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  “Did you know my aunt well?”

  Hilda Brooks shrugged her beefy shoulders. “As well as anyone did, I suppose.”

  “How long had you known her?”

  “Let’s see. We moved here before my Tommy was born, so about… forty years, I think. Yes, that sounds about right. Oh, my, how times flies!”

  Charity made the appropriate murmur of agreement, although she was eager to ask her next question. “What can you tell me about my aunt?”

  “Well, she was your aunt!” the woman softly chided.

  “We didn’t see each other very often. I live in Maryland,” Charity explained.

  “Like I said, Nell didn’t get out very often, not after… well, not in the last thirty years or so. But she was a good neighbor, all the same. I would drop by to visit, and we talked on the phone at least once a week. I’ve truly missed her since she’s been gone.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Charity offered her sympathy. “Are you the one who cleaned out her refrigerator?”

  “Yes, I didn’t want there to be any spoiled food to worry about.”

  “Thank you for that, it was very thoughtful of you.”

  “Nell would have done the same for me. Well, if she had left this yard, anyway.” Tears glistened in the other woman’s eyes as she attempted the sad joke.

  Charity mulled over her earlier words. “You said Aunt Nell had been that way for about thirty years? She came to my mother’s funeral sixteen years ago.”

  “Yes, I remember. You have no idea how difficult it was for her leave her safe place and to travel all that way by herself. I offered to go with her, just for moral support, but I had a terrible case of the flu and she wouldn’t hear of it. She was devastated by your mother’s death and she insisted on going to the funeral.”

  Simply hearing the story made Charity’s heart ache. She could not imagine being so terrified of — What? Of anything! — that you were unable to leave your home. Nor could she imagine conquering that fear for such a sad and solemn occasion as attending your only sister’s funeral, particularly a sister from whom you were estranged. It was simply heartbreaking.

  “That’s so sad,” Charity commiserated. “What-What happened to make her become like that?” she asked with sincere curiosity.

  The talkative neighbor suddenly clammed up. She darted a nervous glance around the yard, her eyes seeming to land on the old shed on the opposite side of the house. “I-I believe it was after her husband died,” she answered vaguely. “Grief, I suppose.”

  “What can you tell me about my uncle? I never knew him. He passed away before I was born.”

  “Harold was… a dreamer.” Her search for a kind word of description was obvious. “Always thinking of some way to get rich without having to actually put in an honest day’s work. He was a friendly enough fellow, most of the time. But he was a dreamer and a schemer.”

  Charity heard the disapproval in Hilda Brook’s voice. “What did he do for a living?”

  “He never had any job for long. He did a variety of things, from lobstering in Maine, selling insurance, trying his hand at a cranberry bog, logging in New Hampshire, selling shoes door-to-door. You name it, he tried it for a month or two.”

  “So he traveled a lot?”

  Hilda bobbed her head. “Claimed he knew every road in these highlands. That’s why he started up his own delivery service. He was so sure he could do a better job than the postal service and the big national delivery companies. Said it took a local to serve the people of the Northeast Kingdom.” She all but sniffed with disdain.

  “I take it he didn’t succeed.”

  “Kingdom Parcel was a colossal disaster.”

  Charity tried to hide her dismay. Hilda Brooks almost sounded pleased that Harold Tillman had failed. Perhaps she had not been such a good friend to her aunt, after all. “Do you recall how he died? I don’t believe I ever heard the story.”

  The heavyset woman darted another nervous glance toward the house. Again, she was vague, fluttering her hands in the air. “I think it was rather complicated. Probably nothing they wanted to bother you with.” She abruptly changed tunes. “Well, it was really nice to meet you, dear, but I really must be going. I just wanted to bring you the last of Nell’s mail.”

  “Yes, thank you. It was nice to meet you, too. And thank you, for all that you did for my aunt.”

  Tears moistened the neighbor’s eyes again. “It was the least I could do for her, after all she went through, the poor dear.”

  “Such as…?”

