Murder at the Family Reunion
an excerpt

When Hannah went outside to take up her supervisory duties, she noticed that the sky was hazier than it had been previously, and the humidity was more than usually oppressive. There was almost no wind to stir the glassy surface of the lake. The kids soon tired of trying to sail with no wind to sail by, and they switched to the kayaks, which would travel nicely even without wind. They started a series of relay races, from the near side of the lake to the far side and back, and that kept them busy until lunch time. Meanwhile, the clouds overhead thickened. Hannah would have expected clouds to bring cooler temperatures, but somehow, the reverse was the case. Perhaps it was just the lack of wind, but these clouds seemed just to make the heat heavier, more sapping of her energy.

As she was heading toward the house for lunch, Hannah heard a low rumbling sound overhead, as if a giant were groaning with a headache. A little later, she heard the sound again. Overhead, a brief flash occurred as a bolt of lightning went from one part of the cloud to another. A slightly louder rumble followed. The ever-present noise of the insects seemed to soften, as if they, too, were burdened with the heavy weight of the clouds. A breeze sprang up, but too laden with humidity to be truly refreshing, and then the breeze sharpened into a gusty wind that shook the trees around the lake.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and a sharp CRACK as a bolt of lightning struck right near the boat dock. Hannah turned and saw a wisp of smoke rising from one of the trees right behind the worm farm. That had really been a close one. As if someone had turned on a fire hose full blast, the rain came cascading down, drenching Hannah and all of the other people who were hurrying to get into the house. Lightning flashed all around now, and thunder crashed, and the rain was icy cold, shocking Hannah’s skin and piercing to the bone, and the gusty wind, now gale force, tore at her. She found herself barely able to breathe, the onslaught of the cold was so intense. Before she could get all the way to the house, the rain started stinging even harder, and she realized she was being pelted by hailstones – only little ones, just about the size of peas, but the speed with which they fell was leaving little welts on her exposed skin. She was glad that the sun hat that she was wearing was keeping the hailstones off her face.

She made it to the back door, and she crowded in, along with everybody else who had been caught out on the back lawn by the storm. Dripping wet, she stood in the back den, which had only recently been a screened porch and now had big windows looking down upon the lake, and she looked out at the fierceness of the storm, which now featured vivid flashes of lightning at least once a minute, followed by crashing thunderclaps. The trees were now thrashing about, as if they were animals, trapped with their feet mired in quicksand, struggling to get out.

A small radio in the corner of the den crackled to life, emitting the buzzing sound of an emergency broadcast alert. “The National Weather Service reports that a tornado warning has been issued for the following counties in eastern Tennessee and northern Georgia …” A silence fell over all in the room as they listened to the list, until the announcer named Piker County, and then everybody started talking all at once. When the announcement got done with the list, someone shushed the crowd, and the announcement continued, “If you are in an affected area, remain indoors. Seek an interior room of the house, or a basement, and stay away from windows. If you are in a vehicle, get out and take cover in a ditch or other sheltered spot; do not remain in the vehicle, and do not take shelter under a highway overpass.” Hannah wondered why highway overpasses were not good shelters – she would have thought they would be perfect, made of reinforced concrete as they were. But maybe there was something about them that made them death traps, and misguided souls who thought they were safe would be in trouble.

In spite of the announcement’s warning that people should seek an interior room and stay away from windows, about half of the people in the den stayed there. The spectacle taking place outside was spellbinding, and Hannah was not alone in finding herself unable to stop watching. The hail came down even harder, pinging against the windows and pounding the roof so fiercely that dust came wafting down from the ceiling. The atmosphere in the den became closer, as a crowd of wet people were breathing intensely, and even though everybody was drenched in rainwater, there was an aroma of sweat as well. The windows began to fog up, but the people closest to them used sleeves to keep them clear.

The air took on a strange purple-green cast, like a bruise, and the wind strengthened, carrying major pieces of debris – small tree branches, a couple of stray pieces of cheap patio furniture, a trash can. Hannah became aware of a strange thrumming, throbbing sound, actually more of a feeling than a sound, it was so low pitched. Suddenly, the room cleared of all but a few people, as nearly everybody headed for the kitchen or dining room, deep in the interior of the house. She had heard that an approaching tornado sounded “like a freight train,” and that, she realized, was what that low frequency throbbing sound sounded like. She was torn between watching the savage beauty of the weather outside and seeking safety. Finally, reluctantly, she headed for the kitchen.

