by J B Hawker
“That’s awful! You live right in the church! How horrifying for you. Is your home damaged? Shall I come over and get you and Ryan? Is Ryan okay?”
“Thanks for your kind offer, Judy, but we’re both fine. The only damage was to the sanctuary. Fortunately, the firemen were able to put the fire out before it could spread very far. It never reached the platform and the organ and piano seem to be undamaged.”
“Thank God you weren’t hurt, and your home is okay. Was Ryan very shaken up? Didn’t his folks perish in a fire?” Judy asked.
“Not exactly, but their church was burned to the ground. I was afraid he would be really upset, but Peter came by here, and then went to meet Ryan at the school. He warned him before he walked in on all the firetrucks and smoke and all.”
“Peter came by, huh? So, how’s that going? Are sparks flying?” Judy chuckled at her feeble joke.
“You said you called about a woman being found on the beach?” Merrill quickly changed the subject. “What happened? Was it a drowning? Those sneaker waves are so treacherous.”
“Yeah, uh, no, she didn’t drown. Her head was bashed in, apparently. I heard she’d been in the water for a couple of days, but she didn’t drown.”
“Was it a local woman?” Merrill asked, mostly to keep Judy from getting back to the topic of Peter.
“Someone fairly new in town, I think. Name of Sisco. Betsy or Beth Sisco.”
“Oh, my goodness! Bethany Sisco is a member of my church. I’ve got to go to her husband. This is terrible. Thanks for calling, Judy. Bye.”
Merrill immediately dialed Roger Sisco, but her call went to his voicemail.
She left a message of condolence and asked him to call and let her know when she could stop by.
She hung up feeling dissatisfied and more than a little ashamed.
Bethany’s husband had turned to her when his wife was missing and, beyond making a cursory search of the annex, she’d done nothing. She hadn’t even followed up to find out if Bethany had returned.
At the time, she’d even considered that Roger might be better off without his demanding wife.
Judy said Bethany was killed by a blow to the head.
She must have fallen after the bonfire and hit her head on the rocks along the shore. She might even have been lying in the surf, bleeding from her head wound, while Merrill sat nearby, having silly romantic thoughts about Peter, the night, and the moonlight.
Her self-recriminations were interrupted by a knock on the apartment’s private connecting door into the church.
Who could that be?
She opened the door hesitantly and found a man wearing the uniform of the fire cleanup company.
“Hello, ma’am. I didn’t see anyone around in the church. Can you tell me where I can find the pastor? He called to have us give him an estimate on cleaning up the fire damage.”
“I’m the pastor. How did you get in here?”
“There’s nothing blocking your front door, except yellow caution tape, so I came on in and started looking around. I’ve got my estimate, if you’d care to take a look at it.”
She referred the serviceman to Manny for the deaconate’s approval of the estimate, and then called Alden.
The call connected, but no one spoke.
“Hello…Alden?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, this is Pastor Merrill. We had a fire at the church last night.”
“Well, I didn’t do it. Whatcha calling me for?”
“I’m not accusing you, Alden. The front door of the church was broken by the firemen. I wondered if you could come and board it over to keep people and animals out until we can have the doors repaired.”
“Sure. I can do that. It’s easy.”
“Could you come right away? The sooner we have the opening secured, the better.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The call disconnected and Merrill shook her head.
That man was so odd. She only hoped he would do the work before nightfall.
A few hours later, Merrill was surrounded by open Bibles, concordances and commentaries, researching her next week’s sermon, when she was interrupted again.
This time the knocking was at her outside door.
Opening it, she found Peter standing on the steps with a serious look on his face.
“Have you heard?” he asked, without preamble.
“Come in, Peter,” Merrill said, stepping back for him to enter. “What are you referring to?”
“The woman who washed up on the beach. That’s the beach where we had our picnic, right?”
“Yes. I did hear about it. She was a member of my congregation and I think she must have died the night of the picnic,” Merrill said.
“What makes you say that?”
“She never went home that night. Her husband called me on Sunday morning, and I did nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she said with a catch in her voice, throwing her arms wide, with her palms up.
Peter stepped into her arms and held her.
His sudden act of comfort shocked Merrill into releasing the sobs she’d been holding back all morning.
Peter stroked her hair and murmured soothing sounds until Merrill regained control.
“I don’t know what that was all about. Forgive me,” she said.
“You’ve had a lot of shocks in a very short time. You needed to let it out. There’s nothing to forgive. You deserve a shoulder to cry on, now and then, you know. I am happy to oblige,” Peter said.
Peter seemed so sincere.
Merrill was confused. Confused and very tired.
She walked into the little sitting room off the kitchen and sat on the sofa, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the cushions.
Peter sat beside her and took her hand.
“Merrill,” he said. “Please open your eyes and look at me.”
When she obeyed, Peter lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“You can trust me, Merrill. I won’t ever hurt you,” he said.
Merrill started to speak, but Peter put a finger to her lips.