  “Being a widow and all, you know? That sort of thing.” Hilda Brooks made the lame excuse even as she backed her way out of the yard. It seemed she could not leave fast enough.

  Totally perplexed, Charity watched the woman scuttle down the walkway and disappear behind the cover of the vine-smothered fence.

  ***

  As soon as the strange neighbor was gone, Charity grabbed her phone and typed ‘Kingdom Parcel’ into its search engine. Buried several hits down was a woeful tale about a young start-up company in the early 80s that went under, hardly before it even began. Amid rumors of a failed business venture, one of the founders of the company, Harold Tillman, was found dead. There was mention of foul play, but the case was ultimately ruled a suicide. The company was dissolved and never heard from again.

  Poor Aunt Nell! Her husband committed suicide. Charity’s heart ached for the lonely old woman and the pain she had endured. No wonder she became a recluse.

  Charity looked around the yard again, trying to see it through her aunt’s eyes. This had been her sanctuary. She obviously put a lot of love and attention into the space; too bad, she had no one to share it with.

  Sorting through the mail in the basket, only a handful of letters looked important enough to open: utility bills, something from the tax appraisal district, and two letters. One came in a flowery envelope, the other addressed in a bold masculine hand with no return address.

  She tugged at the flap of the small flowery envelope and pulled the handwritten note free. Someone named Betty was thanking her aunt for the recipes she submitted for the Ladies’ Auxiliary fundraiser cookbook. She ended the note by inviting Nell to join them for their monthly meetings; practically begged her, in fact.

  As Charity ripped open the second letter, she half-hoped it was of a personal nature. She would like to think her aunt had some sort of romance in her life over the past thirty years. A quick glance down at the stark, typed words dispelled that notion.

  Don’t think we have forgotten.

  With her brow furrowed in a frown, Charity turned the single sheet of paper over in her hands, searching for something more. That was all there was. One simple sentence. It sounded almost… threatening.

  A sudden sense of unease slithered down her spine. She collected the remnants of her lunch, gathered up the mail, and went back into the house.

  One step across the threshold and she remembered the bullet hole. Inside was clearly no better.

  Charity forced herself to stay another two hours, scrubbing and cleaning and sorting. When she came to the first obstacle, she jumped at the excuse to quit early. What could she really do without boxes, trash bags and storage tubs, anyway? Best to find a dollar store, buy what she needed, and come back tomorrow morning.

  That would give her the entire evening to gather enough courage to return.

  CHAPTER THREE

  September 1983

  “Nellie! Nellie, where are you?”

  Nell Tillman wiped her hands on her apron, trying to get the stickiness of honey from between her fingers. She was making Harry’s favorite pie for dessert. In case things hadn’t gone quite the way he planned, at least they could have a sweet ending to their day.

  “In the kitchen!” she called out, even though it was hardly necessary. He could easily see straight through the dining room and into the kitchen, the moment he stepped through the living room’s front door. He kept promising they would move to a bigger house. Once they
had more room, he promised, they would start a family. Never mind that the years were quickly slipping away and she would soon be too old for childbirth. All he needed was that one big break.

  There had been plenty of days like today. Harry would head out to some big meeting with another of his grand ideas, hoping to come back with good news. Hoping to find a financial backer for another of his ventures.

  More often than not, he came home looking like a deflated balloon. Nellie lost count of the ideas that never quite panned out over the years. She learned long ago not to ask questions, just be waiting at home with his favorite foods; she could serve them in celebration or consolation, depending on the look upon his face.

  “We did it, Nellie!” Harold Tillman announced in a booming voice. He came up from behind, sliding his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground as he swished her feet in the air. He nuzzled his face into the bun at the back on her neck. “We started our own company!”

  “Put me down, you silly man!” She tried to sound stern, but her laughter killed the effect.

