by Glen Ebisch
“Why don’t you take me along? I’m your silent partner in all this anyway,” Ashley said with a smile.
“I don’t know,” Clarissa said doubtfully.
“You don’t think the two of us could handle Harry? Even without pepper spray, we could have him on the ground crying ‘uncle’ in five seconds if he starting acting up.”
“But would he talk in front of you?” Clarissa wondered. “He might talk to me after his grandfather gives him a call, but I’m not sure he’d be willing to say anything sensitive in front of you.”
“Why not? We’re both church employees, and this is sort of church business. I’m ready to go, unless you have a better idea.”
In her black blouse, black pants, and ultra-black hair, Clarissa thought Ashley definitely looked ready to go if they were planning a ninja attack.
“Okay,” she relented, “we’ll give it a try.”
“Great!” Ashley said. “What do we do next?”
“Raymond said that he would get Harry to call me, so all we can do now it wait.”
“Okay. That’s not something I’m good at, but I guess we have no choice. What would you like me to work on this morning?”
“How about you use the updated list of church members on the computer and set up a schedule of visits for me, figuring that I’ll go out two afternoons a week and visit three families in an afternoon?” Clarissa replied.
Ashley gave her a dubious look. “I don’t think you can do three in an afternoon. People who are home all day love to chat. Plus, you’ll never get to see folks who work if you only go on weekday afternoons.”
“Good point,” Clarissa said. “Let’s do one weekday afternoon and make the other one a Sunday afternoon. And I’ll cut back to doing only two in an afternoon.”
Ashley nodded. “And where do you want me to start?”
“Let’s do it in alphabetical order. That way no one will be offended.”
“I thought you were going to go by age since you began with Raymond Ballard.”
“He was special. Plus, I don’t think our records give ages.”
“And if we did ask for ages, most of the female members wouldn’t give an honest age anyway.” Ashley winked.
Clarissa smiled. “No sense putting anyone on the spot.”
“You do realize that visiting everyone is going to take a year?”
“Doesn’t matter. When I get done, I’ll probably start all over again from the beginning. It’s a great way to stay in touch and hear about people’s concerns and needs.”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Better you than me. I guess that’s why they call you the pastor.”
Clarissa smiled and went into her office. It was time to formulate some ideas for next Sunday’s sermon.
She was so focused on her work that she didn’t hear the phone in the outside office ring and know a call had come in until Ashley buzzed her and said Harry Blanchard was on the line.
“My grandfather said that you wanted to speak with me,” Harry Blanchard said right away, skipping over “hello” and making it clear that only because his grandfather strongly suggested it was he willing to speak with her.
“Thanks for calling, Harry,” Clarissa said graciously. “I’d like to meet with you for a few minutes, when you have time.”
“This isn’t to gloat about the Rogers’ deal falling through, is it?” he said. “If so, I want you to know that I still think it would have been great for the church. I think those of you who were against it had your heads in the sand.”
Clarissa sighed. “It has nothing to do with that. I’m visiting all the members of the church, and as someone who is very involved in church matters, I wanted you to be one of the first.”
“It’s hardly necessary for us to meet, is it? We already know each other, and you see me every month at board meetings,” Harry retorted.
“But only to discuss business. I’d like to learn more about the backgrounds of the members, especially those who have been part of the church for a long time. I was hoping you could tell me something about your father.”
“My father,” he said, a sudden note of warmth in his voice. “He was a wonderful person. He made me the man I am today.”
Clarissa thought—a shade unkindly—that not everyone would consider this great praise, but then chided herself for being so uncharitable.
“Why don’t we meet at my office?” Harry said. “I’m right near the middle of the pedestrian mall at Blanchard Properties. I have some time at eleven o’clock.”
“That sounds fine. And I’d like to bring along Ashley Williams, the church administrative assistant. She’ll be taking notes, so we can incorporate what you tell us into a short history of the church that we’re working on.”
“That’s the girl who always dresses in black like some kind of witch, isn’t it?”
“She’s my assistant,” Clarissa said firmly.
“Well, if you feel she’s absolutely necessary,” Harry said, suggesting that he certainly didn’t. “I’ll see you right at eleven.”
“I’ll be there.”
After hanging up, Clarissa went out to Ashley’s desk, where she was working on a chart to schedule pastoral visits.
“We’re all set to meet with Harry Blanchard at eleven,” Clarissa informed her.
Ashley made a face. “Oh, joy. The perfect way to start a week.”
“You can still beg off. I think I’m able to do this on my own.”
“And what if you didn’t come back, or end up buried in Harry’s basement? I’d never forgive myself—because my aunt would never let me.”
Clarissa grinned. “Nice to know you care. I’m sure everything will go fine, but you’d better bring a notebook. I told Harry that you’d be taking notes for a church history we’re going to do.”
“I hope that’s something you made up just to get him to meet with us,” said Ashley.
“Actually, I’ve been thinking that a church history might be a good idea,” said Clarissa. “I was rooting around in the storeroom last week and came across a history done in the 1920s. I think it’s time we came out with an updated one. An institution can often learn where it should go by seeing where it’s been.”
