THE TROUBLE BEGAN ON GRANITE LEDGE FARM WHEN NATE BREWSTER WAS FOUND DEAD, face down on the ledge where the ladder fell from the barn roof with him on it. His wife, Patience, contends it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. The authorities believe otherwise and charge her brother-in-law and her two nephews with murder. The court convicts only one man. But insurance investigator Benjamin B. Beach is more tenacious and he refuses to believe the conclusions. Beach is positive Nate's fall was not an accident, the real killer was not identified, and Patience was covering up for her relatives in court. So the arrogant man attacks the vulnerable woman, fully expecting to extract the truth by grilling her for the facts. Drawing support from Cleve, an attentive neighbor whose wife has left him, and Molly, her devoted English setter and best friend, Patience resists her latest aggressor and defends her dysfunctional clan. Disguising shocking conflicts within the family, wily Patience duels with Beach. As the resilient woman skillfully manipulates her interrogator away from the truth, she reconsiders the family's hidden secrets and, choosing the high road, she escapes from her life of oppression in a way she never expected.

NO END OF GUILTY CREATURES

By David P. Simmons

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 David P. Simmons
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-0519-2

Chapter One

BENJAMIN BEACH

Wrapped in a heavy wool blanket and surrounded by light bird chatter, I tapped my feet in the sunbeams streaming onto the porch. Spring was busy chasing winter away, so Molly and I were cuddling in my rocker. An English setter, she was too big for my lap, but we loved the togetherness. Her solid frame and my beanpole build made us unlike in appearance. Father had always contended most people looked like their dogs, yet we were like nonidentical twins with matching personalities that made us soul mates.

My dear dog had started it all.

Her barking had broken the news.

Her alarm had propelled me up to the ledge.

Staring up at the tall barn on the flat rock, I could not stop thinking about what had happened there and the story I had to tell about it. When a turkey hen and her chicks started to parade across the back lawn, I tried to focus on the trail their feet swiped in the dew, but my gaze flew back up the hill. The damage to the barn was still there to be seen. The hole in its roof was a yawning mouth. The broken rafter stuck out like a tooth. The stack of shingles clung to one lip. I could not, of course, see the ladder, and the players had all disappeared.

I found Nate facedown on the ledge, skull exploded.

Blood around a lumpy yolk of brain.

Sunny side up on a hot stone skillet.

Tears from a rim of rainwater gathered along the eaves were now dropping and exploding on the granite below. The height of the barn always worried me.

Luke was crouching at the edge of the roof.

Dull eyes, black hair, ruddy cheeks.

A scrawny apple tree stood beside the barn. Years ago, as a little girl on a whim, I had packed a seedling into a fissure in that rocky surface, and it had survived.

Harley was lying against the trunk of the tree.

Bleary eyes, brown curls, yellow skin.

Father had built the barn on that stone up the hill because it was the only flat spot close to the house. That way he could keep an eye on us, as he had promised Mother he would.

Myles was standing at the crest of the hill.

Bright eyes, black bangs, ivory brow.

Suddenly an odor rising onto the porch betrayed the first of the day's invaders. A red fox smells a lot like a skunk, just not as overpowering. Nose to ground like a private detective, the villain was tracking the turkeys. The turkey father, who might have protected his family, was elsewhere, gobbling and strutting in front of another mate. Straining against my hand on her collar, Molly watched her hunting rival slink into the woods until her ears cocked to the noise of the next intruder. Slipping off my lap, she padded to the screen door and nosed her way into the house.

The clanging of the brass knocker on the front door jarred me out of my chair. As I limped toward the summons, Molly was growling at the sill, voicing our misgivings. Why had I agreed to this meeting? I owed it to Father. Despite our differences while he was alive, especially when the household was breaking down, I should honor his feelings for his heirs and do whatever it took to preserve the family.

The man standing outside the door had stood out in the courtroom. He had inspected me often, not to undress me, but to read my mind. When the judge had sequestered the jury the other day, I expected I had seen the last of him.

"The door is open." Although forced to receive, I did not have to invite.

An odd mass filled the doorway. Smaller than expected for his trunk, his head was an onion on top of an apple: baldpate and pale face above a chubby red neck.

His features were off-putting, and his glasses made matters worse. The bows pinched his temples like a vise, aggravating the frown squeezing the lenses down onto his nose. The black pupils inside steel rims threatened like a double-barreled shotgun. I would learn the lips below were cocked to shoot off first.

"I'm surprised the welcome mat's not out, for it's Benjamin B. Beach in the flesh."

As his giant belly barged into the hallway, I had to back away or get knocked over. The ghouls seated around this man in the courtroom had hidden his physical boldness. Never having seen him standing on his feet, I did not realize how short he was—surprising for someone who had made such a big impression on the folks in Concord.

"Well, sir, we do not get many visitors this far out of town. What can I do for you?"

"When I called yesterday, Mrs. Brewster, I told you why I was comin' out here. As soon as I heard the verdict, I knew what my next step had to be. You ought to be ready to get down to brass tacks."

"But the jury's decision settled everything."

"Not on your life! I expect to figure out who it was who really put your husband in his grave. You and I need to talk."

"About what? What happens next, and who goes where, I suppose."

"I shouldn't have to explain myself to you of all people, but I will. To begin with, your husband died when that ladder fell from the barn roof with him on it."

"As if you have to tell me how Nate died."

"And your brother-in-law and two nephews have just been tried for his murder."

"I will never understand how the coroner's hearing concluded it was anything but an accident. It forced a trial that turned into a fiasco of justice."

"Your husband squashin' his head on the ledge didn't happen by chance, and it certainly wasn't suicide. Murder charges were inevitable, but the trial result was unbelievable, so here I am, all ready to straighten everything out."

"What happened to Nate was not because of Harley, Myles, or Luke."

Four brutes.

Banging heads.

Locking horns.

Fighting to the finish.

"Well, we know your relatives were involved in a repair of the barn roof, but they were so vague and inconsistent in their stories, murder indictments were logical reactions."

"I do not care what the prosecution claimed. It was not a premeditated execution. That is ridiculous."

"Not at all. What's ridiculous is the fact that once those three took the stand, each changed his story and blamed another in circular fashion. It became a joke when no two of them fingered the same guy. There were three entirely different stories about why that ladder came down with your husband on it."

"The experts were unable to prove the ladder got where it did by means of a deliberate act. That supports my claim it was an accident."

"It's true it was hard to determine what happened. The defendants at first all agreed no one was near the ladder when it fell, but then they started singin' different songs. Yet the jury managed to put it all together and convicted one man."

"Well, I still contend he is innocent, just like the other two. It's a preposterous conclusion."

"You're entitled to your opinion, even if it happens to be wrong. I don't agree with either you or the jury. As far as I'm concerned, this thing's still a whodunit, which is why I'm here today. I plan to dope out who the guilty creature really is—with your help, of course."

"And just how, sir, do you suppose you are going to obtain that? Your manner is far from engaging."

"I'm not worried about that one bit. After we talk about your predicament, I'm sure you'll see the light and cooperate. We can work on this together at the same time the jury works on its...