Death in the Family, Carolyn Smith [free ebook reader for iphone TXT] 📗

the living room in to the hall way and catch me. The hammer felt strange and heavy in my hand. I was starting to doubt myself. “I can’t go through with this. She is my Nana,” I thought, my grip tightening on the cold wooden handle of the hammer. “Yes, but Mum and Dad need the money. Nana must know that and yet she has done nothing to help them. More to the point, you need the money. Focus on the money.” With that last thought I knew I was going to go through with it. I slid down to the third step from the top and carefully used the back edge of the hammer to pries the carpet from the wooden step. It was glued down as well as tacked. It was much harder than I anticipated but I couldn’t stop now. I was worried about the amount of noise I was making, but the clock was ticking and I needed to finish up here. My hands were sweating making it difficult to keep a good firm grasp on the hammer. I pulled, and pulled and pulled. Finally with a loud tearing sound the carpet came free from the step and as I had hoped it was flailing around loosely. I paused and waited, sure that someone would have heard the carpet being ripped from the wood and come to see what was causing it. No one came. I tested it a few times and sure enough when stepped on, the carpet slid forward. Nana would soon lose her balance and slip when walking on this step. Job done! Now what was I going to do with the hammer? My original plan had been to hide back under my shirt, but now I knew that wouldn’t work and I couldn’t leave it in the wicker basket because she would find it and know something funny was going on. As it happens I didn’t have time to worry about it. Dad came bursting out of the living room and ran up the stairs passed me. I quickly pushed the hammer behind my back in the hope that he hadn’t noticed it.
“I’m just visiting the bathroom quickly and then we need to leave. Make sure you’re ready,” he said as he practically raced in to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I took my chance, ran into Nana’s room and pushed the hammer under her bed and then ran back down the stairs careful to skip the third step from the top.

I sat on the couch next to Karl, my heart still beating wildly, trying to look normal and casual, but knowing that I must look slightly deranged if my face is telling tale of my inner emotions. I was terrified of what was about to happen and yet eagerly awaiting it at the same time. I don’t remember ever having such conflicting emotions before that point in my life. However confused I was feeling, it didn’t last long. Dad came out of the bathroom and began his decent down the stairs. I couldn’t warn him because then he would know what I had done. I had to let things play out. This is what happened.

I waited with baited breath as Dad began to run down the stairs. Thump, step one. Thump, step two and then with the third thump an unusual sound came out of Dad’s mouth. It was a cry of befuddled fear mixed with profane indignation and realization of what was happening. The subsequent thumps were much faster, each one accompanied by a shriek from Dad. Time seemed to have slowed down again and I was listening to Dad’s literal downfall in slow motion. Karl and Nana both jumped from their seats and ran to Dad’s aid. I didn’t move.

I couldn’t move.

I sat alone in the living room listening to the commotion in the hall way.

I hadn’t meant to hurt Dad. This was not supposed to happen. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. What had I done? Had I killed Dad? What would Mum say? She would hate me forever. How was I going to get out of this?
Then Dad, supported by Karl and Nana on either side, came hobbling in to the living room. He sat in Nana’s chair in the corner, a look of shock and pain on his face. Nana went in to the kitchen to get some ice. A wave of relief swept over me and my heart finally began to slow returning to normal. Dad was alive. Thank God for that. He had only hurt his knee. Nana returned with the ice and placed it over his bad knee.
“What happened Dave?” she asked concern filling her voice.
“I was just coming down the stairs and I slipped on that loose piece of carpet. It’s alright Mum stop fussing,” he said as he batted her hands away from his knee.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had loose carpet on the stairs Mum? It’s a death trap. I’ll fix it for you now before I go.” He said a little anger in his tone. Mum and Dad were often saying that Nana was too proud to ask for help. He probably thought that she had known about the carpet for a while and had been too stubborn to ask him to fix it.
“What loose carpet? It’s news to me.” Nana retorted. Uh oh! This is where it could all unravel I thought, that familiar feeling of panic beginning to rise again.
“Whatever. I’ll fix it now.” Dad sighed as he thrust the ice pack back at Nana and got up from the chair wincing slightly. He walked out of the room and went out to Granddad’s shed. Oh No! He was going to be looking for Granddad’s hammer and won’t find it out there because it is under Nana’s bed. I gulped and turned to look at Karl whose attention had already returned to the television. I wouldn’t have time to run up and get the hammer, bring it down and hide it somewhere decent before Dad came back from the shed. I’d just have to ride this one out and fain ignorance if asked any difficult questions. So I sat back and stared at the television, my mind racing all the time with the possible outcomes of this scenario.

