A Willing Murder (Medlar Mystery 1)

“We’re going to redo the houses from two feet down up to the rooftops,” he said, his head turned in profile to the camera.

“You aren’t going to take out that big poinciana, are you?” the reporter asked.

“We are, actually. The truth is, that tree’s never been taken care of and it’s full of termites. The next big storm will knock it down for sure, and it’s going to land on a couple of houses—or maybe people.”

“That’s sad.” She smiled at Jack.

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled back.

The man threw the remote at the screen. How could this have happened? He owned that house! How could it have been sold to someone else?

It took him hours of digging through papers that had long ago been filed away to find the single sentence that released the house to be sold. He’d done such a good job of keeping himself disconnected from the property that when it had been confiscated, no one knew how to contact him.

His initial anger was replaced with fear. Logically, he doubted if he could be connected to what would be found when the tree—and what was beneath it—was dug up, but people in small towns had long memories. And they were always snooping. It was better to be cautious than sorry.

He made himself a fresh pot of coffee and began to think about what he had to do to stop this desecration from happening. He’d stop it no matter what it took—and he’d start with the guy from Wyatt Construction.

ONE

LACHLAN, FLORIDA

SPRING 2017

Sara was sitting in Jack’s drab, sunless apartment on an old chair someone had given him. She let her shoulders droop and her head sag in an attempt to show every minute of her sixty-plus years of life. It wasn’t helping that she’d been in boxing class at 6:00 a.m. When she moved her arm, she gave an involuntary gasp. She was sore from all those uppercuts her trainer had made her do.

As she watched Jack stumble about the dreary room on his crutches, she tried not to show how her heart was breaking for him.

To her, Jack was the grandson she should have had. She and his late grandfather, Callum Wyatt, had been born in the same year and had grown up living next door to each other. They’d always been in love, had always planned to marry, but because of things that Sara worked hard not to remember, that hadn’t happened. Cal had stayed in little Lachlan and run his father’s car repair shop, while Sara had, as Cal used to say, “conquered the world.” It was a gross exaggeration, but it had made Sara laugh, so Cal was content.

Jack was her compensation for the past. Since he was eighteen, Sara had been a silent partner in his construction business and they’d spent a lot of time together. When Sara retired, she never thought of going anywhere other than where Jack was. And right now, she didn’t feel even a smidgen of guilt about conspiring with his mother and sister to get him to move into her big house with her. Someone needed to take care of Jackson Charles Wyatt because he certainly wasn’t doing it!

It looked like the pain she was feeling was worth it because Jack was at last losing that expression she’d seen so many times on Cal—head back just a fraction, chin out, lower lip rigid. “You can’t make me do it.” His mother said those were the first words Jack spoke. Full sentence, no piddling around with just one word, but the entire statement said at once. And said fiercely.

Now here he was, thirty-one years old, six feet two inches of mostly muscle, his leg in a cast and leaning on crutches—and he looked just like that little kid.

Yes, he was balking at making the move, but Sara had a trick up her sleeve. She’d just told him that her niece was coming to visit. “I can’t help it,” Sara said, “I’m nervous about her being here.”

“Then tell her not to come.”

His words were harsh, but she could tell that he was softening. Maybe it was the stairs. His apartment was on the second floor of an old house he’d bought years ago. It was a struggle to carry groceries up the outside stairs while on crutches.

“You must make rules for her to follow.” Jack was frowning.

Sara turned away to hide her smile. His tone was just like his grandfather’s. Sara used to tell Cal he should try out to play Moses. Stern, lecturing, ready to give out orders.

Sara tried to slump more. Look old! she commanded herself. “It’s just that I’ve lived alone for so long that I don’t know how to handle a visitor.” She gave a sad little sigh and looked at Jack for sympathy. She saw his lashes flicker. Inside, he was as soft as his grandfather.

“She’s my niece, but I haven’t been around her since she was a child,” Sara continued. “She was so sweet and funny then. And very smart. I’ve seen lots of photos of her, but...” She gave another sigh. “I just don’t know how she’s going to be to live with. Will she Tweet and text me rather than actually speaking?” She gave a genuine gasp of horror. “What if she...if she says ‘amazing’ in every sentence? How will I stand it? Will she—?”

She broke off as Jack hobbled to the couch and heaved himself down. He was a strong young man and shouldn’t have that much trouble with a cast and crutches. But she wasn’t worried about him physically. What Sara was concerned about was Jack’s mental state. The wreck that smashed his leg had killed his half brother. As Jack was taken to the hospital, he kept saying that it was all his fault. He’d been drinking, so he let Evan drive. Jack had fallen asleep so hard that he didn’t wake up until the truck was flipping around and around through the air. He kept saying, “If only I’d stayed awake... If only I’d driven...”

It was Jack’s deep sense of guilt and his grief that Sara was worried about. She was determined to do whatever was necessary to get him to stay with her in her huge house. She wanted to make sure that he didn’t do...well, do something dumb.

Jack’s mother had planned it with Sara. “He won’t listen to me,” Heather said.

Her eyes were red from days of crying. Evan hadn’t been her child but she’d loved him. At the funeral, someone said that Heather had been a better mother to Evan than his own had.

But Sara hadn’t been able to come up with anything that wouldn’t make Jack dig in his heels and refuse to move. “I’m worried about you” was sure to make him say no.