“Not sure. You and Rebecca take care of the milkin’?”
“No problem. Her shift ends at 3:00.”
That was another load to deal with. Rebecca would be going off to the University of Texas in the Fall. She’d been working at the Home for the last three years as a nurse’s aide to help offset the cost of Joshua’s care. Not only was Owen going to lose her help around the farm, but he’d have to go back to paying full fare for Josh’s daily special school. Plus, he had to assume the cost for the portion of Rebecca’s tuition and board that her scholarships wouldn’t cover.
Rebecca was a good girl. It didn’t seem right that she had to be at work at 6 a.m. for her shift and then be tasked with milking the cows when she got home.
Then again, none of this was right.
Without another word, Owen headed out the door, letting it slam behind him.
No good-bye kiss, Sherylene noted. She sat back down at the table and picked up her coffee, her eyes beginning to tear.
Owen hadn’t kissed her good morning, either.
***
Mickey Stuckey, even more so than most ten-year-old boys, loved playing around the river. He liked fishing for trout, digging for mudbugs, heck, even skipping stones, which he wasn’t very good at.
All of which, of course, needed water in the river. So far, this summer vacation was a total bust.
Still, Mickey roamed the shores of the Colorado River, hoping against hope to find some semblance of a current in the muddy bed where water usually flowed. Today was no different. Mickey was at the river, as he’d been every day since the first of June, wishing for the sweet flow of water to soothe his wanderlust. He wasn’t going anywhere, but the water always was.
Today he was picking his way through the tree roots that stretched toward the mucky river thirsting for water. He reached the river’s bend by Grace Lutheran when something in the trickle that was left of the Colorado glinted in the sunlight.
Finally! Something of interest. He worked his way down the steep riverbank, avoiding tree roots and snake holes as he slipped and slid down the slope.
The shiny thing barely cleared the Colorado River’s water line. He saw a submerged log in the murky water, and figured whatever it was must be hooked on the bark.
Edging closer, the ten-year-old made his way out on the log to see the object that reflected the sun so insistently. He squinted at the filthy water, then his eyes rounded in horror.
The scream that ripped out of him jolted him off the log. He fell into the water, landing square on top of the object that terrified him so.
The bones of the skeleton gave way beneath his weight. He screamed again, forcing himself to push against the brittle pieces that broke beneath his fingers. Only when he’d backed up to the log, did he stop long enough to catch his breath. Still, he couldn’t turn his head away.
Staring back at him from the brown, filthy water were the hollow eyes of a tooth-filled skull. Wound around its neck was the object that had glinted in the sunlight. A lady’s necklace. My God, he thought. It’s a girl!
Forcing himself to stand, the boy looked frantically at the river bank, then up to the Grace Lutheran’s steeple peering over its edge. Slinging off the mud as he ran, he struggled up the embankment toward the church. “Pastor! Pastor Hayden! You gotta come!”
***
Sheriff James W. Novak leaned over the sodden log, then spit in the mud. “Been here for a while, that’s for sure.” He straightened and looked Matt in the eye. “I figure the body was dumped in the water upstream and floated down here with the current until it got to the bend. Musta gotten hitched up on this log.”
“No flesh left,” Matt observed. He had come running when he’d heard the young boy screaming. Two days in a row of commotion outside his window was keeping him from preparing for Saturday’s church council meeting.
Somehow he wasn’t too upset about that.
Matt bent down to get a closer look, ignoring the mud he was getting on his khakis. “The necklace pendant looks like some kind of charm.” He turned it over. “Looks like initials of some kind. M…something?”
“I’m guessin’ it’s M.P.” James W. pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Better get the coroner.”
“M.P.,” Matt repeated. “You know who this is?”
“Got an idea, anyway. A girl that disappeared ten years back.”
Chapter Four
Never Kick a Cow Paddy on a Hot Day
By the time Matt finished with the sheriff, the sun was directly overhead and his stomach was growling. He climbed to the top of the riverbank and was wavering between finding lunch in town or getting a peanut butter sandwich from the parsonage when he spotted Owen Seegler coming out of the church.
