by Glen Ebisch
“I remember,” Ashley said, her eyes widening.
Clarissa pulled over a waiting room chair and sat down. “What I’m going to tell you now is one of those things.”
Clarissa then proceeded to tell her everything she had learned so far about the Ames case.
“Wow!” Ashley said when Clarissa was done. “You’re really not afraid to get into things. You’re a regular Agatha Whosis.”
“Christie?”
“Right. But, you know, maybe the cops are on to something,” Ashley said thoughtfully. “If somebody did murder this Ames guy, then there’s a killer out there, and he may not like you poking into things.”
“All I’m doing is asking a few questions.”
“There’s nothing in this life that will get you into more trouble faster.”
“I’ll be careful,” Clarissa promised. “I’m just trying to decide who to talk to next.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “You’re on the stubborn side, aren’t you?”
“Let’s call it ‘persistent.’ So whom shall I see next?” Clarissa asked.
Ashley thought for a moment. “How about having another chat with Jack Spurlock?” she suggested.
“He was pretty hostile two days ago,” Clarissa said doubtfully. “I’m not sure he’ll tell me anything.”
“He’s had some time to calm down by now. Heck, he’s the church handyman; he should be willing to answer your questions. You’re sort of his boss,” Ashley pointed out.
“Good idea. I’ll have a talk with him.”
“By the way, I notice that you’ve got a pretty fashionable pair of slacks on, as well. Another special effort for Andrew the lawyer?” Ashley winked.
Clarissa grinned. “Just projecting a businesslike image.”
“Hmm. I’d say the image is a bit warmer than that.”
Clarissa was about to respond when Andrew Corrigan walked into the room. He paused for a second at the sight of Ashley, who was wearing a black dress that reached almost to the floor, but then he smiled and gave her a friendly nod.
He looked longer and more appreciatively at Clarissa, who reached out and shook his hand before introducing him to Ashley. She then led him into her office.
“This isn’t exactly what I would have expected,” he said, marveling at the wood-paneled walls.
“It was decorated to Reverend Hollingsworth’s taste,” Clarissa explained.
“Of course.”
“You’ve never been in this office before?” Clarissa asked, surprised.
“Well, I just started working for my father’s law firm. He’s the Corrigan in Corrigan and Bailey. He handled all of the legal business for the church,” Andrew said, turning around to take in all of the office.
“Has he retired?” Clarissa asked.
“Cut back on his workload is more like it,” he said. “I used to be with a large firm in Manhattan, but when I got tired of the rat race a few months ago, Dad offered to take me in as a junior partner so he could ease into retirement.”
Clarissa sat down behind her desk and motioned for Andrew to take the chair opposite. “Did you grow up here in Shore Side?” she asked.
“That’s right,” he replied, taking a seat. “I lived here until I graduated from high school. I went away to college and law school, although I came back for summers and holidays. And then I was living in New York City.”
“How do you like being back home?”
Andrew smiled. “It took me a few weeks to get accustomed to the slower pace, but now I love it. I think I’ll live a lot longer working a normal week instead of the fourteen-hour days I had to put in up in the city. I’ll have some time to really live my life now.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve only been here a little over a week, and I can already feel myself slowing down to really appreciate every moment of the day.” Clarissa would have enjoyed spending more time getting to know Andrew, but she realized this wasn’t a social call. “So, what’s this legal issue you wanted to discuss?” she asked, getting down to business.
“Well, as you may know, the church owns ten acres of land down on the southern border of Shore Side,” Andrew said. “The church has owned it for over a hundred years. It’s my understanding that a member of the congregation deeded it to the church in her will. It’s mostly marsh and meadowlands, but it’s very popular with birders and is quite a wildlife habitat.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” Clarissa said.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised Reverend Hollingsworth didn’t mention it to you before he left.”
“He left rather quickly. We didn’t have much time to talk.” Clarissa was starting to wonder if the Reverend had intentionally kept her in the dark.
“He never seemed to have much time to talk to my dad, either,” Andrew said. “The problem is that the land has no designated environmental status, so it has no state or federal protection. Since the land is swampy and not really suitable for building, that was never an issue up until now.”
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“Someone has offered to purchase the land from the church.”
“And what does this person want it for?”
“His plan is to put up a high-rise condominium. There’s a real shortage of condos for sale in Shore Side, so he’d probably have no trouble selling them at a good price.”
“Would the town be willing to give him permission to put up something like that?” she wondered. “It seems rather out of character with the Victorian flavor of the place.”
“The man who wants to buy the land is Kenneth Rogers,” Andrew informed her. “He owns KR Construction. They’ve put up a number of high-rise condominiums up and down the Jersey shore. He’s a powerful man, and apparently managed to convince a majority of the town council to go along with his proposal.”
“How did he convince them?”
Andrew shrugged. “I wouldn’t care to say. But to take the high-minded approach, it is possible that the members of the council are looking improve the town’s tax base.”
Clarissa nodded. “Did you ever get to speak with Reverend Hollingsworth about this?”
