Old Shadows, New Murder

By Sharon McGregor

Taylor Armstrong returns to her hometown to bury her Aunt Grace and soon finds herself the focus of unwanted attention. The town seems to have an unhealthy interest in whether she is staying or leaving. Her house is broken into - twice. Unexpected visitors begin to arrive, including Taylor’s long-estranged father.

She enlists the help of her neighbor, Edie, and her Jack Russell Terrier, Tristan, to find answers, but new murders put Taylor right in the center of the action.

When old shadows part to reveal secrets long buried, Sgt. Scott of the RCMP does his best to keep Taylor safe. But can he succeed against a single-minded killer?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whimsical Publications
• Release date: Sep 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781940707556

Sharon McGregor

Sharon McGregor is a prairie author who has recently transplanted to the west coast. She has written many humor, romance and mystery stories for magazines. She has several romance novellas in the process of publication but mystery is her genre of choice. When not fighting with her cat Zoey for control of the computer keyboard, she is working at her ice cream shop.

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Old Shadows, New Murder

Sharon McGregor

Smashwords Edition September 2015

Old Shadows, New Murder is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the copyright holder and the publisher of this book, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information, please contact the publisher.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2015 by Sharon McGregor

All rights reserved

Published by

Whimsical Publications, LLC

Florida

http://www.whimsicalpublications.com

ISBN-13 for print book: 978-1-940707-54-9

ISBN-13 for e-book: 978-1-940707-55-6

Cover art by Traci Markou

Editing by Destiny Booze

---------------

Acknowledgement

To everyone who has lived in a small town,

or wished they did.

---------------

Chapter One

She placed her foot on the first rung of the ladder. She felt them all staring at her, waiting for her to fail. She would show them she was able to do anything they could. She would prove she belonged. She would prove to him she belonged. Another foot, another rung. She ignored the inner voice that told her to change direction, to move her foot downward to the lower rung instead of climbing higher. Her heart raced, fluttering as though trying to escape her chest.

Taylor turned the key in the old-fashioned lock and pushed the door open. It groaned a little before stretching far enough for her to glimpse the outline of the huge fridge that dominated the opposite wall, the shadows giving it an added bulk. She wrinkled her nose, trying to decipher the smells—stale food, strong cleaners, musty old house, and the scent of past lives. She shivered a little as she imagined the sound of tiny creatures scurrying for shelter. Quickly, she turned on the light, and the room lost its eeriness. Her Jack Russell, Tristan, ran barking into the house, sniffing corners, and chasing away any bogeymen the light might have missed.

Now the house took on the familiarity she had felt years ago when she and her older brother, Greg, had lived here with their aunt. The old fridge was still the same one they had rummaged in for after school snacks, never sure what they would find. Aunt Grace had not been the best cook or housekeeper. The stove was new, comparatively, but the elements were grungy, and she knew better than to examine the stovetop sides for streaks of grease and heaven knew what else. She automatically checked the garbage bin, but it was empty. The odors didn't come from there. They were ingrained into every pore of the house, and nothing but a deep scouring of all surfaces would eradicate them. The house had sat empty for two weeks now, since Aunt Grace had first gone into the hospital.

The last few times Taylor had visited home, she couldn't help noticing the decline in Aunt Grace's abilities. She had only been in her sixties, but her eyesight had been failing, and she probably hadn’t seen a lot of the grime that filled the corners.

Taylor sighed and tried to turn her thoughts in other directions. That line brought too strong a feeling of guilt. She should have come home more, especially after Greg had died.

There wasn't time to worry about cleaning tonight. Instead, she would see if she could find the makings for tea and toast and then head to bed early. There was bread and frozen entrees in the freezer and margarine and marmalade in the fridge. Other than that, the fridge was empty. Taylor knew the good ladies of Badger Lake had come over and cleaned out the spoiled food while Aunt Grace had been in the hospital.

