Murder in the Second Pew: A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystery

by K. P. Gresham

  Matt knew she wasn’t talking about soda pop. “I’ll have a Fireman’s Four.” He took one look at the dirty tap and quickly added, “Bottle.”

  She pulled one from the cooler, popped its top and set it down in front of him. “A man about your size?” she prompted.

  “And same hair color. He might’ve been dressed in work clothes.”

  “You’re talkin’ about that guy who was in here with Gibbons.”

  “Possibly. I know they had a drink together once in a while.”

  She snorted. “Seegler, you mean. He’d been comin’ around lately.”

  “That’s right. Owen Seegler.”

  “He’s the one got shot in that church, right?”

  Of course Wilks and Dannerton were too close together for that news not to have reached this bartender’s ears. Matt nodded.

  “Well, Seegler wasn’t drinkin’ last Friday, but he was here—with Zach. Don’t know what he said to Gibbons, but it wasn’t pleasant.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The two got pretty loud a few times. I think Owen was showin’ stuff on his phone to Zach that Zach didn’t much care for.”

  Matt pushed his untouched beer away. “What kind of stuff?”

  “No idea. But Zach was really upset.”

  “And Owen?”

  “He didn’t look mad. He just looked…determined.”

  “When you say Zach was upset, do you mean he was angry?”

  “No, not angry.” She shrugged. “Hard to explain.”

  Matt put a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Try.”

  She grabbed up the cash and stuffed it in the back pocket of her cut-offs. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain. It was like Zach had been sucker punched. Kind of stunned and hurt, and, I don’t know. Sad.”

  “Sad?”

  “He was here a while after Owen left. Sometimes drink makes a man cry, but that’s the first time I ever saw Zach Gibbons sad about anything. Even when his wife up and left him for a woman.”

  Matt hadn’t heard that one before, but he let it ride.

  “How did it end?”

  “Owen walked out the door. Zach stayed.”

  “Thanks,” Matt said, and threw another five-dollar bill on the bar.

  He was about to push the open the door when it suddenly opened in front of him.

  Zach Gibbons looked as surprised to see him as Matt was to see Zach.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” Zach growled.

  He’d already been drinking, Matt realized. The smell of whiskey on his breath was overpowering. “Checking up on Owen Seegler’s last day of life.”

  Matt watched Zach’s face. His expression went from surprise to sad to angry. “You don’t belong here.” The thin man shoved past Matt in the doorway.

  Matt had to agree and let the door close behind him without another word.

  He walked back into the hot Texas sun. Owen Seegler wasn’t drinking last Friday. From the look on Zach’s face just now, Matt wasn’t about to get any information about what the two men had discussed that day.

  He decided to let that rest for now. Today was Wednesday, which meant that all-important poker game was taking place in Austin tonight. Time to find out what Hester Honeywell remembered about her former employee, Melinda Platt.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  God Bless Texas

  Austin was an interesting town. Matt’s job often brought him to the state capitol that prided itself on being “weird.” Sometimes he visited congregational members in the city’s hospitals, other times he would make a stop at its various assisted-living centers where older members now lived. Then there was the matter of checking in with his Federal babysitter, Frank Ballard—a weekly ritual Matt despised.

  This evening he wasn’t Coming into town for any of those reasons. It was time for Matt to put his cop hat on again.

  As he drove up Congress Avenue, tourists, businessmen and University of Texas students mingled, creating a hodge-podge of people in shorts, suits and full swagger. Sitting at a stop light, Matt observed the bustle that was Austin. A man dressed only in the male version of a thong rode past on a bike. To the right, a group on a Segway tour stopped in front of the historic Driskell Hotel. Further ahead, a woman and two men dressed for some apparently important affair walked briskly toward a restaurant, trying desperately to pretend that they weren’t baking in their business attire.

  The light turned green, and as he drove closer to the state capital building, he was once again impressed by the beautiful pink granite edifice. True to Texas, its architect had made sure its dome was taller than the capitol building in Washington, DC.