“My dad did. Hollingsworth seemed to be in favor of the sale. Dad warned him that various environmental groups might seek to block construction, but the Reverend seemed to feel that as long as the sale went through, the lawsuits would be a problem for the construction company, not the church.”
“It wouldn’t be good publicity for Shore Side Community Church to be seen as more concerned with money than with the environment,” Clarissa noted.
“We did point that out to him, but he seemed to feel that the church could really use the money.”
She hadn’t heard anything about the church being in dire financial straits, but perhaps the church board was waiting until the next official meeting to break the bad news to her. “How much money are we talking about?” she asked.
“My father was party to the early negotiations. For the ten acres, the amount being offered was five million,” Andrew said. “But that was only a preliminary figure. It would likely have gone up.”
Clarissa’s jaw dropped. Five million, if invested wisely, would certainly insure the future of the church, and allow for programs that would assist the needs of the community. “I can see why Reverend Hollingsworth found it tempting,” she said.
“He was also friends with Rogers. Apparently they played golf together.”
“Yes, I gather the Reverend did a lot of that.”
“My impression from what Hollingsworth told us is that the church board is divided down the middle on the issue,” Andrew said. “Some of the board are strong environmentalists and preservationists, while others want to take the money.”
“Well, the decision isn’t mine, thank goodness,” Clarissa said. “In fact, it’s not even the church board’s decision to make. The board can vote to recommend a course of action, but if I understand the church governance structure correctly, on an issue as important as
this one, the entire congregation would have to vote.”
Andrew smiled. “Democracy in action—that’s refreshing in a religious institution. So there’s no way to tell how things will turn out?”
“Not really,” she replied. “I’m sure if the board were unanimous on something, the congregation would probably go along, but if the board is split, it could go either way. But let me get in touch with Ramona Russell, the chair of the church board. Maybe she can give me an idea of how far along this matter has gotten and when it might be coming up for a vote. I’ll give you a call back as soon as I know something.”
Andrew reached across the desk and handed her a card. “This has both my office number and my cell. Give me a call anytime.” He paused and smiled. “I know you’ve just gotten into town and most likely don’t know many people here, and I realize how that feels. Most of my friends from school left Shore Side years ago. So, since we’re two lonely souls, I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me. That is, if you don’t have a boyfriend or significant other.”
Clarissa returned his smile. The image of Tyler flashed through her mind, but she pushed it away. That was the past and in an old place; Andrew was the present in a new place.
“No, I’m on my own, and I’d like that,” she replied.
“Saturday night?” Andrew asked.
“Could we make it Friday?” she asked. “I like to rest up on Saturday night. Sunday is kind of my big day of the week.”
He laughed. “Friday it is.”
Once Andrew had left, Ashley came into the office and smiled at Clarissa. “So, was he really here about legal business, or just funny business?”
Clarissa ignored her quip. “What do you know about the marshland to the south of town?” she asked.
“Dismal swamp, you mean,” Ashley snorted. “A lot of people tromp around out there looking at birds. And when I was in high school, the more adventurous couples would use it as a kind of lovers’ lane. I guess it’s okay if you don’t mind mosquito bites in sensitive places.”
“Well, apparently Shore Side Community Church owns it, and someone wants to buy it,” Clarissa said.
Ashley paused. “Hmm, hard call. Do you protect the creatures or the pocketbook?”
“Exactly.”
“Was that all you talked about?”
Clarissa hesitated.
“Did he ask you out?” Ashley demanded.
Clarissa blushed slightly. “As a matter of fact, we’re going out to dinner on Friday.”
“So there was a little funny business mixed in,” Ashley said with a note of triumph in her voice.
Clarissa grinned. “Maybe you could say that.”
Ashley gave her a double thumbs-up. “I like the way you work, Boss. I like the way you work.”
Chapter Nine
Clarissa was sitting in the kitchen, eating her lunch and half-listening to Mrs. Gunn talk about the price of eggs at the local grocery store. Her mind had drifted away to the Ames case, and she was giving serious consideration to contacting Jack Spurlock again.
“What would you like me to make for your dinner tonight?” Mrs. Gunn suddenly asked.
Clarissa’s mind snapped back to the present. “There’s still plenty of that casserole left over from Sunday. I could just have some more of that.”
Mrs. Gunn shook her head firmly. “That’s why you’re so thin, you don’t care enough about food! You need more variety.”
“Okay,” Clarissa said. She had learned to pick her battles with the housekeeper. “Then why don’t you take the casserole home with you for dinner tonight?”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Of course, we wouldn’t want good food to go to waste.”
Mrs. Gunn paused. “Then how about a nice pork chop for tonight?”
“Sounds great.”
“I can write down the directions for how to do it. I’m sure you could follow them.”
Clarissa had baked and broiled a number of pork chops in her life, but she didn’t want to disabuse Mrs. Gunn of her view that she was a complete novice in the kitchen. The older woman seemed to enjoy providing for her.
“That would be very nice,” Clarissa said. “I’m sure I could follow your directions.”
