Murder in the Second Pew: A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystery

by K. P. Gresham

  Matt stood at the curb while Aaron backed the wrecker out of the garage and waved as the man drove off. Disconcerted, he forgot his earlier decision and crossed directly to Angie’s Fire and Ice House.

  It had not occurred to him that the real target for the bullet that shot Owen Seegler might not have been Owen at all. Was that bullet meant for me?

  It was entirely possible. Hating the thought, he knew he had to put in a call to that worthless federal marshal, Frank Ballard. Matt’s cover might be blown.

  The Fire and Ice House garage doors were open in the early morning cool, and Matt almost walked inside before stopping himself.

  “She’s up in her apartment, if you’re lookin’ for her.”

  Matt turned to find Dorothy Jo eyeing him from the open front door, a broom in her hand.

  “You look as scared as a cat at the dog pound,” she observed.

  Was he scared? Of course. Rutherford wanted him dead.

  “Which you should be,” Dorothy Jo continued. “She’s got a full on mad going at you. You hurt her feelin’s. You should’ve known better.” She went back to sweeping. “Now get your keister up there and apologize to her.”

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t think she wants to see me.”

  “Course she doesn’t. But I’m tired of her mopin’ around here, breakin’ things and generally scarin’ away most of the customers with her bark. You’ve got to set this right.”

  “Me? She’ll shoot me before I get a word said.”

  “I’ll make sure there aren’t any bullets in her gun.” Dorothy Jo turned on her heel. “You get yourself up there and straighten this mess out.”

  Matt would like to get the mess with Angie straightened out. Especially after what Aaron had suggested. He didn’t want to be in this alone.

  Did this mean he…needed her?

  He headed through the bar and out to the stairway that led up to her apartment. He stood at the bottom for a moment, making sure he really wanted to go up and face her.

  Yeah. He did.

  He had to knock twice before Angie’s apartment door opened, and as it did he almost turned and high-tailed it out of there.

  Her hair flowed, unkempt, around her shoulders. Her T-shirt and cut-offs were ragged, her eyes still sleepy. She held a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “What do you want.” It wasn’t a question.

  Not wishing to be doused in the hot brew, Matt stepped back a few paces. “I’ve come to apologize, Angie.”

  Her gaze was furious, but she pulled the door open the rest of the way. “This had better be good,” he heard her mutter.

  The apartment she’d lived in since her birth was small but bright. The kitchen barely had enough room for a two-chair table, fridge and oven. A lace doily topped the table. Through an arched opening, Matt could see into a small living room where a faded maroon couch sat against the only long wall. Across the room a triple-paned window looked out onto Mason Street.

  Self-preservation coming to the fore, Matt decided to take refuge on the far side of the kitchen table. “I was stupid last Friday, okay? I’m sorry.”

  “You were only stupid on Friday?” she challenged, then walked to the coffee pot on the counter.

  He would not rise to the bait. He was here to make amends, not make matters worse. “I’m sure I’m stupid other times too.”

  “On that we can agree.”

  Matt gulped as he watched her pour steaming coffee into her cup. He remembered all too well the beer she had doused him in the other day. At least it had been cold.

  “I should never have compared you to Chelsea.”

  “Why’s that?” she baited him again.

  “You aren’t anything like her, Angie. I was tired and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Still she was not appeased. “Weren’t you right, though? In your mind? Don’t you think of me as a wanton little slut who would steal her employer blind?”

  Now he settled her with a look. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Do I?” She leaned back against the counter. “When have you ever told me what you do think of me?”

  Dangerous territory. But maybe it was time to go there.

  “I think you are smart. And funny.” He heaved a sigh in capitulation. “And beautiful.”

  She studied him a moment. “Well, that was really hard, wasn’t it?”

  “Give me a break here.”

  She debated for a moment, then said, “Coffee?”

  Only if you hand it to me in a cup. “Please.”

