A couple of minutes passed before either one of us could speak, but when my lips thawed enough to form words, I said, “You do that shoveling?”
He nodded.
“But why? It’s coming down faster than you could ever shovel it away. You been out there all night?”
“Pretty much. But I’ve shoveled snow before and believe me, it’s easier to shovel it when it’s just fallen. Gets heavy when it has a chance to settle into itself.”
“Well, good job, man. You deserve a raise.” I laughed at my little joke. Pastor Parry hadn’t mentioned it, but I knew they couldn’t afford to pay me a salary. His leaving the pulpit was just another way of saving the church some money, I supposed. I wouldn’t have accepted a salary, anyway, but knowing that Bristol was underpaid, something I learned during those finance committee meetings, seemed especially wrong. But a raise for Bristol just wasn’t in the cards, no matter how great a job he was doing.
“Yeah, I do, Pastor.” He grinned. “But I’m happy with what I’m getting. Besides, I’ve got Molly out back to keep me warm and safe. That’s all I really need. That and enough money to feed me.” Molly was the small house behind the church that once served as a rectory. With the church’s blessing, Bristol had renovated it himself a few years earlier, and the rent they could have charged went toward his salary.
“Appreciate that, Bristol. I’m sure everybody does.” I pulled off my gloves and was pleasantly surprised to find it was warm in the church. “Did you stoke the furnace, too?”
“Got to, Pastor, or else the pipes would freeze and then we’d really have a mess on our hands.” Bristol tucked his gloves into his coat pockets and turned toward the sanctuary. “You’d better take a look at this.”
I followed. “Hey, Bristol, tell me something. How’d you know I’m the pastor now?”
He grinned back at me over his shoulder. “I wondered when you’d ask why I dragged you out into this instead of Pastor Parry. He called me last night, told me the good news. Thought I should know who my new boss was. I guess you just lucked out to be the guy I dragged through a blizzard to investigate a break-in.” He laughed right out loud. “First one in the church’s history from what I hear.”
More laughter. Ha ha. Funny guy, that Bristol.
“Did they take anything? And how’d they get in? Where …?” I stopped abruptly when I almost slammed into Bristol, who reached behind me to close the sanctuary doors behind us. He was looking at the doors. I followed his gaze and gasped.
Smeared across the oak doors and along the walls on either side of them was the word kiLLeR.
Chapter Eight
“Is that paint?” I said.
“Appears to be. Don’t know what else it could be. It dripped like paint would. It’s still tacky, so it couldn’t have happened all that long ago.”
I walked to the wall and edged my way behind the last pew to stand in front of the letter ‘k,’ which was three feet high; the others varied in size, but none were smaller. They were spaced just far enough apart to deface both oak doors and much of the wall space on either side of them.
“Who would do this? And why? Why on earth would anyone do this?”
“Good question. I don’t have a clue. ‘Course I checked for footprints soon as I found this, but they were long gone, all blown in by the time I discovered what happened. They came in the back door. The lock’s been busted.” He sat down heavily on the pew across the aisle. “Guess I was out front shoveling. I came in to warm up, see if the stove was doing its job, when I found this mess.” He looked down at his weathered hands for a minute. “They were either brilliant to choose such a lousy night to bust in or didn’t know what they were getting into and froze their behinds off in the process.” He looked up at me and gave a little grin. “If I had a choice in the matter, I’d vote for the second.”
“Me too, Bristol. Me too.” I walked back around the pew and sat down across the aisle from him. “Well, what next? I haven’t been here long enough to know anything about the law enforcement around here.”
“Nothing to know.”
“What do you mean? We don’t have any police in town?”
“Pastor, we’re lucky we have two streetlights in this town and the bulbs to keep ’em lit. The closest we have to a police presence around here would be the county or state cops and they’re not gonna be able to get out here tonight. They’d need a hovercraft.”
I didn’t say anything. Not much to say. “So we’re on our own, huh?”