Naturally, there would be tea, cartons and cartons of it, in the cupboard next to the stove. If Armageddon ever loomed, Aunt Grace would never have run out of tea.

Taylor moved her cat, Denver, into the house with his food dishes and litter box. Tristan settled for a pee in the backyard and then ignored his kibble, eyeing her toast until she gave him some.

She turned on the TV to scare away the heavy silence and found an old Britcom on public television. She ran a cloth over the coffee table and pulled her feet under her—tabby cat on one side and Jack Russell on the other—while she ate her late supper and watched Judi Dench hiccupping her way through a wedding ceremony.

Chapter Two

He could stop her if he really tried. He could say, No, don't do it. It doesn't matter to me. She might come down. But he looked at her face. It was so fixed, so determined, and he thought he'd lost the chance to connect. The others were concentrating so hard on the lonely figure he thought maybe, by will alone, they could make her continue. He felt suddenly ashamed. And afraid. It was out of hand now. He should have stopped it before it started.

Taylor woke to feel the sun on her face. She'd forgotten to close the curtains. Her second floor bedroom at home faced north, and she never bothered. Denver sat on the other pillow staring at her, and Taylor knew he’d soon insist on her getting out of bed by starting to pat her face in his usual morning routine.

It wasn't long before Tristan began to whimper. Taylor needed a bathroom too, but Tristan came first. Lucky you, she said to Denver. I wish you could train Tristan to use your box.

The funeral wasn't till two. She'd gone over all the arrangements by phone with the funeral director and minister, but she still needed to be at the church by one, ahead of everyone else. The turnout would be a large one, she knew. Grace had lived here her whole life and worked in the town office for years. Everyone knew her. Small town funerals were a great social occasion. No one would leave before the lunch. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful autumn day, a great day for a funeral. Only farmers who might not be done harvesting wouldn't be there. Nothing stood between a sunny day and a farmer's combine when it was harvest time.

The United Church sat on a large lot at the edge of town. It was a new building, not the smaller one at the end of Main Street where Taylor and Greg had gone to Sunday school. Aunt Grace had never been much of a churchgoer. She had belonged to the Ladies' Aid and made a regular donation to the church, but said she had better things to do on Sunday. When Taylor had asked her why, she had said, I do my part with the L.A., and I give them money for missionaries. I don't see how it will help them to see my aching butt on those hard pews every Sunday, just being able to fall asleep about the time the sermon ends. I'm sure God's not that interested in what I do on Sunday mornings. She had, however, felt it her duty to be sure Greg and Taylor had made it to Sunday school every week. She'd cleaned them up Sunday mornings and had handed them a tissue and an offering for the plate. When they had gotten home, she'd ask them what they'd learned that day. They'd said, nothing much and that had been it until next Sunday.

As she sat in the mourners’ room off the church lobby, Taylor felt overwhelmingly alone. She was the only family member left to mourn her aunt's passing. Greg should have been with her. She didn't want to sit in the front pew alone on display. She knew all eyes would be on her, wondering about Greg and where her father was or even if he was still alive.

She cleared her throat and the funeral director, Mr. Evans, looked up inquiringly. She shook her head at him and glanced at the lobby. She saw some familiar faces and some not so. Then she saw one that was very familiar—a short, stocky woman with blunt-cut gray hair who was carrying, rather than using, a cane. Edie. She slipped out the door into the lobby and accosted her.

Edie, would you sit with me? Please? You were her best friend. You should be in the mourners’ section.

Edie glanced around and quickly said, Of course, Taylor, if you want me to.

She led her back into the little side room.

I'm sorry, Edie began.

Me too, said Taylor. You were closer to her than anyone. You're practically family.

Edie gave her a studied look but said no more. She just squeezed Taylor's hand.

Mr. Evans stood and said, It's time now.

