Page 95 of Statler

When her husband had been killed, she’d told herself that grief had kept her from looking fully into his demise, when in reality, she’d been afraid to open her eyes beyond the quick peek she’d taken into his “accident”. Since the Jeremy confrontation, however, she’d dug deeper; starting with the last few years of death notices that were published in the only town newspaper; one that her father owned, of course.

What she’d found?

Not just Holden’s obituary, but several others that had been listed under the auspices of “hunting” mishaps.

Very troubling.

The factory had always been her life, for better or for worse, but it was nearing time for her to expose the ugly underbelly of Liminal, and to get out.

Attempting to live somewhere other than Liminal had once been beyond her scope, but not anymore. With Granny’s help and advice over the past year, Eliza was a much stronger person than she’d been back when Holden had died, and she wasn’t going to let all those “coincidental” deaths she’d read about, ruminate in her brain unanswered, any longer.

There had to be a tie between those untimely demises and the things she’d been uncovering regarding the factory; the deep, dark, reason for those men to have been shot.

Holden might have kept her from digging into what her father was really doing while he was alive, but his trepidation wasn’t reaching beyond the grave. In the past year, Eliza had found her backbone and forged ahead, uncovering things she didn’t like; things that were impossible for her to explain.

Had she gone snooping for her own edification?

Partially. In the beginning.

But lately? Stepping up her game to amass even more evidence of her father’s perfidy? She’d done it for Statler and his crew.

There was a very bad feeling roiling in her gut that they might be the next targets for “accidental deaths”.

It could be simple paranoia on her part, but the way Jeremy had glared at Statler, and the fact that her father had, the very next morning, set Eliza on him and his entire crew like a bloodhound?

It didn’t sit well.

And really? If what she’d already found regarding those hunting misfortunes was as bad as she thought it might be, everyone who wasn’t in her father’s inner circle could potentially be in danger.

Herself and Granny included.

For those reasons, Eliza was planning on quietly sneaking out of Liminal after passing on the info she’d amassed.

She’d tried to convince Granny to go with her, but the older woman had said no. That not a soul would suspect her of anything; and that she was needed by her friends and neighbors for the food she provided.

But she did agree that Eliza needed to leave.

With the evidence she’d uncovered, if someone was keeping tabs, her life would be in jeopardy.

And since Eliza didn’t feel comfortable bringing her hard-won thumb drives to any local law enforcement agencies for fear they were in her father’s pocket—like the town coroner—she’d decided that the best course of action was to carry it to a good friend of Statler’s in Bangor.

She’d heard Stat speaking fondly of Mason Sothard, the head of the Downeast SWAT team there, and that gave Eliza confidence that the man was honest. Surely, he’d investigate once she handed over the pointed information and clues that she’d uncovered, and he’d make sure Statler and company got the hell out of Liminal before they could become part of the town’s statistics.

Despite the brilliance of the day, Eliza felt herself reaching for darker colors as she painted over a sunny landscape from a few years back, creating a storm instead, whose intensity she could actually feel.

Deciding to let thoughts of her unofficial investigations go for the moment, Eliza lost herself in her work, slashing the roiling gray sky she’d manifested with streaks of lightening; her brush at the mercy of her mood.

She could almost hear the⁠—

A twig snapped, and Eliza immediately went on alert, her heart beating wildly.

She’d begun to imagine that people were watching her, and whether it was true or not, she was taking no chances.

She bent slowly and picked up a rock, hefting it in her hand and hoping it was an adequate weapon.

“Who’s there?” she asked, raising her voice, proud of herself that it didn’t tremble.

“It’s me. Statler.”