Murder in the Second Pew: A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystery

by K. P. Gresham

  “James W. brought Shadow with him when he came by. Said he didn’t want me to be alone at the bar with everybody gone.”

  Both Matt and Angie rolled their eyes. No one was more equipped to deal with an unruly customer, or thief for that matter, than Angie O’Day.

  “So what’s your special today?”

  “Same as every Friday. Seafood gumbo and garlic bread.” She handed over his beer.

  “Sounds great.”

  For a brief second, their hands touched, and Angie felt a spark travel from her fingers up her arm. Embarrassed, she pulled away and headed for the kitchen.

  “So, where you been?”

  “Houston.” Talking through the pass through, he gave her a rundown on the fireman’s condition, but Angie heard little of the explanation. As she ladled the gumbo over the rice, the only thing she could think of was how ridiculous she was being. She’d been gone for six months and had held off coming back until she was sure she was over him.

  Apparently, she wasn’t over him.

  With bowl and bread basket in hand, Angie pushed through the swinging half doors and laid the food out in front of Matt.

  “You look tired, Angie,” he said.

  “So do you.”

  “Not much sleep last night,” he said.

  “Same here.” No, she hadn’t slept a wink last night. Or the night before. She’d been too busy thinking about how good Matt Hayden looked in the moonlight.

  “It’s probably jet lag,” Matt was saying. “Have you worked every day since you got back?”

  “And night.” She pushed a strand of red hair back over her ear.

  “You need to let yourself recover from the trip.”

  He spooned up a mouthful of the Creole delicacy. “Delicious,” he said and closed his eyes, satisfied.

  She wanted to wake up in the morning in his arms and have him look the same way.

  “Where’s Dorothy Jo? I want to kiss that cook.”

  “Dorothy Jo’s day off. She makes the gumbo on Thursday, says it needs a day to set anyway,” she replied, still enjoying the fantasy. “Bo’s fightin’ the fire.”

  “Does Chelsea come in tonight?”

  The fantasy blinked out and she scowled. “Yes.”

  “Then maybe you can take off and get some rest. It doesn’t look like you’ll be very busy.”

  Angie let out a sniff. “As if I’d leave her alone here to rob me blind.”

  “James W. said she really helped out around here when you were gone. I think Bo or Dorothy Jo would’ve caught on if she wasn’t on the level.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s got you buffaloed, too!”

  Matt shot her a reproving look. “What have you got against the woman?”

  The fact that Matt realized Chelsea was a woman somehow yanked Angie’s chain even harder.

  “She’s a…a…” Angie searched for a word she could say in front of the preacher. “A slut!” she finally blurted.

  Matt laughed. He laughed so hard he started choking on his food. He reached for his beer and downed the rest of it in one swallow.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s just you. Calling her a slut.”

  Angie felt a spark of anger flare. “And you find that funny why?”

  “Come on, Angie. Listen to what you’re saying. You don’t like her because you feel about Chelsea the way Elsbeth feels about you.”

  Angie felt her face getting hot. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It happens to all of us. When we see our own weaknesses in others, we automatically shoot the messenger.”

  Quietly, Angie picked up his glass and poured another Fireman’s Four.

  “Sure. You see her flirting a little, maybe dressing a little suggestively. But she’s smart as a whip. She’s brought in a lot of business, I hear.” Matt dug in hungrily for another spoonful of gumbo. “All those are things you are. On the edge of propriety. The business wunderkind.” He finally looked at her, obviously quite pleased with his diagnosis. “She’s you, ten years ago.”

  Angie couldn’t help herself. She took the beer she’d poured and threw it in Matt’s face. “You judgmental, sanctimonious sonuvabitch.”

  Matt sputtered and wiped at the beer with the back of his hand. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Get out.” She said it quietly, because suddenly a pair of customers were coming through the door. When she recognized the patrons were Mandy Culver and Ann Fullenweider in for their weekly TGIF, she decided to scream it. “Get out!”

