A Murder in Mount Moriah

by Mindy Quigley

  “Hey Sugar,” Kimberlee called, giving Lindsay an unenthusiastic hug. The skin around her eyes was red and swollen, despite the makeup blitz her sisters and mother had visited upon her face. Her whole body, in fact, looked swollen, as if she were absorbing grief from the air around her. She turned robotically back toward her mother, who started applying another layer of concealer to her ruddy skin.

  Kimberlee’s sister Kathilee, who Lindsay thought of as the non-twin, pulled Lindsay to one side and whispered, “Kimberlee is not doing all that great. A reporter from Raleigh called today and asked her for an interview. I guess the story is getting some airplay beyond Mount Moriah. The reporter didn’t seem to know that the police had taken Kimberlee in for questioning, but it’s only a matter of time before this thing gets even uglier than it already is. We tried to give her one of Daddy’s relaxation pills to stop her from crying, but she wouldn’t take it. Try to get her to take one, if you can. She’s hanging by a real thin thread.”

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  Every one of the two hundred chairs at the memorial service was filled, with several dozen people forced to stand at the back. Vernon’s regiment of reenactors arrived in their full military regalia. From her seat on the dais, Lindsay saw many familiar faces from Vernon’s regiment: Keith Bullard, Silas Richards, John and Joe Tatum. Rob, who had come along with John, sat a few rows away from them.

  Lindsay introduced each speaker and gave a brief but heartfelt homily about Vernon’s life. Friends spoke of Vernon’s joviality, his intelligence, and his love of food. It all went very smoothly, with the appropriate mix of solemnity and levity. After the ceremony, while the Bullards where busy greeting the mourners, John and Rob walked up to Lindsay. “That was a very nice service,” Rob said sincerely. “Those poems were perfect.”

  “I can’t take any credit. Kimberlee picked them all.”

  John nodded in agreement. “I can’t say as I knew Vernon all that well, but I think that would have done him proud.”

  They all stared somberly at the display of pictures. After a moment, Rob turned to Lindsay. He gestured to her head and said, “Oh, the Jackson Five called. They want their hair back.”

  “Dang it, Rob, can’t you stop cracking jokes for five minutes? Anyone would think you were a ninth grader on a field trip instead of the head chaplain at a hospital here to attend a memorial service,” John said.

  Lindsay frowned, putting her hands up to cover her unruly mane. “Do you think a headband would help it?”

  Rob shook his head. “Putting a headband on that would be like putting a bowtie and cummerbund on a yak.”

  John glowered at Rob and opened his mouth to say something else. He was interrupted, however, by the sound of shouting and the sight of Kimberlee Bullard’s plump form rushing headlong out the front doors of the building and into the midday sun.

  Chapter 20

  Kimberlee was followed a few moments later by a shuffling procession of the other Bullard women, whose nearly identical, stout figures gave them the unfortunate appearance of migrating penguins. The angry shouts continued from the corner of the room closest to the podium. Buford Bullard had taken hold of the collar of Joe Tatum’s grey uniform and was shaking the small man violently back and forth. Keith and a few of the other reenactors tried to intervene.

  John, Rob, and Lindsay rushed over just in time to see Joe duck out of Buford’s clutches. Buford, red-faced and panting, lunged again, but the other men held him back. He pointed an accusatory finger, “You tell me what you said to her, you prune-faced little metal-plate-headed son of a bitch.”

  Joe smoothed the front of his jacket and shook his head. “You ask her yerself. Like I said, it’s between her and Vernon.”

  John walked up to his father and said, “Pop, what’s going on?”

  Buford cut in, still breathing heavily. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. Your father there is making up stories and getting my Kimmie all upset. He tried to wreck my family once and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let him do it again. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from my family.”

  Silas Richards, a sturdy gray-haired man with heavy, dark eyebrows stepped forward from the knot of reenactors that separated the quarreling men. He was immaculate in his Confederate regalia—an ornately engraved dress sword scabbard hung from his left side, and the brass buttons down the front of his jacket gleamed in the sunlight that streamed in through the building’s glass wall. The spotless uniform, combined with his short-cropped, salt-and-pepper beard and naturally resonant voice, lent weightiness to his words. “Now then. Let us remember why we are all here. Joe, I think you need to apologize to Buford and Keith for marring the solemnity of this occasion.”

  Joe opened his mouth to protest, but Silas silenced him with a raised hand. “I am not implying there was anything untruthful in what you said. I doubt that anyone but Mrs. Young can judge that, because Mrs. Young was your sole interlocutor. However, I believe you need to apologize to the Bullards for further inflaming the powerful emotions they must be experiencing during this difficult time.” He turned to Buford. “And Buford, you have every right to be troubled that Joe further distressed the poor widow. However, you have known Joe Tatum for years and you know that, despite his many eccentricities, and despite your, ahem, shared history, he intends no harm.”

