Murder in the Second Pew

by K. P. Gresham

  Sherylene was pulling on rooster-embroidered oven mitts. “This’ll take just a second.” She opened the oven door and peeked inside. “Maybe a few more minutes,” she said more to herself than the men.

  “Smells wonderful,” Matt said, and he wasn’t simply making conversation. The homey aroma of baking dough had him thinking of his mom, Jewel, and her meringue pies. The filling hadn’t ever mattered much to him or his two hungry brothers. Lemon, chocolate, lime or pumpkin—whenever their mom made pies, they were gone at the first serving.

  “I’m practicin’ for next week’s Fourth. The Civic Society told me they wanted cherry and blueberry to go with the vanilla ice cream entries.” She pulled two tall tumblers out of a cupboard and went to the freezer atop the fridge to fill them with ice. “For the red, white and blue patriotic theme. I haven’t made a blueberry pie in years.” She set the glasses on the white kitchen table and turned to grab a pitcher of tea from the fridge. “Would you care for some sugar, or maybe lemon?”

  At this point Matt realized that Sherylene was nervous. Why, he didn’t know, but the more she talked on, the more he realized she was uncomfortable with them being there.

  “Actually, we’re here to speak with Owen,” James W. said. “Is he in the barn?”

  “No,” she said, almost too brightly. “He’s been helpin’ Norm Krall get the new pavilion ready for the Fourth. He’s probably paintin’ up a storm right about now.”

  Matt and James W. shared a look as she poured her own glass of tea.

  “I told Owen things were awfully busy around here, but he said he owed Norm plenty of favors from…before…and he wanted to help out a friend in need.” She nervously sipped at her tea, and Matt noticed her hand shook. “What do you need Owen for?”

  “Just have to go over some things from a long time ago.” James W.’s tone was easy. “Won’t take but a minute.”

  Sherylene put down her cup. “It’s about Melinda Platt, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, now that you mention it.” James W. took a swig of tea but never stopped watching Sherylene.

  “I heard you found her in the river.”

  James W. nodded and took another swallow.

  “I heard about it yesterday,” Sherylene continued. “They called from the church to tell us we might have a funeral comin’ up next week.”

  “Ann called you?” Matt asked.

  “Asked if I’d make some sandwiches.” Sherylene nodded. “I mentioned it to Owen this mornin’. He hadn’t heard anything about it. He seemed a little upset.”

  Matt did his best not to look surprised at the admission.

  “I wasn’t sure why,” she prattled on, “but then I realized that he and Zach were the last ones to see those two girls in Wilks.”

  James W. nodded. “I need to confirm some things in the report, that’s all. Got to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. Just routine.”

  Matt cringed inside. The more the woman talked, the more James W. looked convinced that something was going on with Owen.

  “Well, of course, that’s all.” Sherylene got up nervously, tugged on her gloves again and checked the oven. “Looks like they’re ready,” she said and pulled the pies out. She placed the three on the gas stove burners to cool.

  “Smells incredible,” Matt observed.

  “Would you like a piece after they’ve cooled a bit?” Again her smile was bright, but Matt suspected that the last thing Sherylene Seegler wanted was for him and the sheriff to hang around.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” Matt said, shooting a look at James W. “I’ve got a four o’clock Bible Study at the church.”

  “Kinda late for a Bible Study, ain’t it?” James W. said, and Matt realized that his friend had been hoping to squeeze more information out of Sherylene. Either that or he wanted a piece of that pie.

  “Mandy Culver’s idea,” Matt explained. “She provides the after-school babysitting program so the moms have an hour or so to themselves before heading home to make dinner.”

  Disappointed, James W. reached for his hat. “I suppose I’ve got to get back to the office and push some paper.” He stood and settled his chair under the table. “Thank you for the tea, Sherylene.”

