Framed for Murder by Her Ruthless Mother-in-Law over a $1.5 Million Debt, a Recovering Bankrupt Wife Fakes Her Death to Expose the Family to Local Loan Sharks at Her Own Funeral
The mortuary van jostled along the narrow roads, a strange mix of relief and dread churning in my stomach. Timmy, bless his naïve heart, had taken the long way around Pine Hollow, avoiding the main street. He parked around the back of the Pine Hollow Chapel, right by the service entrance.
“Okay, Mrs. Gable,” he whispered through the crack in the side door, his voice barely audible. “Everyone’s gone for the night. The place is locked up tight, but I have keys.”
I squeezed out from under the gurney, my limbs stiff and cold. The chapel interior was dark and still, smelling of old hymnals and beeswax. Timmy led me through a maze of back hallways to a small storeroom next to the main sanctuary. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight filtering through a high window.
“You can stay here for now,” he said, his voice earnest. “No one ever comes back here until morning. I’ll come get you before dawn, and we’ll do the switch.”
I nodded, my mind already racing through the next steps. I needed to do more than just fake my death. I needed to make Evelyn pay for framing me, for trying to collect that $1.5 million from my supposed death, for her deal with Silas O’Rourke.
“Timmy,” I said, stopping him at the door. “Is there any way to access the chapel’s audio-visual system from in here? Or somewhere discreet?”
He frowned. “The main control panel is in the sound booth up in the balcony. But why?”
“I need to leave a message,” I said, a chilling resolve settling over me. “A very public message.”
He just nodded, his expression unreadable, and slipped out, locking the door behind him. I was alone, trapped in a chapel storeroom, planning my own funeral, but at least I was no longer a captive in Evelyn’s house.
I spent hours pacing, devising a strategy. Around midnight, a faint creak from the storeroom ceiling above made me freeze. I looked up, but saw nothing. It sounded like an old building settling, but something felt off.
Then, a low murmur. A voice.
My heart pounded. Someone else was in the chapel. I held my breath, straining to hear. The voice was gruff, familiar. It was Wayne Callahan, Evelyn’s driver.
What was Wayne doing here in the middle of the night?
I carefully pushed aside a stack of old hymn books, revealing a small, grimy vent in the ceiling. I stood on an overturned crate, pressing my ear to it. The voice was clearer now, coming from the attic directly above me.
“…stupid woman. Always thinking she’s smarter than everyone.”
It was Wayne, indeed. He sounded agitated.
“No, I told you, I got it,” he muttered into what sounded like a phone. “The ledger. Yeah, the one she keeps in the safe behind the painting. Took photos of every page.”
My breath hitched. The ledger. Evelyn’s secret accounting book, where she logged all her illicit dealings, including, I suspected, her debt to Silas O’Rourke. I’d always suspected it existed, but could never find it.
“She threatened my old man, you know?” Wayne continued, his voice tight with controlled fury. “Said if I didn’t keep quiet, she’d cut off his medical care. After all he did for her family. After his accident. She’s a monster.”
A wave of shock, cold and sharp, washed over me. Wayne, loyal, silent Wayne, Evelyn’s shadow, had secretly recorded her. He had the proof. This was bigger than I could have imagined.
He finished his call, the floorboards above creaking again. Moments later, I heard his heavy footsteps descending a rickety attic ladder. The door to my storeroom creaked open just a crack.
Wayne’s eyes, usually guarded and unreadable, were etched with a dark fury. He saw me, standing on the crate, my face undoubtedly etched with equal shock.
“Clara,” he said, his voice flat. “I knew you weren’t in that casket.”
I didn’t deny it. There was no point. My mind was reeling from what I had overheard.
“You have the ledger,” I stated, not asking. “And Evelyn threatened your father.”
He held my gaze, his jaw tight. “She’s rotten to the core. Always has been. I’ve been watching her, waiting for the right moment. I have photos of every transaction, every dirty deal, including the $1.5 million she owes Silas. And a recording of her admitting she framed you for the supervisor’s murder to trigger the insurance. Said it clear as day, for the money.”
He pulled out his phone, a worn, old flip phone, and scrolled through pictures of neat, handwritten columns. The ledger. It was all there. Names, dates, amounts. And the crucial $1.5 million entry, marked “O’Rourke.”
“She’s ruined everything,” Wayne said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with unspoken pain. “And now she’s going to pay.”
He looked at the dusty chapel, then back at me. “So, what’s your plan, Clara? Because I have a feeling we want the same thing. To make sure Pine Hollow finally sees the real Evelyn Gable.”
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours