by Ann B. Ross
“I know,” Sam said soothingly. “But I’m glad you didn’t get there earlier—you might’ve been hurt, too. Listen, Julia, we don’t know what happened, but I want you to stop going over and over it in your mind. We can’t change anything, we can only change our reaction to it. You had nothing to do with it, whether you were there to find her or whether you’d stayed home all afternoon. And certainly your feelings about her had nothing to do with it. Now let’s leave it to the investigators to figure out and to the Lord to give us peace of mind.”
Good advice, and I was almost asleep by the time he gave it. But come daylight, I intended to see my pastor and get out from under the rule of silence he’d imposed on me.
My eyes suddenly flew open—the pastor! Of all the people who’d expressed anger toward Connie—and I’d include Mildred, LuAnne, Emma Sue, and me as well in those who had—Pastor Ledbetter was the one who held the most against her.
No, impossible, I assured myself. But Pastor Ledbetter had considered the possibility that Connie was a tool of Satan. Could such a belief give him justification to harm her?
No, it was so incredible to ponder that I decided not to wake Sam again to run it past him. But now that it had occurred to me, I knew it would stay in the back of my mind until the actual cause and perpetrator of Connie’s death were determined. And it would certainly flit through my mind as I talked to the pastor on the morrow.
One can’t help but entertain a thought once it has popped into one’s mind. It’s a settled fact that it can’t be unthought, and my restless night was witness to that.
• • •
After breakfast the next morning, Sam went upstairs to his working office in the remodeled sunroom, giving me the opportunity to prepare myself to visit Pastor Ledbetter’s office at the church across the street. I hadn’t mentioned my intention to Sam, because then I would’ve had to tell him what I had promised not to tell, which was that I had been sent to Connie Clayborn’s house. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been within a mile of that crime scene, therefore it was up to the pastor to get me out of the messy situation in which I found myself and for which I was under constraint to give no explanation.
The pastor usually made a quick visit to any ailing Presbyterians in the hospital, then got to his office by nine or so. I kept watch through the front window for his car to enter the parking area behind the church, after which I intended to march over there and demand that he release me from the promise I had so rashly given him.
• • •
My intended march to the church was severely delayed by the telephone. A little before eight it started ringing, and as soon as I hung up from one call, another came in. LuAnne was the first.
“Julia!” she yelled, then began rattling off questions too quickly to be answered. “What is going on? I just heard about it. The paper didn’t have the details—happened too late to get in, I guess. But you were there? Why? What were you doing at Connie’s house, anyway? I can’t believe this, it’s too horrible. And to think you were the last person to see her alive!”
“No, LuAnne, no! I wasn’t the last one—whoever killed her was the last one to see her alive. Don’t be saying it was me—that’s wrong! I just found her after she was dead. Lord, LuAnne, don’t go around saying something like that. I’ll be in more trouble than I already am.”
“Oh,” she said, lowering her voice in expectation of hearing something new. “Do they think you did it?”
“Absolutely not, because I didn’t. How can you ask such a thing?”
“Well, I know you didn’t like her. Not,” she quickly added, “that anybody else did, either. But you were outspoken about it. You called her a menace to society.”
Well, that just flew all over me. How many of us like having our own words thrown back at us?
“No, I did not, LuAnne,” I said. “I may have said she was a menace, but not to society as a whole. And if we’re going to bring up private conversations between friends, I can recall some less than complimentary things you said about her.”
“Well,” she huffed, “I’m not the one being questioned by the authorities. But I see you’re in a bad mood this morning, so I’ll let you go. Call me if I can be of any help.”
I hung up the phone, thinking, Call her for help? She’d have me under the jail before I turned around good.
• • •
With my hand still on the phone, it rang again. Without thinking, I answered it.
Mildred said, “Julia, what in the world is going on? There was just a brief paragraph in the paper about Connie being dead, which was shocking enough. But when it mentioned you, I couldn’t believe it. Are you all right?”
“I’m as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” I said wearily. “Oh, Mildred, it was awful. I just found her, that’s all. But what did the paper say? I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Nothing, really,” Mildred said. “Just one sentence saying you were being questioned.”
“Oh, my Lord,” I moaned, “that sounds as if I had something to do with it. Mildred,” I continued with renewed firmness, “I’m going to sue that paper. See if I don’t. The very idea! I just happened to drop by and just happened to find her.”
“But why? Why were you there at all? Everybody knows you didn’t want to have anything to do with her. You really raked her over the coals when we had lunch together, remember?”
You, too, Mildred?
“Yes, and I remember that you threatened to snatch her bald-headed, too. So if we’re all going to be held responsible for what we say, you’re in trouble along with me.”
“Oh, Julia,” Mildred said lightly, “don’t be so defensive. I can quote chapter and verse of what a number of other people have said about Connie, and, believe me, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“That’s a good point, Mildred, and if that detective comes back at me, I’m going to tell him he ought to question every woman in town. We all had something against her, which does not mean we wanted her dead.”
