Standoff At Christmas. Margaret Daley

later.” Jake stepped up to the counter to buy his coffee.

      “I’ll let you know what Brad says about a bigger place for the memorial service.” Sean made his way toward the exit.

      After Jake ordered his drink, he grabbed a basket and found the aisle for cleaning supplies, staying away from the café section where Brad and Celeste sat.

      Jake finished his coffee and paid for the items he bought. When he stepped outside, the chill made him think about what had happened to Betty. Anger swelled in his gut. Why did bad things happen to good people? He’d asked the Lord that many times. Maybe life as a police officer in Anchorage wasn’t really for him? And yet, he’d only been home one day and a murder occurred in this usually peaceful town.

      He walked around the corner of the large store. When he reached his grandfather’s SUV, the rear driver’s side tire was flat. He stuck the sack of supplies in the back and got out what he needed to replace it with a spare. As he knelt to fix the jack under the car, he glanced at the front tire—flat like the back one. Jake examined it and found a large slit in it.

      This wasn’t an accident. Someone did this on purpose.

      * * *

      Carrying a sack of supplies, Rachel stepped into Betty’s house, drew in a fortifying breath and said, “Remember this place was trashed.”

      “I’ve seen trashed before. Your dad was the messiest guy.” Hands full with a mop, broom and garbage bags, Aunt Linda entered a few paces behind Rachel. She glanced at the living room and blew out a rush of air. “Okay. This tops anything your dad did.”

      “Probably more than one person did this. Going through everything takes time. Jake was stopping by the police station to talk to Chief Quay.”

      Aunt Linda shook her head as her gaze skimmed over the piles of items on the floor. “I hope Betty didn’t see this. Everything in her house had a place, and she kept it that way. Very organized. It will take days to go through, but I’m determined to see if anything is missing. I have a good idea what she has of value that a burglar might want.”

      “I can’t see this as a robbery gone bad. Everyone knows her in town. They know she has limited funds and just makes it every month.”

      “Where do we start?” Aunt Linda leaned the mop and broom against the wall.

      “In here. If we can get this room and her bedroom done today, I’ll consider it good, then after church tomorrow, we can come work on the kitchen. It’s the worst.”

      “Sounds like a plan.”

      “But first, we should check to see if her valuables are still in the hidey-hole in the kitchen.”

      “Yes, I’m sure the police chief would like to know if anything was taken as soon as possible. It might help him find who did this.” Aunt Linda crossed the living room to the kitchen entrance and halted. “This looks like a tornado went through here. Why were they emptying food boxes? What in the world were they looking for?”

      “Some people have hidden cash in cereal, flour, whatever.”

      Aunt Linda harrumphed. “That gives me the willies. What about the germs?”

      “Usually they have them in something plastic.” Over her aunt’s shoulder, Rachel gestured to the open freezer, a puddle of water on the floor nearby. “People have been known to hide money and stuff like that in the freezer.”

      “Obviously, it didn’t work. They checked it. But really, the intruders couldn’t have known Betty very well, or they wouldn’t have wasted their time.”

      Rachel thought back to the panicked look on Aunt Betty’s face the day before. She could still hear the scared desperation in Aunt Betty’s voice in the break room. Why didn’t she talk to the local police?

      Aunt Linda stepped over the worst of the mess on the floor and covered the distance to the counter area she’d described last night. With her foot, she brushed some empty boxes and cans away, then knelt. She reached into the cubbyhole at the junction of the cabinets. “Got something.”

      Rachel stooped down behind her aunt. “Do we have anything like this at our house?”

      “Nope.” Aunt Linda slid out a plastic bag with a few pieces of jewelry and another with several keys and gave them to Rachel, then she stuck her hand back inside. “There’s something else. Feels like one of her photos—actually several.”

      When her aunt drew them out and examined them, Rachel looked over Aunt Linda’s shoulder. “That’s the shipping room at the fishery. Why would she take a picture of that? She didn’t work in that department.”

      “I don’t know. Maybe there are more in her darkroom.” Linda glanced back at Rachel. “The camera she used was old—one she had for years. She still used film. That was probably her one luxury. Buying film and what she needed to process her own photos.”

      “Three pictures are all that’s in the cubbyhole?”

      “Let me check to make sure. It goes back to the wall.” Her aunt rechecked and came up empty-handed. “Before we start cleaning, let’s see what’s left of her darkroom. Most of her photos are of nature. She is... I mean, she was good. Photography made her happy.”

      Rachel clasped her shoulder, hearing the pain in her aunt’s voice. She leaned over and hugged her. “She’s with God now.”

      Aunt Linda cleared her throat. “I know. But...” She gave her head one hard shake, then pulled herself to her feet. “This isn’t getting her house cleaned. Betty would have hated her house this way.”

      As they made their way to the second bedroom closet, Rachel slipped the items from the hidey-hole into her pocket.

      “I remember it took Betty a year to save up for her camera. She was so excited when she finally got it. I bought her enough film that I think it lasted six months, even though she went out every weekend and took pictures of things that interested her.”

      Rachel dragged the door open, so that Aunt Linda and she could peer into the darkroom side by side in the entrance.

      “I don’t see her camera,” her aunt mumbled, then crouched down and began moving the clutter to see what was under it. “She keeps it in here on the hook by the door. It’s not there, and whatever she was processing was destroyed. Could that be the reason someone came to her house?”

      The scent of the chemicals still lingered in the air, but something else invaded and began to overpower that odor. Rachel swiveled around and went to the entrance into the bedroom. As she took in a deep breath away from the closet, a whiff of smoke grew stronger.

      Rachel hurried into the living room, her gaze riveting to flames licking up the drapes on the front and side of the house.