Myra was pleased she had gone to her mother. Her mother and her aunt had not spoken of God or preached to her once the whole time she had been there. If they had, Myra was sure she would not have stayed. Myra sipped her tea slowly, her insides were buzzing ready to snap. “The worst part is there’s a child involved.” Myra glanced at her mom as she spoke.
“A child?”
“Yes. I think Crowley mentioned it to everyone the other night. It wasn’t Preston’s child, but he must have raised this woman’s child. And the child, well he’s an adult now, but he took his last name.” Myra wiped away a tear. “I wanted Peter to adopt since it was too late for me to have our own children, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I guess my lying, cheating husband married this other woman fifteen years ago, and she had a child at the time from another relationship. So, my husband raised a child with another woman. He had always told me he wasn’t interested in children and never wanted to be a father. Guess he lied about that, too!” Myra placed her mug down on the table and rose from her seat. “I need fresh air.”
“Where are you going? You can’t leave, not in this condition. You’re too upset!” Ettie rose too, placing a hand on Myra’s shoulder to encourage her to stay.
“I need some air. I just have to go,” Myra said as she brushed her mom’s hand aside and started for the door.
“Will you be going to the funeral?” Elsa-May asked.
Myra stopped short of leaving the room. She hadn’t thought of that. Should she go? Was it the right thing to do? “No, I don’t think I can, Aunt Elsa-May. The ‘other woman’ generally isn’t welcome at such events.”
Myra took a deep breath, sad that she wasn’t even involved in the planning of her own husband’s funeral.
* * *
Days later, Myra’s resolve to not attend the funeral was still intact. The more she’d thought about it the more she knew it could get ugly. She was pretty sure she had no reason to go anyway. If funerals were supposed to be for paying your last respects to the deceased, she couldn’t think of any appropriate last respects she could pay to her husband. Spitting on his grave and screaming at him in his coffin would probably land her in jail for disturbing the peace. No, there was no way she would go to that funeral. Her cell phone rang, and she answered it to hear Detective Crowley’s voice.
“I just wanted to check in on you, Myra,” he said. “How are you holding up?”
“Oh, I think I’m okay. The police really rattled me, and I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that my husband lied to me since the day he met me.”
“I wish you hadn’t had to deal with that, but it’s over now.”
“I can’t stop thinking about how in the dark I’ve been about my husband. How could I have not known he had another family?”
“It must be awful,” he said.
“I guess I never thought it strange that we didn’t ever see any of his relatives or friends,” Myra said.
“He must’ve worked hard to keep you in the dark, which is pretty typical for someone who’s hiding a big secret. Don’t beat yourself up.”
Detective Crowley’s voice was all comfort, no judgment. Myra liked that, needed that.
“And yet,” he continued, “I think there’s a part of the story that is missing here. What did he tell his family and friends about his married life? I was thinking…”
“Yes, what were you thinking?” Myra pressed.
“Well, I was just wondering if you’d mind if I went to his funeral. I could find some leads.”
“I won’t be going, of course. I don’t think his other family would be happy to see me. I’ve decided it best that I don’t go. I’m not even involved in anything to do with the funeral. His other family is making all the arrangements; his legal family that is.”
“All the more reason for me to go. Sometimes you can learn a lot about a person by going to their funeral.”
“Thank you, Ronald. I appreciate everything you’re doing.”
Chapter 8.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4
Detective Crowley pulled his car into the lot and sat in his car watching the crowd. Getting a feel for a place and sensing the vibe and energy is something he’d learned early on in his detective work. Being a good detective is one part evidence and two parts gut. ‘You’ve got to use all of your senses, or you’ll miss something,’ his mentor had told him once, years ago. Following that advice, had always worked for him.
The first thing he noticed was that the sun was shining. This was strange because in all his years he’d never been to a funeral where the sun was shining. No matter what the day before had looked like weather-wise, and no matter what the skies did the following day, Mother Nature had a way of always making sure it rained and was gray during funerals, but not today. The short sleeves of the mourners and the lack of bobbing black umbrellas, sheltering mourners from the sky’s tears, was noticeable and odd.
Knowing what he knew about Preston Judge, he wasn’t surprised in the least. It’s almost like the world has rid itself of a creep, he thought, and the weather is helping us celebrate.
Making his way through the people, he aimed for the graveside funeral tent and took a seat behind the first row, which would be reserved for family. After a few short moments, the grieving family arrived. He saw Mrs. Judge right away and studied her face from behind his sunglasses. She looked sincere in her mourning; he didn’t get any impression that her tears were anything but legitimate. He was glad that Mrs. Judge hadn’t seen him.
Mrs. Judge was sitting in her chair sniffling and he noticed a long, lean arm was wrapped loosely about her shoulders. His gaze traveled up the arm to the face of the person to whom it belonged. Short, brown spiky hair at the top gave way to the adolescent pimply skin of a young adult. There were no tears sliding out of the eyes of the youth, no puckered frown to indicate mourning, just an arrogant young man’s face. Must be the son, the detective thought. He made a mental note to check him out.
