Murder Plans the Menu

by Donna Doyle

  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot to tell you. My husband and I have given a check for one thousand dollars to the memorial fund. But we don’t need the usual

  acknowledgment card. The mention in the newsletter along with the other donations will be sufficient.”

  “Do you have a specific set of books in mind?” Kelly asked in level tones. A thousand-dollar donation was very generous, and the library didn’t often get donations of that size.

  “I’ll talk to Roger about it. But he’s not really a reader, so he’ll just go by what I tell him,” Mrs. Stark said. “I think I’d like the money to go to children’s books.

  When you put the bookplates in, just put that they’re from Police Chief and Mrs. Roger Stark.”

  “One thousand dollars is a lot of money. You want it all to go to children’s books?” Kelly ignored the reference to Roger Stark’s former position. He was no longer the police chief, even if his brother-in-law was trying to get him reinstated.

  “Yes. It’s so important for young minds to be introduced to the opportunities that books provide, don’t you agree?’

  It was one of the reasons that Kelly had become a librarian, but when Mrs. Stark voiced the thought, it was a struggle to agree.

  “There’s a good series of nonfiction books that we could include,” she said calmly. ‘They address social problems that children face, but they’re written in terms that children can relate to. ‘Mom and Dad Are Getting A Divorce’; ‘Mom and Dad Are Going To Rehab’; Mom And Dad Are—”

  “No,” Mrs. Stark interrupted. “That’s not at all what I have in mind. I’m talking about nice picture books with sweet stories about nice children and nice families. I’ll give you a list. Good night, girls, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Putting her laptop away in her briefcase, Mrs. Stark left the library.

  Lucas emerged from Kelly’s office where he had returned the bin for the new books. “Is she always here?” he complained.

  “Feels like it,” Carmela said.

  Lucas and Carmela, whose relationship could best be described as adversarial, had found something that they both agreed on.

  “Those books you told her about would be good for kids, Miz Armello,” Lucas defended Kelly’s choice. “When my mom and dad were getting their divorce, I could have used a book like that. I thought they were divorcing because they were always fighting over my grades in school. Mom told me that wasn’t it, but I didn’t believe her until Carrie told me that they were divorcing because Dad drank his paycheck.”

  “Lots of kids could use those books,” Carmela agreed. “I don’t know what kind of nice, family books she’s thinking of.”

  “Her son’s in jail for murder,” Lucas exclaimed. “And she wanted me to go to prison for it.”

  “She doesn’t care about what other people go through,” Carmela said bitterly. “All she cares about is the Stark image. I’m going to have to print all those bookplates, when the books are ordered, and I’m going to get sick to my stomach when I’m gluing them into the front of the book.”

  “I’ll help you, Miz Dixon,” Lucas offered. “I might get sick to my stomach, too, but at least we’ll each only get half as sick. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Kelly felt her eyes moisten as she witnessed the truce between the two foes. Mrs. Stark had brought them together as a result of her own arrogance. It was an odd thing to be thankful for, but it was a reminder of how unexpected blessings came from trials.

  “What are you going to do about the Narcan?” Carmela said after Lucas declined Kelly’s offer of a ride home and left the library.

  “Ask Jimmy Patton for more,” Kelly said as she donned her raincoat.

  7

  Maundy Thursday Trouble

  “Why is this night different from all other nights?”

  Hayley’s youngest son, five-year old Seth, asked the question in an unsteady, halting manner as his mother whispered the words to him, one by one.

  Rev. Meachem smiled at the boy. The Worship Committee had decided that the Maundy Thursday service would be a blend of Passover rituals and the Last Supper Scriptures. It was a way to bring a compromise between the stalwart members who disapproved of any change in the traditions they expected and the eagerness of others who wanted a service that brought new insights into their understanding of the meal that Jesus shared with his disciples before his arrest.

  But as Kelly discreetly looked around at the other tables where the seder diners were seated, she noticed conspicuous absences. John Parmenter was not there; he hadn’t been in church since the argument at the council meeting. Anne Colb was missing. Leonora Wilson, an older member known for her financial support of the church, hadn’t been in church on Sunday and wasn’t at the Maundy Thursday service either. There were others, not all of them older members who preferred to cling to the familiar ways, but several younger ones as well. But Joe Murkowski was there, gamely proceeding with the order of worship and looking uncomfortable as he did so. Julie was there with her husband and their twelve-year old twin sons who looked as if they’d rather be doing homework than attending church on a week night.

  It was not a successful service and when Rev. Meachem greeted Kelly at the door as the members were filing out of the fellowship room, he gave her a resigned smile. “I don’t think we’ll be doing this again,” he said.

  Kelly privately agreed, but instead, she said, “It’s too early to think of Maundy Thursday next year.”

  He appeared grateful for the words and he nodded. “You’re right. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Maybe sometime before Easter, I’ll go see John and talk to him. Maybe we can work this out.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Kelly agreed.