  Matt might’ve been tired when he came in, but he got off that stool in a hurry. He knocked into his two employees in the process. “Angie, I didn’t mean to insult—”

  “Don’t you ever come back in here.” She picked up his plate and threw it in the sink. Mandy and Ann exchanged a look and headed for a booth toward the back of the bar. Because she knew she had an appreciative audience, she added, “And don’t you ever, ever show up after hours on my back porch again, or I’ll shoot you quicker’n hell can scorch a feather!”

  The door slammed noisily behind him, and Angie took a deep breath to calm herself. Finally, she looked up and smiled brightly at her two customers. “What’ll it be, ladies?”

  ***

  Wiping the beer from his face, Matt headed back to the parsonage. Great job, idiot. Now Angie’s mad at me.

  He trudged back to the parsonage, taking the path to his kitchen door. There was a note from Warren waiting for him.

  Didn’t want to bother you with all the hullabaloo of the fire and your being in Houston, but the church’s air conditioner went caput today. The repairman’s coming in the morning. Unit might be fixed by church council.

  “Great,” Matt muttered. He unlocked the door of his house, grabbed that shower he was desperate for and fell into bed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Morning After

  Saturday morning, Matt was awakened by a rapid knock on his front door. He looked at his watch and saw that it was nine o’clock. “Shoot,” he said, jumping from the bed. “I’m supposed to be teaching confirmation.” He threw on his jeans and for once, opted for a T-shirt, though he was about to do official church business.

  He opened the door to the three members of the Grace Lutheran Confirmation Class.

  “Hey, Pastor,” said the only boy of the group. “We figured you wanted to have confirmation over here since the air conditioner’s broken.”

  Matt heard the plea in the youngster’s voice and invited them in.

  Coffee, he thought. Coffee will get me through this.

  Two hours later, Matt changed into his clerical collar and walked across the lawn to the church fellowship hall. Here he learned that the air conditioner was still not fixed, and unfortunately, the church council didn’t show the same good sense as the middle-schoolers. Matt invited everyone to meet at the parsonage, but Warren assured all that the repairman was there and would have the air conditioner up and running in no time.

  Matt shook his head. Perish the thought that a broken air conditioner and mercury past all records would stop the good Lutherans from having their debates anywhere but the place they always met.

  Matt loosened his collar and put a smile on his face. Lutherans had a reputation for being traditionalists. Even now, the board members huddled around the coffee pot, pouring sugar and cream into steaming brew while sweating profusely. He walked up to the group.

  The talk was all about the brush fire. Apparently, someone was pulling a trailer behind a truck, and the chain between had hit the road, sending out the sparks that ignited the flames.

  “Is it out yet?” Matt asked.

  “The wind died down around sunset, and they were able to get it under control,” Warren said.

  “Anyone else hurt beside Jeff Vranek?”

  “No, but it was a hard two days.”

  “Let’s come to order, everyone.” Norm Krall tapped his pencil on the table. Norm had a stout fac
e on a stout torso held up by stout legs. At first glance, he’d reminded Matt of a silver-haired snowman. Through the months Matt had come to respect Norm as church council president and chief financial contributor, but the snowman image had stuck, no matter how hard Matt tried to shake it.

  The council members gathered around the U-shaped trio of utility tables. Matt was fairly pleased with the logic of how Grace’s church council was organized. The Sunday School Superintendent served as Education Committee Chair; Warren Yeck, the volunteer who tended to the church’s grounds and building, chaired the Physical Plant; the volunteer choir director was the Chairperson for Worship, Music and Arts. As church employees, both Matt and Mandy served as ex-officio members of the council, but still their input was solicited and acted on. All in all, the group was made up of hard workers who worked well together. Not all pastors were so lucky, Matt knew.

  Noting that Owen Seegler must be around since his report was at each member’s seat, Norm asked the preacher to open the meeting with a prayer. The members bowed their heads.

  Matt prayed for peaceful resolution of all issues, as well as a competent hand for the repairman working on the broken air conditioner.

  When they raised their heads after the prayer, Elsbeth Novak was standing in the fellowship hall’s far doorway.