“Owen!” he called. “You need me?”
“No, thanks, Pastor. I’m good.” Without another word, the farmer got in his truck and drove away.
Matt frowned. Something about Owen didn’t seem quite right. Concerned, he headed up the cement steps of Grace and walked through the vestibule to Ann Fullenweider’s office. “Ann? What did Owen Seegler want?”
Ann, hands poised over keyboard, looked at him over her black reading glasses. “He said he needed to talk with the Lord,” she answered. She went back to typing. “Thought it was you in there at first. You two sure look alike from the back.”
“Talk with the Lord?” Matt asked.
“He’s been in the sanctuary for the past half hour. Prayin’.”
At Matt’s questioning look, Ann shrugged. “Droughts are hardest on the farmers, Pastor. Especially dairy farmers. I’m guessin’ Owen’s meetin’ some pretty hard times.”
Matt nodded. Learning about the farming business was a whole new lesson for him. Growing up in Miami, all he knew about milk was that you bought it at a grocery store.
“I’d best be gettin’ back to my report for Saturday,” he said. The council meeting was a monthly affair, always the first Saturday of the month at lunch time. Those two hours of tedium were one of the worst parts of Matt’s job. “You, uh,” he looked at her hopefully, “don’t have any questions about Sunday’s bulletin?”
She smiled. “Sorry, Pastor. I’ve got the hymns and readin’s you gave me along with the blood-drive reminder.”
Disappointed, Matt turned toward his office.
“But I think you should know…”
Something in Ann’s voice made Matt turn back around. “Yes?”
“Elsbeth Novak called while you were out. She told me to put her on the agenda for the church council meetin’.”
Matt swallowed. Hard. “Did she say anything else?”
“She said to make sure I didn’t tell you.”
***
By five o’clock that afternoon, Elsbeth had done her best to let the pastor know that she would be appearing before the church council by swearing at least three different parishioners to silence about her being on the agenda.
Which of course meant that Matt hosted a parade of parishioners through his office that afternoon.
Warren Yeck made the first visit, right after Matt sat down to work on his report. “Afternoon, Pastor, you got a minute?”
Warren was a retired farmer who lived with his brother, Ben, above the feed store next to the church. Ben had worked the feed store since he graduated high school in the fifties, and bought it outright thirty years back.
Warren, on the other hand, had sold his farm ten years ago when his wife passed away. He’d moved in with his brother so he could play dominoes during the day, cook his brother’s suppers at night and putter around the church as its volunteer janitor to keep himself useful.
“Problems with the air conditioning again?” Matt asked.
Warren sat down in the chair across from the preacher’s desk and slapped the dust off his knee. “The only thing that’s gonna help that air conditioner is a bullet.”
Matt had been afraid of that.
“I hope y’all have it on the agenda for Saturday’s ch
urch council to talk about buyin’ a new one,” Warren said.
“It’s part of my report.” Matt tapped the paper in front of him.
“Maybe we could kick off the fund-raiser with a nice big gift. Maybe somebody’s memorials, say.”
That got Matt’s attention. “What are you talking about, Warren?”
“Word’s out that Mrs. Culver might have some money to start a fund like that from her husband’s memorials. Might be a better use of the money than buyin’ new altar cloths.”
“Warren, you’re the one who tripped on the shreds of those old cloths last communion Sunday.”
“Now, we don’t need to be go buyin’ some new, ‘contemporary’ things jes’ ‘cause an old man tripped and spilled a little wine, do we? We need the new air conditioner bad.”
“Mrs. Culver’s gift wouldn’t even begin to pay for a new air conditioner.” Matt looked at the older man hard. “Where’s this coming from, Warren?”