  “Not a chance, Nellie girl! Not a chance!” He swung her again. Her apron flared out like a tent and her feet caught the edge of the trashcan as he twirled her in a circle. The can toppled and its contents spilled out onto the floor, but he paid it no mind. “Soon we’ll have servants to clean up messes like that,” he predicted. “And a cook to prepare our meals.”

  “Turn me loose, you old dreamer,” she said, swatting at the hands clasped over her stomach. “And who else but me knows just how you like your meals?”

  Nell bent down to gather the garbage, but her eyes kept darting upward. She rarely saw her husband like this. Had she ever, in fact? He looked years younger, his long narrow face split with a wide smile.

  “You’re a fine cook, I’ll give you that. But as the wife of company president, you have no call slaving in the kitchen. We’ll have a staff for that.”

  “President? They truly made you president?” Nell’s pale blue eyes glowed with pride as she gazed up at him.

  “Darn tootin’. This whole business was my idea, after all.” Harold’s chest swelled, threatening to pop the buttons right off his shirt. He hooked his thumbs through his yellow suspenders. “I even got to choose the name.”

  “You don’t say!”

  “Yep. They were so impressed with my presentation, they said it was only fitting that I get to name it. ‘This is your baby, after all’, Mansel Debarge told me. ‘You do the honors’.”

  “Oh, Harry, I’m so proud of you!” Nell wiped her hands on her apron, making certain they were clean before she took him by the arm and led him into the dining room. “You sit down right here and tell me all about it. Don’t leave out a single word. I’ll have your dinner on the table in no time. Now go on, tell me what you’re going to call the company!”

  “Well, I’ve been studying on that all the way home. We talked about a few different things. Someone suggested Tillman Delivery, but I don’t feel right taking all the credit.”

  In truth, Harold was the one to suggest the name. Debarge never said a word, but a deep frown curled his heavy lips down, giving him the appearance of a bulldog. Harold quickly discounted his own idea, pretending modesty. The two other men made their own suggestions, leaning favorably toward Kingdom Parcel. They stopped short of writing the name on the paperwork. Pascal Galano made a big show of insisting that Harold take the evening to decide on the final name, but for the rest of the meeting, the venture was referred to as Kingdom.

  “So whatever will you call it?” Nell asked over her shoulder. She bent to take the roast from the oven. It was a small, stringy cut of beef, but she kept it simmering all afternoon in broth to make it tender. With a few root vegetables thrown in and a pan of cornbread, there would be plenty for Harold, and enough for her. And if he asked for a third helping, she could always fill up on pie.

  “I kind of like the sound of Kingdom Parcel.” He said the name with reverence as he slid a bony hand across the air, painting the empty space with the words. “Sounds official, don’t you think? And since we’ll be catering to the Northeast Kingdom, might as well have it as part of the name.”

  “Oh, how clever! I think it’s just perfect.”

  Nell hurried to get his plate and utensils, setting them before him as she praised his creative thinking. The name was just so clever, and quite catchy, as well. She brought him a tall glass of milk, then tucked his cloth napkin into his shirt collar, exactly the way he liked it. Only after she brought the meal to the table and filled his plate with generous portions did she go back to the kitchen for her own place setting.

  “So tell me about your business partners,” she urged. “Would you like more butter? How about some sweet pickles? I think I have a jar open in the fridge.”

  “Sit still, woman, so I can tell you about my day. You’re making me dizzy, hopping back and forth like a rabbit. Although some maple syrup would be right nice on this cornbread.” He stuffed a large chunk of roasted potato into his mouth, even though he had not yet swallowed his meat.

  “Talk loud enough that I can hear,” Nell cautioned as she hurried into the kitchen to fetch the syrup. “What is it that Mr. Debarge and Mr. Galano do?”

  She missed the scowl that marred her husband’s long face. As he fished around on his plate to spear an onion, he sounded more confident than he looked. “Debarge is in investments. He’s the moneyman behind our venture. I think Galano is some sort of salesman. He kept talking about clients and shipments, like we already have the accounts. I suppose he’s bringing his best customers with him.”