  God bless Texas, he thought with a smile.

  He turned onto a side street and began looking for the white limestone building that Jimmy Jr. had described as the location for the famous poker game. On Matt’s second cross he found the two-story structure. It looked like something straight out of an Old West movie, complete with a planked front porch and an engraved brass sign above the heavy wood doors that read “Austin Social Guild.”

  Matt parked in a nearby lot, crossed the street and went in.

  The interior of the building was regal with its carved-walnut walls and thick, flowered carpeting. An elegant chandelier hung above the lobby, and turn-of-the-century velvet-upholstered furniture was arranged to allow for private conversation. At the far end, a concierge waited patiently for Matt to approach.

  “May I help you, sir?” he asked. Though he was a large man, Matt had the impression that he was more a greeter than a bouncer.

  “I’m here to see Hester Honeywell?” Matt threw out the name, hoping it would be enough to get him in.

  “Ms. Honeywell has not arrived yet,” the large man informed him. “Everyone always gathers in the bar.” He gestured to an opening off to the right.

  Matt gave him a nod and walked briskly into the lounge as directed. Apparently, the man was used to strangers coming in for the Wednesday night poker parties. He’d lucked out on that one.

  Well, that and he was wearing a clerical collar. It was amazing how many places that got a person in.

  The bar itself was a thing of beauty. Heavily carved from walnut, it ran the length of the twenty-foot lounge. Two bartenders stood behind it, working the classy display of liquor bottles. Both men wore white shirts, the older gentleman in a black vest, the younger in a subdued dark blue.

  Matt pulled out one of the soft leather bar chairs and sat down.

  The blue-vested bar man approached. “What can I get you, sir?”

  Matt surveyed the impressive selection. They had Glen Livet. Lord help him, that sounded mighty fine after the day he’d had. Matt placed his order.

  “You here for the poker game?” the bartender asked conversationally.

  “I’m here to see Hester Honeywell,” Matt answered evasively.

  “Well, you found her,” came a low, smoky voice from behind.

  Matt turned. Hester Honeywell was an exquisite woman. Shoulder-length silver hair was pushed back stylishly behind her ears, allowing her well-defined cheekbones and chin to take center stage. Her face was a canvas of wrinkles, but her soft skin bespoke years of wisdom. Hester’s beauty was in her age. He stood and nodded his head toward her. “Ma’am,” he said, wishing he had a hat to tip her direction. This woman was a lady.

  She looked at his collar with curiosity. “I’m long past bein’ converted,” she said, smiling with alert blue eyes.

  At that moment the bartender put Matt’s scotch on the bar.

  “But you’re a drinkin’ preacher, so I can tolerate you.” She moved toward the bar and Matt pulled out a chair for her.

  She sat down and nodded toward Matt’s glass. “What you havin’?”

  “Glen Livet,” he said, settling back onto his own seat.

  She looked at him with approval and turned to the bartender. “I’ll have the same.” She placed her purse on the counter and looked back at Matt. “So, who are you and why
do you want to see me?”

  She was a down-to-business person, and Matt was glad to oblige. “About ten years ago you had a place called the Midnight Cowgirl?”

  “Yes, I did.” She took her drink from the bartender.

  “I was wondering if you remembered a girl that worked for you for a short time. Her name was Melinda Platt.”

  “Of course I remember her. I might be old, but I’m not senile. That girl could ride a horse.”

  “Well, she disappeared ten years ago—”

  “Tell me about it. Fact was, I had her lined up to be on staff full time once she graduated from high school.” She took a sip of her whiskey while the bartender placed a bowl of nuts before them.

  “You don’t happen to know how she’d get to work, would you? From Wilks, I mean. That’s where she lived.”

  “And hated every minute of it, as I recall,” Hester said with a smile. “Can’t say I blame her after that woman came in and made such a scene.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you asked me how she got here, and apparently this woman’s son was a UT student givin’ her rides back and forth to Wilks. That mamma did not want her son fraternizin’ with the likes of Melinda.” Hester let out a low, throaty chuckle.

