Murder in the Second Pew: A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystery

by K. P. Gresham

  Matt obediently bowed his head, happy to have a reason to hide his chuckle at Elsbeth’s obvious slight.

  “Let the contest begin!” Elsbeth hollered when the prayer was ended, proving to all she did not need a bullhorn.

  The judging began. The first entry tasted like heaven to Matt. He did his best to judge the flavor based on the criteria set before him. Was it acidy? Fresh? Metallic? Syrupy? Unnaturally flavored? Cooked? And, again with the whey. Did that mean too much or too little, and what did whey taste like, anyway?

  By the fifth bowl of ice cream, Matt decided he was going to rate the ice creams in the order in which he liked them, one through seventeen. Period. Forget the stupid criteria.

  By the time the eleventh bowl of ice cream came around, he deeply regretted the quarter pound of fudge he’d downed only an hour earlier—and the realization was dawning that he couldn’t remember the seventh entry from the second one.

  As the the final bowl was served, Matt decided he never wanted to eat another bowl of vanilla ice cream again in his life, and he was fairly sure he was about to be sick.

  Elsbeth collected each judge’s stack of cards, then turned to the audience, again using the bullhorn. “The winners will be announced in the pavilion between musical acts at four p.m. Thank you all for coming!” She shook the hands of Judge Hitmer, James W. and Father David as they left the platform, then showed Matt her backside as she preceded him down the stairs.

  James W. held back to walk with the pastor. “Don’t worry about her,” he consoled. “Norm Krall will take care of her.”

  “I’m not worried about her,” Matt said. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He started to head for one of the blue porta-potties baking in the sun off to the left.

  “Preacher, you don’t wanna be sick in those.” James W. took Matt’s elbow and steered him past the row of foul-smelling privies. “Go in my son’s bus. It has a real nice bathroom.”

  “I am not going to throw up in your son’s campaign bus.”

  “What you do in his bathroom is your business. But Jimmy Jr. wants to see you at any rate.”

  “Me?” Matt was surprised. “What for?”

  “There’s somethin’ he wanted to discuss with you before he has to head on to Austin.”

  “With me?”

  James W. smiled. “Let’s just say that at least the Novak men have the good sense to respect your opinion.” He patted Matt on the back. “Unless, of course, you want to use the porta-potties.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Meet the Candidate

  “You wanted to talk to me?” Matt sat down across from Jimmy Jr. in the campaign bus’s dining booth. He was still incredulous that the busy gubernatorial candidate wanted to meet with him, but thanked the good Lord in heaven that the invitation had been so…well-timed.

  “To be honest, you’re one of the few folks I trust.” Jimmy Jr. apparently wasn’t a man who minced words. The younger version of James W. leaned forward to get down to business. Jimmy Jr.’s thick neck and blue eyes belonged to his father along with the buzz-cut fashion choice, but the son’s hair had no hint of red, and his chin hosted Elsbeth’s dimple. “I really appreciate the way you handled things when my grandmother passed away. It’s not often you find a stranger who is so…discreet.”

  Matt recognized the opening for what it was. The conversation about to take place was strictly off the record. “What can I do for you?”

  “Besides pray?” Jimmy Jr. chuckled. “Seriously. I’d like to hear your opinion on a religious issue.” He leaned back in the booth. “When I get to Austin, I’ve been advised I’m goin’ to get some pretty direct questions from the hard right.”

  “I take it you mean political conservatives?”

  “I mean folks who are a tad on the far side of Attila the Hun.”

  “I’m not much for politics,” Matt said.

  “In my opinion, this shouldn’t be political. But I don’t get to pick the issues all the time, and this one is big—especially in Texas.”

  “Shoot.” Matt shrugged.

  “Evolution.”

  Matt chuckled. “Really.”

  “I don’t consider this funny.”

  There was a sadness in Matt’s smile. “I just have to laugh at the hubris of man telling God that He has to choose one method over another.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “God gets to use both evolution and divine intervention. He’s God.”

  “What about carbon datin’?”

  “When you carbon date something, you measure the energy that is still being exuded from it. Gee, do you think God used energy to create the world? Evolution is a scientific fact. But if God wants to do something right now at this instant–” Matt snapped his fingers. “God gets to do it.”

  “So you don’t feel that either evolution or creationism is the whole picture.”

  “Nope. Meanwhile I’ll watch the humans who think they know duke it out over how they’ve decided God works.”

  “Well, you’ve given me somethin’ to think about. Thanks for your time.” Jimmy Jr. started to rise.

  “While I’ve got a moment with you, may I ask you an indiscreet question?”

  “Shoot.” Jimmy Jr. settled back in the booth.

  “I’m sure your dad told you that they found Melinda Platt’s skull in the bottom of the Colorado last week. And there’s a good chance they found another chunk of her behind your folks’ place yesterday.”

  The smile disappeared from Jimmy Jr.’s face. “I heard. My mother is totally freaked.”

  “Word has it that you and Melinda met at a rodeo in Austin?”