  Making sure her presence was noticed, she walked into the room, pulled up a chair to sit before the council, and never once took her eyes off Matt.

  Norm began the meeting with the reminder that the new church council was to be installed at the next day’s Sunday worship service. Matt suppressed a smile, because the next year’s church council members were the same as last year’s church council. Oh, well, he decided. The installation did serve to remind the members of their responsibilities.

  “Harold, let’s start with the minutes from last month, shall we?” Norm said and settled into his chair.

  Elsbeth raised her hand. “Excuse me, shouldn’t you make note of who is present?”

  Norm smiled and nodded his head to the bald-headed secretary. “Harold, please make note of the members present and our guest, Elsbeth Novak, for the minutes.”

  Everyone knew that Harold Larson’s wife was the one who actually typed the meeting’s minutes from recordings he made at the proceedings. However, he dutifully made notes on a paper to acknowledge Elbeth’s request. The real reason Harold was on the council was to head up the Evangelism Committee. As secretary, he was in charge of the church rolls.

  Harold cleared his throat and began to read. “Grace Lutheran Church council meetin’, Saturday, June—”

  A scream from the sanctuary halted Harold in mid-sentence.

  Norm’s head jerked up. “What in the world?”

  Matt was already on his feet and halfway to the door separating the fellowship hall from the sanctuary.

  “Somebody!” The scream had turned into a woman’s desperate cry. “Help!”

  Matt shoved through the door and found himself in the somewhat cooler dark of the church chancel. The shrieks came from Mrs. Borman, this week’s volunteer from the Women of the Church who had come to clean the sanctuary for the next day’s service. She stood in front of the altar, facing the pews, holding onto the altar rail as if she would faint.

  “Pastor Hayden,” she sobbed. “My dear Lord in heaven! He’s dead.”

  Matt ran to her aid, but stopped short at the second pew.

  Slumped over the bench was a grown man’s body dressed in overalls and work boots. A gory mess of bone and flesh hollowed out a grapefruit-sized hole where the man’s face should have been. His hands were clasped tight together, as if he’d died in mid-prayer.

  “Mandy, take care of Mrs. Borman,” Matt ordered. “Somebody hit the lights.”

  Gaping at the scene, Mandy wrapped the sobbing woman in a hug and led her down the aisle, away from the horrific gore.

  “I was about to polish the communion rail. It was all sticky—” Mrs. Borman blubbered, burying her face in Mandy’s shoulder so she couldn’t see the bloody mess.

  The lights clicked on, and Matt bent over the body to get a closer look. “I can’t tell who it is.”

  Out of breath, Norm Krall finally found his voice. “My God.”

  Focused at first on the blood and brains scattered over the church and altar in front of the dead body, it took Matt a moment to notice the spray of blood on the pew behind and the bloodied pew cushion on the floor.

  Meanwhile, Norm was reaching for a bulge in the man’s back pocket. “Maybe this is his wallet.”

  Matt grabbed Norm’s hand in mid-motion. “Don’t touch anything.” He nudged Norm back. “Call the sheriff. This is a crime scene.”

  Warren Yeck appeared at Matt’s elbow, looking over the gruesome sight. He stared first at the gore, then concentrated on the dead man’s body. Suddenly, Matt saw recognition in Warren’s gaze.

  “Oh, Lord,” Warren whispered. “It’s Owen Seegler.”

  ***

  “This is way beyond what I can investigate.” James W. stood in the aisle, hands on hips. Matt had cleared the church as soon as he’d recovered from Warren’s identification of the dead body. Now he and James W. were in the process of trying to preserve whatever evidence might be left after the entire church council had run up the aisle. “I’m gonna have to call in the Texas Rangers.”

  “I figured as much.” Matt stood beside him in the aisle.

  “Homicide, obviously.” James W. wiped an arm across his sweaty face. “A man can’t pray with his hands folded in front of him and fire a gun to the back of his head at the same time.”

