The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

rectangular home was the prefabricated standard for rural Alaskans. Summer meant construction for most of Alaska. Her house had some added features, including gabled window sets and a covered porch on the outside. Hilma’s house sat apart from most of the other residences on the north end of town.

Her figure had a porch light shining down on her shoulders. A shroud of cigarette smoke over her with the orange ember glowing in her glove, Barbara looked up when the group approached.

The woman had her time alone to grieve. Meghan knew the process was different for everyone. The face illuminated in the porch light said Barbara lost her mother that day.

“What happened?” she asked her voice a little louder than the tinkling snow, raw from crying.

“Near as I figure,” Freddie said. “There was a fire that didn’t take because there wasn’t enough oxygen inside the house. Hilma’s house is well insulated. It’s got no airflow.”

“I don’t understand.”

Meghan put a glove on Barbara’s shoulder. It served a dual purpose, consoling, and to guide her away from the porch steps so they could get into the house.

Their previous interaction wasn’t pleasant. Barbara once had to deal with life decisions that involved former dead lovers. Meghan let go of the past when the woman wasn’t a suspect. But Meghan was a mother and understood the bond between mother and daughter was transcendent.

Like most of the other houses in Noorvik, it was elevated, erected on stilts that allowed structures clearance by a few feet. It protected dwellings against flooding. Hilma’s house had white lattice encasing the base. It made it easier for plumbing, heating, and wiring under the house as well. The average winter snowfall for the area was around three feet. By February, most structures had accumulation that reached base levels.

“How about you stay out here with Freddie, Barbara,” Meghan said. “We’ll go inside.”

The woman stepped away from the wooden steps leading into the house. The moment Meghan opened the door, she held her breath. Unflinching, she moved forward. It was stiflingly hot inside the house. Alaskans liked houses warmer than most. Smaller villages still had sod sweat lodges. The air had a flavor of something burnt. Since the front door opened on the short end of the rectangle, it started in the kitchen. Meghan saw the stovetop and oven were off. The chemical scorched odor came from deeper inside the house.

Hilma kept a tidy house. It had a practical layout with the immaculate kitchen opened to the dining area. Against the left side of the house was the immediate hallway that led to the bedrooms and the bathroom. Centered was the dining room with the support wall that had an archway that led to the living room.

Hilma’s living room had renovations, putting it at ground level with a concrete slab with wall to wall carpeting, and steps leading into the ample open space. She had an electric space heater that looked like a fireplace. The furnishings were rustic with consideration for the wall trimming that included a mosaic faux wood paneling.

Hilma spent a lot of time in the living room. She had a favorite recliner with a table on one side, a lamp that craned over the top for good lighting. The other side of the chair had a wicker basket with knitting supplies. The large flat-screen television occupied the left side of the room with a recliner and sofa against the right wall. The back wall had a large bay window with a blackout curtain over it.

Meghan took a deep breath, forgetting her first repulsion. She took out a flashlight from the parka. Even with the bright overhead lighting fixture that included the slow-speed fan, Meghan wanted more light. She left on her gloves as she squatted beside the figure on the floor.

Hilma lay wrapped tight inside a blanket in the center of the living room. The rug beneath the body had singed along with some of the fabric over the frame.

Meghan didn’t need to see any more to know what they had: a murder.

“How many people live here?” she asked.

Eric squatted near the corpse. He had surgical gloves to unwrap the fabric from Hilma’s face and skull.

Lester stood near the steps. He shrugged. “I think it’s just Hilma.”

“Look around,” Meghan said. “What’s missing?”

Lester took a moment to survey the area. “No holiday decorations.”

Meghan nodded. “So, we have a Scrooge, and everyone knows her. But Barbara sat outside alone. No one from town out there with her to console her?” she asked.

Meghan gestured to the ceiling directly over the body. The lighting fixture and the warped fan, along with the circumference, had blackened and blistered the drywall. It was level with the rest of the house, which made the ceiling closer to fifteen feet from the ground floor.

“This is the point of origin for the fire,” Meghan said, motioning to the body. “Was Hilma a smoker?”

“I don’t see any ashtrays. If she smoked, she didn’t do it in the house,” Eric said. He looked up at Meghan momentarily.

Meghan unzipped the parka and removed the gloves. She pulled off the ski cap and pushed the static infused coppery leaves of her hair away from her face. Lester wandered away from the living room to check the rest of the house.

The blanket and carpet sustained most of the fire damage. No part of Hilma’s flesh showed from under the fabric until Eric unwrapped the shroud. Her left hand had more heat damage than her right hand.

Hilma looked peacefully in forever slumber. Eric pulled back the blanket more, exposing the woman’s neck. She wore a pink sweatshirt. Hilma had long silver hair that had a thick braid tucked inside the sweatshirt collar. She wore sweatpants and thermal socks with one slipper.

“Where’s the other slipper?” Meghan asked. She and Eric glanced around the immediate area for the