Mildred chuckled. “Well, go ahead and give him my name. I’ll give him an earful. But, Julia, why did you go see her?”
“I can’t discuss it, Mildred—Binkie’s orders. Just trust me that I had a good reason for going, and it certainly wasn’t to kill her. How anybody could even think . . .”
“Well, Julia, of course I don’t. But you really ought to make the paper print a retraction or something. What they printed today certainly gives the wrong impression. It lets readers jump to the wrong conclusion, and if I were you, I’d go down there and snatch a few reporters and editors bald-headed.” She laughed, then said, “I’ll help you if you want.”
• • •
After hanging up, I looked out the window again just in time to see the pastor’s yellow car turn into the parking lot across the street. Taking up my coat for the walk over to the church, I was stopped by the ringing of the phone. Hesitating, I almost left it for Lillian to answer. I was glad I didn’t.
When I answered, Sergeant Coleman Bates said, “Miss Julia, I’m just calling to see how you are this morning. Anything you need? Anything I can do?”
“Oh, Coleman, how nice of you to call, but are you calling officially or out of the goodness of your heart? After last evening, I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
He gave a little laugh. “I hear you. But I’m calling to reassure you. I just looked over your statement, and if everything checks out, you’ll be all right.”
“Do you have all that evidence that Lieutenant Peavey mentioned? I mean, any evidence of who attacked Connie? Because, Coleman, it was not me.”
“I know that, Miss Julia,” he said, his voice warm with assurance. “But, no, it’ll take some time for the forensic evidence to be processed, get the autopsy report back, and for us to question everybody.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Who else is bei
ng questioned? Because somebody else had been there, and might still have been when I left.”
“You know I can’t discuss that, but I want you to know I’m here for you. And to tell you that I’m going up on the sign tomorrow. My weather guy says we’ll have a few mild days before a cold front comes in, so if he’s right, I’ll be up there till Sunday evening. But if you need anything, you let me know.”
I thanked him and hung up, wondering how he thought he could help me if he was going to be sitting up on an outdoor advertising sign. Still, I appreciated the thought.
“Lillian,” I called, putting on my coat. “I’m going over to the church. I shouldn’t be long.”
The phone rang again as I went out the door. I kept going.
Chapter 16
Going through the back door of the church, I followed the hall to the group of rooms that made up the business office, the pastor’s office, and the office of Norma Cantrell, the pastor’s gatekeeper. Prim, precise, and too precious for words, Norma took her job as guardian of the inner sanctum seriously. She and I had had run-ins on previous occasions, but I was in no mood to get into it with her on this day.
“Good morning, Norma,” I said, breezing into her office as if I had an appointment. She turned her carefully frosted and teased head of hair toward me, lifted her eyebrows, and tried to smile. She’d been told that members of the church were to be welcomed at all times whether or not they had appointments.
“I have to see the pastor,” I said, before she could speak. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
She sniffed. “He just left.”
“Norma, I saw his car pull in just a few minutes ago, so please tell him I’m here on a matter of some urgency.”
“He came in to pick up some papers, but he had to go back out.”
“Look,” I said, standing in front of her desk, “if he went back out, why didn’t I meet him in the hall on my way in?”
“Because,” she said, as if I needed to have it spelled out, “he went up through the sanctuary to check on the sound system, then he went out the front door.” And concluding with some satisfaction, she said, “I’m sure he’s already left the parking lot by now.”
Foiled and distressed, I asked, “Well, when will he be back?”
“I have no idea. He has a luncheon engagement and several meetings this afternoon. It’d be best to make an appointment. Would you care to make one?” She pulled a desk calendar over, covered it with one arm, and began to study it. “Let’s see. This week looks full. What about a week from today? Would that work?”
“Norma,” I said, putting my hands on the desk and leaning toward her. “This will not wait a week. Now, you find a time for him to see me, and find it today.”
“Well!” she said, drawing back, pulling the calendar with her. “You don’t have to get snippy. I’m not the one who makes the rules around here. I just do as I’m told.”
I stood up straight and looked long and hard at her, realizing that she had just let the cat out of the bag. “He’s avoiding me, isn’t he? He told you to put me off, didn’t he?”
“I just work here, Mrs. Murdoch. That’s all I do.”
“All right, I understand. But I want you to give the pastor a message. Tell him that if I don’t hear from him in person as soon as humanly possible today, then all bets are off, all promises revoked, and all you-know-what will break loose.”
Fuming with anger, I went home, completely incensed that Pastor Ledbetter was sneaking in and out of the church so he wouldn’t have to see me. I knew why he was doing it—he didn’t want to release me from my promise. He would let me face questions and suspicions without doing one thing to help. What did that say about a Christian minister? Well, what did it say about a Christian, period?
