by Glen Ebisch
Although she was tempted to say “none,” Clarissa knew she had to tell the truth. So, somewhat hesitantly, she told Detective Baker about visiting Doris Llewellyn at home and talking with Maggie Preston at the restaurant. She didn’t feel the need to tell him about her conversation with Marcie Spurlock, since that was part of the preparation for Jack’s funeral.
When she was done, Baker smiled grimly and shook his head. “You really can’t stay out of this, Pastor, can you?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “I need to find out who murdered David Ames.”
“Can’t you leave that to the police?”
“And what have you found out so far?” Clarissa knew that came out a bit more sarcastic than she had intended.
Detective Baker wasn’t fazed. “We interviewed everyone working on the hospital floor that night, and found that, aside from the one nurse, Wanda Bascomb, who thinks she saw a hooded figure leaving Ames’ room, no one noticed anything unusual,” he answered evenly. “We interviewed all of Ames’ drinking buddies down at the Salt Horse, which was where he spent most nights. He hadn’t said anything important to any of them, except that his heart was acting up.”
“Did you talk to Maggie Preston?” Clarissa asked.
“No. Because she wasn’t a friend of Ames.”
“But she was a good friend of Royce Llewellyn.”
“True,” the detective conceded. “But we have no proof that the murders of David Ames and Royce Llewellyn are connected.”
“Seems likely.”
“That isn’t proof.”
“And where did David Ames get all his money from?” Clarissa asked.
“What money? As far as I know, he worked odd jobs around town for years before he went on Social Security.”
“But he had lots more money than that.”
“Who says so?” Baker asked sharply.
“Jack Spurlock.”
“He told you that?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Not exactly. He told Marcie, and she told me.”
“So you’ve been grilling the widow, as well.”
Clarissa blushed. “It happened to come up in the context of talking about Jack’s life.”
Several emotions passed over Josh Baker’s face, but finally he smiled. “You know, you’re actually pretty good at this,” he said. “Maybe you should have been a cop rather than a minister.”
“No, thanks. This is a one-time experience for me.”
“You might find it addictive,” he warned.
“Being attacked in my own office isn’t that appealing.”
“But it does show that you’re on to something.” Baker sighed. “Look, just sit tight for a few days and be careful when you go out at night. And let’s keep the story of this attack a secret. No sense in alarming the entire church. We’ll go back and have a chat with Doris Llewellyn and Maggie Preston. Sometimes folks will tell a cop more than they’ll tell a civilian.”
And sometimes less, Clarissa thought.
***
When Clarissa got out of bed the next morning, her rear end was sore. It took her a moment of wondering before she remembered her fall last night during the attack. Linoleum floors didn’t provide much of a cushion.
She took a moment to give thanks that it hadn’t been worse. Who knew how far this person would go to frighten her off the Ames case? The sooner it was brought to a conclusion, the safer she would be.
A half hour later, down in the kitchen, Mrs. Gunn asked about her lunch with Pat, and Clarissa briefly told her that it had gone well. Mrs. Gunn then went on to complain because Clarissa hadn’t eaten any of the spaghetti she had left. Clarissa explained that she had eaten a great deal at lunch and wasn’t hungry. After making a few more forays at conversation, Mrs. Gunn gave up and left her alone. Clarissa smiled in relief; all that was on her mind right now was what to do about the murder she was trying to solve.
After breakfast, she went directly across to the office. She pored over the Kenneth Rogers materials Ashley had left, and made copies of those she wished to hand out to the church board members; she wanted to make certain that any opinion she expressed would be backed up by substantial evidence.
A while later, Ashley came into her office and asked how the lunch with Pat had gone. Summarizing it briefly, Clarissa then went on to tell Ashley about last night’s attack.
“This person actually knocked you down? Are you all right?” Ashley gasped. “Maybe you should go to the hospital to be checked out. You could have a broken bone or something. I hear the tailbone is pretty easy to break.” Ashley was about to continue when Clarissa raised a hand for silence.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve been hit harder playing sports, and look, let’s keep this between us. I don’t want it getting around town.”
“Right, Boss.”
Ashley went over to her desk and fished around in her handbag. She pulled out her keys and took something off the key ring. She returned with a black canister, and handed it to Clarissa.
“Keep this with you at all times,” she said. “It’s pepper spray. It will hit someone up to ten feet away. Aim for the eyes.”
“Is carrying this legal?” asked Clarissa, looking over the canister.
“If you’re over eighteen and not a felon. I’m pretty sure you’re of age,” Ashley said. “Are you a felon?”
“Maybe I should be asking you,” Clarissa said drily.
“Very funny. Practice taking it out of your bag until you can point it in the right direction without looking.”
“Thanks, I appreciate this,” Clarissa said. “But don’t you need one, too? Or maybe I should ask why you carry pepper spray in the first place?”
“When you look different, you need protection,” Ashley said shortly. “And don’t worry. I’ve got another one at home in basic black to go with all my outfits.”
Clarissa thanked Ashley once more, then went into her office and closed the door. She wanted peace and quiet to jot down her presentation to the church board tonight. She had just finished when there was a knock and Ashley poked her head in.
