Mr. Jackson gave a dirty “Will you shut up?” look to each of the residents as one after another laughed or made comments, but nobody paid any attention to him. He swiped the back of his hand across his sweating brow then dried it across the back of his leg. I almost felt sorry for him. These folks could be formidable by themselves. In a pack, they were overwhelming.
I sidled between Sadie Simms and a lady I’ve never met, but whom I’ve seen at church. She wore a hat covered in about a half-acre of flowers. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Hat Lady’s head bobbled, but I couldn’t tell if that was in answer to my comment or an attempt to stay upright.
Leo and I approached Del from different directions. Leo spoke first. “Jackson?”
Del looked up. I could almost read his mind. Another old guy. What’s with this town?
I’ve wondered the same thing.
Leo glanced at me, nodded his head, removed his pipe, and said, “Hugh.”
I nodded back. “Leo.”
Then he pointed the pipe stem toward the ottoman at Del’s feet. “Mind?”
Del shrugged, and Leo took that as a yes. He sat down on the ottoman and Del sat on the wing chair. I just stood there. No one said anything. Awkward moment.
Leo broke the ice. “Welcome.”
Del wiped his sweaty palm on his pants, held it out, and winced when Leo grabbed on and pumped vigorously.
I remember the first time Leo and I shook hands; I nearly went to my knees. “Thanks. Delbert Jackson here. Most people call me Del. That is unless you’re a competitor of mine. Then it’s more like Delbert T. Jackson, that son of a …”
Leo stabbed the air with his pipe toward a gaggle of women a few feet away and said, “Whoa.”
Del whoaed. “Sorry ’bout that. It’s just that I’m in a rough business and well, cussin’s just a way of life, you know? A man gets used to using that kind of language in my surroundings.”
Leo took a puff and nodded. “Rise above ’em.”
Del looked around at the room full of senior citizens, most of them dressed as if they were caught on their way to a wedding or a funeral and a record-breaking blizzard just happened to get in their way. “Yeah. Well, these surroundin’s are a bit foreign to me. For the most part, I run with a faster crowd. You know, younger? Edgier? Hipper? Little more worldly?”
I wanted to laugh out loud, but the pastor in me hit the brakes, and I kept my mouth shut.
Leo seemed to consider Del’s remark, then said, “Nope.”
Del glared at him.
I wondered what he was thinking as I watched the pipe smoke curling around Leo’s head like the crooked halo of some kind of ancient, white-haired, pipe-smoking angel. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
Del spoke up with a snort. “What, you think I’m too old? Just how old do you think I am, anyway?”
Leo took a long look at the pudgy man sitting in front of him, eyeing him up and down. Then he spoke with the pipe between his teeth. “Sixty.” Out came the pipe again, this time to point at the roll of belly that bulged from Del’s shirt.
“You don’t mince words, do you, old timer?” That seemed odd, considering Leo minces better than anyone I’ve ever known.
Leo didn’t dignify that with a response.
“What gives you the right to tell me I’m too fat? Isn’t that kind of rude?”
Leo just looked at him. Squiggles rose to the ceiling. Puff, puff, squiggle.
“I’m getting out of here. You senior citizens have a ball down here. I’m taking a nap.” Del stood up and brushed a few crumbs from his lap to the floor and headed for the stairway. “And for your information, I’m forty-two.”
He hadn’t walked two steps before Sadie grabbed his arm. “Just a second there, young fella. Can’t go dropping crumbs on Melanie’s carpet and just leaving them there. No, sirree. In these parts, we take care of our own messes. Why don’t you just pick up those crumbs and give ’em to me, and I’ll take them into the kitchen and toss them away for you.” She turned to me and winked. She pointed one bony finger at the littering of crumbs he’d let fall to the floor. “And Leo, put that pipe out.”
“Oh,” Delbert said, rubbing his arm where she’d grabbed him. “Sorry about that. Guess I’m just getting used to the way things are done around here, ma’am.”
Leo busied himself dousing his pipe.