  The two men fixed their eyes in opposite corners of the room, their eyes burning coals of anger. When it became clear that two combatants were not going to apologize, Silas turned to John. “I think it might be best for your father to take his leave now. Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort him out?”

  John quickly complied, glad to escape from the embarrassing scene his father had created. He linked arms with the older man and steered him toward the door. Rob whispered a quick goodbye to Lindsay and trailed out quickly after the Tatums. The gathered men began to disperse, leaving Lindsay and Silas standing next to one another. This was the closest she had ever been to the great patron of Mount Moriah. He was a robust specimen, tall and large-boned. Next to him, Lindsay’s pale skin, myopic eyes, and slight figure seemed like the misbegotten adaptations of some soon-to-be extinct bird.

  They watched as Keith Bullard guided his father to a chair in a quiet corner of the room and sat him down. “What on earth was that about?” Lindsay asked.

  “It would seem that Mr. Tatum had a few words with Mrs. Young about Vernon. He told her what Vernon’s last words were, apparently.”

  “Last words? I thought Vernon was unconscious when Joe found him.”

  “That seems to have been what Joe reported to the police and that was certainly what he told those of us who were there on that unfortunate day. Nonetheless, he took Mrs. Young to one side a moment ago, and he appears to have conveyed to her that Vernon had given him a message for her.”

  “What was the message?”

  “I am afraid that I didn’t hear it. A few of us were assembled here when he advised Mrs. Young that he had a message to impart to her from her late husband, but whatever the message was, only Mrs. Young knows. Mr. Tatum whispered it in her ear. The next thing I witnessed was the unfortunate woman rapidly retreating from the room.”

  “And then Buford Bullard tried to throttle Joe.”

  Silas nodded. He eyed Lindsay closely. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?”

  Lindsay extended her hand. “I’m Lindsay Harding.”

  “Silas Richards.” For her, at least, the introduction was unnecessary. There were few people in town who didn’t know Silas Richards. Silas shook her hand. “You delivered a moving eulogy. Do I take it that you are the Bullards’ minister?”

  “I’m a chaplain at the hospital. I stayed with them when Vernon was in the coma, and Kimberlee asked me to lead the service.”

  Silas stroked his beard a moment. “Harding, you said? Any relation to the Reverend Jonah Harding?”

  “He’s my father.” The touch of pride in her own voice caught her off guard. For pe
ople like Drew Checkoway, the connection with Jonah Harding tethered Lindsay to petty small town concerns. For someone like Silas Richards, however, someone enmeshed in the web of families and churches that strung Mount Moriah together, the connection meant that Lindsay had a clear identity.

  Silas’s face widened into a broad grin. “Then I will no doubt see you at the fairgrounds tomorrow for the tent revival. I would have been there this afternoon, but for this unfortunate affair.”

  “Um, yes, I’ll be there.” Lindsay paused. “Can I ask what you meant when you mentioned Joe and Buford’s ‘shared history’?”

  “Since you are a minister, I trust that what I am about to impart will be held in the strictest confidence.” Silas raised one of his magnificent eyebrows and bent toward her conspiratorially. “Years ago, before either of them married, Joe Tatum courted Versa Bullard. There was even a slanderous rumor that the romantic entanglement may have continued after Versa and Buford married, and that Mr. Tatum might have fathered the eldest Bullard child, Keith. I believe that this rumor was put to bed, if you will pardon the double entendre, long ago. Still, the feelings clearly run deep...on both sides.” Silas straightened up, bringing their moment of shared intimacy to an abrupt end. “Well, Reverend Harding, I must bid you adieu.” He touched the air, as if tipping an imaginary cap. He glided smoothly through the crowd and passed into the main building of the clubhouse. Lindsay had no time to absorb the astonishing revelation. Instead, she turned and headed quickly in the opposite direction, outside through the big glass doors to check on Kimberlee. On the way out, she passed the Bullard women, minus Kimberlee, as they were making their way back inside.

  “We can’t find her,” said one of the twins.

  “Looked all over. But she couldn’t have gone far because none of the cars are missing,” added the other.

  Kathilee said, “Lord knows what that old crank Joe Tatum said to her, but it really got her riled up. She just busted out crying like somebody had flipped a switch.”

  Versa clucked, “I guess we’ll just have to get inside and keep things going. I’m sure she’ll come back in once she’s settled down.” She was wearing a black lacy dress with a coordinating sequin bolero jacket, equal parts Spanish bullfight and French brothel. Her hot pink reading glasses rested on their chain across her ample chest.

  Lindsay nodded. “Someone may want to check on Mr. Bullard. He seemed pretty irate.”

