by Dana Marton
“Of course.” He stepped aside, fifty-something, thin in the neck, thick in the middle.
“Thank you. Is Amanda here?”
Bill ushered them in. “In the kitchen.”
The house hit Murph all at once, a sensory shock. Wow. Tchotchke Central. Or Flea Market Chic, as Kate would call it. He called it claustrophobic.
Every surface was covered, more crocheted things than he would have previously thought existed in all of Broslin, if he’d ever thought to think about the town’s crochet saturation. And it wasn’t just crochet. All manner of crafts covered the shelves, from homemade pottery to hand-dipped candles. Overwhelmed little tables were crammed in every corner.
Bill caught him looking. “We receive a lot of gifts.” He flashed an indulgent smile. “Given with love and kept in love.”
He seemed to mean it.
This kind of clutter on a daily basis would have driven Murph crazy.
The pastor’s wife, five or so years older than her husband, was frosting a cake on the kitchen counter.
Her smile was instant and welcoming, no worry crossing her face. “Hello, Captain. Murph, thank you for all that help with delivering furniture. Linda tells me you keep saving the day.” She set the spatula down and pivoted to the counter, talking over her shoulder. “Please, take a seat. Let me put on some coffee.”
“Why don’t I brew the coffee?” her husband offered. “Captain Bing is here to talk to you about Betty.”
“Oh?” Amanda wiped her hands on her apron and sat, genuine sadness filling her blue eyes. She tucked a few strands of blonde hair behind her ears as she blinked back tears. “Poor Betty. I still can’t believe she’s gone. I’ll think, oh, I need to call her about something. And then I reach for the phone, and remember…”
She sniffed.
“Did you visit her on Monday?” Bing asked.
“Briefly in the morning. I was in the neighborhood and popped in to ask if she needed anything. I do my groceries on Monday on my lunch break. But she said she was set.”
“Around what time did you leave her?”
“A little before eight. She was an early riser, so I knew she’d be up.”
“You sure it wasn’t later?” Murph pushed. Betty’s time of death had been put at around nine thirty.
“Definitely not. I start Mondays with the women’s prayer circle at eight thirty. By nine, I’m at the preschool. I don’t get out of there until noon.”
Murph wanted to push more, but Bing simply asked, “You wouldn’t know if anyone from the congregation was planning on visiting her too that day?”
“We have regular volunteer visits to some of our less able seniors, but Betty was far from that. If anything, she was helping others. I’m sure if someone was out at her place the day she died, they would have mentioned it to me. You know how people are. Oh, I just saw her that morning! She looked fine!” Amanda pressed a hand to her chest. Tears flooded her eyes. “As if people can’t die just because we’ve recently seen them.” She sniffed. “I keep telling Bill, I was just there earlier. If only I’d stayed.”
Murph watched her. Bing said she hadn’t mentioned a visit at the funeral, but maybe just not to Bing. Maybe she’d been too upset to say much. She seemed pretty upset still.
Murph shifted to rise, but Bill Garvey stopped him with “Coffee is ready.”
The pastor’s wife swiped a quick hand under her eyes. “How about some Hungarian walnut cake? I’m trying out a new recipe from one of the ladies in the choir.”
Bing looked at Murph, the words pureed squash baby food telegraphing from his eyes. Murph telegraphed back you’re welcome, and settled back in his seat.
“Thank you. That would be very nice.” Truth was, neither of them said no to cake if they could help it.
Bill brought over their coffee mugs, while Amanda stood and supplied them with plates and forks, then transported the cake from the counter to the table. They were a well-oiled team.
The pastor went back for napkins. “May I ask why you wanted to know if Amanda visited Betty that morning?”
The captain wrapped his hands around his mug. “I’m investigating the incident as a suspicious death. And I’m going to need you to keep that between us for now.”
Bill dropped heavily into his chair and reached for his wife’s hand on the table. “Do you think someone might have harmed that poor woman?”
“It’s possible. I’m trying to figure it out one way or the other.”
“Why on earth…?” Then a quick pause, and Bill’s eyes snapped wide. “Oh. Her will has the church as her beneficiary. That’s why you’re here.” He shook his head. “It’s understandable. But we loved her. She was remarkable. The kind of woman who truly walked God’s path.”
Amanda wiped her eyes again. “I’m happy to provide an alibi.”
She listed the names of half a dozen people who were at the church with her that morning. The captain didn’t take notes. He knew all of them, Murph thought. He would remember.
“We have security cameras on the outside of the church,” the pastor offered when his wife finished. “I can send you the footage. Ask someone at the office to send you the footage,” he corrected. “I can work the microphone in the pulpit, but other than that, I’m not great with technology.”
“No video necessary, but thank you,” the captain told the man before adding in an apologetic tone, “I had to ask. I’m sure you understand.”
“One hundred percent.” The words were said without hesitation. The man looked right at them, his expression open. Nothing about him or his wife made Murph’s instincts prickle.
“Anything else you need, anything we can do, we’re always here,” Amanda added. “Please, do have some cake. You haven’t touched it.”