I just stood there.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, mister. I’m Sadie. Sadie Simms. Live across the street and run Sadie’s Bake House and Egg Plant. And I know crumbs. Believe me. I know crumbs.”
I had the feeling she wasn’t talking about bread and cookie crumbs. I think Del did, too. “Here.” He leaned down. “Let me pick these up. Careless of me.”
“Yep.” She held out her hand and he dutifully sprinkled the crumbs he’d gathered into her outstretched palm.
“I think that’s all of it, ma’am… uh, Sadie, er, Miss Simms.”
“Sadie’s fine. You’re Delbert T. Jackson, right?” Sadie’s fingers closed over the crumbs and formed a fist. Delbert actually flinched.
“That’s right. I’m from … uh, Florida. Construction business.”
“Sort of a long way from home, aren’t ya? Are you on business or running from something?”
Delbert gasped. “I’m … I’m on business, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business. Geez, you’re a bunch of nosy old coots.”
“Old, maybe. But we’re not nosy. Just interested. And coots? Well, that’s just plain rude, Mr. Jackson. Besides, how do we know you’re not some kind of dangerous felon? A bank robber, maybe? Even a murderer.” She looked him up and down. “Frankly, you don’t look real friendly. Kinda sinister-like, you know? And we don’t get many strangers in these parts. This town’s not on the way to anyplace. If you’re here, you either planned it or you’re lost. Right?”
Del looked speechless and I had a feeling that didn’t happen often. “Well,” he said, “yeah, I guess that’s right. To be honest I’m lost. One minute I was on 95 north, heading toward Richmond, and the next, I was plowing through snow up to my hood. Ended up about a mile from here when I got off the highway for some gas. Ran out before I could find a station and had to hoof it here in the middle of this … this”—he stopped himself in the nick of time—“this gosh darn blizzard. By the way, don’t you folks believe in gas stations? I didn’t run across a single one from here to the highway. What gives?”
Sadie stared at him and seemed to be thinking about his question. “Well, I don’t suppose anybody would need gas if they were on their way to Road’s End, now would they? We’ve got a station right here in town—Wiley’s place down there near the town circle. And if we’re heading into Richmond, we’re smart enough to have enough gas in our tanks to get us there and back. Right, Hugh?”
I stood with my arms crossed and rocked back and forth on my heels. “I’d have to say that’s right, Sadie.”
Del decided to keep his mouth shut. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sadie, I think I’ll just go on upstairs and get some rest.”
“Seems to me that’s all you’ve been doin’ since you got here, Mr. Jackson. Maybe you could muster up the energy to help Mr. Foster and Bristol Diggs out there in the snow. What do you say, Hugh? Could you use some help?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, Sadie, we could.”
She nodded, then gave Del a push. He winced and rubbed his arm again. “Good, then it’s settled. They’ve got more than their fair share of shoveling to do, and if you want to get out of here and get on with your runnin’ away, I’d suggest you help out a bit.”
I believe Delbert T. Jackson would have liked nothing better at that moment than to get the heck out of Dodge, but that was impossible, and he knew it. By now, he had an audience. Winnie Wyandotte was watching him with undisguised interest, listening to every word, then whispering everything she heard to Hazel Parry, who passed it along to her husband. Delbert cleared his throat. “You know, ma’am, I was just thinking
about doing that very thing.”
“Sure you were, Mr. Jackson. Sure you were.” She started to walk toward the kitchen then stopped and turned around. She looked him right in the face and said, “I got my eye on you, Mr. Jackson. There won’t be any robbing or murdering or any other shady stuff going on here in Road’s End if Sadie Simms has anything to do with it.” To emphasize her point, she raised her crumb-filled fist and waved it in his direction. “One killer under this roof is enough. We don’t need any more.”
I wanted to ask what on earth she meant by that last remark, but Del needed rescuing. He looked like a man who’d been recently threatened by a scrawny, white-haired, chicken-raising senior citizen. I knew the feeling. You think this was fun, Del? Wait’ll you meet Emma.