  “Well, obviously we met way before that. Somewhere along the line I remember this skinny little girl that I probably rode on the same bus with. Who pays attention to little kids when you’re in high school?”

  “But you reconnected when she was older and you were a law student at U.T.?”

  Jimmy Jr. shuffled in his seat. “She was ridin’ barrel races at this place in Austin. My frat brothers and I stopped by once or twice.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about.” Matt could see this was the last subject Jimmy Jr. wanted to discuss, but he pushed on. “Word has it that she worked pretty steady at that place.”

  Jimmy Jr. cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She was a very good barrel racer.”

  Matt let the comment slide. “Did you ever drive her back and forth from Wilks?”

  Jimmy Jr.’s face went red. “Maybe.”

  “Look, I’m not here looking for torrid details. I understand she was a looker, and you were a young man. Whatever. I’m just trying to figure out how she got to Austin all the other times she went to work up there, but why that last time she had to take a bus.”

  Jimmy, Jr. shrugged. “Fair enough. Yeah. I gave her a ride a few times. Until my mother found out. Lord help me, I thought I was goin’ to be skinned alive.”

  “Elsbeth can definitely get a wind up,” Matt agreed.

  “You have no idea. Apparently, Ernie saw me drivin’ by with Melinda in the car, and he told Miss Olivia, and she went straight to Mom.”

  “So you stopped giving rides to Melinda.”

  “And her friend. Diane came along a coupla times.”

  “But your mother put a stop to it.”

  “Heck, yeah. She threatened to take my car away. I was in law school, for Pete’s sake. Who does that?”

  Matt nodded. “I understand. She’s trying to get me fired.”

  Jimmy Jr. chuckled. “I heard.”

  “Over your spring break Elsbeth found out about you giving Melinda rides?”

  “Yep.”

  “And after that?”

  “I don’t know how Melinda got to Austin. I just know it wasn’t me.”

  “Did you ever go to the bar where she worked after that?”

  “Hell, no. You met Miss Olivia. Do you think I’m stupid?” He shook his head. “When Dad called me to tell me that Melinda’d gone miss
in’, I think he was a little afraid maybe I knew somethin’ about it.” He shrugged. “I didn’t. I was on the other side of the state campaignin’ for Governor Burr.”

  Matt offered a sympathetic smile. “So you don’t know how she got to Austin for those next few months?”

  “No idea. But you can probably ask Hester.”

  “Hester?” Matt recognized the name immediately as the owner of the Midnight Cowgirl he’d read about in the Austin Statesman article. “Hester Honeywell?”

  “That’s her.” Jimmy Jr. shrugged. “The place has closed down since then, but if you want to talk to her, she’s not a hard person to find.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I don’t know where she lives, but I know where she is on Wednesday nights. Kenny Wang’s poker party.”

  “A poker party.”

  “The poker party. In Austin. It’s historic—only for the state’s movers and shakers. Newspaper owners, entertainers, businessmen, politicians. Been goin’ on for decades. You know you’ve made it when you get invited to sit in for a night.”

  “Been invited already?”

  “Not yet,” Jimmy Jr. produced one of his campaign smiles.

  “And Hester?”

  “Became a regular when she retired from the circuit.”

  “How do I find out where they play?” Matt took a pen and paper from his pocket and began writing.

  “Like I said. The game’s every Wednesday night. They’re booked in the Walnut Room like clockwork at the Austin Social Guild Buildin’.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Jimmy Jr. nodded. “Downtown Austin, just off Congress Ave., maybe three blocks from the capital. They call themselves the Texas Philanthropic Society.”

  “Well, it’s a start.” Matt tucked the pen and paper back in his pocket. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to interrupt their game, however.”

  “You’re right there. But the core members, there’s five of ‘em, meet in the bar before the game. They usually invite a few upcomin’ movers and shakers to play, and that’s where they all gather ahead of time.”

  “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I hear you’re heading to Austin, now?” Matt stood up, and Jimmy followed suit.

  “Big barbecue hosted by Governor Burr. Lots of possible donors.” Jimmy took the lead going out the door. He sighed. “That’s the problem with politics. What you said in there,” he nodded toward the RV, “makes total sense. But the folks with money aren’t looking for sense. They’re looking for righteousness.”

  Matt put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You have to walk a delicate line, my friend. I don’t envy you.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Is it possible to be a politician and a Christian?”

  Matt smiled. “With God all things are possible. Let’s pray.” He put his hand on Jimmy’s other shoulder, and the two shared a moment with the Lord.

  “Excuse me, Jimmy. Preacher.”

  They turned to see Leroy, Jimmy Jr.’s press agent, pointing at his watch. “We gotta get on the road.”

  The two men separated, an arm draped around the other in a last moment of faith.

  “You’ve helped me out. Anything I can do for you?” Jimmy asked.

  Matt thought for a moment. “Tell me how to deal with your mother.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jimmy laughed. “I guess if I were you I’d lie low and let Norm Krall handle her.”

  “Norm Krall. Of course.” They shook hands and Matt left, smiling at how alike father and son were.

