Free The Murder Pit by Jeff Shelby

don’t have to get them,” I said. “We can wait.”
    He tossed the letter on the table. “No, we can’t. It’s too cold up there. We need them replaced.” He sighed. “I just need to rob a bank or something.”
    “No more crimes!” Will yelled from the floor of the living room.
    “Yeah, Will says we are going to be going to visit someone in jail soon,” Sophie says Her glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. “Are we going to get to go to jail?”
    Will’s face colored.
    “I want to wear handcuffs!” Grace yelled, sitting on top of Will’s chest.
    “No one’s going to jail,” Jake said, shaking his head again. “And I was kidding about robbing a bank. Sort of. But this house has turned into a complete money pit.”
    “Stop being so cranky,” I said, hugging him from behind. “And we can wait on the windows.”
    “No, we need it done,” he said over his shoulder to me. “But this house is a money pit. The more we put in, the more it needs.”
    “Should we move?” I asked.
    He turned around, a half-smile on his face. “What would you do if I said yes?”
    “Use my feminine wiles again.”
    “So, see, there’s no point.”
    I squeezed him.
    “This house isn’t a money pit,” Will announced, tossing Grace onto Sophie and scrambling to his feet. His hair hung in front of his eyes and I reminded myself again how badly he needed a hair cut.
    “What is it then? Jake asked.
    He grinned. “With the dead guy in the coal chute? It’s a murder pit.”

THIRTEEN
     
     
    “How many books can we get, Momma?” Grace asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.
    “Five,” I said. “Five each.”
    It was the next morning and it was library day. Not some recognized national day, but our family’s library day. We tried to go at least once a week and every one of the kids looked forward to the trip. When Emily started school, it was one of the things she actually voiced that she missed about being homeschooled. I’d felt nothing but satisfaction at her admission. Reading was a source of pride with me, always had been. I’d forced books on my kids from the day they were born and, as it turned out, it had been completely unnecessary because all of them liked to read. Or maybe they liked to read because I’d read aloud nearly every children’s book in print. Sophie was a voracious reader, too, and she’d happily announced that being able to go to the library during the day was just about her most favorite thing ever about homeschooling.
    We hustled into the single-story, brick building, our empty cloth bags billowing like kites, the cold air rushing into them and lifting them skyward. The heat enveloped us as soon as we stepped inside and the kids peeled off their jackets, hanging them on the hooks mounted in the makeshift coat closet. I carried the full bag of books to the return window and Sophie and Grace scampered off to the children’s section. Will rounded a different corner, headed toward the non-fiction titles and, after the books were safely on the return belt, I wandered over to the adult side of the library to find something for myself.
    There were other patrons there that morning but most were sitting at the bank of desks, parked in front of computer monitors. I headed toward the display of new fiction titles and perused them, picking up one or two to scan the back covers and read the blurbs. A woman joined me, her back to me as she scanned the shelves nearby. I picked up another book and she turned to look at me, a quick glance before turning back around to face the shelves.
    I pretended not to notice her, but I knew she kept looking at me every few seconds. The couple of times I tried to meet her gaze, she looked away, her gaze locking in on the books on the shelf. I walked around the new release display and down the next aisle. She followed. I stopped and pretended to be very interested in a water gardening book I found on the shelf. Right before I could ask her what she was