by J B Hawker
“So, tell me!” Merrill said, standing up with her hands on her hips.
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re angry?” Peter teased.
“No one who lived to tell about it,” Merrill said through gritted teeth.
“Okay, okay. The tenant of the land is the First Baptist Church of Bannoch.”
Merrill was stunned. She slowly sat back down.
“Oh, my,” she said.
“My thoughts, exactly,” Peter said.
“So, this has to do with the clause in the Addison’s bequest to the church,” she said after a moment.
“After seeing the documents at the county courthouse, I remembered what Peri’s grandmother told us. I think someone is trying to prevent the congregation from worshiping in the church building, so the property will revert to the estate.”
“Do you think this developer in Portland could be behind it, then? You know, trying to get the property to revert, so they can swoop in and snatch it up, now all the Addison family is gone?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t gotten that far. As soon as I made the connection with your church, I came looking for you,” Peter replied.
“We need to speak with whoever is the executor of that estate,” Merrill said.
“You’re right. I’ll put in a call to the Sheriff’s Office.”
“Do you think they will be able to tell you who is handling the estate?” Merrill asked.
“Probably not, but I told Ransom I’d let him know if I dug up any information. I think we can get the estate information at the courthouse in Tillamook.”
Ryan came running up, dripping with sweat and exuding an aura of good health and boys’ locker room.
“Hey, Aunt Merri, I’m starved. Are you ready to go home, yet?”
“Look at the time! I was going to start a pot roast for tonight, but we came out to play, instead,” Merrill said.
“I’d offer to take you both to dinner, but I’m not sure the other diners in the restaurant would appreciate it,” Peter said, with a gesture at Ryan.
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan chuckled. “Guess I’m a little gross.”
“Never mind. We’ll pick something up at the drive-thru on the way home,” Merrill said.
“I’m going to Tillamook tomorrow, to look into that matter we discussed,” Peter said. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Yes, but I’ll need to check my calendar. Give me a call in the morning.”
Peter reached out and squeezed Merrill’s shoulder. He patted Ryan on the back and walked to his car while Ryan gathered up the tennis things.
“What were you and Peter talking about before?” Ryan asked when they reached Merrill’s car.
“Just something he’s been looking into about local history,” Merrill replied.
She didn’t think Ryan was ready for a discussion of local deaths and motives for murder so soon after his own bereavement.
Chapter 24
Merrill was in Peter’s car on the way to Tillamook the next morning when her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Pastor Bishop?”
“Yes, this is she.”
“Pastor, I don’t have an appointment, but I’d like to come to your office to speak with you, right away, it’s very important.”
“Who is this, please?”
“This is Manota Addison. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your voice, Manota. I’m afraid I’m not in my office this morning. Can we make an appointment for this afternoon, or maybe later in the week?”
“No, this can’t wait. I don’t want to impose on your personal time, but I can come to the apartment. I need to speak with you.”
“I’m actually not in town right now and this afternoon is the earliest I can get back. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Never mind. This was a bad idea. Just forget I called.”
“She hung up,” Merrill told Peter. “I wonder what that was all about.”
“Who was it?” Peter asked, keeping his focus on the road.
“Manota. She wanted to see me this morning. Said it was desperately important, but when I couldn’t do it on her schedule, she hung up. She’s so changeable. I never know what to think about her.”
“It takes all kinds,” Peter commented. “Where shall we eat lunch after we see Detective Ransom?”
*
Peri walked into the sanctuary, carefully skirting around the lumber and tools the floor repair crew had abandoned during their union-mandated break.
He thought how lucky it was the deacons hadn’t let the insurance lapse when they stopped using the church building for worship.
Peri approached the shrouded piano and slowly lifted the soot-covered tarp.
Peering anxiously beneath the cover, he was relieved to see only shiny clean ivories grinning back at him.
Sliding onto the familiar piano bench, he ran his long, tapered fingers lightly over the keys, listening for any off tones. Hearing only true notes, he launched into a favorite Bach sonata, filling the damaged sanctuary with healing beauty.
Peri played the piece through, covered the instrument and walked across to the organ with some trepidation.
What were the odds for both of his babies to remain unscathed?
No damage was immediately apparent when he removed the organ cover, so he flipped the power switch to let the workings warm up.
Slipping off his loafers, he took his seat and flexed his fingers several times before tentatively touching a key.
Peri ran through a few chords, then tweaked the stops and settings before beguiling a Handel organ concerto from the keys and pedals.
Satisfied the instruments were sound, Peri switched off the organ and swiveled around to put his shoes back on.
He was greeted by enthusiastic applause from the four carpenters standing beside their tools. The men had returned from their break, entering the sanctuary silently, so as not to interrupt the music.
Peri ducked his head with a grin, locked and covered the organ and waved his thanks to the workers as he sidled out of the church.
*
Judy Falls and Elizabeth Gilbert were strolling along the recycled concrete pavers between the neat rows of Judy’s vegetable garden.