  She poured him a cup and gestured him to sit down at the small table. “I don’t like to drink alone,” she challenged as she put the mug in front of him.

  “Look, I was stupid, I was tired, and I’m sorry. What else can I say?”

  She sat down across from him and took a sip from her coffee. “You could repeat the part about me bein’ beautiful.”

  He sighed. “Well, you are.” A thought occurred to him. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with what you think about me either.”

  She leaned back, considering. “I think you’re smart. Most of the time. And funny. Sometimes even when you’re tryin’ to be. And you have a secret past you aren’t willin’ to share with anyone, which makes you mysterious.” She smiled slyly. “Women have a hard time resistin’ a mysterious man.”

  Matt put down his mug. “That’s one reason I’ve been…resisting…our relationship. I can’t solve that mystery for you, Angie. What I was in my past has to stay in the past.”

  “Well, you told me once that bein’ a cop was your family business. I’m guessin’ you weren’t ‘goin’ to be a cop,’ but that you were a cop. And that you were way different than you are now,” she observed.

  He looked at her pleadingly. “Angie, I can’t talk about it.”

  “Is Matt Hayden even your name?”

  He eyed his coffee mug, then sipped quietly.

  “I didn’t think so,” she muttered, then leaned forward. “Well, whoever the hell you are, I think I’m in love with you.”

  His gaze shifted back to her face, and the fear and vulnerability he saw there tore away the last of his defenses. “I think I’m in love with you, too.”

  They regarded each other for a long moment, taking in the truth that had been between them since almost the day they’d met.

  Matt took her hands in his. “Angie, I can’t be open about the way I feel about you.”

  Her lips formed a straight, defensive line, and he could read her expression as if it were his own.

  He tightened his hold. “No, I’m not talking about the preacher and the bartender scenario, which in and of itself could be very…interesting.”

  She relaxed a little, but her guard was still up. “Go on.”

  “I’m…There are people…” How could he explain and not make the danger worse?

  “I get it,” Angie said, finally understanding. “Somebody wants you hurt.”

  Relieved, Matt nodded. “And would be more than happy to hurt anyone I cared for.”

  Suddenly Angie sat up straight. “Matt, you and Owen have the same color hair—the same build—”

  “Yep,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine a soul who would want to hurt Owen, but is it possible—?”

  Aaron had suggested it and now Angie. “Yeah, Angie. It’s real possible.”

  Matt’s cell phone rang. He reached for it, then, confused, looked at her before answering.

  “It’s all right,” she said, nodding. “You’re a preacher.”

  Matt took the call, but it wasn’t a parishioner in need of help on the other end of the line.

  “They’ve found the bottom half of a human skeleton upriver from the church,” James W.’s voice came over the phone.

  Matt shifted his gaze to Angie. “Where?”

  “About a hundred feet from the back of my house.”

  “By the car Aaron went to tow?”

  “How the hell did you know about that?” James W. sounded
irritated. “Wait a minute.”

  Matt heard someone speaking to James W. in the background.

  “I gotta go, preacher. Come over if you want to see this before we cart it away.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Matt ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “Angie—”

  “I know. You’ve got to go.” She stood. “Which is probably a good thing. I’ve had about as much honesty as I can handle for the moment.”

  “Me, too.” He smiled and moved toward her. “This was good.”

  “Yeah. Tell me about it.” She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. The first touch of her lips on his was just a promise. The second was deep and warm. Matt brought his hands to her waist, trailed them up her back and finally, finally twisted them in that wonderful red mane of hair. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. He brought her head to his shoulder and held her. Tight.

  “What are you thinkin’?” she whispered.

  He pulled away to lean his forehead against hers. What was in his heart that felt so strange? Then he knew.

  “I’m not alone anymore.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Not My Hydrangeas!

  James W. and Elsbeth lived in a sprawling ranch home on the north side of town. Matt parked behind James W.’s truck in the driveway. He followed the stone path around to the back of the white limestone house.