“Yep. But I don’t think there’s much the police could do for us anyway. Any trace of footprints are wiped away, and they had to have gloves on to bust that lock—unless they were a lot braver than I give ’em credit for.”
“Or dumber.” I stood and walked to the doors. “So we figure this out by ourselves. Anybody here in town with a grudge against the church? Why ‘killer,’ I wonder?”
Bristol looked back at the still-sticky letters. “Beats me. No grudges that I’m aware of, and I know everyone there is to know around here. You and Mrs. Foster are the newest folks in town. Everyone else’s been here forever. Fact is, I think I’m the next newest, and I’ve been here for eleven years.”
“So eliminating the three newest folks in town, we’re left with a tiny town of senior citizens who have all been here forever and don’t have any reason whatsoever to do this to their church. Right?”
“Right.”
“So, no suspects. At least not here in town.”
“Nope.”
“Who’s that leave us with?”
“Everybody else in the world, I guess.”
I opened the sanctuary door and stood back to let Bristol through first. “Exactly. Good detective work. I think we’re closing in on our suspect.”
“He doesn’t stand a chance, Pastor.”
“How about some breakfast? I’m buying,” I said.
“Sounds good.”
Twenty minutes later and about eighty degrees warmer, we were sitting at the plank table in my kitchen, drinking coffee, and hoping we were making enough noise to wake up Mel so she could make us some breakfast. Yeah, I know; I’m a sexist. But I was a hungry sexist.
Dawn was still a couple of hours away and the storm continued to rage beyond the walls of the kitchen. I wondered how many other storms like this the inn had weathered. Couldn’t be that many, even as old as this house is. Snow storms in this part of the country are rare, but this one would go into the record books. I stood, grabbed some wood from the small pile I kept in the kitchen, ducked under the mantel of the walk-in fireplace, and tossed another log on the fire. Sparks flew and the flames leaped.
Bristol was getting antsy to get back to his shoveling, but I convinced him it would be madness to return to that mess. “The snow will still be there in a couple of hours,” I said.
He chuckled and took a sip of coffee. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
In the nick of time, as I was about to give in and start breakfast myself, Mel walked in, hair tousled, looking absolutely gorgeous. She tightened the tie of her robe and stopped in her tracks at the sight of Bristol. “Oh, I didn’t know we had company. Bristol, how are you?” She looked around the kitchen and back at the mugs on the table. “What time is it? Have I missed something?”
I checked my watch. “It’s a little after six thirty. Bristol stopped by earlier this morning to let me know someone broke into the church last night and vandalized the back wall. We went over there and checked it out. Came back and made some coffee.” I walked over and kissed her on the top of her head. “You got down here just in time. I was running out of ways to make noise.”
“Well, you did a good job, dear,” she said, patting my arm. “I assume you two are hungry?” She opened a cupboard door, brought out a mug, poured a cup of coffee, refilled ours, and put on a fresh pot. “So what’s this about a break-in? What kind of vandalism?”
I filled her in while she whipped up some blueberry pancakes and bacon. “Who on earth—well
, I imagine you two have been over that already. Any suspects?”
Bristol snorted. “After eliminating the three of us and everyone else in Road’s End? About six billion, give or take a few.”
“Oh, so you’ve narrowed it down. Good for you. You two have been busy.” She set a platter of pancakes between us, followed by a plate of bacon, and a small pitcher of warm syrup. “Apple juice okay?” We both nodded. “Coming up.” She brought the juice, refilled our coffee, then sat down. We bowed our heads and I prayed.
“Father, we thank You for this bountiful breakfast, for our good friend, Bristol, and for safe homes in which to take shelter when the storms rage. Please bless us this day and help us to use these twenty-four hours to Your glory. Be with us as we secure our church and try to stop any more vandalism. In Your Son’s precious name, we pray. Amen.” I raised my head, smiled at Mel, and passed the pancakes to Bristol. “Wonderful breakfast, dear. Glad you’re a light sleeper.”