As it happens I needn’t have worried. Dad came back in from the shed with Granddad’s toolbox, which was interesting because I have searched that shed from top to bottom and I’ve never seen that toolbox. In it were another hammer and other assorted tools. Dad quickly got to work on the carpet, fixing it down against the wooden step very securely. Foiled! There was no way Nana was going to slip on that carpet. If she fell down the stairs now it would be a fantastic coincidence, but nothing to do with me. I felt quite deflated. I was now back to where I started and nowhere near inheriting that money.

The car ride home was uneventful. Nobody spoke. Dad was in a foul mood because of his sore knee and the fact that he had missed the first half of the football. Karl was feeling glum, I presume, because he was missing some T.V. show or other and I…well I had already started plotting plan B.

*** *** *** *** ***

When we got home Dad and Karl went immediately in to the living room and turned on the T.V. so as not to miss another second of the football and I ran up to my room. I was going to need some quiet time in order that I could think things through clearly in my mind. But when I reached my bedroom door I noticed that it was slightly ajar. “That’s weird,” I thought. I never leave my bedroom door open. I believe in privacy and I hate it when Karl goes in there and nicks my stuff. I cautiously pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but it certainly wasn’t the scene that greeted me as I stepped across the threshold. Everything was exactly as it should be nothing out of place. My shirts were still left in a crumpled heap on the floor next to my bed; my bed was still unmade from yesterday morning when I had got up so early for my ‘big’ breakfast and my school bag was still strewn across the floor by the window, where I had left it when I got in from school on Friday afternoon. The only difference, the only thing which was wrong and which caught my attention immediately, the moment I stepped one toe in the room, was my computer. It was switched on which is not how I left it and on the screen lighting up the dark room was the one thing I hoped that no one else would see. The word document I had made with the list of possible ways to commit murder. Suddenly my blood ran cold. I felt a presence in the doorway behind me.
“Well?” came the voice I had dreaded hearing, but knew I would inevitably have to face. I turned to face my mum who was stood filling the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest offering no chance of escape.
“What?” I asked as innocently as I could, although I knew what question was coming next and my mind was working at an impossible speed to find a suitable answer to it. I just hoped that while this process was underway my facial expression and body language would not give me away.
“Why do you have a list of possible ways to commit murder saved on your computer? And who exactly are you planning on killing?” she looked at me very pointedly, her mouth in a thin straight line and her eyebrows raised. My mum is a very good looking woman. At least I think she is, but I may be biased. Her long brunette hair falls in natural thick curls to her shoulders. Her blue eyes are always beautifully made up with eye shadow and mascara which illuminates their brightness. I love the way her eyes seem to sparkle when she is very happy about something or when she gets excited. It is true that she carries a little more weight than she would like (she is perpetually on a diet) but she is by no means fat. As she stood in my doorway looking disapprovingly at me I noticed that she was wearing a light blue summer dress cut to her knees. It looked very nice. I wondered if now would be a good time to compliment her on her choice of outfit. Perhaps not.
“It’s for school,” Ah good save! Parents can never question or complain when something is ‘for school’ they are usually just happy that you are getting on with your homework. Problem solved I thought. But then…
“Why have you got a list of possible ways to kill someone for school?” she asked continuing to glare at me. It’s amazing how long she can hold that gaze for. It’s unfaltering. I wonder if they teach mums how to do this in a special class or something.
“Erm,” I begin to stutter. Come on think! “Erm, because…”
“Because?” Oh no. When she starts repeating the things you say, then it is an indication that she doesn’t believe it. I needed an answer quickly, but my usually over active imagination was