“You want to wait for Bristol and me? We have to talk to the folks here for a few minutes. We’re holding a short church service this morning, and you’re welcome to stay.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just get out there and start shovelin’, if it’s all the same to you. And a’course you, ma’am … Sadie.”
Sadie nodded her approval.
Del looked relieved.
“Just start at the back steps,” I said, “and work your way westward. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
I had Del run upstairs to his room and put a sweater on over his shirt. While I waited for him in the kitchen, Bristol blew in the back door, bringing in about a bushel of snow with him. He nodded at me, removed his coat and draped it around a kitchen chair, stomped the snow off his boots, then removed them. He ran his hands up and down his arms then breathed into his cupped hands and rubbed them together. “Whoo-ee, it’s cold out there. Got any coffee left?”
I nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Help yourself. Go have a seat, and I’ll be there in just a second. Got a little job to take care of first. Then Pastor Parry wants to say a few words.”
The pastor was in the dining room talking to Melanie when Delbert shuffled his way back into the kitchen. He looked somewhat like a belligerent, chubby, homely kid whose dad was making him shovel the sidewalk. For a moment there, I could see right back to his childhood. He didn’t seem to be a particularly happy—or good-looking—kid, either.
“What’re you grinnin’ at?” he growled.
I clapped him on the shoulder, made sure he had a scarf, hat, and gloves to keep him warm, opened the back door and pointed him in the general direction of the path Bristol had been working on. “Just keep heading that way,” I said, pointing westward. A vigorous gust blasted my words into the churning snow. “You can’t miss it.” I handed him a shovel and shouted over the wind. “Here.”
He hesitated, but took it and turned in the direction I pointed. He took one step, then another. He was gone, his bulky shape blurred, and finally erased by the snow. I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I went back into the house and was immediately assailed by the sound of blizzard-frenzied senior citizens.
Sorry, Del. I’ve got other things to worry about right now. You’re on your own.
Chapter Ten
I had to admire the townspeople who gathered in our living room despite the blowing winds and drifting snow beyond those walls. These were hardy folks who, with the exception of Joe Rich, Rudy Wallenberg, Bristol, Mel, and me, had lived through World War II. They knew hardship when they saw it, and a little blizzard, raging and howling and cussing us out as it was, wasn’t going to keep them from gathering together if it suited them.
I raised my hands and gestured for them to be seated. “Folks, if you’ll just take a seat or find someplace to stand where you’re comfortable, Pastor Parry has something he wants to talk to you about.” I stood with Mel behind the Pastor as he asked the crowd to bow their heads in prayer. When he looked up, he looked twenty years younger. I wondered if that was due to a good night’s sleep or the upcoming retirement announcement.
He told the folks about his plans to retire and introduced me as the new pastor of the Christ Is Lord Church. I stepped forward and smiled into the faces of those nearest me. My goofy grin and I were met with a bone-crushing silence. I’d assumed most of the congregation knew the pastor stepped down the night before. News moves faster in this town than ants toward a marshmallow, but they seemed stunned. I guess handing the pulpit over to the new guy in town wasn’t the most popular decision Pastor Parry made during his lifetime of service to this congregation.
I glanced at him for help, but he was so busy smiling with that look that says, “You’re doin’ great, buddy. They love you!” that I worried the corners of his mouth might meet on the back side of his head. So much for his ministering to the weak and afflicted—namely me. I looked at Mel, who used that moment in time to inspect the bottom of her left shoe. She gripped my hand tightly. I chose to think of it as encouragement, but it could just as easily have been terror or a muscle spasm or just a silent signal to me that all was well with the bottom of her left shoe.
I took a breath and prepared to face the music. “Before I say anything else, I want you folks to know that this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to some of you. I know Pastor Parry has led this congregation for forty years now. He will be sorely missed, but from what he tells us of his plans, we don’t need to worry about him. He and Hazel have a wonderful retirement planned closer to their children.” I nodded toward the pastor. He was still beaming. One or two of the folks moved their mouths. Could have been smiles, might have been gas. Hard to tell with this crowd.