“Well, eat up, because we have guests who are going to want to eat before long, too. And thank you, dear. I’m glad I’m a light sleeper, too. Gives me a chance to enjoy breakfast with two handsome men.”
“We have handsome men in the inn?”
“Very funny.”
“Wait, did you say guests? As in more than one? Isn’t Emma the only one here?”
“Not exactly,” Mel said.
“Emma? Emma River’s here?” Bristol’s fork clattered to his plate. He looked as though I’d just revved up a chainsaw and was aiming at his neck. “Why is she here?”
I looked at Mel. “What do you mean not exactly? Who else besides Emma …?” I turned to Bristol. “Why don’t you want Emma here?”
He looked at me with the crazed eyes of a cornered dog. “Have you met Emma?”
“Yeah. Met her last night when I dragged her down here from her place. Pastor Parry was worried about her up there all alone in the blizzard.”
“Then you know what I mean. Frankly, if I were Pastor Parry, my sympathies would have been with the blizzard, not Emma.”
I smiled. When Bristol’s right, he’s right. “Okay, we’ve all met Emma. That mystery’s solved.” I turned back to Mel. “Now, Mel, who’s our other guest?”
Mel swallowed a bite of pancake and said, “Man by the name of Delbert Jackson. He showed up last night while you were wrestling Emma into coming here. I put him in the Adams Room, took a snack up to him, and promptly forgot all about him until now.”
I looked at Bristol and could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. Did we have a suspect? “What time did he show up?”
“Around 7:30, I think. You had just gone out the back door when I heard some knocking at the front. I thought you were messing around with me, and I didn’t answer it right away just to make you suffer a bit in the snow.”
“Why, thanks, dear.”
“You’re welcome. Anyway, when you—well, he—knocked the third or fourth time, I gave in and opened it. And there he was, madder than a snow-covered hen. I apologized all over the place. Of course, he didn’t know I was deliberately stalling. I guess he just thought I was inept. In fact, I think he used that very word.”
“Inept? He called you inept? What kind of guy is this, this, what did you call him? Jackson?”
“Delbert Jackson. And I hate to talk badly about a guest of ours, but he’s not the twinkliest star in the universe, if you get my drift.”
I turned to Bristol. “That’s Mel’s way of saying he’s not a very friendly fellow.”
He nodded. “What’s with all these cranky guests?”
“Good question.” I looked back at Mel. “He doesn’t have to twinkle, hon, but insulting you is a whole other thing.”
“Well, he was tired and ornery and frozen solid,” she said. “Said he was headed to Richmond, took a wrong turn looking for gas, and ended up here. I got the feeling he was in a rush to get there and wasn’t counting on being sidetracked by a blizzard.”
I grinned and saluted Mel and Bristol with my coffee mug. “I guess Mr. Jackson will just have to get used to being around us inept folks.”
“Hear, hear,” Bristol said. “I can do inept as well as the next guy, Pastor.”
Mel just snorted.
Chapter Nine
Dawn finally came, and I admit the scenery, what I could see of it, was breathtaking. The world awoke swathed in white as if during the night some mutant housewife draped giant sheets over trees and buildings and across shrubs and fences to protect them from the onslaught of wind.
And there was no let-up in sight. The weatherman on WEND, Titus Shadler, who also served as the station’s newscaster, sportswriter, disk jockey, maintenance man, and cafeteria lady, told us the worst was still on its way. National weather forecasters were predicting another twenty-four to thirty-six inches of snow before the storm blew out to sea, and on top of the foot of it already on the ground, we were obviously going to be socked in for several days.
Then Titus played “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” and made us all feel better.
Dire predictions of power outages, road closures, and a general lack of emergency and law enforcement services were still the talk of the town that morning, according to Sadie’s customer base, which was pretty much all of Road’s End, since nothing short of total annihilation kept them from her coffee and baked goods.