Nothing good, I can tell you that. And I couldn’t even unload on Sam or Lillian, much less on Lieutenant Peavey, Detective Ellis, Binkie, Coleman, or the local newspaper. I would remain under a cloud of suspicion until I could explain my heretofore unexplained presence at Connie’s house on the day of her death.
As I walked up onto the front porch of my house, my steps slowed as the thought that I’d tried to unthink came back to haunt me. No, and no again, the pastor could not have committed such a crime. All he was trying to do was protect his suffering wife, who was proving less than able to weather a spiritual crisis. And, as he had practically admitted to me, he was trying to protect his reputation as a serene and capable leader who was in full control of his own family. Because it is a fact that no matter how well a man—maybe a woman, too—manages his professional life, any prestige or authority he has is lost if his personal life is in chaos.
But that didn’t excuse him or help me, and I intended to have it out with him if I had to camp on the church doorstep from here on out. Maybe I should take some camping-out lessons from Coleman.
• • •
“Oh, there you are,” Sam said as I walked into the house, shedding the coat that I hadn’t needed. “I was looking for you. Where were you?”
“Oh . . . around,” I mumbled. “Why, what’s going on?”
“I just got a call from Raleigh, and I’ll have to go to that meeting after all. The National Weather Service is predicting icy weather across the state the first of next week, so the meeting’s been moved to tomorrow. Seems there’s a bad situation with a judge in one of the eastern counties that has to be dealt with. I’m sorry, Julia, but it puts me on the spot and I’ll have to go.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Honey, I could be back tomorrow night—it all depends on how quickly we can come to terms. But I’ll certainly be home Sunday at the latest, especially if an ice storm is on its way.” He reached for my hand. “I hate to leave with all that’s going on here.”
“I’ll be fine, Sam. You do what you have to do, and I’ll be all right. Just get back before the weather moves in—it’s too risky a drive if it’s icy. Come on,” I said as I headed for the stairs, “I’ll help you pack. Oh, by the way, get back early if you can so you can see Coleman on his sign. He’s taking advantage of the mild weather to go up tomorrow and stay till Sunday evening. You don’t want to miss that.”
Sam laughed. “I’ll tell the committee I have a friend in dire need of having his head examined.”
• • •
Still hesitant about leaving, hemming and hawing about it, Sam finally set off on his five-hour trip right after an early lunch. His reluctance almost made me think I could be in more trouble than I’d been led to believe.
“Lillian,” I said as I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, “I declare, I hate that Sam has to be away. I didn’t want him to know it, but I’m still so upset about what’s already happened and about what else could possibly happen.”
Lillian put two cups of coffee on the table and sat down across from me. “You know he be right back here if something else come up. An’ it don’t look like anything else could happen worse than what already happen, could it?”
“Oh,” I said as airily as I could manage, “maybe only a few trivial things. Like somebody else being attacked, or the newspaper saying I’m the prime suspect, or the sheriff deciding to arrest me. Nothing very important.”
Lillian laughed. “Miss Julia, you worry too much. Nobody gonna arrest you, an’ ev’ry door in this house is stayin’ locked, an’ nobody b’lieve the newspaper anyway.” She stirred sugar into her coffee, then leaned forward. “But I tell you what worryin’ me. That’s that nice Coleman settin’ up there on that big sign, even if he doin’ it for the little chil’ren.” She stopped, then went on. “But I guess that lady friend you tole about won’t like me sayin’ he ought not do it ’cause he’s doin’ it for somebody else’s good.”
“She won’t care. That’s the lady I found dead yesterday.”
“No!” Lillian cried, her eyes going wide. “Is that the truth?
Law, I didn’t mean to say something bad about a dead lady.”
“You didn’t, Lillian. But I’m having the same problem. I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I didn’t know her well enough or long enough to find anything good to say.”
“Well, I don’t even wanta think about it no more. I got enough worries with Coleman settin’ up there, gettin’ cold an’ hungry an’ wishin’ he home in bed with Miss Binkie. Miss Julia,” she said, hunching over the table, “you tell him if it gets frosty up there, he better not be puttin’ his tongue on any of them metal poles holdin’ up that sign.”
“What? Why?”
“I always hear ’bout people puttin’ they tongue on a frosty ax blade an’ it takin’ the skin off.”
“My word. Who would do such a thing?”
“Crazy people don’t know no better, an’ people campin’ out in the wintertime.”
“Oh, well. I’ll pass that along to Coleman. But, Lillian, let me ask you something, and if it doesn’t suit you, please say so. But would you and Latisha come spend the night here while Sam’s away?”
She smiled. “I was wonderin’ ’bout that. An’ I don’t blame you. We be glad to.”
Chapter 17
It was a long afternoon with Sam away, Lloyd in school, Hazel Marie and family down with colds, and no one I dared talk to. Even the telephone had stopped ringing—a bad sign. It probably meant that no one wanted to be associated with me, much less be tainted by conversing with me.