“Kenneth Rogers is here to see you,” she said loudly. “He doesn’t have an appointment, but he would really like to see you. I can reschedule some of your other appointments if you’d like.” She grinned and rolled her eyes.
“Of course I’ll see him,” Clarissa responded. “Show him in.”
The man who walked into her office then looked to be in his forties. He had wavy black hair and was wearing a casual knit shirt with a sport coat, as if to show that he was really a manual laborer who also happened to dabble in business.
“Sorry to barge in without an appointment,” he said briskly, clearly not in the mood to waste any time in getting down to business. “I just wanted to have the opportunity to speak with you before the church board meeting tonight.”
Clarissa smiled, wondering how he knew about the meeting; he must have an informant on the board.
“I knew Reverend Hollingsworth rather well,” he continued. “We even played golf together several times, and now that you’ve taken his place, I thought it important that we meet. Are you familiar with my proposal for the church land on the south end of Shore Side?”
“I think I’m pretty much up to speed,” Clarissa said. “You’re offering five million for the land. Your plan is to put up a high-rise condominium building. Is that right?”
Rogers smiled and opened his hands as if he were the poster child for generosity. “I’m sure we could sweeten the deal for the land to something closer to six million—and the condo won’t be that high, only fifteen floors.”
“But high by Shore Side standards,” Clarissa pointed out.
“I grant you that, but Shore Side needs to change with the times if it’s going to remain popular with tourists. And we both know how important that is.”
Clarissa smiled. “Some would say Shore Side’s popularity is based on not changing.”
Rogers’ smile became slightly st
rained, and he shrugged. “New ideas are always open to different interpretations.”
Clarissa gave a noncommittal nod.
The man glanced out the window. “I noticed an old Ford in the church parking lot as I was coming in. Is that yours?”
“Yes. It does have a few miles on it,” Clarissa admitted. “I’ve had it since I started college.”
“I’m sure that being able to visit the members of the congregation is important to a minister,” Rogers said. “Perhaps you’d allow me to provide you with more reliable transportation.”
Clarissa took a deep breath in order to control her temper. “Thanks for the offer,” she said. “My old car may not be elegant, but it still gets me where I need to go. And it has sentimental value.”
Rogers nodded. “Of course, I understand. But please keep my offer in mind.” He gave her a joyless smile. “It seems to me that you are very familiar with the issue at hand, and I’m sure you can be trusted to do what is right for the church.”
“I’ll certainly do my best.”
“I’m sure you will,” the man said doubtfully. He shook her hand and left the office.
“What did he want?” Ashley asked a moment later after the front door had closed.
“Mainly to offer me a bribe,” Clarissa said, somewhat disgusted.
“How much?” Ashley asked.
“A new car.”
“What kind?”
Clarissa grinned. “We never got that far. Obviously I should have had you negotiating for me.”
“I don’t have any wheels right now. I could have used your old one,” Ashley sighed.
“Too bad, I didn’t know.”
Ashley thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “Nah, you’d never take a bribe.” she said.
“Because I’m a minister?”
The younger woman paused for a moment. “More because you’re you.”
Clarissa smiled at the compliment and walked back to her office, still thinking about the fact that someone had told Rogers about the board meeting scheduled for tonight—perhaps someone with a new car.
Whatever the case, she was sure that tonight’s meeting would be interesting, to say the least.
Chapter Fourteen
Clarissa stood in front of the Admiral’s Rest. It was aptly named, being a restful shade of gray and having two wings that stood out on either side from the main body of the Victorian, as if to embrace you in a comforting hug. She walked up the stairs to the large front porch that ran the length of the center part of the building, and walked in through the double doors.
She was determined to be more aggressive in her questioning than before. The attack last night had proven to her that she needed to come up with some answers fast, before things became even more dangerous.
The lobby of the inn was done in dark wood and filled with so many shadows that it took Clarissa’s eyes a moment to adjust.
“I’d like to help you, but we’re filled up right now,” a disembodied voice to her left said.
She blinked and could make out a small check-in desk tucked in under the stairwell. Behind the counter stood a tall, thin man in his seventies wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He leered at her and grinned as if he regretted not having a room. This must be Owen Chandler.
“That’s okay, I’m not looking for a place to stay,” Clarissa said. “I’m here to talk about David Ames.”
The grin disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Yeah, I heard that old Dave died—real shame. And a shame about Jack, too. Who ever thought a guy as experienced as him would ever fall?”
“I’m David’s pastor, and I’m looking for some background on his early life that I can include in the service at his wake,” Clarissa said.
“So you’re out interviewing his old friends. You certainly are thorough,” the man replied. “But, although I knew him in the old days, we really haven’t kept in touch. I’d run into him on the street once in a while and say hello, but that’s all. Or once in a while, we’d be in the same bar and pass the time of day.”
“The way you would with Jack Spurlock?” Clarissa asked.
Owen Chandler’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah, although I saw even less of Jack. After he got married, his wife made him stay in at night. He had to walk the straight and narrow. I heard he was even working for a church. Is that the one you’re at?”