Mel and I talked it over after breakfast and decided to call some of the more talkative residents to help us invite anyone who felt uncomfortable being alone in this weather to stay at the inn. Pastor Parry agreed to hold the church service in our living room as an added convenience to those moving in temporarily. As expected, the news spread like chicken pox through a kindergarten classroom and by mid-morning, we had a living room full of Road’s Enders, most of them parishioners of the church; the rest I’d seen around town. Mel and I both had our hands full storing the extra food, blankets, pillows, and the occasional sleeping bag that some of the neighbors brought with them.
Before too long, though, most of the men were settled in around the fireplace in the living room, while their wives gathered in the kitchen and argued about what to cook first. Apparently they settled on a variety of ham and turkey sandwiches because before long a tray heaped with them appeared in the dining room. There followed a mighty migration of men lured out of their comfortable chairs by the thought of sandwiches on Sadie’s homemade bread, a bowl of baked beans, and potato chips. I was one of them.
I found Pastor Parry talking to Bristol by the front windows. The wind beyond the glass panes seemed in no hurry to run along and leave us alone; it battered the house from all angles and whipped up whirlpools of snow in its wake. I shivered just thinking of going out there to shovel.
Bristol saw me first. “Hey, Hugh, ready to shovel?”
“Took the thought right out of my head, Bristol.” I turned to the older man. “Pastor, how are you today?”
“Just fine, Hugh. Or should I say ‘Pastor Foster?’” He grinned. “I told Bristol the good news, you know.”
“Yep, found that out last night. Did he tell you about the vandalism?”
“Yes, and I can’t understand why anyone would do that, let alone who might have done it. Certainly not anybody from around here.” He sipped at his coffee and took a bite of his sandwich. “Bristol says you don’t have any clues, what with the snow and all.”
“Nope. Not a one. But I don’t think this is anything we can ignore, do you?” I looked from one to the other. They both shook their heads. “Whoever wrote that on the wall is either sending a vicious message or just plain psychotic.”
“You mean someone here is a killer?” Pastor Parry said.
“I guess,” Bristol said, “but I don’t imagine there are too many people here in Road’s End you could pin that label on.”
“None that I know of,” Pastor Parry said. “And I know everybody here.”
“Maybe it was a mistake,” I said. “Could they have thought they were in some other small t
own church?”
“Could be, but I doubt it,” Bristol said. “I’d hate to think there’s any other small town church with a killer in it.”
“Good thought,” I said. “Pastor, are you going to address the crowd, tell them what happened, get their ideas?”
He swallowed his last bite of sandwich and nodded vigorously. “Sure thing. Besides, I want to tell them of God’s good providence in sending you to take my place.”
I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. I wasn’t too sure it was God’s providence that brought me to this place, but I appreciated the vote of confidence. “Thanks, Pastor. Excuse me for a minute, will you? I need to talk to Mr. Jackson over there. I’ll get the crowd’s attention in a few minutes, okay?”
“I’ll get started on the shoveling,” Bristol said. “Take your time, Pastor. Snow’s not going anywhere.”
I moved to the living room and marveled at the racket; it sounded like a flock of cackling chickens. I looked around; no sign of Sadie’s feathered friends. But it was early, and they could still show up. Probably building a catapult. It seemed that half the town had taken us up on our offer to let folks stay at the inn and as grateful as I was that these folks wouldn’t be by themselves during the storm, I couldn’t help wonder if we’d overextended ourselves. Would there be enough food? Bedding? Cracked corn? Whoops, wrong species.
Delbert Jackson stood a few feet from me, a look of revulsion on his face. Mel was right; we probably wouldn’t be putting him on our Christmas card list. He had the personality of phlegm and to add to that troubling attribute, he wasn’t the handsomest of men either. His pocked face reminded me of a gum-encrusted Wal-Mart parking lot. The best that could be said about it was that it was functional, a place to put two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, a convenient way to separate two ears. A week of stubble and a deep scar that creased one cheek added to the overall impression of weeds growing in cracked, stained pavement. I shook my head to get that parking lot metaphor out of my head.
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 5