  The long backyard was filled with people and equipment. Landscapers sat in the shade of the trees growing by the river. The assistant deputies Castleburry and Martens were setting up an open-air tent to protect the evidence being collected from the sun. Down the bank in the river bed, Richard Dube, with the help of Aaron Rodriguez, was stretching police tape around the scene.

  At the ridge separating yard from river, James W. stood next to Elsbeth, who gestured angrily over the tracks the truck had left in her lawn. The sheriff saw Matt in the driveway, gave Elsbeth a calming peck on the cheek and walked over to him.

  “What have we got here?” Matt asked.

  “My landscapers were workin’ in the backyard when one of ‘em spotted the hood of a car in the water.”

  Matt nodded. “I was at the Sinclair Station when Elsbeth called Aaron to tow it out.”

  “Ah.” James W. gave a satisfied grunt that his question had been answered. “Well, Aaron found a bone when he went to hitch up the car. A human bone.”

  Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “Melinda? Maybe she was in a car wreck or something?”

  “I’m runnin’ the VIN number on the car now to see if it’s been reported missin’. The bone might belong to Melinda or someone totally different.”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.” This came from a wiry woman with gaunt jaws and short gray hair who approached from behind. She stuck out her hand to James W. “Joan Fortner, Sheriff. Forensic anthropologist from Texas State University.”

  “James W.” He shook her hand, then gestured toward Matt. “This here’s Pastor Hayden. Glad you could get here so fast, Doctor. I figured you’d want to see the lay of the land on this one.”

  “Appreciate it. Call me Joan.” She shook Matt’s hand as well, then headed toward the river. “What have we got here?”

  “Not sure yet. My wife called the tow truck when she saw the car stuck in the mud—”

  “What was your wife doing here?” Joan interrupted.

  “This here’s my property.”

  Matt watched as the forensic anthropologist shot the sherrif a curious look. “Did she touch anything? Did anyone?”

  “Not once we saw the bones.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Joan said, and James W. led the way to the tent where the bone was laid out on a tarp. Joan leaned down for closer study, but didn’t touch it. “Femur, by the looks of it. Biggest bone in the body.” She straightened. “Where’d that tow truck man find this?”

  They moved to the site where Richard Dube was now heavily involved in taking photographs of the scene. Aaron Rodriguez stood off to the side, talking with one of the landscapers.

  “I’ve called some students from the Forensic Anthropology Department to come down and help look for more bones, if that’s all right.” Joan gingerly picked her way down the muddy slope.

  James W. nodded. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  Sweating hard, Richard Dube walked toward them. “I’ve taken all the angles I can think of,” he said.

  Matt could almost hear James W. wondering how many angles that meant Richard had missed. Checking, the sheriff took the proffered camera and scanned through the photos then handed it over to the forensic anthropologist. “You need anything else?”

  She shook her head. “When my students get here we’ll have to dam up what little water there is, to get a better work site.” She turned to the driveway. “Let me put up a net downriver to catch anything that might be dislodged when we move the car, though there’s really no current to worry about.”

  “Richard, go help her with that,” James W. ordered.

  Matt and James W. walked over to the shade and surveyed the scene. “I wonder how long that car’s been there,” James W. said.

  “Looks like Joan will be the one to tell us that.”

  “Elsbeth’s all upset. She’s afraid we’ve been soakin’ in a hot tub not a hundred feet away from a dead body.” James W. shook his head. “The river might be dryer now, but there’s been plenty of gulley washers through here over the years too. One time the river got so high I was worried about the house floodin’.”

  “Hey, Pastor,” came a greeting from Aaron Rodriguez. He still stood by the landscapers, enjoying the shade. “Long time, no see,” he said cheerfully, then went back to speaking with the youngest of the yardmen.

  Matt sent him a pleasant wave, then turned to watch Joan Fortner and Richard Dube wrangle the net across the water downriver.

