Victorian Murder

I walked over to the fire where Jerry, my wonderful but shivering husband of 25 years was sitting. Both of us in our 50s now, I felt he had only gotten better with age, and our love had only grown.

         "Here's some tea, Honey. A little dash of milk and a spoonful of sugar just how you like it." 

         The fire licked warmly and gently in the fireplace of our classic 3 story Victorian house. I had convinced Jerry on this home back when we were looking for a place in our early 30s. He hemmed and hawed about heating costs and the maintenance to be done, but in the end, he fell in love with its character as well. I relished in every minute of restoration we had done on it. Now, it was a beautiful example of Victorian architecture, and my pride and joy.

         Creeeeak. The wind howled outside and the house made a loud noise. Jerry muttered a curse under his breath. Even though the bulk of the house had been remodeled and finished, a house like this needed constant attention and care. He didn't enjoy this ongoing maintenance as much as I did. I can't fully blame him. Re-painting the exterior the cherry shade of red I had carefully chosen last year had taken a lot out of both of us. The rain hammered on the stain glassed window to his right.

         Jerry took a sip of his tea and thanked me with a smile. "It's a cold one out there Jean." The fog had rolled in last night and stayed all throughout the day. The damp had permeated into his clothes. I wrapped him in a blanket and removed his wet cap, giving him a kiss on the forehead. 

         "You couldn't find her?" I asked. It was the question I had wanted to ask since he got home, but I wanted to wait until he was comfortable so as not to overwhelm him.

         "No, not yet."  

         Evalyn Wright had disappeared 2 days ago. She and her husband Mark lived just a street away from us in a similarly classic Victorian house, but there's was a shade of light blue, the paint peeling and cracking from neglect. A neighbor had gone to Evalyn and Mark's house to bring a container of cookies. She was a new neighbour with a desire to be friendly and get to know the people on her street. What ended up greeting her however was an open door and Mark Wright lying face down on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. The neighbour had shrieked, and ran back to her home to call the police. Poor thing. My husband, the highest ranking inspector in our village had been called to the scene and was heading Evalyn and Mark's case and search parties since. 

         "There are only two options here as I see it," he said. "Either Evalyn did it and is now on the run, or she was similarly killed and taken somewhere else." There had been signs of a struggle all throughout the house, a broken window, and some of Evalyn's blood in the back doorway. "Hard to imagine this sort of thing happening here." While Jerry was an inspector, his job entailed little in the way of actual crime. There was always a petty crime here and there, usually a teenager trying to prove something to their parents. But, no, Jerry's job was generally a peaceful endeavor, and this case had been weighing on him.

         "You went to school with her, Jean. What was your impression of Evalyn back then?" Jerry asked.

         I paused for a moment. The fire popped and I pulled off my slippers, setting my feet on the velvet footstool in front of me. "She was always very quiet. It felt like sort of an honour to get to know her. From the outside she was quiet and mousey but smart. When you got to know her, she was really full of life, just afraid to show it."

         "So you knew her well?"

         "For a while. But we fell out of touch as we both got older. After she married Mark especially, I hadn't really seen her at all." That was the truth, though... well, a pang of guilt hit my stomach. 

         Jerry didn't notice my slight change of mood. "Yes, Mark," he paused wiping his brow and thinking for a moment pensively. "I’m not saying anyone deserves to go like that, you know, awful way to go really. But we all know the stories about Mark...gambling, always into trouble." It was difficult for him to get the words out and I didn't press. I knew what he meant. Hard to imagine something violent like this happening in our village but from Jerry's impression of Mark, maybe it wasn't such a stretch to imagine all hadn't been right at home with those two. "I'm leaning towards the theory that Evalyn might have been involved, though its hard," he said. I reached out and squeezed Jerry's hand. 

         "Anyways, we should find her soon," Jerry said and at this my skin prickled. "There was a phone call made from the house soon after we predict the murder happened. We're waiting on the records from the phone company right now," he sighed and the fire crackled and popped again, setting my nerves on edge.

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         I waited until Jerry’s breathing fell into rhythmic highs and lows before rolling over to check if he was asleep. Yes, he was. He never had trouble sleeping. No matter what was going on, 10 minutes in front of the fire, a cup of tea and he was out. I loved that about him. 

         Slipping out from under the heavy quilt, my feet made contact with the cold plank floor. I searched around for my slippers and slipped them on. I sneaked out of the bedroom. Once out, I turned on my phone flashlight and started up the stairs to the third floor. There wasn’t much up here, just an old couch and some boxes for storage. It wasn’t well insulated so we really didn’t use it much and kept the door locked.

         Taking the hefty key out from my robe where I had stashed it before bed, I unlocked the door and slowly opened it, begging it not to creak loudly. 

         “Evalyn?”

         “Oh, Jean, it’s you. Thank the Lord. Your stairs are so loud I was scared half to death up here.” She emerged from the shadows in the old clothes I had given her. Jeans and sweatshirt straight from the 80s. Seeing her like that felt like a blast to the past, a bygone time of being kids together and dreaming of our future. 

         I started tearing up. “Jerry is asleep. I just ... I just ... Well, Evalyn I came up here to tell you to leave. I’m really sorry. There’s just no two ways about it. They found out about the phone call. Its only a matter of time before they trace it back to my work and I can’t have them find you here. I already feel awful lying to Jerry. I’m really sorry.” I spit the words out in a rush, feeling guilty all the while. 

         Evalyn pulled me in for a hug, “I knew it couldn’t last forever Jean. It’s ok, really. Thank you so much.” Then she slumped onto the old couch. “I’ve been thinking. I’ll buy a train ticket and go as far as it will take me. I've always wanted to go to the West Coast. Well, really, we always wanted to go, hey?" I nodded and smiled, for the last time, at Evalyn Wright.