Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

  I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  No response, but I heard a shuffling noise and murmurs, like someone talking at a distance. Shivers crawled across my shoulders and down my arms. This was no prank. “Who the hell is this?” I yelled into the phone.

  The rustle of paper sounded, and then a mouth close to the receiver, breathing like the person had just run up a flight of stairs.

  My heart stopped. “Who is this?”

  Click. The hum of a dial tone.

  I pressed *69 on the keypad to retrieve the phone number. Blocked. Fear crawled up my spine like a line of centipedes. I slammed down the receiver.

  Someone wanted to scare me. Why else would I have gotten a second call?

  No. I was overreacting.

  What I really needed was to flush out the paranoid thoughts. Nothing a Xanax and a bottle of wine couldn’t cure. I shook a pill out of the orange bottle and reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of wine. Finding the fridge empty of alcohol, I remembered that Melissa and I had been enjoying drinking a bottle, or two, every night since she’d moved in.

  I realized knocking myself out every night with wine and Xanax wasn’t going to help, but I planned to hop off this merry-go-round of zoning myself out very soon. Just not tonight.

  Thank goodness a Mini-mart had recently opened on the corner of Crab Creek Road and Marshland Drive. It had become the busiest corner in this rural suburb. Handy for an emergency alcohol run. I put the pill in my front jeans pocket and left the house.

  Five minutes later, I plonked a bottle of cheap Shiraz on the Mini-mart cashier counter and handed the clerk a twenty. Twangy country music played on a radio.

  “Hey, kiddo.” A man’s deep voice from behind. “We meet again.”

  I turned. It was Jackson, a goofy grin stretched so wide across his face that I couldn’t help but smile back. I pointed my chin at the carton of milk and bag of BBQ potato chips in his hands. “Planning a big night?”

  “Just me and Netflix.” His eyes shot to my bottle of wine. “I’ve got something better back at the house. I’m only around the corner. Wanna join me?”

  “Uh—” I couldn’t form an answer. On one hand, this was a chance to find out if Jackson knew anything more about Mike’s investigation. But socialize at someone else’s house? It’d been a while since I’d done something that simple without feeling the need to run back to the safety of my own home.

  “Anything else I can get you, miss?” the clerk’s quick words cut into my thoughts.

  “No, thanks.” I picked up the wine and put the change in the children’s charity box on the counter. I looked at Jackson and nodded to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

  Standing by my car, I contemplated whether or not to go to his house. His subtle flirting at Ocean Joe’s had made me uneasy, but he’d always been playful and harmless. I needed to drop the paranoia and lighten up if I expected to have a normal conversation with Jackson and get more information.

  Jackson whistled as he pushed through the storefront’s glass double doors. He was safe enough, and I had pepper spray in my bag, should I need it.

  His lit-up eyes met mine. “S’up?”

  “If I can pick the movie, it’s a deal.”

  “If it’s not a RomCom, you’re on.”

  “I’m more of an action kind of girl.”

  “Niiice. Let’s do this.” He pointed to his blue pick-up truck. “I’m just up the road.”

  I followed his truck about a mile down Crab Creek Road, in the other direction from my new house. He turned left onto Cardinal Street and then another quick left at a rickety grey mailbox on a post. The long, narrow driveway cut a swath through loblolly pines and a forest thicket until we reached a clearing.

  An outdoor sensor light went on and I saw an ordinary and unassuming brick ranch home. Complete with a welcoming red door. Jackson parked in front of the house, killed his headlights, and walked the short path to the front door.

  Parked next to him, I didn’t turn off my car yet. A chill ran through my bones. This place was dark and isolated.

  “Come on,” Jackson called out. He gestured for me to get out of my car.

  Seeing Jackson wait for me at the front door with his carton of milk, bag of chips, and boyish smile struck me as innocent. I shoved aside my negative thoughts, switched off the engine and went inside.

  Jackson shut the front door behind me and turned the security bolt. “My house is my castle.”

  His house was a shit box. It smelled like old socks and stale pot smoke. A gaming station was set up in front of the mega flat screen mounted on the wall. Bachelor pad. A golden retriever met us with a wagging tail, and I softened.

  Jackson tossed his keys on top of a stack of gaming magazines on a sideboard then patted the dog. “Hey, Buddy.”

  Buddy’s wet nose sniffed my hand and legs as he circled me, his soft tail whipping against my jeans. Patting his head, my muscles melted. I wanted a dog. For the kids and my own company. I could tak
e Jennifer and Eric to the pound to pick one out soon. Giving love to an unwanted pet was something I could do.

  “Check this out.” Jackson lit a spotlight. “What d’ya think?”

  I turned to my right. A display of swords and sabers fanned out across an entire wall. The handles joined together in a semicircle and the tips pointed outward in a starburst. Prickles spread over my scalp. Shit, what had I gotten myself into?

  The sharp-edged steel gleamed in the light. An icy chill ran through my blood. Knives and swords. “Civil war?”

  “Yup. Confederate and Union.” He stepped closer to the display and ran his fingertip along the blade of one of the longer swords. “This one is still razor-sharp.” His eyes glazed and the corner of his lip curled. “Sometimes I wonder how many people died by these swords.”

  His trance-like admiration as he touched each piece struck me as disturbing and unsettled my stomach. “That’s a strange thought.”

  His eyes cleared like he’d snapped back to the present. “Nah. I’m just obsessed with American history.”

  Obsessions. That, I understood. He’s a collector. That simple. This was not the time to overthink. I turned away from the display, ignoring the uneasiness rolling through me. “Cozy place you have here.”

  He turned off the spotlight and pointed to the worn brown leather sofa. “Make yourself comfortable. You ready for a glass of red?”

  I wanted a tumbler full of wine, but I was only two days away from the high possibility of getting my child custody rights reinstated. No way I’d risk another DUI. But he’d invited me there for a drink, and half a glass wouldn’t even register on a police breath test. My full bottle of Shiraz and Xanax in my pocket would have to wait. “Sounds good.”

  “Drinks coming right up.” He disappeared through the archway into the kitchen.

  I sat on one side of the couch. The house was small and typical of the older homes in the area. The difference being this two-bedroom, one-bath house was filled with thousands of dollars’ worth of antique collectible swords and sophisticated computer equipment.