“For one thing, if I ever hurt you, your big bruiser brothers would kill me,” he said with a grin. “But mainly, I’ll never hurt you because I really like you. I want to get to know you better. I thought maybe you really liked me, too, but, every now and then, you seem to freeze me out. What’s that all about, anyway?”
Merrill sat up straight and turned to face Peter squarely but left her hand in his.
“Why did you say you only came to Bannoch on your vacation because Wolf asked you to check on me, when the truth was you were here looking for a story?”
“Ah, so that’s it. When I first arrived, I didn’t know what I was going to find. I couldn’t tell anyone I was investigating these deaths until I had something concrete to go on.”
“You never did find anything concrete, though, did you?”
“Not quite, but I haven’t told you everything I learned in Portland.”
“What else?”
“The reason our two victims were willing to come all the way to Bannoch to meet this mysterious client is because the real estate company they worked for has a live prospect eager to build a huge development along this coast and Bannoch is the ideal location. If this ‘Mildred Pierce’ had a suitable plot of land, they could snap it up and turn a huge profit. That could be something worth killing for.”
“I wonder where the property could be. I haven’t noticed any ‘For Sale’ signs around. Maybe the phony client had imaginary property to sell, too.” Merrill said.
“Maybe. But I’m going to do some research into property ownership all along the coast here and see if I can find parcels suitable for development. Then we can contact the owners and see if they have been trying to sell. The whole thing could be completely innocent, you know. The name in the appointment book could have been a misspelling. I’ve got a pretty straightforward name and you’d be surprised what some people can do to it when writing i
t down,” Peter said.
“True. I’ve had my share of mangled interpretations of my name, too. But you don’t really think it’s as simple as that, do you?”
“All my instincts tell me there is more going on. I think if we can locate this mysterious Mildred Pierce, we will have our answers.”
“Good luck with your research on that, but how in the world is Bethany Sisco connected?” Merrill asked.
“You said she is new in Bannoch, right? Where did she come from?”
“She said she was very active in the Portland church. Could she have known those real estate agents in Portland?”
“I’ll have to look into it. I’d say almost anything is possible…including all of this being a bunch of weird coincidences, signifying nothing.”
“If I get a vote, I chose your last option,” Merrill said with a wry half-smile.
“But in that case, I’ll have no story,” Peter said.
“So, your trip to Bannoch would be a total waste of time, I guess.”
Peter chuckled, shaking his head.
“No, dear Merrill, it will have been a delightful vacation where I met my lovely new friend,” he said.
Merrill blushed at having been so transparent, then shrugged and laughed.
“Good,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Peter, and I’m happy to be your new friend.”
Peter got up and pulled Merrill to her feet.
After a quick hug, he picked up his jacket and headed for the door.
“I’ve got to start looking into the coastal property around here and I also want to see if I can find a connection between all three of the people who died here. I’ll let you know what I uncover. Are you doing anything tonight?”
“Just the usual,” Merrill replied.
“Then, I’ll swing by about six and take you and Ryan out for dinner. How’s that?”
“Sounds delightful. I’ll look forward to it.”
Merrill stood on tiptoes and planted a light kiss on Peter’s cheek before he left.
She returned to her computer smiling broadly.
Resuming her work, she whispered, “Merrillanne, you little hussy!”
Chapter 23
The memorial service for Bethany Sisco was held in the First Baptist Church social hall the following Monday afternoon.
Interment would be in the family plot in Portland after the coroner released her body.
The congregation sang one of Bethany’s favorite hymns and Manny read from the Scriptures before Merrill stepped to the lectern to speak.
She looked over the small gathering and felt another pang of remorse for her own attitude toward the deceased.
Roger Sisco sat in the front row with his eyes downcast, his hands nervously twisting the funeral program.
Merrill’s heart went out to him in his grief. He’d obviously loved his abrasive wife.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our sister, Bethany Sisco,” she began. “Is there anyone among you who would like to share thoughts or memories about Bethany?”
To Merrill’s amazement, Manota Addison stood up.
The woman looked ill as she shuffled to the front of the room.
“I’d like to talk,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Mrs. Sisco wasn’t a member of our church very long,” she began. “but I know it was on her heart to start up the women’s work. She didn’t last long enough to get things going, but, I would like to announce that I’m starting up the Bethany Circle in her memory. You will find more details in the next church bulletin.”
With that, Manota made her way, unsteadily, along the aisle between the rows of chairs and right out the door.
Recovering from her surprise, Merrill renewed her request for speakers.
When no one spoke up, she delivered a brief, reassuring message, emphasizing the reward awaiting the faithful departed and the comfort available to the bereaved who are left behind.
Following the simple service, the attendees milled around the refreshment table at the back of the room, talking softly about Bethany and offering condolences to her husband.
The conversations gradually became more general in nature, with occasional bursts of laughter, quickly suppressed.
Merrill spoke briefly with Roger before he left, offering comfort and inviting him to become a part of their fellowship.