  “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! And a good start for your business, don’t you think?” She unscrewed the lid on the syrup, handed the jar to him, and slid back into her chair. She dished out seconds for Harold, before she had even taken a bite of her own meal.

  “Without a doubt,” he agreed, holding his plate out. “Is that all the roast that is left? You did a mighty fine job on it. Don’t rightly know if I want someone else cooking my meals, or not!”

  Nell glowed beneath his praise. He was in a fine mood tonight, a fine mood.

  “Here, have some of mine, too. I didn’t realize my piece was so big. I could never eat all that!” She sawed off a tiny sliver to save for herself, then raked the larger portion onto his plate. “I may be too excited to eat a single bite!”

  “In that case, dish me up the last of the potatoes. A few more carrots, too, if you don’t mind.”

  “Might as well finish off the onions, as well. That way I don’t have to worry with leftovers.” She smiled as she dished out the last of the vegetables. “When will you be up and running?”

  “We’re going over to St. Johnsbury tomorrow, to look for a delivery truck.”

  “That soon?”

  “These fellas don’t believe in wasting time. They say the sooner we get started, the sooner we can start making our fortunes.”

  “So explain to me how it will all work.”

  “Well, basically we’ll take the deliveries the other companies don’t want. Those brown trucks can’t make much money, wandering round all day through these woods and mountains for just one or two boxes. Their money is in town, where they can go door-to-door and be done with it.”

  Nell worried over his words while he chomped noisily on his meal. She finally ventured to ask, “Won’t it be the same for Kingdom Parcel?”

  “You forget. I know all the back roads.” He winked at her in confidence. “Plus, I know half the folks from Brownington to Barre. If nothing else, I can track them down in town or leave the package with their mamas.”

  She pursed her lips. “I suppose.”

  “You’ll see. Once our name gets out there, we’ll give the brown trucks and the US Postal Service a real run for their money! Don’t believe all that nonsense about sleet and snow not stopping the post office. You know what winters can be like up here; mud season is even worse. But who’s the best driver you know? Who can drive in blame near
blizzard conditions? And who knows these highlands like the back of his hand?”

  “You, Harry.”

  “Darn tootin’. That’s why I’ll be the main driver. Course, once we branch out and get more trucks, I’ll share the load with drivers I train myself. But till then, the deliveries will be up to me.”

  “President and driver? Why, you’ll be practically running the entire operation!”

  Harold gave a nonchalant shrug, but his voice rang with pleasure. “Well, it was my idea. I’m the brains behind the business, you might say.”

  “What about the others? Will they have a hand in the day-to-day operations?”

  Harold shoveled the last of the roast into his mouth and nodded. “Debarge will take care of the bookkeeping. Galano will be in charge of sales. His niece is going to be secretary and dispatcher. We even went to look at a warehouse today. Remember that old fertilizer plant over in Irasburg? It will be just right for us. Plenty big for the offices and shipping yard.”

  “I am so proud of you, Harold! I just know this is the start of something big!”

  “I think you’re right, Nellie.” His eyes glowed with rare enthusiasm. “I think Kingdom Parcel is going to change our entire lives.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After stocking up on cheap storage bins and packing supplies, Charity treated herself to an early dinner. Her final stop was by Dan’s Market, a treasure trove of assorted merchandise. Part hardware store, part grocery, the crowded aisles brimmed with wares. Camping supplies and camo clothing dominated one entire section, half-stacked, half-arranged around a full-body moose mount. Catty-corner from the moose was an artful selection of hand-poured candles, frilly aprons, and a case of beaded jewelry. An array of batteries and bins of nuts and bolts shared space with sugaring supplies. Canned goods and bags of chips lined some of the aisles, paperback novels and magazines lined another. Along with souvenirs and greeting cards, the store also stocked brooms, pots and pans, disposable diapers, and a selection of locally crafted nick-knacks. A fresh meat counter, made-to-order deli sandwiches, and maple creemees rounded out the random little-of-this/lot-of-that offerings.