The casket was wheeled to the center aisle, and they followed it down the sloping carpet to the front pews. Evans motioned them to the right side and then took a seat on the left. The congregation remained standing as the organ began the strains of Abide with Me. Taylor had left the hymn choices to the minister. She wrote the eulogy, but passed on the idea of standing to read it herself. At least he hadn't chosen Amazing Grace as the opening hymn, Taylor thought with a nervous giggle stuck in her throat. As she forced it away, the tears began to form in her eyes. In turn, she pushed them back. If someone had asked her later what the rest of the service consisted of, she would have been unable to answer, except for the eulogy, of course. It all passed in a dream.

Everyone filed past her after the service, sharing their condolences and memories of Grace. After a little lull, a couple she recognized as Bill and Evelyn Waters stopped in front of her. They were a Mutt and Jeff couple. Bill was a short, bustling man who looked as though he had an electric current running through him, and his wife, Evelyn, was a tall, slim, serene-faced woman who, it seemed to Taylor, had a difficult time keeping her serenity living with Bill.

Bill didn't offer to shake hands. Instead, he looked at her and said, She'll be with God now. Religious statements always made Taylor feel a little awkward, and she didn't know how to answer. She remembered Bill was one of the Waters brothers who frequented the evangelical church and displayed behavior to suggest he had a volatile and emotional relationship with God. Bill apparently wasn't expecting an answer. He went on. Not like your brother, Greg. He burned his bridges years ago, and now he’ll be burning. As Taylor's mouth dropped, Evelyn shooed Bill away, whispering low to him, then throwing an apologetic smile over her shoulder toward Taylor.

The funeral director—she couldn't even remember his name—what was it? Stephenson, something like that. No, Evans, that was it. He took her arm to guide her to the waiting car to make the trip to the cemetery. Taylor didn't want to travel alone and gave Edie a pleading look. Edie never hesitated. She slid into the sleek, black mourners' car beside her.

Taylor wanted to ask Edie what she thought of Bill's comment or even if she had heard it, but now was not the time. What could Bill Waters have had against Greg, or know about her brother? Greg had left home when he was eighteen and, unlike Taylor, had rarely returned for visits.

Very few people attended the graveside part of the service. It was a long drive, and most of the crowd would already be queuing up in the church meeting room, making small talk and waiting for the first trays of sandwiches. The smell of coffee wafted over from the lunch room just off the church. The usually welcome smell twisted at Taylor's stomach.

Aunt Grace’s burial site was an old family plot in a small cemetery about ten miles from Badger Lake. It was a silent drive there, and only three vehicles pulled to the side of the road in front of the old gate that had been swung open to accommodate them. The cemetery had only a few new graves. A lot of the stones were old and crumbling. A slightly newer section stood on a raised plateau in the back behind a stand of trees, but even that looked forgotten. A small building occupied center stage on the north side, the domain of the caretaker who made occasional swings by with a lawn mower. Families had moved away, next generations were intending to be buried in the new cemetery outside Badger Lake, and some of the names of long ago pioneers were probably now forgotten.

There were a few slots left in their family plot. Taylor's grandparents were there, a great-uncle or two, and a small baby grave sat in one corner. Taylor tried not to look at the marker that held Greg’s name. She also tried not to look at her mother’s. The empty spot beside her grave meant for Taylor’s father would likely never be filled.

Now Aunt Grace was lowered into the ground and the few ceremonial handfuls of dirt followed her. It was all over, well, for Aunt Grace anyway. Taylor knew things were just beginning for her to tend to the aftermath of death.

Taylor felt conspicuously alone at the funeral luncheon, although she was surrounded by people stopping to pay their respects and fill their curiosity wells. Edie had slipped away shortly after they’d arrived back at the church.

Jack Vandenberg was one of the first. He loomed over Taylor, filling the standing room at the table's end. Jack had always been big, and the sort not easy to miss, even at school. Then he had been solid muscle honed by participating in every sport provided, especially football. Now his muscle was decidedly less firm, and he was slightly overflowing his belt. His hair