So, they ate. And Murph was glad they did. Turned out he really liked Hungarian walnut cake. Especially with coffee.
“Have you talked to the nephew?” the pastor asked, tucking away his own slice at a good pace.
Captain Bing paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “I thought Betty didn’t have family.”
“Son of a second cousin, apparently,” Amanda said. “I don’t think that’s a nephew. Second cousin once removed? I can never remember the exact term. We were served legal papers last night. He’s contesting the will.”
Another person with motive.
Murph exchanged a glance with Bing as he finished his cake. “Should we stop cleaning out the house?”
Bill Garvey waved off the suggestion. “Our lawyers talked this morning. The young man agreed that the executor of the will, Linda, can go ahead. The house can be sold, but then the money is to be placed into escrow until the bank decides who is entitled to the funds.”
The captain pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’d like to have his name and contact information, if you have it handy.”
“Right here. He lives in Philadelphia.” The pastor reached over to the pile of papers next to the fridge on the counter, then handed them a dozen pages of legalese.
The captain snapped a photo of the first page where the surprise heir’s name and address were listed, then thanked the pastor.
Bill dropped the papers back onto the pile. “I hope to meet the young man and tell him about Betty, how great she was.”
Murph didn’t sense any fakeness in the Garvey’s easygoing demeanor. “You don’t seem upset about the possibility of losing the money.”
The man smiled. “Who’s to say he doesn’t need it more than we do? There’s Betty’s will, and then there’s God’s will.”
As Murph pulled away from the curb ten minutes later, he said, “I see what you meant. They’re pretty nice.”
Bing flashed a told-you-so look. “Most people would get angry if they thought you were asking them questions in relation to a murder. Especially someone in a leadership position like Bill Garvey. Men who are used to being the boss don’t like being questioned, as a rule. Technically, in his congregation, the pastor is a stand-in
for God. But Bill and Amanda never lord their positions over anyone. They walk the talk.”
“Are you going to talk to the nephew or whatever he is?”
Bing nodded.
“Can I come with you?”
“No.”
“Why did you agree to me coming along to see the pastor and his wife?”
“You know where they live. If I said no, you would have come without me.”
There were probably ways to find the nephew too, Murph thought, and said nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
Kate
Since Kate was being followed Monday morning on her way to work, she couldn’t admire the profusion of colorful chrysanthemums in the front yards as usual. The yellows, whites, and maroons formed a visual delight that was the favorite part of her morning drive, but instead of reminding herself to enjoy their beauty, she glanced at her rearview mirror for the dozenth time in the past few minutes.
There. The tan Nissan two cars behind her took the right turn too.
The low sun reflected off the car’s windshield, so no matter how hard Kate squinted, she couldn’t make out the driver, just the general shape of a man. The gluten-free toast she’d had for breakfast suddenly felt like a hard lump in her stomach. The man’s size was about right for Ian McCall.
Today was going to be a good day, she decided. Today, she was going to make progress.
“Okay, Ian. Let’s talk.” She stepped on the brake, let the oncoming traffic pass, then pulled into the gas station on the other side of the road, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for Ian to make the same move.
The white pickup that had been behind her wanted the gas station too, but had to wait for another handful of cars coming from the opposite direction before making the left-hand turn, the Nissan stuck for the moment. Kate still couldn’t see the driver because now the damn sign that advertised oil changes blocked him from her sight.
She reached for her phone, but then, on second thought, she dropped her hand. What would she say to Captain Bing? She didn’t even know for sure that it was Ian behind the wheel.
Her nerves buzzed, but she wasn’t really scared. She’d talked Ian down before. If he was upset, she could talk him down again.
Then the white pickup finally made its turn and pulled up by the nearest free pump.
The Nissan drove straight on, oncoming traffic obscuring all but a few flashes of the driver. Short hair, dark coat.
Could have been Ian.
Could be he’d followed her, wanting to talk to her, but then changed his mind. Nerves. He could be upset, distracted enough so he’d never even seen her pull into the gas station.
Kate waited five minutes on the off chance he turned around. Then she waited another five. “Come on, Ian.” And she would have waited five more if that wouldn’t have made her late for work.
When she walked into her office half an hour later, she was still thinking about what she could have done differently with the man. She moved on autopilot as she hung her coat and turned on her laptop, set up the coffee machine, inserting a pod of breakfast blend just as Murph popped his head in.
He checked out her bruises, which had finally faded enough so she didn’t need concealer. “Everything okay this morning?”
“Good enough. And it’ll be twice as good once I get my second cup of coffee. How is the grant application going?”
“Sent in.”
He wore the blue shirt she’d given him last Christmas, the neon lights in the hallway backlighting him and emphasizing his shoulders. The ends of his short hair were damp from his morning shower. He smelled like the olive-oil-and-chamomile soap she’d bought for their apartment.
She missed him.
“I miss you,” he said. “Am I allowed to say that?”
She stepped forward. “Don’t make me out to be an ogre.”
