Jill Elizabeth - Frame-Up

If she could relax, maybe she could sleep. Laurel rolled over onto her side. She’d dozed off for a while after they’d first turned in, but the reprieve from consciousness had been short-lived. No way would she get another wink tonight, despite the luxury of silken sheets and a down-filled pillow.

That poor woman—murdered! What of Ms. Eldon’s family—her parents? As a mother, Laurel could imagine the pain of learning about the loss of a daughter to foul play. How awful for them! What would she do if she lost Caroline?

Caroline.

The name sighed through Laurel’s thoughts. The friction between them continued and had perhaps escalated. Why had Caroline never told her that she craved home-cooked meals—or that anything her mother made might be better off in the trash?

So cooking wasn’t Laurel’s strong suit. She’d be the first to admit it, and the shortcoming hadn’t bothered her much. Until now. Caroline’s casual remark, comparing her abilities to those of a total stranger, had cut to the quick. Why had Caroline bonded with this suspected murderer with such ease when she could hardly offer her mother a civil word?

Laurel could resent David for his charming ways that seemed to have mesmerized her daughter, but surely she wasn’t that petty. The pleasant atmosphere he’d gone out of his way to provide deserved high marks. His efforts went beyond simply being charming. Given his apparent prayer before the meal and his song repertoire, he might even be a fellow believer in Christ. Why did that idea dismay her rather than comfort her? Maybe because Christ-follower and murderer were two roles that didn’t reconcile.

What was she to believe about this man? Perhaps the best she could do was to strive to withhold judgment. His guilt or innocence wasn’t her concern, after all. She had more pressing worries.

When the sheriff arrived, what was going to happen to Caroline and her? How could she protect her daughter?

God, have mercy!

If that was the best prayer she could offer, she was a pitiful specimen. She couldn’t seem to muster so much as a mustard seed of faith to mix with pleas for help and guidance. How long had she been so dry spiritually?

Too long. The answer echoed in her mind.

From the tossing and turning on the other side of the bed, apparently Caroline wasn’t sleeping either. In fact, the girl seemed to be doing her best to maintain the greatest distance possible from her mother. Not a difficult task in this king-size bed.

“Do you believe I might have done it?”

The whispered question electrified the darkness.

“Done what?”

“You know.”

Laurel’s heart wept. “Why would you ask such a thing, honey?”

“You answered my question with a question. I guess that gives me my answer.”

“No, sweetheart. I never suspected you for a minute.”

Caroline snorted. “Yeah, but I’ll bet you had to analyze the situation for at least fifty-nine seconds before you made up your mind what you were going to believe. You never accept anyone or anything at face value.”

Laurel caught her breath. Was this how Caroline viewed her mother’s carefully cultivated caution and prudence? How could Laurel correct that perception? The solution to that problem would have to wait. Caroline needed reassurance right now.

“I know you, baby girl. There’s nothing in you capable of doing...whatever was done to Ms. Eldon.”

Her daughter sighed. “But you think I’m manifesting deep-seated abandonment issues.” Caroline bracketed the last half of her sentence in a tone that mimicked Laurel’s dictation voice following a professional counseling session.

The accusing words jabbed at Laurel, but she firmed her insides. “We had this discussion in the car. Are you saying there’s no possibility that Emily’s leaving hasn’t opened up some emotional scar tissue that you didn’t realize was there?”

“I don’t know, Mom.” The words emerged as a miserable whine. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.” The girl rolled over, presenting her back to her mother.

Laurel swallowed a foul lump in her throat. What fine-sounding psychobabble had she spouted? Such statements sounded wise and understanding during her public talks, but in the wee hours of the morning in this demented situation, they fell flat. Had her mission and ministry amounted to no more than empty air?

A noise grabbed Laurel’s attention. Was that the front door closing? She hadn’t heard their host leave his bedroom up the hall from theirs. The barest waft of chilly air moved through the room, and the hairs on her arms stood to attention.

David or an intruder? How would the latter be possible in the middle of the night in this storm? Laurel sat up.

“Do you hear someone in the living room?”

Caroline yawned but didn’t stir. “Must be Mr. Greene. He padded past here a little while ago. Probably can’t sleep either.”

“Oh.” Lame, but Laurel had no better response to offer. She hadn’t heard the earlier movement, no doubt because she’d been so lost in fretting that other sounds hadn’t penetrated.

“I think I’ll get a glass of water.”

“K.”

Laurel slipped from between the sheets and stood on the scatter rug by the bed. She took a step onto the hardwood floor and quickly retreated onto the rug. The cabin definitely didn’t have heated floors. Probably not even a basement, just a crawlspace beneath. Thankfully, electric baseboard heat kept the air in each room tolerably warm. She sucked in a breath and tiptoed quickly up the hall and into the carpeted living area.

The glow from the dying embers in the fireplace revealed that the room was vacant. Had David returned to his bed? How would that be possible? He would have had to walk past her to get back to his end of the hall. She looked toward the front door. His boots were missing. Why would he have gone out into the storm in the middle of the night?

Laurel went to the front window, parted the curtains and peered out. A ghostly wall of white shimmered in the darkness and hid any form or movement. Where was David Greene? Her heart thudded against her ribs as her misspent youth of watching horror movies played gruesome possibilities through her mind. Shivering, she drew back from the window.

“Don’t be silly,” she whispered aloud. But her arms slid around her frame in a tight hug.

What if David’s midnight mission had something to do with the murder? Was he out there satisfying morbid curiosity and messing with things he shouldn’t? Should she throw on her shoes and outerwear and go after him? Yeah, right! as her daughter might say. She’d get two steps away from the porch and be unable to find either the cabin or her car.

She should go get a bottle of water. Her mouth had gone dry as the last pan of brownies she’d tried to bake. But while she was in the kitchen she could acquire a weapon—a knife, a meat mallet—whatever it took to stand between any threat and her daughter. If she was indulging morbid night fancies, she’d be happy to feel foolish in the morning with a defensive weapon under her pillow rather than ignore her inner alarms. She’d ignored those alarms more than once while married to Caroline’s father and lived to regret it.

In fact, she was lucky she’d lived.

Laurel headed for the refrigerator. The bottoms of her feet registered the chill as she left the carpet for the kitchen tile. She flipped on the light rather than risk adding a stubbed toe to cold feet. The kitchen was as tidy as they’d left it. Their host’s excuse for nighttime prowling wasn’t the quest for a snack.

Her gaze scanned the countertops and landed on a wood block bristling with knife handles. Weapons search over. Her hand closed around the handle of the largest one, but a sound at the front door froze her in place.