“That sounds like an advertising slogan to me,” Ashley said.
Clarissa smiled. “I guess it does a bit, but I still think there’s kernel of truth in it. Plus, it will help me get a better idea of what I have to deal with here.”
“I’m more of a numbers person,” Ashley warned.
“No problem. You can sift through the facts, and I’ll put them in an acceptable literary form.”
“Is it okay if I bring a small laptop to our meeting with Harry?” Ashley asked. “I’m not much for writing things down by hand.”
“That sounds fine.”
“Plus, it will give me something to hit him with in case he gets rowdy,” Ashley said with a grin.
***
Clarissa and Ashley got to Blanchard’s office right at the stroke of eleven. They’d walked the six blocks from the church, enjoying the exercise and the beautiful day.
Several tourists had cast curious glances at Ashley in her ninja garb; she wore a matching black backpack to hold her laptop. Clarissa thought, not for the first time, that one of the advantages in wearing only one color was the ease of accessorizing. Whenever she found herself wishing that her assistant were a bit more conventional in appearance, she reminded herself that Ashley came as a package. If you wanted her intelligence and good humor, you had to accept the eccentric getup.
“How do you want to play this, Boss?” Ashley asked, licking her lips a bit nervously.
“Like I told you, Harry thinks the only reason we’re here is to work on a history of the church,” Clarissa told her. “You’re here to take notes. In order to write that history, we need to ask him about his father. I think it’s a subject he enjoys talking about. We’ll let him rattle on as long as he likes, then gently guide him to the time of Royce Llewellyn’s murder
.”
“How are you going to gently ask him if he and his father are the victims of blackmail, and possibly multiple killers?” Ashley demanded.
Clarissa frowned. “I guess I’ll play that part by ear.”
Ashley shook her head as if that were no plan at all. “Well, don’t worry. If he gets upset, I’ve got my pepper spray in an outside pocket.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Yeah, that wouldn’t make it much of a pastoral visit.”
They opened the door to the office, which caused a bell to ring above the door. A well-dressed young woman sitting behind a desk in the center of the surprisingly spacious reception area looked up and smiled. “How may I help you?” she asked.
“I’m Clarissa Abbot and this is Ashley Williams,” Clarissa said. “We have an appointment with Mr. Blanchard.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here,” the receptionist replied. She picked up the phone, pushed a button, and told whoever answered that the eleven o’clock was here. “He’ll be with you in a moment, if you’d like to have a seat,” she said.
Clarissa and Ashley settled into chairs off to the side of the reception area, where they sat and sat.
Ten minutes must have gone by when Ashley whispered, “Just like the little twit to make us wait. He’s probably in there reading the sports pages.”
“Patience,” Clarissa advised with a smile. Ashley’s response was a disdainful snort.
A few minutes later, during which time Ashley twitched and fussed constantly, Harry came out into the waiting room.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “I had a few urgent items of business I had to attend to.”
Clarissa tried to avoid looking at Ashley, who must have been rolling her eyes. Harry shook hands with Clarissa, and reluctantly touched Ashley’s offered hand with two fingers, as though afraid of being infected with eccentricity.
He led them through the double doors behind the receptionist’s desk and down the hall to a large corner office. There were no windows on the side because his building was sandwiched between two others, but a large set of windows looked out on the pedestrian mall, and an even larger set above revealed a surprisingly unobstructed—if somewhat distant—view of the ocean.
Harry settled into the ergonomic office chair behind his desk and smiled reminiscently. “So you wanted to talk to me about my father.”
Clarissa realized that this was the first time she had ever seen the man smile, his normal expression being that of a man with severe heartburn. It transformed him into a rather pleasant-looking individual.
Clarissa glanced at Ashley, who appeared stunned, as if a snake had suddenly grinned at her. She stared at Ashley until she got her attention, then nodded toward the laptop. Her assistant got the point. She whipped it open and booted it up.
Harry noticed none of this because he was staring at the ceiling, as if seeking divine inspiration. “My father was an innovator,” he finally began. “He was the chairman of the planning board that came up with the idea of blocking off part of the downtown and creating a pedestrian mall.”
“Really,” Clarissa said, impressed and a little surprised that Raymond hadn’t mentioned his son’s significant contribution to Shore Side.
Harry nodded and went on for the next ten minutes about the various town projects that his father had been instrumental in developing.
“But his actual job was running The Harmony of the Sea Hotel, wasn’t it?” Clarissa finally interrupted.
“Of course, he did run the hotel for much of his life,” Harry granted with a casual wave of his hand, as though that hardly mattered compared to his father’s community contributions. “But in the last ten years of his life, he devoted much of his time to founding this company.”
“However, you’re the one who had made it into the success that it is,” Clarissa said.
Ashley glanced at her, as if not believing she was laying the flattery on so thick.
Harry’s confused expression showed that he was uncertain whether to accept such praise or defer to his father. “I suppose that’s true,” he said with a modest smile, “but I was only building on the foundation that my father had already laid.”