  Matt pulled his clerical collar off and loosened his shirt. He’d had to stop the air conditioner man from working on the broken unit to send him outside with the others. They were taking refuge from the heat under the trees on the far side of the parking lot. “No gun, either, but look at the singeing around the entry wound. You can see it from here. Must’ve been shot at point-blank range.”

  “A handgun of some sort,” James W. agreed. “It’s a good thing you spotted that bullet in the altar. Trajectory and ballistics will answer a whole lot of questions.”

  “So the killer shot him directly from behind. My guess is the pew cushion was used to silence the shot, as well as a shield for the shooter. See the blood splatter on the third pew?” Matt said, pointing. “There’s a spray of splatter on the left and on the right, but a big clean spot in the middle. Whoever shot him was standing dead-center behind Owen when he pulled that trigger.”

  Using his gloved hand, James W. leaned on the pew. Its squeak echoed through the sanctuary. “This place is quiet. Spooky quiet when there’s no one in here. As old as these pews are, I don’t see any way that the killer could have snuck up behind Owen and pulled that seat cushion up without bein’ heard.”

  “It’s possible Owen was praying out loud. Or crying.”

  “Cryin’?”

  “Apparently, he’s had a bad run of luck lately. He’s come in here before when the church is empty. Just to talk with God, I guess.”

  “What kind of bad luck?”

  “Warren said something about Owen having trouble with the farm and the drought.” Matt sighed. He might as well tell the sheriff all he knew. “And I know that Owen has been drinking…a lot…both at the Fire and Ice House and some dump in Dannerton.”

  “He knew we were lookin’ for him to ask some questions about the Melinda Platt murder,” James W. considered out loud. “Now that I think of it, it’s kind of strange that Owen never got in touch with us after we told Sherylene we needed to talk with him. That’s way out of character for Owen.”

  “Do you think he knew something about the murder and was killed for it?”

  With a grunt, James W. pulled himself to his feet. “I’m not sure. But I’ve gotta put in a call to the Rangers. In a situation like this I’m about as useless as a right turn signal on a Nascar track. This is way over my head.” He sidled out of the pew. “You’re gonna have to hold church so
mewhere else tomorrow. Ain’t no way the Rangers will be done with this place in time for mornin’ service.”

  Both men were startled by the distinctly female voice that answered.

  “You could always hold it at my place.” They turned to find Angie O’Day standing in the door to the narthex.

  Behind her, the church’s front door banged open and Elsbeth Novak thundered in. Her face was red, and not from the heat, Matt imagined. “You can’t be in here!” she said indignantly to Angie.

  “Well, I am.”

  Elsbeth turned to her husband. “She went right under the police tape that Richard Dube was putting up.”

  “So did you,” Angie said tartly.

  “I came in here to stop you! Although I’m not surprised you wanted to come in and gape at Owen’s dead body.”

  Angie nodded toward the sanctuary’s pews. “That’s what all the ruckus is about?”

  Elsbeth’s eyes bulged with fury. “Don’t act like you didn’t know someone had taken a shotgun and killed Owen Seegler.”

  “Elsbeth,” James W. sighed. “That’s enough. And Owen wasn’t shot with a shotgun.”

  “How do you know?” Elsbeth demanded.

  “Because his head is still attached,” Matt said under his breath. “Angie, your offer of holding services at the Fire and Ice House is very…kind.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “But I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  Angie had no intention of making polite conversation. In fact, Matt decided, she looked like she was on a mission to make his life even more miserable, and she was planning on enjoying it.

  He never should’ve taken Chelsea’s side yesterday. He was a doomed man.

  Angie looked over her shoulder at Elsbeth, then turned back to face Matt, a fierce smile on her face.

  Here it comes, he thought.

  “I don’t see why not,” she said. “Most of your church people are becomin’ regulars over at the Fire and Ice House. Why, you’ve been there three times since I’ve been back, and I just got into town on Tuesday.”

  She was enjoying this, Matt knew. He had truly ignited a firestorm yesterday, and he was going to pay—was paying—dearly for it.