“And I’ll fix a nice salad and some mashed potatoes before I go. I’ll leave you directions on how to heat up the potatoes in the microwave.”
“Great.”
Mrs. Gunn nodded with a satisfied smile on her face as she pulled a bag of potatoes out of the pantry.
“I had a chat with Jack Spurlock the other day when he was working on the church window,” Clarissa mentioned. “What do you know about him?”
Mrs. Gunn got the thoughtful expression on her face that she usually had when remembering the past. “He’s a few years older than me, so I didn’t really know him in school,” she said. “He was a bit wild as a boy, and used to hang out with Dave Ames and Owen Chandler. They were together so much folks used to call them the ‘Three Musketeers.’ I imagine they got into their share of trouble. Nothing serious, mind, but the kind of pranks that young guys get up to.”
“Jack doesn’t seem particularly wild now,” Clarissa observed. “He is the church maintenance man, after all.”
“He changed like night and day once he met Marcie Green. After they got married, she brought him to our church. In a few years, they had three children and were all settled down,” Mrs. Gunn explained. “Marcie is a lovely woman and living proof that a good woman can civilize a man.”
“What did Jack do for a living originally?”
“He worked for a contractor that restores Victorian homes around town. Still works part-time, as far as I know. He’s a fine carpenter. We’re lucky to have him.”
“I’m sure.”
Clarissa’s phone rang, and she saw that it was Detective Baker calling. She excused herself and went into the front room to answer.
“You were right,” Baker said as soon as she picked up. “I just got the preliminary report on the cause of death for David Ames. He didn’t die of heart failure, as was first thought. He was smothered.”
Clarissa gasped; her suspicions had been confirmed. “How can they tell?” she asked.
“He had bloodshot eyes, a high level of carbon dioxide in his blood, and some fibers from the pillow in his nose and mouth. I’m sure they’ll know more once they’ve examined him further, but there doesn’t seem to be any doubt. Somebody put a pillow over his face and pressed down hard.”
Clarissa thought back to the frail man she had seen in the bed. He would have struggled, but anyone vigorous and determined could have held him down. “So what happens next?” she asked.
“We declare it a homicide and start investigating,” Baker replied. “I’m going over to the hospital this afternoon to talk to everyone who was working on the floor that night, to see if I can get a better description of that hooded figure seen leaving Ames’ room.”
“What about connecting it to the Llewellyn case?”
“We don’t know there is a connection at this time,” Baker said.
“But David was going to tell Jack Spurlock something right before he was killed,” Clarissa protested.
“Sure, Pastor, but remember what I said about getting ahead of the evidence,” the detective cautioned. “First of all, we don’t know that Ames was murdered because of what he was going to tell Jack. Dave may have had lots of enemies here in town. He lived here his whole life, and he wasn’t exactly as pure as the driven snow. And even if he was killed because of what he was going to tell Jack, we don’t know that it had anything to do with the Llewellyn murder.”
“Doesn’t it stand to reason?” Clarissa said, hearing a note of stubbornness in her voice.
There was a long pause on the other end. “All I’ll grant you is that it’s a possibility,” he said. “And we’ll consider it.”
“Well, at least talk to Jack and try to find out what he thinks David wanted to talk to him about.”
“That’s definitely on our list. And, by the way, we’re not putting out the fact that Ames was murdered as public information, so keep it under your hat,” Detective Baker told her.
“Sure. Thanks for calling and filling me in.”
“My pleasure, and remember, this isn’t something that a civilian should get involved in, especially now that we’re certain it’s a homicide,” he warned.
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” With that, she hung up.
After ending her call to the detective, she immediately called Jack Spurlock.
“Hello, Jack. I need to see you,” she told him as soon as he answered.
“I’m on a job right now, Pastor, I can’t just pick up and leave,” he protested.
“We need to talk more about David Ames. I can come to wherever you are.”
There was a loud exhalation of breath, and when Jack spoke again, his voice was more subdued. “I’m working on a white Victorian at 51 Marshal Street. I’ll be around back, so come and find me.”
Clarissa agreed and quickly hung up. She said goodbye to Mrs. Gunn, who was seated at the kitchen table, carefully writing down the directions for baking a pork chop. She looked unhappy when Clarissa wrapped up the uneaten half of her sandwich and put it in the refrigerator.
“How am I ever going to put some weight on you if you don’t eat?” she grumbled.
“I’m sure it will happen over time, but I have to go out now,” Clarissa told her.
“Church business?”
“Sort of,” Clarissa answered as she went out the door.
She walked over to the office and told Ashley she’d be out for a little while, then hurried to the parking lot and got into her car. Not knowing where Marshal Street was, she programmed her G.P.S. and followed its directions there.
In a little over five minutes, she was parked in front of a large Victorian that had clearly seen better days. Repairs had recently been made to the gingerbread along the roofline, and as she stood there, Clarissa could hear the sound of hammering coming from behind the house. She went up the walk, then left the sidewalk and started around the side of the house.