“Now, Pastor, we both know Elsbeth Novak…”
Thus started the stories, most of which Matt had heard, about how Elsbeth had run off the last paid janitor because he’d allowed cobwebs in the choir loft, about how Elsbeth had single-handedly blocked having weekly communion since it was too much work for the Altar Guild, about how Elsbeth pretty much blackmailed the last pastor into painting the sanctuary her color preference instead of his because she knew about his regular trips to Coushatta in Louisiana to gamble every first Tuesday of the month.
Matt hadn’t heard that last one. Concealing a smile, he decided he’d have to call Fred Osterburg and ask him about that. Grace Lutheran’s former pastor and he were good friends.
By the end of the hour-long conversation, because no conversation with Warren Yeck was ever short, Warren had pleaded with Matt not to rile up Elsbeth again, especially since this time she was madder than most. Matt thanked him for his concern, and sent Warren on his way.
Less than an hour later, there was a light tap on his door. Matt looked up to see Pearl Masterson standing there, worrying her purse handle.
“Pearl, come in!” He was genuinely glad to see her. When Pearl wasn’t in the overbearing company of Elsbeth Novak, she was an absolute dear.
“I won’t take much of your time, Pastor,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s just that, well, after what you did with helpin’ me get through Ernie’s passin’, and the way you stuck up for me and Bo,”—her face turned scarlet—“of course there’s nothin’ goin’ on there—”
“Because Elsbeth wouldn’t approve?”
She shifted her weight from one foot to another. “I’m here because I need to warn you that Elsbeth is really angry with you. Scary angry.”
“I was too direct with her yesterday. I think I’d best make my apologies to her.”
“Don’t go near her!” Pearl whispered fiercely. “You’ll only make things worse. Though mind you, I thought what you told her was fittin’ for the moment. She shouldn’t’ve said what she said about Mrs. Culver.”
“Now, Pearl—”
“All I’m sayin’ is that she’s gonna be at the church council meeting Saturday. Lord help me if she finds out I told you! Your best bet is to tell Norm Krall what she’s in a tizzy about and let him deal with her at the meeting. After all, he’s the church council president and he knows how to conduct business—why, he does construction work all over central Texas. He’ll know how to handle her at the meeting. She’ll be respectful to him. He’s got money.”
Matt smiled and shook his head. “What would I do without you, Pearl? You’re always looking out for me.”
“Well, that’s the other thing I wanted to talk with you about. I’m not going to be around much for awhile except for church on Sundays. That’s about it.”
Matt sat up a little straighter. “Your sister?”
Pearl worried what little lower lip she possessed. “She needs me pretty much full time now.”
“The chemo didn’t take?” Matt had driven the thirty miles to Judith’s country home several times to give Pearl’s older sister communion.
Pearl nodded. “I’m not puttin’ her in a place to die, preacher. She’s lived on that farm all of her adult life. That’s where Judith wants to be when—” Her voice broke. “Thank goodness Hospice comes out to the house.”
“You’ll both be in my prayers, Pearl. Let me know when I can stop by.”
“I will.” She rose to leave, then hesitated. “By the way, Preacher, I think that Mandy Culver is a real nice young lady. For you.” Blushing, she did a brisk walk out of the door.
The final visitor to his office waited until four o’clock to make his appearance. His timing just happened to coincide with the disappearance of Ann Fullenweider’s car around the curve heading toward her home off Highway 71.
“What can I do for you, James W.?” Matt stood when he realized the barrel-chested sheriff was framing his doorway.
“Got a minute, Matt?”
They talked about the body that had been found in the river that day. It might be the daughter of one of Matt’s parishioners, the sheriff said. He’d let Matt know either way as soon as the dental records were checked.
They talked about the haystack fire outside of town yesterday and how glad James W. was that there’d been a water source close to the field. The firemen were able to prevent the flames from spreading in the dry Texas wind.
They talked about Shadow, Angie’s dog, being a great companion around the sheriff’s department. James W. wasn’t sure he’d be able to part with the dog once Angie got back.
Finally, Matt, his stomach growling from lack of lunch and now a delayed supper, asked James W. if there was anything else they needed to talk about. Matt was pretty sure there would be.