  “You’re so welcome, James W., Pastor.” The relief in her voice that they were leaving was almost palpable. “How about I put two of these pies in a Tupperware and send them home with you?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared into the mud room and returned with two pie safes. “Now, keep these level in your truck,” she admonished as she packed up the blueberry pies. “They’ll spill somethin’ awful.” Neither man could help but grin as she handed over the pastries.

  “I’m sure Elsbeth will really enjoy this,” James W. said, following her back through the dining room.

  “Yes. Thank you, Sherylene,” Matt said, sending James W. a triumphant look that said he didn’t need to share his pie with anyone.

  “Glad you boys could stop by.” Sherylene held the front door for them. “Sorry Owen wasn’t here, but at least the pavilion is on your way back into town.”

  “We’ll try not to let him know we swiped two of his pies,” Matt called back.

  She gave them a bright wave and shut the door behind them.

  Halfway across the farmyard James W. cleared his throat. “Somethin’ ain’t right in that household.”

  Matt was forced to nod in agreement.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Hot Summer Night

  James W. hadn’t been lying when he said he had paper to push at the office. By the time he left the municipal building later that evening, he’d reviewed and approved a week’s worth of reports submitted by Richard Dube and the two part-time deputies, Castleburry and Martens. They’d reported four calls to settle civil matters, five vehicular accidents, two repossessions of trucks due to truant loans, two complaints about trespassing loose chickens from Mrs. Phillips—again—as well as several drug arrests.

  All in all, a fairly busy week in Wilks and the surrounding county.

  When James W. got home Elsbeth was nowhere to be found, but she’d left a note saying there was some supper in the fridge he could microwave.

  Still full from the blueberry pie that was now history, he headed into the TV room. “Elsbeth?”

  Hearing no reply, he walked through to the formal front room and then back into the bedrooms. He and Elsbeth had built this home when they’d first gotten married. It was a ranch at the end of town, in the “new” section where the more modern, wealthier residents of Wilks dwelled. Norm Krall lived three lots over. James W. and Elsbeth had always considered this home their “temporary,” since both expected to move into the Wilks Mansion on the town square after Miss Olivia passed. Strangely, though, Elsbeth had not made any mention of moving out of their current residence in the six months since his mother had died.

  “Elsbeth?” he called into the master bedroom.

  Still no answer.

  He peeked into the master bath, and there he found his answer. Elsbeth’s clothes hung on the back of the door, and her spa towel was missing from the hook.

  He walked back through the house to the den’s sliding glass door. “You in the tub, Elsbeth?”

  He heard a giggle, then a bottle clink on the hot tub’s shelf. “Sure am. Wanna join me?”

  By golly, that sounded like a fine idea. “Be right there.” He headed back to the bedroom to change into his bathing suit. From the sounds of it, Elsbeth was enjoying a bottle of wine with her water massage. Oh, yes, he remembered now. Tonight she’d been playing bridge with her friends.

  The hot tub had been Elsbeth’s idea, and though James W. hadn’t been keen on it at first, he’d decided that owning a spa was one of the finer luxuries in life. Of course during the summer months they kept the water cool, but those jets had massaged away many a stiff neck from doing too much paperwork, and the occasional muscle cramp from actually having to chase a suspect down.

  Barefoot, he padded
back through the house and out the glass door. He slid into the water and let out a sigh. The rolling bubbles tickled his feet and back.

  “I heard That Woman was back in town,” Elsbeth said.

  James W. only closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m here to relax, Elsbeth. It’s been a long day.” He had no desire to discuss the reappearance of Angie O’Day.

  He heard Elsbeth pour the wine into his glass and he looked her way. Tonight she was wearing her green-and-white-polka-dot suit.

  The two of them always wore bathing suits in the spa. It had been years since either one of them had seen the other naked. Elsbeth’s idea of making love was a special occasion only policy and always with the lights off.

  He took the glass she offered and sipped. It was a Merlot, his favorite. “This here hot tub is one of the best brainstorms you’ve ever had.”

  “They have new ones now with sound systems and little water fountains,” she said, eyeing him hopefully.