  Instantly Matt’s thoughts turned to Elsbeth Novak. “Can you tell me more about that?”

  “It was a few weeks before Melinda quit—disappeared, I mean. This holier-than-thou woman came in one Saturday night and told Melinda to stay away from her son. Made quite a scene.”

  It rang true of something Elsbeth would do.

  “She said somethin’ like, ‘You stay away from my boy, or I’ll make sure you stay away.’”

  “Sounds like a threat.”

  “You bet it was a threat. That was the final straw for Melinda leavin’ Wilks, I think. That very weekend she told me she wanted to move to Austin and work for me full time.” Hester fixed Matt with a curious stare. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

  “Apparently, Melinda never made it out of Wilks. They found her skeleton last week in the Colorado River.”

  That set Hester back. “You don’t say.” She took a sip from her whiskey. “Well, I was madder than a hornet at her for leavin’ me high and dry. I’m sorry to say I’ve had some not-so-kind thoughts about that girl.”

  At that moment a fat hand landed on Hester’s shoulder. Matt looked up to see an older Asian fellow standing behind them. His face was flat and his eyes sagged low into his cheeks. The black toupee on his head looked like a rat’s nest.

  The man spoke, and the deep Texas twang that came from his mouth was completely incongruous with what Matt had expected. “Hester, darlin’, you finally beginnin’ to seek the Lord?” he drawled, looking at Matt.

  “This is—” she paused a moment, then laughed. “What is your name, son?”

  “I’m sorry. Matt Hayden.” He stood and shook her hand and the hand of the Asian man whom he assumed was Kenny Wang, the host of the Texas Philanthropic Society.

  Kenny’s handshake was firm. “You here to play poker, boy?”

  “No, sir. I just needed to ask Ms. Honeywell a few questions.”

  Kenny chuckled. “Poker’s a sin in your eyes, I take it?”

  “No, sir,” Matt said, purposefully reaching for his scotch. “I just haven’t been invited.”

  Kenny sized Matt up. “So, you’re a poker-playin’, whiskey-drinkin’ preacher?”

  “Scotch,” Hester corrected him, then turned to study Matt as well. “You look more like a cop to me.”

  Matt shrugged. “I’m a pastor at Grace Lutheran in Wilks.”

  “Let me guess, that makes you a Republican?” Kenny was testing him now.

  Again Matt shrugged. “Republicans make sure a baby gets born. Democrats make sure it gets fed.”

  Kenny’s laugh was full and filled the room. Hester joined in.

  “I like this friend of yours, Hester,” Kenny said, fully ignoring that up until a minute ago Hester hadn’t known Matt’s name. “I think we should invite him to the game.”

  Hester nodded. “Could make for an interestin’ evenin’.”

  “I’d really like to,” Matt said. “I’ve got to get back to Wilks.”

  “You drove all the way up here just to ask me—”

  Hester never finished her question, however. She was interrupted by a very loud, very angry, Peter Pendergast. “You!” The ginger-haired, overdressed reporter stared straight at Matt.

  “Ah, Mr. Pendergast.” Matt sighed. This had a potential for going very bad, very quickly.

  “You really do know the Texas Philanthropic Society!”

  Clearly, neither Hester nor Kenny appreciated the man’s loud observation. Kenny stepped forward. “Who the hell are you?”

  “This here’s Peter Pendergast of the Dallas Morning News,” Matt said, wanting to communicate quickly that this man was a reporter.

  It had the hoped-for effect. Hester sneered. “Who let you in here?”

  Pendergast shrugged innocently. “No one was at the door.”

  Matt figured he had probably waited outside for the concierge to get called away from the front desk before making his entrance.

  “You’re a pastor?” Pendergast asked, catching sight of Matt’s collar. “And you play poker—” He looked at the other two. “—with them?”

  “Actually, he just backed out on tonight.” Kenny patted Matt on the back. “But we’ll take a rain check, Pastor.” He turned to the reporter. “What do you want?”

