A bag of raffia tumbled from the closet shelf, nearly whacking me in the head before falling to the floor. “Fern, you are officially a hoarder.” I hoisted a box of Christmas candles from the shelf and placed it on the carpeted floor in the hallway.
“I prefer to think of myself as a collector.” She grinned down at me from her perch on a stepladder. “Here, I’ve got another bag of raffia.”
At least this one was handed to me and I didn’t have to dodge it like falling debris. “What is all the raffia for? No one needs this much.”
“Do you remember when I tried making soap several years ago?” she asked, cringing.
“Ew, yes I do. You mailed me some and it stunk up my apartment so bad I had to throw it out.”
“You thought your place smelled bad; you should have been here! Moose wouldn’t let me pet him for a month. The stench had permanently embedded itself in my skin,” she sighed. “Oh well, I learned my lesson. Anyway, I had planned to sell it at the Fall Harvest Craft Fair, and I was going to wrap the soap with raffia and attach these cute little tags. Only I didn’t get that far.”
“So, can we dump the raffia?” I asked, placing the bag off to the side with the candles.
“Oh no, I might need it for something else. Just set it with the pile of stuff to go to the barn.” She motioned to the growing heap at the end of the hall by the stairway.
Fern had enough raffia to run the entire length of Rockfish Bay and back, so I couldn’t imagine what she was going to need it for, but I wasn’t going to argue. At least she was getting this junk out of the house and finally using the linen closet for its actual purpose.
“I think I’ll take a load out to the barn to make room for more.” I bent down to pick up several items.
“Good idea.” Fern turned back to the closet, to rummage through another box.
With Moose following close behind, I made my way down the stairs and out the back door to the barn. I hadn’t been in there since Sunday morning, when I’d found Earl’s body. The crime scene techs had finished their work a few days ago, and the yellow police tape had been removed. Even so, a chill ran up my spine as I opened the door to the tack room where Fern’s neighbor had met his untimely demise.
Moose darted around me as I set the boxes on the floor and considered where to put them. This room needed to be cleaned out too. I started to move things around to make more room for the rest of Fern’s junk. Several empty flowerpots had been haphazardly shoved in a corner beside the shelves with canned food. I decided to move them out to the stall with the rest of Fern’s gardening supplies. No sense wasting a perfectly good corner where I could stack at least four boxes.
As I picked up the pots, I noticed something odd in the old, weathered floorboards. There was a gap where the rest of the boards appeared to be pretty tight. Curious, I kneeled to take a closer look, and ran my hand along the crevice, gently lifting at the edge. It moved. Applying more pressure, I removed a rectangular chunk of the floor, approximately two feet in length. Shoving it off to the side, I leaned over the hole and gasped.
On the ground was something wrapped in a black garbage bag. I hesitated a moment, unsure if I should open it. From here, I couldn’t tell what it was. I highly doubted it belonged to Fern, and with the events of late, it seemed highly suspicious.
If it had something to do with Earl, I should call the police. But considering how things had gone with local law enforcement, Cole in particular, I decided to take matters into my own hands, and reached for the bag. Besides, it’s possible it had nothing to do with Earl.
It only took about three seconds for me to discover that it did. Because through the black plastic bag, I could tell it was a briefcase of some kind. And on every TV show I’d seen, a briefcase always contained cash or drugs.
When I pulled it from the bag, I discovered it was actually was a small hard-shell suitcase, definitely vintage. I placed it on the floor and tugged on each of the latches. It opened easily, and I held my breath, slowly lifting the lid.
Just as I suspected, it was filled with cash. Lots of it, organized in stacks held together with rubber bands. There had to be thousands in here. And this was definitely not Fern’s. Which meant it could have been Earl’s? Or did Earl come here looking for it? Is that why he was killed?
I wasn’t sure. What I did know was that I needed to call the police before I contaminated the evidence any further. I closed the suitcase and left it on the floor, then dusted off my yoga pants and raced back to the house.
“Fern!” I yelled from downstairs. “You’re not going to believe what I found.”
A crash sounded from above. I headed toward the stairs. “Are you okay?” I shouted.
“Yep, just fine.” Fern appeared at the top of the stairs looking a bit disheveled with several ribbons hanging from her hair. “What did you find? If it’s the moonshine on the top shelf, I know we need to hide that. It’s tucked behind the peaches, and I’m surprised Cole didn’t