  “Now, Elsbeth, this here’s our second one already.”

  “The first one lasted five years. Do you know how long we’ve had this one?”

  “No,” but he was pretty sure she did.

  “Five years,” she said triumphantly. “So we’re due.”

  “Yes, dear.” He couldn’t remember who had taught him those two magic words that made his marriage successful, but he was grateful for the lesson.

  They sat in companionable silence. The sun had gone down, and a slight wind was blowing.

  “Guess what I saw tonight?”

  Lord, she was going to gossip. Well, that was better than getting up a head of steam about Angie or the preacher. “What?”

  “You know that new girl at the Fire and Ice House?”

  James W. never ceased to be amazed at how much Elsbeth knew about the affairs of the Ice House when she’d never stepped foot in the place.

  “Well, she’s a homosexual, you know,” she whispered, then giggled again.

  James W. shook his head and took a larger swallow from his wine glass.

  “Well, guess who I saw her sitting with on the back porch of the Ice House tonight?”

  “Why were you at the Ice House?”

  James W. could almost see Elsbeth’s chest heave with indignation, though she was mostly hidden in the shadow of the live oak canopy overhead. He suppressed a chuckle.

  “I was not at the Ice House,” she huffed. “I was at Lindy Waters’ playing bridge. She lives a few houses down the block behind the Ice House.”

  “I figured that,” he said, smiling, and patted her hand.

  “James W., you get my feathers ruffled quicker than anybody I know.”

  “That’s why you love me.” He grinned. He reached for the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses.

  “So guess who was sitting and talking to that…that…”

  “To Chelsea?”

  “Yes. Guess!”

  “The Queen of England.”

  This time she slapped his shoulder, but he could tell she was enjoying the game as much as he.

  “Mandy Culver!” Elsbeth said triumphantly.

  “At the Ice House?”

  Elsbeth nodded, reveling in the scoop. “I knew that woman was no good. It’s a travesty to have her kind looking after the children of Grace Lutheran. Pastor Hayden has to go.”

  James W. growled. Somehow the conversation had turned down the exact road he was trying to avoid.

  “Can you imagine? Those two women, doing that, right here in Wilks. Your mother would have a fit.”

  “Miss Olivia’s probably turning in her grave as we speak,” James W. said dryly.

  “I’m going to tell the church council about this on Saturday.”

  James W. suppressed a growl. “Elsbeth, I’ve had a long day. Can we talk about something more pleasant?”

  She considered his request by chugging down her full glass of wine. She waved her empty glass his direction. He poured some more Merlot into it.

  Smiling pleasantly, she decided to change subjects. “Have you been working on Melinda Platt’s murder?”

  “Couldn’t find the witnesses that took those girls to Dannerton anywhere. Absolute waste of a whole day.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Zach Gibbons and Owen Seegler. They used to hang out together, but not since Owen gave up the bottle.”

  “My sweetie-pie,” she said, patting his hand. “You are so naive.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “When Chelsea and Mandy were talking out on the back porch?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Owen Seegler stumbled out of the Ice House. Almost fell down the porch steps, but Mandy was able to help him. Disgraceful. If you’d been there, you’d never have let him drive home.”

  “Owen was at the Ice House?”

  “And had been for quite some time, obviously.”

  That made two nights in a row, James W. thought. Owen was definitely acting out of character.

  “But you don’t want to talk about work, do you, darling?” She shifted in the tub, stretching her back over a row of jets. “So let’s talk about Jimmy Jr.”

  “Always a good topic.”

  “Leroy called today. Someone from the Dallas Morning News wants to do a spread on our family. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  James W. rolled his eyes. So much for dodging that bullet. There’d be no getting out of the interview now that Elsbeth had wind of it. “Wonderful,” he repeated. This time he refilled his own wine glass, draining the bottle. He took a long swallow. “Just think, our own Jimmy Jr. in the governor’s mansion,” James W. offered, hoping to change the subject.

  It worked. “And you know, without him being married and all, he’s going to need help with all the social events he has to host.”