  She wondered, as she got in her car, whether John would be amenable to talking. He liked getting his own way. She wondered why he had left LifeLight Church; all she knew was that he said he hadn’t liked what was going on there, but he hadn’t provided details. She could ask Carmela, who knew the gossip going on at all the town churches and would certainly have a source of news at LifeLight. But Carmela would wonder why she was asking and that would only contribute to the chatter. First Church was having a hard enough time dealing with the missing members and the discord. The congregation didn’t need to be the subject of more gossip.

  The library was closed on Good Friday, and Kelly was looking forward to the day off after all that had happened at the library that day. She knew Troy was working, but he’d be home at eleven. He was working half a day on Friday and then taking off on his fishing weekend. She wanted to tell him about Mrs. Stark and the Narcan but what purpose would there be in that?

  Instead, she took a long bath, soaking in the tub until she felt as if every tense muscle in her body had eased from the hot water and the fragrance of the bubble bath. She lingered in the tub, assembling her thoughts in an effort to make sense of them. But the water began to cool, and it was time for her to go to bed.

  Bed didn’t mean sleep. First Church’s dilemma with disgruntled members would have a far-reaching effect on its ministry.

  Mrs. Stark’s oppressive presence in the library was robbing Kelly’s job of much of the zest she had for her work.

  Mrs. Stark’s view that drug addicts had no place in the library was counter to Kelly’s believe that the library did not exclude anyone. The presence of the overdose antidote was an attempt to assist the paramedics who were coping with the opioid epidemic on a regular basis.

  Easter was this Sunday, and never in her life did Kelly recall feeling so disconnected from the joy of the holiest of days. She had witnessed the rancor expressed by John Parmenter, and it had driven Rev. Dal to respond in a manner that was not customary for him. Easter was intended to be a time of unity, when the church family celebrated its role as the body of Christ. That atmosphere was sorely lacking this Holy Week and Kelly felt the repercussions from the angry words and the missing members.

  But her discontent wasn’t all due to the discord in the church.


  She felt something for Troy Kennedy. It was much different than how she had felt for Jarrod Zabo, the man who had been her boyfriend for over a year before their breakup a year ago. She liked Troy’s company, whether they were running along the Trail on weekends or eating at one of the local restaurants. The evening at Logrettis had been as close to a date as she dared to let it be. She had dressed for it knowing that she wanted to look her best, and the appreciative response in

  Troy’s eyes had assured her that her efforts had been successful. They had talked of various subjects, not all of them related to the two murder cases in which she had participated, but of other things as well.

  Yet, Troy spoke very little of himself. She knew that he came from a military family and that he’d lived all over the United States and the world. He had served in the military and had been in Afghanistan. He continued to serve in the National Guard. He was enrolled in college classes in the criminal justice program, but he wasn’t certain that he would remain a policeman. Maybe a lawyer, he had said when she asked him, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to settle; he’d lived everywhere, just about, but no place was home.

  For Kelly, whose roots in Settler Springs were deep, that was an obstacle. She didn’t want to live anywhere else. She was engaged in the community and in her church and she felt a kinship with the town that was part of her identity. One of the reasons that she and Jarrod had broken up was because he was so contemptuous in his description of Settler Springs as a sleepy little town where nothing important happened. To Kelly, the daily lives of ordinary people seemed sufficiently important to merit respect. She liked hearing her gardening patrons talk about their plans for the flowers and vegetables they would plant this spring. She enjoyed attending the local high school football and basketball games and cheering the home team. Going to parades, attending the ethnic days festivals and school plays and band concerts defined her view of what it meant to be involved in the town. For Troy, Settler Springs was the place where he worked. She still didn’t know how he’d ended up here or why he’d come here after leaving the military. She’d tried to steer questions that would allow him to answer, but he’d deflected them all.

  Kelly knew that, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that Troy’s casual attitude toward Easter truly troubled her. He was going to go fishing on the most sacred day in the church. In fact, after working half a day on Good Friday, he was going to spend the entire weekend fishing. He had told her that Leo had lent him the use of the Page camp, which was located about twenty miles down the river from Settler Springs. The Pages would be celebrating Easter with Mia and the kids and wouldn’t be using it.

  Kelly took out her irritation on her pillow which was not fluffed to its preferred shape. Who spent Easter with a fishing pole?

  And why wasn’t he spending Easter weekend with her? She would have liked for him to be with her in church on Easter morning at the sunrise service, singing the hymns that celebrated the resurrection and then sharing the Easter breakfast that followed.

  And why wasn’t he staying in town so that she could tell him what had happened at the library with Mrs. Stark and the Narcan? It was Troy that she wanted to share this with, because Troy’s perspective, shaped as it was by his view of former Police Chief Stark, were relevant to what had happened.

  Fishing on Easter!

  8

  A Bad Good Friday

  “My dad’s not here?”

  Mia Shaw, looking as if she were ready to burst into tears, seemed surprised to enter the police station on Friday morning and, instead of seeing her father, finding Troy and Kyle in the office.

  Troy explained that he and Leo had split shifts. “I’m working the morning shift and Leo is working my shift. I’m off this weekend. What’s up?’

  “I’ve been getting phone calls . . . I didn’t want to worry my dad and mom, so I wasn’t telling them, but today—”

  “What kind of phone calls?” Troy asked. Kyle put his ticket pad aside as he sat on his motorized scooter, not wanting to leave and interrupt Mia when she was clearly troubled.