  ***

  Angie felt like she was floating. Freshly dressed, and even lipsticked, she made her way down the back staircase to the Fire and Ice House’s new porch, never feeling a tread beneath her foot.

  “Good mornin’, Dorothy Jo,” she sang out as she stepped inside. “Hey, Bo.” She walked through the Ice House to the open garage doors at the front and stretched in the sunlight.

  Dorothy Jo came through the kitchen swinging doors. “Well, look who’s in a good mood today.”

  “Sorry about the last few days, y’all,” Angie said.

  Seeing that the lunch crowd was mostly gone, Dorothy Jo sidled over to Angie. “I take it you and the preacher worked out your problems?”

  “On the right course, maybe,” Angie said. “How’s business?”

  “Pretty quiet today.”

  Bo carried in a case of Southern Comfort. “Stock’s ready for tomorrow’s specials.” He pointed to a stack of boxes at the rear of the bar.

  Angie nodded approvingly. “One of the reasons I came back from Ireland when I did was so that I didn’t miss our Fourth of July party.” She put her arms in the air and stepped out a few dance moves. “And I am ready to party!”

  Bo and Dorothy Jo exchanged a look. This was an Angie they had not seen in a long time.

  Angie danced a two-step over to the garage door, pulled it down and locked it in place. “It’s gettin’ hot in here.” She laughed when she saw the look on her employees’ faces. She licked her finger, touched her behind and made a sizzling sound.

  That’s when Chelsea walked in. Today she’d changed the stubble on the left side of her head from blue to pink. Bo and Dorothy Jo shared a look, and both retreated into the kitchen.

  Angie sighed. Although she would never admit it to Matt, maybe she had been a little hard on the girl. Angie had finally had a chance to take a close look at the financials and, yes, the Fire and Ice House profit was up over fifteen percent since Chelsea had started working.

  Apparently the girl had been doing everything but stealing her blind.

  “Mornin’, Chelsea,” Angie said, and it almost hurt. />
  If Chelsea even heard the greeting, she ignored it.

  “A little early for your shift, ain’t it? You’re on at five-thirty.”

  “Dorothy Jo said somethin’ about us decoratin’ for the Fourth of July party.” She leveled Angie that challenging look of hers. “Or am I not part of ‘us’?”

  Angie glared back at her, but said, “Dorothy Jo’s got all the stuff in the kitchen.”

  Chelsea turned on her heel and headed for the swinging doors.

  “Chelsea?” Angie called after her. “You’ve had some good marketin’ ideas.”

  Chelsea turned and her expression was a mix of surprise and suspicion.

  Angie barreled on. “If you, unh, think of anything else we can be doin’ around here to, you know, drum up business, I’d be much obliged.”

  Chelsea’s look turned incredulous, but she nodded, then headed again for the kitchen, holding open the swinging half doors for Dorothy Jo.

  “Angie, I almost forgot.” The cook motioned toward the far end of the bar.

  When they were out of earshot, Angie asked. “What’s up?”

  “Honey, have you been usin’ your handgun for anything?” the old woman whispered.

  “What?”

  “Since you’ve been back. Have you been in the kitchen’s gun safe?” Dorothy Jo insisted.

  “No.”

  “Well, it’s not where it belongs,” Dorothy Jo said.

  “What do you mean?” Angie started to head for the kitchen to check for herself.

  Dorothy Jo caught her elbow. “When the pastor came in to apologize to you, I joked that I’d make sure there weren’t any bullets in your gun. Then I got to thinkin’ I wasn’t sure if the gun had been emptied since when we needed to use it last week.”

  “Use it for what?”

  “We had to run off some snakes.” Dorothy Jo looked quickly in the direction of the kitchen. “But what I’m sayin’ is, the gun’s not there.”

  The two women stared hard at each other.

  “In answer to your question, no, I haven’t even looked in the gun box since I got back,” Angie said.