Judy leaned over to pluck a fat caterpillar from the leaf of a tomato plant and dropped it into a bucket of water sitting near the path.
“Did you need any tomatoes this morning, Liz?” she asked.
“I can use a couple, if you have enough to spare. How are the beans doing?” Elizabeth asked.
Judy picked three red-ripe tomatoes and tucked them into the layer of her gypsy skirt she’d pulled up to form a hammock to hold the produce.
“The beans are doing really well. There should be lots of nice ones ready to pick,” she said, leading the way between the rows. “If you see anything else you want, just say so.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath, savoring the scent of the lemon thyme growing between the broken chunks of concrete. The women couldn’t avoid crushing a few leaves as they walked, releasing the fresh aroma.
“You should charge people admission, Judy. Meandering around in here is more rejuvenating than a day at a spa. There is nothing as peaceful and inspiring as a well-tended garden.”
“Thanks. I could never ask for money, though. Gardens are another of God’s gifts.”
“We truly are blessed to live in such a pleasant community,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Well, it used to be,” Judy said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about all the bad things happening, lately. First, there was the suicide in Merrill’s church and that poor man who fell into her baptistery, then someone tried to burn down her building, with her in it, and, now, the woman who washed up on the beach. At least, that one didn’t die right in Merrill’s church building, but she was a member of her congregation.”
“When you put everythin
g together, like that, it almost sounds like there’s a black cloud hanging over First Baptist since Merrill’s arrival,” Elizabeth said. “I hope she isn’t taking it too much to heart.”
“How can she not?”
“These things happen in clusters, sometimes, you know that. Don’t tell me you are superstitious, Judy.”
“Of course not. But I would understand if Merrill was beginning to think her church was cursed, or something. You know what I mean.”
“Oh, sure. Human nature, and all that. However, Merrill has her wits about her. She knows God allows all sorts of things we don’t understand, but He’s there with us through everything and it is always for our spiritual and eternal good. She won’t be worrying about superstitious nonsense like curses,” Elizabeth said.
“Well, there is such a thing as spiritual warfare. Satan and his minions are real,” Judy asserted.
“Real enough, but toothless while we trust in Christ,” Elizabeth added.
Judy had been picking green beans as the two friends talked.
“Do we have enough, Liz?”
Looking at the mass of beans weighing down Judy’s skirt, Elizabeth laughed.
“Enough for tonight’s dinner and to freeze for a long, hard winter, too. Thanks.”
*
“That was interesting, but not especially enlightening,” Merrill said, as she and Peter trotted down the steps leaving the county courthouse.
“I guess these ‘public servants’ specialize in telling the public what they can’t tell the public, so to speak,” Peter agreed.
“So, where do we go next?” Merrill asked when she was seated and buckled in.
“How about the library? Their microfiche archives might have a clue to the law firm the Addison family was using when your church was built. It’s a long shot, but, if the firm is still in business, they might help,” Peter said, starting his car.
“It’s too bad the trustee information wasn’t with the deed,” Merrill said.
“Those old papers were in pretty rough shape from mildew, water damage and rodents. I was lucky to have been able to decipher the information I did get.”
“Now that everyone is archiving records digitally, future generations won’t have this problem,” Merrill said.
“Maybe not, but technology changes so fast, we have to scramble to keep our information in a currently accessible format. I’m not sure it’s much of an improvement.”
*
In the First Baptist Church annex, Alden Boreman was buffing the floor of the social hall.
“Alden! Alden!” Manota Addison squawked from the doorway.
Alden looked around.
“Shut that thing off!” Manota demanded, even more loudly.
Alden complied, looking annoyed.
“What do you want? I’ve got work to do, you know,” he said.
“I left my gray cardigan here Sunday. It was on the back of my chair. Where is it?” Manota asked.
“How should I know? You should take better care of your stuff.”
“You folded up the chairs, so where did you put my good gray sweater?”
“Did you look in the donation box? I put any old rags I find into the donation box for the missionaries,” Alden said, turning back to his buffer.
“The donation box?!” Manota screeched. “That’s my best sweater.”
“Maybe you need a new wardrobe, then,” Alden muttered before switching the buffer back on.
Manota stomped to the cupboard where the missionary donations were collected.
Pawing through the discarded clothing, she spied a gray knit sleeve and pulled it out of the box.
“New wardrobe, huh! Doesn’t he think I’d have a closet full of fancy clothes, if I could afford them? Stupid man,” she grumbled, hugging the precious garment to her chest, as she scurried out to her car.
*
Merrill was quiet on the drive from Tillamook to Bannoch, her mind occupied by trying to add up the various facts she and Peter had uncovered during the morning.
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked, as they neared the town.
“I’m thinking your theory doesn’t make sense. We tracked down the attorney who is the trustee of the estate, only to learn his firm hasn’t done anything for the trust in years, other than collecting a fee. Obviously, no one has contacted them about buying the property.”
