Family Skeletons: A Spunky Missouri Genealogist Traces A Family's Roots...And Digs Up A Deadly Secret Read Online Free PDF Page A

that the front door was open. It wasn’t gaping open, but it was open. That disturbed me.
    I could just see Norah being abducted and carried away. She couldn’t possibly put up much of a fight, since she was very small. I stopped in the middle of the street and parked the car. I left my keys in the ignition as the annoying, ding, ding, ding, reminded me. I didn’t care.
    â€œNorah?” I yelled as I got out of the car. The warm air felt cool against my back where the sweat had pooled. I wore jeans and a pink cotton shirt. I should have worn shorts.
    I could see more of the inside of Norah’s house the closer I got. I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open. My voice full of anxiety, I yelled, “Norah?”
    There was no answer. The TV was on. Maybe she was just out in the yard and had forgotten to shut the door. And forgotten to put the phone back on the hook. And forgotten to call in sick to work …
    â€œNorah? Are you all right?” I was seriously concerned about her at this point. She could be in a coma or she could have fallen down the basement steps. All sorts of things could have happened to her. Then again, she could just be in the shower, having decided to tell the rest of the world to go to hell today. Boy was I going to feel silly when she jumped out of the bathroom in a towel.
    Turning down the hallway to the left, I was immediately struck by the pungent, sickly sweet odor. I’d never smelled anything quite like it and probably never will again. Every nerve in my body stood up and saluted.
    My hands trembled and my stomach clenched. Funny how every muscle can become like jelly. It wasn’t anything physical. It was fear. Fear made my body react in a physical way. I wiped my hands on my blue jeans, noticing how rough the material felt. Were these my old jeans? No, must have been my new ones.
    Dear God.
    Long before my eyes ever landed on Norah, I knew what had happened. There was blood on the walls and ceiling. It left an almost artistic splattering, as if in some perverted imitation of a Picasso. There was more blood on the bed, and a huge puddle flowed away from her neck on the floor. An ocean of red spilled farther from her, carrying her life with it.
    I couldn’t move. Her hand still clutched the telephone receiver. I imagined the horror of her attack. The fear she must have felt. The indescribable pain. And yet, all the while, she had clutched the telephone receiver. Had she used it as a weapon? Or had she been just too frozen in fear to think to drop it?
    She was partially on the bed, with her head thrown back toward me, hanging over the edge. The sheets were a red, mushy mess, and a slight squeal escaped my throat. Her eyes bored into me. Lifeless doll’s eyes now. Had she watched her murderer leave? Or was she already dead when he left?
    Finally, the only movement I could make was the slumping of my body to the floor. I landed on my knees not an inch from the puddle of blood, and expelled what seemed like everything I had eaten in a year. My gut wrenched time and time again.
    Oh, Mother of God.
    *   *   *
    I finally made it to my feet and ran from the room, using the hallway walls to keep me standing. Bursting through the front door of Norah’s house, I landed in her yard on my knees. All I knew was that I had to get to a telephone. It was that determination that got me up off of my knees and running to the house next door.
    I rang the doorbell, then pounded on the door. The curtains moved, but nobody answered the door. I pounded some more, never feeling it. I was numb. I was hysterical.
    â€œPlease, God. Open the door. Open the damn door!”
    I heard the chain unlatch, and the door opened slightly.
    â€œNine-one-one. Call nine-one-one!” I yelled.
    The phrase “little old lady” was a perfect description of the woman who stood behind the door. Snow white hair was perfectly curled around her face, and sky blue