  “You know—obscene calls, the kind of thing that makes you feel like someone is watching you when you’re taking a shower. But I know those things happen, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. But this morning, I got a call, it was after—I knew my kids would be in school, and I know Mom drives them every morning, but the call—he asked me if I was sure that my kids were safe. That’s all he said, but it was—he sounded like he—I just got scared and I asked him who he was, and he hung up. And I came here.”

  “I’ll write up a report,” Troy promised. “Do you have a landline?”

  Mia shook her head and handed him her cell phone. “I didn’t recognize the number and I almost didn’t answer it, but . . .” her voice trailed off. “I always worry that it could be something to do with the kids.”

  “Is the number familiar?”

  “No.”

  But the phone call was obviously not random if the caller made a threat against her children and called her on her cell phone to do it. The phone calls, along with the dead rat in her mailbox, made it apparent that someone was trying to scare her. There wasn’t much hope that the phone itself would reveal much.

  With Mia’s next sentence, she confirmed those doubts. “Travis used to have phones that used fake numbers,” she said. “You won’t be able to trace this call.”

  “Travis? Your ex?’

  “He’s in prison, it can’t be him. I know Dad thinks that Travis is behind everything, but he can’t be blamed for this,” Mia said wearily. “I wish he could.”

  She was right, of course. Prisoners didn’t have the freedom to make unmonitored calls on their own. At least, not officially. The network within a prison that provided inmates with a variety of things that were forbidden was beyond the control of guards or wardens. Still, it didn’t seem likely.

  “We’ll check it out,” Troy told her. “Why don’t you sit down and give me all the details?”

  She was about to do so, and Kyle was getting ready to leave to do his first round of parking meters when a call came in of a domestic disturbance in one of the rental units on Truman Avenue.

  “Again,” Kyle muttered.

  “Kyle, can you—”

  He didn’t have to finish. “I’ll take care of this, Troy,” Kyle said quickly, maneuvering his scooter so that he was closer to the police desk. “You go on and handle the domestic. Be careful,” he added.

  A morning full of incidents was not what Troy would have chosen as the prelude for his fishing weekend, but he was on duty until noon. Quickly he left the station, got in the squad car, and arrived at the Truman Avenue apartments without speeding and without wasting any time.

  “Police!” he called out, knocking on the door.

  There was a pause behind the door. Police were nothing new to the Truman Avenue apartments. They consisted of a row of houses in a neighborhood that had never seen better days. The police were called out to Truman Avenue at least twice a week. The calls to 422 Truman Avenue had increased of late, ever since Destiny Jantovick had gotten a new boyfriend who worked the night shift. He came home just as Destiny’s kids were getting off to school, and after the kids were out the door, then the hitting started.

  Slowly, the door opened a few inches, only as wide as the chain would permit.

  “What do you want?”

  Destiny’s voice was muffled. Probably because she had a swollen lip.

  “Let me in, Destiny. We got a call at the station.”

  “Everything’s fine now. We’re—we got into a little bit of an argument, but it’s fine now.”

  “Uh-huh. Let me in so I can see for myself how fine everything is.”

  “Officer Kennedy—just leave us alone, okay? I’m getting ready for work. I’ll be late.”

  “You’ll be late anyway if you have to stop at Med-Express to get stitches. Let me in.”

  Slowly, the chain retreated, and
the door opened.

  Destiny’s eye was swollen shut. Her lip was puffy, with a cut in the corner of her mouth that was still oozing blood. Her black hair was tangled. She was dressed in her nurse’s aide scrubs; the top of the scrubs was a holiday fabric with a cheerful pattern of bunnies and chicks on a blue pastel background. It was a jarring contrast to the bruised features.

  “Destiny,” Troy said, knowing that his words would have no impact, “why do you put up with this? Ollie, come on out, I know you’re in the bedroom.”

  “You’ve got no right to come barging in here,” Destiny said, “this is our home.”

  “When the noise of you getting beaten can be heard throughout the complex, I have a right to come barging in. Come on out, Ollie. You know the drill.”

  “Nosy neighbors,” Ollie, her boyfriend, came into the living room. He was a short, skinny man with a beard and a shaved head, his chest covered in tattoos that were visible because, despite the cool, rainy spring, he was shirtless. Troy and Leo had wondered how he managed to stay clothed working the night shift at the medical equipment factory in Warren; they both despised Ollie and his kind, and there wasn’t anything they could do about the situation. Destiny refused to press charges. “Nosy neighbors got no right to poke their noses into my business.”

  “Destiny, are you going to let him get away with this?”

  “I gotta get to work. I don’t have time for this.”

  “You can’t go to work looking like this,” Troy said. “I’ll take you to Med-Express so a doctor can look at you.”

  “I’m fine, I told you. Will you just go?”

  He knew that she wouldn’t go to a doctor. They would ask her if she was safe at home, and Troy knew that Destiny’s way of handling the situation with Ollie was to avoid that topic. Someday, if he didn’t beat her to death, Destiny would end up in the hospital, and someone would ask her that question and she’d break down.