“Kate, I—”
He shifted toward her, and then he was suddenly too close. She had to raise her head to look into his eyes. But halfway there, her gaze got stuck on his lips.
God, the things those lips could do to her.
He went still.
She wasn’t sure he was still breathing.
Was she?
She couldn’t raise her gaze, because she was afraid what she’d find in his eyes, and how she would respond to it.
The masculine line of his jaw was right in front of her. If she leaned forward two inches, she could kiss it.
What a stupid thought. Of course, she wasn’t going to do that.
She wasn’t going to nuzzle his neck either, to breathe him in. Wasn’t going to brace her hands on his hard chest. Wasn’t going to lift her face just in time for him to slant his mouth over hers.
All good, but now she’d been standing way too close to Murph for way too long. And he was waiting, probably thinking this was a lead-up to something.
Mixed signals. Don’t send them. It’s not fair to him.
Kate shuffled back—noting, bewildered, that moving away from him made her ache. She busied herself with her coffee, hating how fast her heart was beating. “Want a cup?”
She still couldn’t look at him.
She said nothing about having possibly spotted Ian. If Murph thought that she was in danger, he’d stand guard in front of her office all day.
“I’m good,” he said, his voice strained.
She seriously needed to put more distance between them than her little office allowed. “I’m out of creamer. I need to run down to the cafeteria.”
“All right. You have a good morning.” Then he walked away.
And after a few seconds, Kate could finally breathe.
The second cup of coffee did the trick, kept her going through three massages back-to-back. She ate lunch behind her desk, the best vegetarian chili on the planet. Julia, the head cook at the center, was an artist with vegetables.
Scott Young was her first patient in the afternoon, the Marine who’d had issues the week before. According to his file, he’d had daily therapy sessions since the incident and showed improvement. Maria, his therapist, thought he was ready to try again.
“Sorry.” He walked through the door five minutes late, rubbing his palms on the side of his pants.
Sweaty palms. Nervous. Had probably been thinking about not coming.
“Nothing to apologize for, Scott.” Kate gave him an encouraging smile. “I’ve been looking forward to catching up with you. I hear you’re making amazing progress. How do you feel? Ready?”
“I hope so. I’m really sorry about last time.”
“It’s a normal response to past trauma. Your brain’s number one job is to prevent you from getting hurt. If you think something is a threat, you defend yourself. It’s the most basic evolutionary response.”
“But you’re not a threat.”
She kept on smiling. “No, I’m not. You think you can trust me?”
“I do. I swear.”
“Well, I trust you. So in you go. Let me know when you’re under the sheet.”
Scott barely disappeared into the treatment room when Murph strode into her office. If he had any thoughts about her earlier strange behavior, he didn’t show it. He just parked himself in the middle of the space.
Sweet chocolate chip cookies, this was so unnecessary. Also, he might be an unruffleable manly monolith, but she wasn’t completely over their morning encounter yet. Kate folded her arms. “No.”
“Is that Murph?” Scott called through the door. “It’s okay, Kate. We’ve talked about it.”
Murph did that standing-with-his-feet-apart thing of his, hands folded behind him, parade rest or whatever they called it, ex-cop/ex-soldier move that said a tank wouldn’t be able to budge him.
“I talked to Maria earlier,” he told Kate. “She said it’s not a bad idea if I sit in. Scott is nervous about hurting you. If he knows he can’t because I’m here to intervene, it’ll allow him to relax.”
Kate held her tongue. Mostly because letting lo
ose on Murph in front of a patient would have been unprofessional, but also because he was right, dammit. If Maria had shown up and offered to stay, Kate would have thanked her and wouldn’t have had a problem with the assistance.
“How about you stay out here?” she said in a low voice, fully aware that she was acting as if she and Murph were parents at odds, trying not to fight in front of the kids.
When Murph opened his mouth, she held up a hand palm out to stop him from talking. She made a series of hand gestures: pointed her finger at him, then the zipper movement over her mouth, then a slash across her neck. His nostrils flared as he struggled not to laugh. Which made her want to smile, but she did not. She meant business.
Then Scott called out, “I’m ready,” saving them from further awkward moments.
Thank God. Kate walked past Murph with a this-is-not-my-happy-face glare, leaving the door open a crack. But by the time she turned to Scott, she was smiling again.
“All right. I’m going to start with your right calf like last time. I’m going to fold back the sheet.” She went right ahead. “And now I’m just going to place my hand on your skin. How is it so far?”
“It’s fine. Good.”
She began with a soothing massage first, then dug in a little deeper, but nothing that would hurt.
“Ready for me to move to the thigh muscles?”
“Sure.”
That terrible tension he’d carried in every inch of his body the last time was mostly gone. He was still tense, but less so, actively trying to relax.
“Maria, Dr. Gulick, said I could do breathing exercises while you work on me. It might help.”
“Excellent idea. You absolutely can.”
Scott began slow breathing, and, after a few moments, his muscles relaxed another notch.
Kate didn’t hesitate when she reached for his shoulder, just warned him like before, but didn’t give him any indication that she remembered his reaction from last time or that it concerned her.