The sermon was long and Crowley cursed the glare of the sunshine because everyone kept their sunglasses on. It was hard to read people when he couldn’t see their eyes. Picking out any suspicious, nervous glances would be difficult, and he wished that it had rained. Mrs. Judge sniffled the entire time and her son dutifully handed her tissue after tissue, keeping one arm about her shoulders.
When the crowd thinned out and the creaking of the pulley could be heard lowering Preston’s casket, the detective stood and looked at the mourners. It was a crowd of around eighty people or so, and it was difficult to tell who everyone was. The detective wondered if he’d wasted his time coming to such a well-attended funeral. He suspected there would not be an opening in this crowd for him to mill around and talk to people about who Preston had been.
He returned to his car and called into the police station. From his car, he had a good view of the people at the funeral.
“Maddy? Crowley here. Could you run a check on one Oscar Judge?” He paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the call.
“Sure, do you want to hold?”
“Call me back.” He ended the call and waited. Any information Maddy could find out about Preston’s stepson might prove useful. The young man had been surprisingly stalwart during the funeral. Perhaps that could have been his way of taking care of his mother.
While he waited for the call back, he watched the people. The obligatory clergyman was making his way through the crowd, offering quiet words and a handshake to all those in attendance. Mrs. Judge stood with her back to his car and dabbed her eyes every few minutes, holding onto the arm of her son as if it were a life raft. No one stood by her side except her son, and in a short space of time the crowd had dispersed.
At other funerals Crowley had been to, he had observed the family of the deceased stood together in solidarity, as if be
ing shoulder-to-shoulder will keep them upright and supported as they move into the unknown of a future without their loved one, but not at this funeral. If he were a betting man, he’d guess that the deceased’s wife and stepson were the only family in attendance; everyone else was just an acquaintance and probably only casual ones at that. Except for Mrs. Judge, the severe lack of nose-blowing and red eyes and the overabundance of sunshine made this scene look more like a 4th of July picnic and less of a funeral. He was about to pull his car out of the parking lot when his cell phone rang. “Hi, Maddy. What have you got for me?”
“There are a few things here. There was an arrest, but charges were dropped. I’ll print everything out for you and put it on your desk.”
“Good. I’ll come look at everything myself later this afternoon. Who laid the charges?”
“Preston Judge. Would that be his father?”
“Stepfather.”
Maddy continued, “Shall I run through everything quickly?”
Crowley breathed out heavily. “Go ahead.”
“We’ve got several complaints about the Judges from their neighbors; about one every other month. Patrol officers were called to investigate yelling and shouting coming from the Judge house just two weeks ago.”
Crowley immediately thought of Myra. Since Oscar had taken Preston’s last name. Had Preston adopted him when he married his mother? “Poor girl,” he said aloud thinking of Myra. Myra had shared with him how Peter had refused adoption.
“Poor girl?” questioned Maddy. “No, detective, these reports aren’t about a girl, they’re about two men. Sounds like Mr. Judge and the man’s stepson were arguing and fighting loudly, repeatedly, and that’s why the neighbors called to complain. No, I see nothing about a girl or a woman. And Mr. Judge filed a complain and had his son arrested for stealing his car at one point.”
“That is interesting.” Crowley was already deep in thought, mulling through the possible implications of the information.
“Is that all then, Detective?” Maddy broke his thoughts.
“Yes. Um, no. Could you take a quick look and tell me if there’s anything in the recent reports to explain what the two men were fighting about?”
“Sure, I can do that. Hold a moment.”
In less than a minute, she was back on the line. “Okay, says here that two weeks ago an officer came out to the house, called there by the neighbors to confront the two men. They were out on the lawn shouting at each other at 2 a.m. The responding officer, badge #231, made this note on the report:”
‘As I left the patrol car and approached the two men on the lawn, I overheard the younger man say to the older, ‘You’d better watch your back, I could kill you right now. And I just might!’
‘Both men stopped talking when I approached them.’
“That’s the end of the report,” Maddy said.
“There’s no more?” Crowley asked.
“Nope. That’s the end of it.”
Crowley ended the call wondering about the results of the police interview with Oscar. There was evidence on record of him threatening to kill his stepfather, so maybe his interview had turned up some interesting facts.
Chapter 9.
A new commandment I give unto you,
That ye love one another;
as I have loved you,
that ye also love one another.
John 13:34
The day of the funeral, Myra had stayed behind, honoring her commitment not to attend. She’d applauded herself at first, that morning, proud of her resolve to stand up for what was best for her. Now that she was away from Peter, she realized that what she had seen as a comfortable relationship was something quite the contrary. The controlling relationship had turned her into an introvert when she was once outgoing and energetic.
She couldn’t even mourn her husband properly; it was hard to mourn someone who never existed. As she moved from the bathroom to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the living room, from the living room to the living room window that looked out on the yard, she felt unsettled. Her pride in making her own decision about not attending the funeral kept unraveling; she wavered between feeling proud of herself and struggling with grief.