“I’m honored to be asked to fill his shoes and I’m hoping I meet your expectations,” I continued. “As some of you know, I was a chaplain in the Air Force for twenty-seven years. My wife, Melanie,” I held up our clasped hands, “and I moved here just a few weeks ago when we bought the inn.”
“And that brings me to my next topic: this storm. I’m so pleased that you’re all here and if you know of anyone else who should be, or would like to be here with us, please let us know. If they can’t make it here on their own, we’ll send someone after them. We have several bedrooms, with fireplaces in most of them, so even if we lose power we should be fine.” I waited for a few seconds to let them ponder that idea.
“Okay, folks. Just one more thing.” I looked at Pastor Parry and he nodded his head. “Our man Bristol here,” I pointed to Bristol standing near the entryway to the dining room, “was out in this blizzard last night doing his best to keep our sidewalks and steps and parking lot at the church shoveled out and the furnace stoked so the pipes wouldn’t freeze. While he was checking on the heat, he discovered that someone had broken into the church and vandalized it.” A collective gasp rose from the group. See? I knew I could get them talking.
“What on earth?”
“Oh my gracious, who would do …?”
“What kind of vandalism, Pastor?” That was Sadie Simms.
“Paint. Someone used white paint to write the word killer in big letters at least three feet high across the sanctuary’s back wall and doors.”
“Killer? Killer? What’s that supposed to mean?” Winnie Wyandotte jumped to her feet and stood on tiptoe to get a look at me, as if those couple inches of height and shaking her finger in my direction would convince me to spill my guts and solve the mystery right then and there.
“Killer?” That was Dewey, who was doing his best to muzzle his wife before she lit out after me like a duck to soggy bread.
“What killer?” I thought that was Leo but realized he wouldn’t talk if he could save some effort and let the others do it for him. Must have been George.
“Is there a killer?” That was one of the ladies. Yes, ma’am, there’s a killer all right—there are lots of ’em out there—but whether or not Road’s End has one of its very own, well, that’s hard to say. Immediately I felt ashamed of my sarcastic thought and said a quick prayer. Forgive me, Lord. Help me get through this.
Suddenly, my silent group of parishioners had something to say. Of course, it was all the same thing and all involved the word killer
, but still, the silence was lifted. I like to be grateful for small blessings.
“Folks! Folks, I know this is a shock. I don’t think anybody has any idea what the vandal or vandals, as the case may be, meant by the use of that word. And since we don’t have the first clue who did this, we’re going to be in the dark. This storm is keeping us from getting the authorities out here to investigate, but it’s doubtful they’d find anything by now.”
“How about tracks?” Dewey said. Winnie was sitting back down, and her husband’s arm was around her shoulders. She seemed close to fainting dead away.
“Bristol looked for tracks and found nothing. The wind was just too strong and the snow was coming down too hard. All traces were erased,” I said.
“How’d they get in?”
“Back door. The lock’s been broken,” I said.
“Any other damages?” Sadie spoke up. “Anything missing?”
I looked at Pastor Parry, and he stepped forward. “We don’t think so, at least not that we’ve discovered so far. But as you know, the church is a pretty small building, and we don’t keep any cash in the office. Anybody from around here knows that, so I suppose strangers might have thought they’d find some money or something of value.” He stepped back then held up his hand. “Wait. Just one more thing. I should mention that Hugh is much more capable than I am of handling something like this.” He turned to me and added, “I don’t mean to drop this in your lap, Hugh, but I’d be lost. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to hand the reins over to you this morning and not wait for any official vote.”
I nodded. “You bet, Pastor. I’m not sure I’ll be any better at handling this than you’d be, but I’ll give it my best.”
“Man the church.” Three words in a row from Leo. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak a word without that pipe in his mouth. Could he talk without it, without the smoke squigglies floating around? I hoped he wouldn’t monopolize the conversation, great gabber that he was.
Misstep (The Road's End Series Book 1) Page 6