“Well, Matt, it seems that you and Elsbeth had a bit of a problem yesterday.” James W. didn’t like talking about his wife. Even more, James W. didn’t like dealing with his wife.
“Over paraments. Yes.”
James W. had his sheriff’s hat in hand and was twirling it nervously on his lap.
“Well, it makes me no mind either way, but Elsbeth was so mad when she got home, I swear she would’ve stomped on baby ducks.”
“I’m sorry, James W., I was too direct with her. I should call her and apologize.”
“Lord have mercy, Pastor, don’t get within ten yards of her. She’ll jump on you with all four feet.”
Matt still sometimes had a difficult time understanding all of James W.’s expressions, but he definitely could tell the sheriff was anxious for his safety.
“Don’t dig up more snakes than you can kill. Let her cool down a bit first.”
“I understand she’s going to be at the church council meeting Saturday. I won’t be able to avoid her there.”
“Lord have mercy, you didn’t hear that from me.” James W.’s face actually paled. “All I’m sayin’ is, there was never a horse that couldn’t be rode or a rider who couldn’t be throwed.”
That one stumped Matt completely.
James W. must’ve seen his consternation. “A squeaky wheel gets the grease, but a quackin’ duck gets shot,” he explained.
It still didn’t register with Matt what the sheriff was trying to tell him.
Frustrated, James W. spelled it out. “Keep your mouth shut on Saturday and let Norm Krall do the talkin’.”
Relieved to finally understand his friend’s warning, Matt nodded. “But don’t I have to tell Norm Krall what happened?”
“Hell’s fire, Pastor. I’ll talk to Norm. He’s used to dealin’ with Elsbeth.” Then, more to himself, “Hell, everybody in town is used to dealin’ with Elsbeth.”
“You’re a good friend, James W.” Matt stood.
The two men started for the narthex. “A word of advice,” James W. added. “You’ve got to learn how to deal with her too. You can’t tell her the truth straight out. You got to be…” he searched for the word. “Diplomatic.”
“No wonder your son’s running
for governor, James W. He’s learned from a master.” They were out of the church now, and Matt was locking the door behind him.
“If he can’t fix Texas, ain’t no one can.” James W. headed down the steps to his truck. He opened the door, then turned back to the pastor. “Remember what I said,” he called. “Today’s butcher is tomorrow’s beef!”
Chapter Five
The Night Visitor
Relieved Tuesday was finally at an end, Matt fished in his pocket for his house key. Wilks might be a small town, but the death sentence hanging over his head did not allow him to embrace the local habit of leaving one’s home unlocked. He pushed open the front door and immediately came to a halt.
Sitting in Matt’s easy chair, his back to the front door, was a man. Though the man’s face was turned away, Matt knew all too well that graying, wiry hair.
“Shit,” Matt said simply, noting with little humor that it was the second time he’d sworn in as many days.
Deputy U.S. Marshal Frank Ballard chuckled without shifting in the chair. “Not very nice coming from a pastor.”
“When you’re around, Frank, it’s hard to remember that’s what I am.” Matt threw his keys on the entranceway table and closed the front door behind him.
“Yeah.” Frank finally turned allowing Matt to look upon his sun-damaged, sunken face. “Someday, we’ll have that talk you promised.”
“What are you doing here, Frank?” Matt didn’t, wouldn’t offer to shake the man’s hand—even if Frank was Matt’s only link to his past.
“That’s it? No, ‘Glad to see you’? ‘How’s the family’? You know, a greeting that shows a positive attitude.” Frank still had a way of irritating Matt with every sentence that came out of his sarcastic mouth. “I thought we stressed with you how important it is to keep a positive attitude.”
“I am trying to be positive,” Matt returned easily. “Any chance you’re retiring?”
Frank smirked. “No doubt I do look older. People like you can age a man.”
“I haven’t caused you any grief.” Matt wished he could say the same for this U.S. Marshal who’d lurked in and out of his life for the last four years.
Murder in the Second Pew: A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystery Page 3