  “I wanted to ask you about…him,” Pendergast looked straight at Matt. “I guess you were tellin’ the truth.”

  “About everything.” Matt nodded. “Did you check out what I told you?”

  “Yeah, I did. And the story is that Jimmy Jr. was campaigning for the governor when that girl disappeared.”

  “Melinda Platt?” Hester looked at Matt, understanding dawning. “Jimmy Jr., as in James Wilks Novak Jr., our next governor of the great state of Texas?”

  Matt sucked in his breath. He might be in for it now.

  “Well, if you came here to ask about our friends,” Hester said, putting a hand on Matt’s arm, “we don’t talk to reporters.”

  “We don’t even let reporters in here,” Kenny said. “Now, Jerry Lombardi, the man who owns your Dallas Mornin’ News, has sat in on many a poker game. Shall I give him your regards?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Once again Peter Pendergast was backing toward the exit. “Thank you for your time. I’ll just be goin’.” He turned and made a beeline for the front door. Kenny followed him out, probably to have a word with the concierge.

  Hester turned to Matt. “Well, I’m sure you’re one of the more interestin’ people I’ve met in a while.”

  “I apologize for barging in on you, Ms. Honeywell. I need to find out how Melinda got from Wilks to work for you, that’s all. This is the only place I knew where I could find you.”

  “No apologies necessary.” She allowed him one of her wise old smiles. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “It was worth a shot,” Matt said and finished off his drink. “Just for the record, do you recall how much time passed between the night that mother came in to your place threatening Melinda, and the last time you saw Melinda?”

  “About a month,” she answered, thinking. “More like six weeks, I’d say.”

  Matt motioned for the bartender so he could tab out. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  Hester brushed away the bartender. “This one’s on me. You’ll just have to come back and repay the drink sometime.”

  “Thank you,” he said, surprised.

  “Well, Kenny likes you, and I like you. You come back up here some Wednesday night and play poker with us.” She winked at him. “And maybe bring along that future governor who has the mother with that horrible temper.”

  Matt grinned. Hester had put it all together. It didn’t surprise him that Ms. Honeywell was as smart as she was beautiful.
>
  “I can promise you that Melinda Platt would not have gotten in that boy’s car after his mother was here,” Hester said. “No one would want to get on that woman’s bad side.”

  Matt laughed. “You have no idea.” Extending his hand to the attractive woman, he said, “It’ll be a pleasure to see you again.”

  Hester’s smile turned mischievous as if she knew that Matt meant that literally. Why not, he thought. She was exquisite.

  She winked at him again. “Y’all come back now, ya hear?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A Drunk Walked Into a Church…

  Mandy Culver surveyed Grace Lutheran’s Child Care kitchenette. Eight o’clock on a Wednesday night and finally, all the supplies were labeled and put away, the floors mopped, the counters disinfected. Thank goodness she’d gotten the heads-up about the health department possibly stopping by tomorrow for an inspection.

  She turned out the light, locked the door and headed down the long hallway that connected her domain to the fellowship hall. There was a Bible study taking place in the Luther room, and she waved at the group as she passed by the open door.

  “Mandy, come on in,” one of the ladies called.

  “Thanks, Libby, not tonight.”

  The child care director headed in the direction of the church offices and then the narthex entrance closest to her car. The place was dark, she knew the way. She was doing her best to avoid this debilitating Texas heat.

  How could people stand to live in this godforsaken state where it never rained?

  She entered the narthex and was about to walk out into that very heat when she heard a noise in the sanctuary.

  Odd, she thought. No one should be in there. The choir didn’t practice during the summer.

  She went to the open sanctuary door and looked in.

  The last light of sunset wasn’t enough to illuminate the stained glass windows that lined both sides of the nave. The place smelled heavily of disinfectant from the clean up after the murder. It occurred to her that she had not been in the sanctuary since the day they found Owen Seegler dead.

  Then she heard the noise again. It sounded like a sob.

  “Hello?” she said quietly.

  There was a shuffling noise a few pews ahead on her right.