Regardless of how he treated me, regardless of what a sham our marriage was, he was my husband. I took it seriously and gave the best years of my life to that man. Perhaps I should be there to say goodbye, to give myself some closure and allow myself to move on, she thought.
Back and forth, back and forth, her mind led her through a whirlwind of emotions. In one breath she missed him, wishing their marriage had been different, wondering what more she could have done to salvage it, or give it a different outcome. In the next, she was angry, at herself, at him, at the other woman who had wedged herself between her and her husband’s chance at happiness. Then she was back to being sad again, recalling how much grief she’d suffered because of the man’s lies. And the very next second, she was angry again and wished she had grabbed her courage and used it wisely.
She looked at her watch. Too late, the funeral is probably over now. She made herself a cup of tea and walked back to the couch when there was a knock at her door.
Not expecting any visitors, she peered through the window to see who it might be, deciding that if it were someone she didn’t know she would just ignore it and get back to her roller coaster of emotions. But the person outside the door struck her in such a way that curiosity got the better of her. Before she even second-guessed her instincts, Myra opened the door to the woman dressed in black on her mother’s doorstep.
“I’m not surprised you weren’t there. I didn’t expect a conniving home-wrecker would have the guts to face the rest of us who truly loved him.” Her words were spoken with such venom that Myra stepped backwards as if she’d been struck.
Gathering her wits about her, she replied, “You must be Mrs. Judge?”
The woman nodded.
“How did you find me?” Myra asked.
“I saw this address on the notes of one of the officers.” She stepped back and looked up at the house. “I see Preston lowered his standards with you and this house.” Mrs. Judge laughed. “Right slap in the middle of Amish country, but I can see you have none of those morals.” She tilted her chin upwards.
Myra opened her mouth to correct her and inform her that it was her mother’s house, not the house she once shared with her husband, but stopped herself. The woman was obviously angry, but the same man too had duped her. “I wonder if you might like to come in. I could make you tea. I’m sure it’s been a dreadful day for you and perhaps some tea would help.” Words had flown nervously out of Myra’s mouth faster than her brain could function.
“I don’t want your tea, I don’t want to come into your detestable, awful small house. I just came to tell you one thing.” The words were spat at Myra with all the hatred and cruelty of a pit viper.
“Oh,” Myra said.
“You think you’re so sweet, don’t you? So innocent. Invite the widow in for tea and try to be my friend. You’ve messed with the wrong lady, missy. I know what you did and now I’ll make you pay for it, to the fullest extent of the law.”
“I’ve done nothing to you. I didn’t even know you existed until just recently. What is it you think I’ve done?”
“Besides stealing my husband? Besides possibly killing my husband? I’ll tell you I know that you stole money from me. I know you made Preston do it; you twisted him around your little finger somehow and convinced him to steal from me. I’ve got an auditor coming in to go over the books of my husband’s business.” And with that, the woman turned and stomped away, punching angry holes in Ettie and Elsa-May’s grass with her stiletto heels.
Myra felt as though she’d been slapped. Taking a seat on the couch, she thought through what the woman had accused her of. Though it had never raised a red flag before, she recalled how her husband had bought their large house and put it in her name. In fact, all of their accounts had been in her name. He
’d said that it was for tax purposes and she had taken his word for it.
Another knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts and she physically braced herself. If that’s her again, I’m not answering it, she thought. She was relieved to see Crowley on her doorstep. She let him into the house and Myra immediately spilled the events of the last few moments, barely stopping to take a breath.
“Myra, I think it’s time that you get a lawyer. Preston and his wife were wealthy and Preston might have siphoned money to you.”
Myra nodded. “I had no idea of anything.” She noticed Crowley’s formal, dark suit. “You went to the funeral?”
He smiled. “It was a little bizarre, I guess you could say. I made an interesting discovery though.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” she asked.
“The stepson, Oscar Judge. He and his stepfather didn’t get along. In fact, I think there might be more to their story. I’m looking at him as a person of interest. I’ll let you know what I find out. I need to go; I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay.” They both stood, Crowley gave Myra’s arm a squeeze and smiled at her. He walked to the door, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Get a lawyer.”
“I hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, dear, but I couldn’t help but hear all the loud voices at the door from that woman and from the detective.” Myra glanced behind her to see her mother standing with arms crossed and an ‘I’m your mother, listen to me’ look on her face.
“Mamm, I didn’t know you were home.”
“Elsa-May went out by herself. I stayed and had a rest in my room.”
“Mamm, stuff’s getting crazy with all this. I just don’t even know what to do next.” Myra suddenly felt like she was in the midst of a plot from a bizarre movie.
“I have some ideas. I think this Mrs. Judge is someone we should learn more about, especially because she’s threatened you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she killed him, if money is involved in all of this somehow,” Ettie said.
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