“We’ll see,” he replied. “Thanks for the service, Pastor. I think my wife would have liked it. Especially that part about starting up a group in her honor. She was always one to be running to women’s meetings and Bible studies.”
As she returned to her apartment after the service, Merrill was still thinking about Manota’s surprising announcement. Perhaps she had misjudged the woman and Manota had hidden depths.
These thoughts sparked ideas for a sermon about the perils of judging others.
As soon as she’d changed clothes, Merrill went to her study and began writing up her notes.
When Ryan came in from school that afternoon, Merrill was upstairs in her room ironing her clothes for Sunday.
“Aunt Merri! You home?” he called.
“Up here,” she replied.
Ryan bounded up the stairs and flopped onto his aunt’s bed.
“They started taking sign-ups for the tennis team today. Okay if I sign up?”
“Of course,” Merrill replied. “I always loved tennis. I even played on a team one semester in college.”
“I think I might make the team, too. Try-outs are next week. I’d like to get in some practice before then. Want to come hit a few balls with me?”
“Now?” Merrill asked, thinking of all the ways she’d planned to spend the rest of the day.
Seeing her nephew’s eager face, she said, “Sure, why not?”
“Super! I’ll go get my stuff,” Ryan said, jumping up and taking the stairs two and three at a time.
“It takes so little to make him happy,” Merrill said, then began to rack her brain to remember where she’d stowed her tennis racket.
Fifteen minutes later with her racket in hand, dressed in baggy shorts, an over-sized t-shirt, and a light cardigan, Merrill came into the kitchen where Ryan waited, bouncing from one foot to the other.
“We need new balls, I think. I found a can with my racket, but they won’t have much bounce left. I bought those years ago,” she said.
“I’ve got a new can. We need to get to the school in time to get a court,” Ryan said, dashing out.
Thanks to her nephew’s urging, there was still a free court when they arrived.
Looking at all the teen-age boys and girls with their tanned legs and tight tennis outfits made Merrill self-conscious about her own pale limbs and frumpy clothes.
Ryan was a young man with a mission and had no time to indulge his aunt’s vanity before smashing a serve her way.
Merrill returned the ball with a wobbly back hand and the game was on.
Before long, Merrill was gasping, and wiping sweat out of her eyes.
Her cardigan was now hanging over the net’s end post.
Despite being exhausted, she was feeling proud of her ability to return most of Ryan’s shots, albeit not always inside the boundaries.
“Hey, not bad!” Peter called, as he approached their court from the parking lot.
“Hi, Peter,” Ryan responded. “I’m whipping Aunt Merri’s …uh, I’m whipping Aunt Merri.”
“What you mean is, you are killing your favorite aunt,” Merrill teased. “Let’s take a break.”
“Want to play me, Peter?” Ryan asked.
“Some other time, for sure. Right now, I need to talk with your poor, tired aunt.”
“Okay,” Ryan said.
He waved at a classmate across the court and wandered over to him. The two were soon smashing a ball back and forth in the far court.
Merrill picked up her sweater and led the way to the spectator bleachers where she sank gratefully onto the slatted metal seat.
�
�I think you may have saved my life,” she laughed, fanning herself with the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t remember tennis being so extreme the last time I played.”
“And exactly when was that?” Peter asked.
“Let’s see…the telegraph had recently been invented, if I remember right.”
“You’ll get back into shape in no time,” Peter chuckled. “You were keeping up with a fit young man in the prime of life. Not too shabby. I was thinking of asking you to play with me, but I may not be able to keep up with you.”
“I think we’d be a good match,” Merrill said, then blushed to hear how she sounded. “I mean; I think you are in at least as good shape as I am.”
Peter smiled at her discomfort, then sobered.
“We will definitely have to play tennis, sometime soon. But I came to find you to tell you what I’ve discovered.”
“How did you find me? We didn’t tell anyone we were coming here.”
“I stopped by the church and that odd custodian said he saw you leaving with your tennis rackets. These are the only courts in town. It didn’t require my superior investigatory skills to figure out you were here. What did take a bit of sleuthing is what I’ve come to tell you. If you’ll let me.”
“I’m sorry. What have you uncovered?” Merrill asked.
“You know I was looking into the property ownership along the coast here and looking for plots suitable for the Portland developer’s project. At first, I didn’t have any luck. There’s almost no coastal property for sale in the area, so I looked at any likely properties and found one that is ideal. It’s not for sale, but I checked the deed to see who owns it, and I may have stumbled upon a motive for the crimes against the church.”
“Really? Who owns the land?” Merrill asked.
“It’s held in a trust and has a lifetime tenant.”
“Well, then, that can’t be the right place. It isn’t for sale.”
“Not according to the terms of the trust, but if the terms are broken by the tenant, the property reverts to the estate and the heirs can do what they want with it,” Peter explained.
“Are you being deliberately obscure? What are these terms and where is the property?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so used to building tension in my stories, I guess I forgot how to come to the point.”