As she got there, there was an especially intense flash of lightning and crack of thunder – so close, it was deafeningly loud but surprisingly not deep in pitch at all. At that instant, the power went out, and the house went dark. Except for the crashing storm outside, everything was silent – all mechanical sounds had suddenly ceased, the refrigerator, the humming window unit air conditioners, fans here and there. All of the people in the house were stunned into silence as well, and only gradually they began conversations, in whispers, as if to avoid offending the weather gods who might send destruction right at the house.

Hannah found Barney and Diana next to her, Barney tugging on her sleeve, leading her to the front of the house, the earliest part, from the 1920s. “I found this yesterday,” he said. “You know how I said a lot of these old houses had secret places for bootleggers to stash their hooch? I found where the original owners of this house stashed theirs.”

He led Hannah to the front bedroom, and to the bathroom just off it. He opened the linen cupboard, and Hannah could see that all of the towels and bed sheets had been taken out and piled on top of the toilet lid. Barney pulled a lever that was hidden behind the door frame, and all of the shelves fell flat against the wall. Next, he pulled at a latch in the side wall that had been hidden by the shelves, and the wall panel hinged away, revealing a narrow set of wooden stairs leading down into abysmal darkness.

Barney produced a flashlight from his pocket. “After you,” he told Hannah, stepping behind her to light her way down the stairs. Cautiously, she made her way down. She heard a crash behind her, and she decided to trust that whatever was ahead was safer than the possible tornado behind her; she stepped blindly down the stairs, jamming her leg when she got to the bottom and found level floor rather than another step. She staggered away from the stairs, using her cane for support, to allow others room to come down.

At some point, Barney had picked up an electric lantern, and he turned it on. Hannah saw that he had gathered quite a few people to come to the no longer secret basement – Kate, Annie, Peg, Gupta, Esther, Paddy, and …
“Harry!” she said, rushing forward to him. They wrapped their arms around each other, and she enjoyed his warmth, easing her soggy misery. He smelled sweet and musky as usual. She realized that she was getting him sopping wet, but she knew he didn’t mind.

Hannah looked around. They were in a fairly large basement, primitive by modern standards. The floor was packed dirt, damp and a little bit slippery, and the walls were river stone. The ceiling was low, so the taller people like Harry had to duck a little bit to avoid the rough-hewn beams overhead, and everybody had to avoid the vertical beams that supported the overhead beams. Overall, there was a damp smell, of mud and mildew and mold, but there was an interesting undertone … grainy … whiskey? After all these years? The air down here was stuffy because of the large number of people breathing it, but not particularly warm, in spite of the high temperatures that regularly occurred up above. The howling of the storm above was muted, and it seemed like something in the distance, something not to be worried about.

The roaring overhead became louder and louder, and Hannah realized it must have been deafening for those who were up in the kitchen. It was a terrifying feeling, the anticipation of the tornado, wondering whether it was really headed straight for the house, or whether it would miss. Then it reached a peak and began to soften, taking on a slightly lower pitch as the tornado passed by and headed away. Everybody in the basement breathed a sigh of relief, and as the roaring faded away into the background howling of the normal wind, they all climbed up the stairs to rejoin the rest of the people in the kitchen. Hannah hung back until the last, since she knew she would be slower getting up the stairs, and she didn’t want to get in anybody’s way. Soon, it was just her and Harry in the basement, in the dark, in each other’s arms, and Hannah was savoring the sweet slightly sweaty smell of Harry’s shirt, the warmth of his arms, the firmness of his well toned body against hers. Harry had his hand on the back of her head, and he pulled her face up to his and began kissing her, hungrily; she kissed back, tasting his mouth, his teeth, his lips, his tongue as he did the same to her. She felt a vibrating feeling in her groin, a pulsing deep down inside, and she knew she wanted Harry, completely and totally. Against her lower belly, Harry’s hardness, hot and twitching, confirmed that he wanted her, too. Harry unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. “We’ve got to get you out of these wet things,” he said.