“I’m sure your father must have really enjoyed commercial real estate to have worked so hard to build up this enterprise. But he must have also gotten a great deal of satisfaction from running the hotel. I gathered from what your grandfather said that when your father was the assistant manager, he urged your grandfather to buy out Royce Llewellyn several times, but Llewellyn refused to sell. That must have been very frustrating for your father,” Clarissa said in what she hoped was a sympathetic enough tone.
Harry eyed her suspiciously. “That’s all ancient history. Grandfather bought out Llewellyn’s share from his widow, and my father became the hotel’s general manager, a job he held until my grandfather sold the hotel to a developer.”
“And it was a job that he enjoyed?” Clarissa asked.
“Of course. My father was a natural leader. Running a hotel is very complicated. You have to manage a wide variety of moving parts and make sure that everything is functioning efficiently. You also have to provide inspiration for your employees, so each feels that his or her individual contributions are valued. It’s an extremely demanding job that requires a certain type of personality.”
“A kind of personality that Royce Llewellyn didn’t possess?”
“He was too busy using his position to satisfy his . . . appetites.” Harry spat out the last word with disgust.
“So his sudden death was very fortunate for everyone, including your father.”
Harry popped forward in his chair. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa saw Ashley reaching into the pocket of her jacket, no doubt for the pepper spray.
“What are you implying?” Harry asked in an ice-cold voice.
“Nothing,” Clarissa said, keeping her tone level and calm. “I was simply pointing out that Royce Llewellyn, in the normal scheme of things, could easily have lived for another twenty-five years and continued to manage the hotel. You seem to be suggesting that would have been very bad for the business.”
“I suppose,” Harry said, settling back slightly in the chair but still on alert. “Look, I don’t really see how this line of inquiry is relevant to establishing my father’s role in the community.”
“Did you know David Ames?” Clarissa asked pointedly.
At first she thought Harry wasn’t going to answer, but then he shook his head as though bemused by the line of questioning. “I saw him around town,” he said. “He was an occasional member of the church, but I didn’t know him well. We hardly traveled in the same circles.”
Clarissa took a deep breath. “We believe that Ames knew who killed Royce Llewellyn and was blackmailing that person. Did you father know David Ames?”
The coin dropped and Harry shot to his feet, his face turning a livid red. “Are you suggesting that my father had something to do with the murder of Royce Llewellyn?” he demanded.
Out of the corner of her eye, Clarissa saw Ashley’s hand move again toward the pocket with the pepper spray.
Clarissa kept her voice low. “Your grandfather didn’t think the idea was so outrageous,” she said.
It took a moment for the words to sink in; then confusion replaced anger on Harry’s face, and he sank back into his chair.
“Your grandfather felt that your father was desperate to take over management of the hotel and would stop at virtually nothing to achieve it,” Clarissa continued.
Harry rubbed a hand over his face and stared across the room. Suddenly he seemed subdued, as if all the fight had gone out of him.
“My father lived for that job,” he finally said in a faraway voice. “He never forgave my grandfather for selling the hotel. Setting up this real estate company was never an adequate substitute for him. He also had nothing but contempt for Royce—but I can’t believe he murdered him. My father was an ambitious man
, but not a violent one.”
“We think David Ames was blackmailing whoever killed Llewellyn. Did you father ever give any indication that he had business dealings with Ames?” Clarissa asked.
“I can’t remember him ever mentioning Ames to me.” Harry gave a wan smile. “But he probably wouldn’t have if the man was blackmailing him, would he?”
“So no one ever approached you after your father’s death and demanded that you give him money or there would be a scandal involving your father?”
“No, of course not. This is the first time I’ve heard anything about my father being involved in such a thing, and I still don’t believe it.”
Clarissa could tell that Harry was starting to get heated again, so it was time to end the conversation. She glanced over at Ashley who was assiduously taking notes on her laptop.
But Clarissa still wanted to push her point a bit more. “We believe the killer of Royce Llewellyn murdered David Ames because Ames had been blackmailing him, and he intended to pass his secret along to a new blackmailer,” she told Harry.
“Ames was murdered? I never heard that,” he replied.
“The police think so.” Detective Baker wouldn’t be happy at her letting the cat out of the bag, again, but she thought it was high time. “Are you certain that your father had no contact with him?” she asked.
“None that I know of, and if my father was being blackmailed, it would have been all over ten years ago when he died.”
“Unless Ames began to blackmail you.”
“Are you implying that I killed him?” Harry jumped to his feet again. “I think it’s time both of you left.”
“If Ames had approached you with evidence that your father had killed Llewellyn, would you have paid to preserve you family’s good name?” Clarissa demanded.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, and Clarissa thought he might answer. But then he simply pointed to the door.
Ashley slowly packed up her laptop, probably trying to show she wasn’t intimidated, and they both left.
“What do you think?” Clarissa asked Ashley once they were both out on the street heading back toward the church.
“I hate to say it, but I believed him,” Ashley said. “I think he would have paid blackmail if Ames had approached him, but I don’t think he did. He seemed genuinely surprised at the very idea that his father had killed Llewellyn.”