  And how much like family they were to him.

  Well, except for Elsbeth.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Texan Is Born

  Promptly at six p.m., James W. walked into the Fire and Ice House, and Angie saw the tension in his face. He didn’t even nod in her direction but went to a booth far away from the bar and sat down.

  Angie finished the garnish on another platter of Red, White and Blues and handed the tray off to Chelsea, who was in her element. The women’s drinks were selling like hotcakes, Angie had to admit. She washed her hands and headed on back to James W.’s booth.

  “Happy Fourth of July to you, too,” she said without preamble.

  He’d been studying the empty table, and started when he heard her voice. “Sorry, Angie. I’ve got my mind on a few things.”

  “I thought you’d be happy as a clam, gettin’ to see Jimmy Jr. today and all.”

  “You got a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure. Let me get us some beers first. You look like you could use one.”

  She returned moments later and sat across from her half-brother. “Well?”

  James W. took a healthy swallow from the glass. “Too much happenin’ in one day for me to get my arms around.”

  “And you have some sizeable arms,” she teased, trying to get him to smile.

  “And some dead brain cells,” he said, not smiling.

  “Tell your li’l sis what’s goin’ on. Maybe it’ll help sort things out.”

  He nodded, took a sip this time, then started in. “Well, we got the autopsy report back on Owen.”

  Angie immediately dropped her teasing grin. “And?”

  “First off, they figure he was killed somewhere between eight and nine Saturday mornin’. Which means he pretty much left his farm and just about had to drive straight to the church to be there.”

  “I heard he was gettin’ ready for the church council meetin’.”

  “Didn’t start for another two hours. But he had set up the tables for the meetin’, and put a financial report at everyone’s spot before goin’ into the church.” James W. shook his head. “Actually, we can narrow the time even further. Warren got to the church to meet the air conditionin’ man at 8:30 a.m., and neither he nor the repairman heard any guns goin’ off in the sanctuary.”

  “Didn’t Warren and the repairman see Owen in the church?”

  “They had no reason to go in the sanctuary. Air conditioner’s on the roof. They were workin’ up there, not twenty feet from where Owen was shot.” James W. shook his head. “That’s another thing we got back. The ballistics report.”

  This time Angie took a drink from her beer. Here came the news she’d been dreading ever since Dorothy Jo had told her earlier about her missing handgun.

  “He was shot with a .45 Colt.”

  Her heart sank.

  “Do you know how much noise one of those makes?” James W. continued, not seeing her distress. “One hundred and fifty-five decibels.”

  “I knew it was loud.” And too darned heavy.

  “Hearin’ damage starts at eighty-five. No pew cushion is gonna mute that.”

  “Wow.”

  They both sat in silence for a moment, then Angie asked, “Do the Rangers know about this?”

  “They’re the ones who told me.” James W. shook his head. “Thank God Sherylene will only talk to them with me present, or I probably would’ve been at the end of the need-to-know list. And before you ask, Owen owned a shot gun and a .22. That’s it. And both were at his house.”

  “I liked Owen,” Angie said quietly. “Who would do this to him?”

  “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Believe me, those Rangers have gone through everything. The house, the barn, the family’s financials, the church’s financials—”

  “Church’s financials?”

  “In case there was any foul play with the accounts, though they didn’t find any. Like maybe Owen had caught somebody stealin’ out of the offering plate, if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean Matt.”

  “I mean anybody.”

  Angie squirmed in the booth, then made the decision. “You know, James W., the preacher and Owen looked a lot alike. Especially from the back.”

  James W. slowly raised his head. It took a minute before her meaning fully set in. “Shit.”

  “I think Matt’s in some kind of trouble,” Angie whispered.

  “Yeah,” he said quietl
y. “I think so, too.”

  She’d said all she dared without talking to Matt first, but was it enough to alert her brother? “Now I understand why the day’s been so hard.”

  “Oh, honey,” he laughed humorlessly. “You ain’t heard the half of it.”

  “What else?”

  “That forensic anthropologist came back with a positive ID of the remains we found yesterday behind our house. They belonged to Melinda Platt, all right.”

  “What about the car?”

  “The car wasn’t even made ten years ago. We ran the VIN and it was reported washed away in that flood we had five years back.”

  “The one that almost took out your house,” Angie said, remembering.

  “The body had been there way before that flood. It’s pretty clear what happened. Someone killed Melinda and then tried to hide her body in the river. To make sure it stayed in the river, they poured concrete over it. What the killer didn’t know was that the body was levered over a tree, and the concrete only covered the corpse from the waist down. Probably explains why the skull and upper torso were the only parts that we could find downstream. Some of the flesh was still encased in the concrete, and the anthropologist was able to make a determination that the body had been dead for at least nine years. I think the car just got hung up durin’ the flood on the concrete chunk that was holdin’ Melinda’s body down.”

  “Makes sense. But it’s good to know that, isn’t it?”

  “Now we come to the third bad part of my day.”

  “Do you need another beer?” Angie asked.