She ignored the question. “So there were no more nights out together like the one when Roger Llewellyn got killed?” she demanded.
“Hey, what’s this all about?” Chandler demanded. “Are you a minister or a cop?”
“A minister. But I can have Detective Baker come here very quickly and ask you the same questions if you don’t want to answer them for me,” she threatened.
Chandler rubbed his mouth and looked across the dark lobby.
Clarissa thought it was time to take a shot in the dark. “I know David Ames was paying you money. I’d like to know why.”
“You can’t know that,” Chandler said, then backtracked. “It never happened.”
“Okay. That’s something else you can talk about with Detective Baker,” Clarissa said.
“Aw, c’mon,” Chandler said in a wheedling tone, “you’ve got me all wrong. I never did anything illegal.”
“But you did know something that David was willing to pay you to keep quiet about.”
“Look, all I know is that on the night Llewellyn got killed, Dave left us in the bar at ten o’clock,” he said. “He was drunk and angry. He said that he was going to have it out with Llewellyn once and for all for firing him from the hotel.”
“And did he?”
“How should I know?” Chandler grumbled. “Jack and I stayed in the bar. Forty minutes later Dave comes back, looking like he’d seen a ghost. He won’t tell us anything about what happened, but he makes us promise to say that he was with us the whole night, if anyone asked.”
“And that’s what you told the police?” Clarissa asked.
“Sure. We were buddies back then. They called us the Three Musketeers.”
“So I’ve heard. But that didn’t stop you from blackmailing Ames, did it? Not exactly one for all, and all for one.”
Chandler twisted his hands together. “Look, I was twenty-one and my parents had me working here at the inn for nothing more than room and board and a tiny allowance, like I was still a kid.”
“You could have gotten work outside the inn.”
“They told me if I did that, they’d change their wills and leave the place to my cousin Bernie. They always liked him better anyway.” He scowled.
Clarissa paused for a moment. “Do you think David killed Llewellyn?” she asked.
“No. I’d never have covered up for him if I thought he was a killer,” Chandler said. “He swore to the both of us that he didn’t do it.”
“And you believed him because he was your buddy?”
“Mostly I believed him because he was suddenly flush with money.” Chandler grinned. “That’s why I got the idea to put the touch on him in the first place.”
“Who was giving him all this money?” Clarissa asked.
“No idea. I asked a few times, but Dave wasn’t about to tell me. He was probably afraid that I’d go around him to the source. Not that I would have.”
Clarissa guessed that David had his buddy Owen pretty well figured out.
He put on a sad face. “I was real sorry when I heard that Dave had died. We went back a long way.”
“A long, lucrative way for you,” Clarissa accused.
Chandler grinned again. “That’s true, too.” He sighed. “It’ll be hard to get along without the extra income. Running an inn in a resort area isn’t the license to print money that most people think it is.”
“But why was this mysterious somebody paying David all this money?” Clarissa asked.
“I always figured because whoever it was had killed Llewellyn, and Dave saw him do it,” Chandler replied. “That’s the most likely explanation, isn
’t it?”
Clarissa was silent for a moment, considering what to say next. She had promised Detective Baker not to reveal the fact that Ames and Spurlock had been murdered. However, Owen Chandler seemed to her to be a likely third target. Could she, in good conscience, conceal the truth from him?
“Maybe you’d better be careful for a while,” she advised.
“Is that a threat?” Chandler demanded.
“Not from me.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
Cat’s out of the bag now, she thought. “David Ames may not have died of natural causes, and it’s possible that Jack didn’t fall off that ladder by accident,” Clarissa said in a low voice.
Chandler’s eyes widened. “Are you saying someone killed them and might be planning to kill me?” he gasped.
“Let’s just say you may have information that somebody doesn’t want to get out,” she said.
“I don’t know anything about who killed Royce Llewellyn!”
“Neither did Jack, but he’s still dead.”
Chandler’s eyes went wide and he rubbed his forehead. “What am I supposed to do? It’s tourist season. I’ve got reservations. I can’t just close up and leave town!”
“Maybe your cousin Bernie would take over for you,” Clarissa said with a small smile.
“Fat chance,” Chandler said, shaking his head. “He became a brain surgeon.”
***
That evening, Clarissa got into her business attire and walked over to the church hall fifteen minutes before the board meeting was due to start. She felt rather nervous; she had little experience with church politics and doubted that it would be her strength. In many ways, it seemed diametrically opposed to her job as a pastor, which involved healing rather than taking sides.
More experienced ministers had frequently told her that it was the least pleasant part of the job and that politics could divide a congregation, leading to a church split. She also knew that it was going to be impossible for her to remain neutral on this controversial issue.
Fifteen minutes past the time the meeting was due to begin, the seven members of the board had finally gathered around the table. Ramona Russell, who was chairing the meeting, was careful to introduce Clarissa to each of the members, even to those she had already met. Aside from Ramona, there were four other women: three were senior citizens and one who looked to be in her thirties. There were also two men: a man in his twenties named Jackson Monroe and a middle-aged fellow named Harry Blanchard.