Alex Harris 00 - Armed

I felt scared. But this feeling seemed to come out of nowhere. I parted the curtains a crack and looked up and down my street. Somewhere out there lurked the person who had killed Mrs. Scott.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

    “I can’t leave you alone in the kitchen for two seconds,” I scolded my father whose fingers pilfered a chunk of sage and sausage stuffing from the bowl on the counter. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
    “As a matter of fact, I need to get some wood from the pile out back.”
    The backyard consisted of a large lot that sloped down to a wooded area. Over the years Dad replanted trees as he cut others down, and now they too, were ready for the fireplace.
    “Want to come and help?”
    “Sure.”
    Dad and I made our way down to the end of the hill and loaded up two wheelbarrows with neatly cut wood. Dad beat me on the return trip. I finally reached the top of the hill huffing and puffing.
    “Maybe I should get you here more often. Sounds like you could use a bit of exercise.” Dad grinned at me.
    I plopped down on top of the wood and sat there for a minute catching my breath. “I’ll...be...all...right. How do...you do it, Dad?”
    “I’ve been hauling wood up that hill since before you were born, young lady.”
    I rolled over and sat on the ground. “Listen, Dad, I invited John Van der Burg over tomorrow night. Is that okay with you?”
    He sat on one of the wheelbarrows, steadying himself with one foot firmly on the ground. My dad always seemed to have one foot firmly on the ground. “He seems like a nice fellow. Certainly welcome here anytime. By the way, any news on the investigation?”
    “Some. But not on the murder. That still remains unsolved.”
    A car horn interrupted us.
    “That must be Dorothy. She’s bringing your mother’s gift.” Dad took off his work gloves and walked around to the front of the house.
    Dorothy and her husband were good friends and game partners of my parents. Dorothy had been a constant in my life. They lived a few blocks away.
    “Good. I thought you weren’t going to make it before Mabel got back.” Dad took a beautifully wrapped box from Dorothy’s glove-clad hands.
    “I got a bit tied up with my neighbor. She brought over her usual cookies. I don’t know what we’d do without friends who can cook,” Dorothy laughed.
    Dorothy didn’t bake, as I remembered, and the cookies each year from her neighbor had become a joke in their household.
    “Alex, dear, you look lovely as ever.” Dorothy planted a kiss on my cheek.
    I gave her a hug and asked if she’d like something to drink.
    “No. I’ve got to get back. Frank wants his lunch and I’ve got to boil the water for his cup of soup.”
    We watched her pull out of the drive and went back around the house.
    “What’s in the package, Dad?”
    “You’ll see tomorrow. It’s for your Mom. Dorothy kept it over at her house. Your mother has turned into quite a snoop in her old age.”
    We finished unloading the wood and went back inside.
    “She’s just the sweetest thing. I’m so glad her family came for the holidays. Some of them don’t,” Mom said a while later as she added more cold water to the flour and lard mixture that would become the best piecrust in town.
    “You’ve been working at the senior center for a long time, Mom. Doesn’t it ever get to you?” I watched my mother rolling out the pie dough and promised myself I would take care of my parents. My mother worked so hard for the elder citizens of our community it gave me pause to realize that she had reached senior status. I’m not supposed to know her age but Meme tells everyone. Besides, my mother goes to every damned high school reunion, so it’s easy to figure out. She’s sixty-one.
    “Yes, I suppose it gets to me sometimes,” she said. “Mainly when I see someone being ignored by his or her children, but for the most part the center is a good place with lots of activity. Too bad your grandfather didn’t want to go there, but he likes his friends at Mills Pond. We try our best to make it a happy place and they loved the beaded jewelry I made. Those cellophane bags you saved all year worked out just right.”
    “Glad to help.” I smiled at my mother’s innovative ways for using recyclables.
    “Are you about done mixing that, Alex?”
    I stirred the golden goo that would turn into pumpkin pie in the heat of the oven. “Let me just add a tad more cinnamon and it’ll be done.”
    “I stopped by Mrs.