  James W. hadn’t thought of that. Lord, he hoped that didn’t mean he and Elsbeth were going to have to constantly make trips to Austin to attend such affairs.

  Elsbeth reached behind to the spa’s shelf and grabbed another bottle of wine. She screwed off the top and filled her glass. “I’ve been wondering, James W. Do you think I should offer to go up to Austin and live with Jimmy Jr. off-and-on so I could help him out?”

  James W. blinked. “You? In Austin?”

  “Of course! No one’s better qualified to be his social hostess for the affairs of state.” She settled back against the jets and took a sip from her wine. “It’d probably be mostly during session. Or at the holidays.”

  For once, James W. found himself speechless.

  “Just think…Mrs. Elsbeth Novak, first lady of Texas. I can just see the social headlines.” She beamed at him. “Don’t you think that’s a wonderful idea?”

  Stunned, James W. paused, then remembered the two words that would allow him to sleep in the bed tonight and not on the couch. “Yes, dear.”

  “Oh, I knew you’d think so!” she squealed and hugged his neck. “I’ll need a new wardrobe, of course…”

  As she prattled on, James W. finished his glass and poured another. After downing it, he slowly allowed himself to sink below the water.

  For a moment, he seriously considered staying submerged.

  ***

  It was after midnight when Owen finally stumbled out of his truck and into his house. After leaving the Gibbons’ trailer, he’d gone to the Pit Stop Bar to see if Zach’s F-150 was still parked in the lot. The truck wasn’t there, however, and when asked the bartender didn’t know where Zach had gone. Owen drank a few beers while he contemplated where Zach might be.

  Deciding that perhaps Angie’s restraining order might be as short-lived as they used to be, Owen then drove to Angie’s. Zach wasn’t at the Fire and Ice House either, but the familiar booth of Owen’s wayward days had called to him.

  He was pretty sure he’d had something to eat. He knew for damned sure that he’d found something to drink.

  He closed the front door behind him, leaving the hot summer night outside. The house was cool and
silent, and ordinarily that gave him a feeling of peace. Somehow, however, spending the family’s dwindling funds on alcohol tonight left him with a feeling of self-loathing.

  He stopped by the restroom first and tried to wash away the guilt. Soap and mouthwash didn’t do the trick.

  He tiptoed into the bedroom. He managed to slip off his shoes without making too much noise, but his foot got caught in his jeans as he pulled them down, sending him with a thud onto the bed.

  Sherylene stirred onto her back. “Owen?”

  Damn it, he’d awakened her. He peeled off the rest of his clothes and climbed under the sheets.

  “The dairy-truck man stopped by after he got our milk,” she said sleepily. “Said we were under contract levels.”

  Owen had expected it, but knowing he could do nothing to save the contract, he could only sigh.

  “And the sheriff and the pastor were here lookin’ for you. About when Melinda and Diane went missin’.”

  Owen felt gut-punched. So they were asking the same questions he was. He had to find Zach Gibbons.

  But not tonight. Tonight he needed to recuperate. Regroup. He’d been praying all day to learn what God’s plan was for this mess. He hadn’t gotten answers, though.

  Lonely beyond what he could stand, Owen reached for Sherylene’s hand. Found it. Squeezed it.

  “You’re drunk.” She pulled her hand away and turned toward the wall.

  Owen was stunned. Not only had she rejected his touch, she had said the words that he’d always feared would come from her lips.

  The tacit agreement between them was broken. He’d broken it. Everything, everything was his fault.

  The last thing he remembered that night was the silent tears falling down his temples and into his hair.

  ***

  Matt looked at the clock on his nightstand for the umpteenth time since he’d attempted to go to sleep. Two o’clock in the morning. What in the world had him so restless?

  Well, that answer was easy. She was back.

  Frustrated with the tossing and turning, Matt threw back the sheets, planted his bare feet on the floor and cinched up his boxer shorts. Maybe a snack or something would help.