“You think my idea is all wrong, then? Are you back to believing it was simply a series of unfortunate events?” Peter asked.
“Maybe,” Merrill responded. “I would be easier in my mind, if I could be certain.”
“I’m not quite ready to give up on the investigation, although I have to confess, I’m not sure where to turn next. I’ll let you know if I manage to dig up anything new.”
“Thanks,” she replied as they pulled up in front of her apartment. “It’s been a fun morning, anyway.”
“Will I see you tonight?” Peter asked, before Merrill opened the car door.
“Not tonight. I promised to attend Manota’s new women’s group meeting. You remember, she announced it at Bethany Sisco’s memorial service.”
“Women’s meetings,” he shuddered. “You have my sympathy. I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.”
Peter drove away and Merrill went inside where she fixed a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich to take into her office.
*
Peter returned to his motel room, took care of his work emails and made some phone calls.
After grabbing a quick bite at the Crab Shack, he drove out to the Bostwich place.
One of his phone calls had been to Ariadne Bostwich.
Pulling into her driveway, he was impressed with the stately home and its magnificent ocean view.
Ariadne answered his knock and escorted him into the formal front parlor. She had a sense Peter had not dropped by for a casual chat.
“Would you care for something to drink, Mr. Compton? Tea or coffee?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Bostwich. Is your grandson in the house?” Peter asked.
“Peri’s in Tillamook giving an organ lesson. He should be home by dinnertime. Did you want to speak with him, too?”
“No. I recently uncovered some troubling information, and I wouldn’t want Peri to overhear our conversation.”
“You’re being very mysterious. What is this information? Is it about Peri?”
“I think you are aware that I am an investigative reporter for a Seattle newspaper,” Peter said.
“Yes, I remember you mentioned it when we were introduced at the restaurant.”
“Well, in my work I have learned a few things about digging up information from the past, finding missing persons and the like.”
“Oh?” Ariadne said with a look of apprehension.
“So, when your grandson told me the story of his mother abandoning him and disappearing, it piqued my curiosity. I thought I might do him a favor and look into it for him.”
Ariadne sat quietly looking down at her blue-veined hands. She clasped them together on her lap but couldn’t completely control their trembling. Her swollen knuckles became white as she braced herself to hear what Peter was going to say.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“I found your grandson’s mother, Mrs. Bostwich.”
“Oh, yes? Where did you find her?” she asked, her face going pale.
“Portland. I went to see her with the naïve idea of perhaps facilitating a reconciliation.”
“I take it she wasn’t interested in a reunion,” Ariadne said. “How is Monica? I’m surprised she was so close by.”
“Had she agreed to stay further away when you purchased your grandson from her?” Peter asked.
Ariadne stiffened, then sighed and slumped back into the brocade wing chair.
After a moment, she sat up straight and began to speak.
“Monica was an ill-advised fling on our son’s part, but when she became pregnant, he did the right thing and married her. After Albert died, my husban
d and I welcomed Monica into our lives, although we never approved of her, because we wanted to be close to our grandson. Every time she brought Peri to visit, he looked worse. He was too thin, had sores on his skin and his clothes were filthy. It nearly broke my heart. Monica only came by when she wanted money, and we gave it to her, knowing full well she would spend it on her dissolute lifestyle rather than on her child. The last time she came, we couldn’t stand it anymore. The boy had large bruises on his back and what appeared to be burns on one arm. We offered Monica money to leave him with us and disappear forever. She snatched that money and left without a backward glance. I have not regretted it for one moment. I know we saved Peri’s life that day.”
“But it wasn’t legal, Mrs. Bostwich. And, besides that, don’t you think Peregrine deserves to know the truth?” Peter asked.
“No, I most certainly do not. I believe that boy deserves to think he was loved and wanted from the moment of his birth. Let him have his romantic fantasies of a mother sacrificing herself for her beloved child. It hurts no one. You must not tell him, Mr. Compton.”
Chapter 25
After leaving Ariadne Bostwich, Peter drove the winding coast road, distracted from the spectacular ocean view by his troubled thoughts.
As a reporter, he believed strongly in the public’s right to know the truth. Why did this particular truth seem different?
He’d promised Ariadne he would consider what she’d told him and that he would warn her first, if he decided to tell Peri the facts about his mother.
Before leaving, Peter brought up the subject of the Addison family and asked Ariadne what she knew about their property donation to the church.
He told her he’d begun to suspect, after speaking to the family’s lawyer, that the recent troubles at First Baptist were connected to the terms of the trust.
He’d discovered the church was in danger of being out of compliance by not using the church building for public worship for thirty-six consecutive months. If they did not worship in their sanctuary before the end of the summer, the property would revert.
Ariadne was shocked to hear this.
As she was showing Peter out, she’d murmured, almost to herself, “I wonder if she is aware of this.”