  Kathilee shook her head disapprovingly. “This whole mess has been terrible for Daddy’s health. He hates to see any of us girls upset. First, there was Vernon getting killed. Then the police saying it was murder. Then the police saying they think that Kimmie did it. Now this thing about Vernon having some kind of secret last words. There’s nothing Daddy can do about any of it, and it’s all just too much for him.”

  The Bullards went inside, leaving Lindsay alone. She thought back to Senior Prom, and scanned the grounds of the country club. She turned and walked in the direction of the large willow tree at the edge of the fairway.

  Chapter 21

  Lindsay ducked through the curtain of low-hanging willow branches, letting the warm, still air under the tree envelop her. As Lindsay had expected, Kimberlee sat on a carved stone bench. She looked like a medieval saint, bathed in shimmering green and gold light. Lindsay walked over and sat down next to her. They sat silently, looking at the thin line of parched, hay-crisp grass at the edges of the lush emerald fairway.

  After a few moments, Kimberlee said softly, “Me and Vernon lost a baby.” She sighed deeply and continued, “He was born too early. A little boy we named Buford, after Daddy.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears streamed down Kimberlee’s cheeks as she spoke. “I’m pregnant again. Vernon was the only person who knew, and since he’s been gone, I haven’t been able to talk about it with anyone.” Her shoulders heaved with violent sobs and she covered her face with her hands. “We were going to tell everybody soon, but I wanted to wait a bit longer, to make sure everything was okay first. Now I don’t know how to tell them.

  “One of the last things I did was lie to Vernon about it. He didn’t want to find out the gender. I did, though. I felt like it wouldn’t seem real to me unless I knew. I wanted to pick out names. We argued about it constantly the last few weeks. I finally told him that I wouldn’t find out, but then I decided to do it anyway, and just not tell him about it. I scheduled the ultrasound appointment for last Saturday. I was just going to sneak out for an hour while Momma and I were doing the Richards’ order.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t tell the police where you went the afternoon that Vernon was shot.”

  “Yeah. My own mother didn’t even know about me being pregnant. I wasn’t going to tell a bunch of nasty policemen who had just ransacked my house and accused me of murder.” She continued, “Vernon found out about the appointment. The doctor’s office called the house to confirm it and he took the call. He was real mad at me. We argued about it again the last time I spoke to him. I hate that we left things that way.”

  “That explains about the busboy at the restaurant hearing you two argue about ‘Buford’ and whether or not you should tell someone something.” Lindsay shook her head. “Well, honey, you can’t let that argument weigh on you. I’m sure Vernon knew that you loved him.”

  “Well, from what Mr. Tatum said, now I can know for sure.” She smiled and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “Mr. Tatum said when he found Vernon, he was just laying still and peaceful, looking up into the sky. Mr. Tatum saw some blood coming out of his mouth and knew he was hurt bad. When he started to move him, Vernon said, ‘Tell my wife: Grant and Lee.’ Those were the last words he spoke, so I know he forgave me.”

  Lindsay raised her eyebrows, looking bewildered. “Grant and Lee? The Civil War generals?”

  “Oh. Well, you see, we’re having twins,” said Kimberlee. “Identical.”

  “That’s fantastic! But…I still don’t quite follow. Vernon saying something about Grant and Lee let you know that he forgave you?”

  “Vernon and I decided that if the babies were boys, he was going to name them. I’d pick the girls’ names. He kept teasing me, saying that he was going to name them after Civil War generals. Stonewall and Pickett, he said.”

  Finally catching on, Lindsay said, “So Grant and Lee were his choices for names?”

  “Yes. I’m so glad their Daddy got to name them.”

  Lindsay couldn’t help but admire Kimberlee’s resilience and capacity for optimism. “So you’re having boys? That’s wonderful.”

  “Actually, I don’t know. I didn’t go through with the ultrasound. They had jellied me up with that goo and were just about to start when I decided I didn’t want to know. If Vernon was going to be surprised, I decided I wanted that, too. To share that with him.” After a moment, Kimberlee said, “How did you know to look for me under here?”

  “I saw you here once a long time ago. Senior Prom. You were in here with Jesse McCrae.” Lindsay blushed at the memory and said hurriedly. “So I knew that you knew about this spot.”

  Kimberlee nodded, the slight hint of a smile on her lips. “Yeah, me and Jesse were hot and heavy back in those days. Did you know he became a gynecologist?” She gave Lindsay a mischievous wink. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  Chapter 22

  Kimberlee and Lindsay made their way back across the steamy fairway toward the clubhouse, where the memorial luncheon was already well underway. As soon as they stepped through the door, the fleshy, pink faces of the Bullards closed in around them. They all began speaking at once.

  “What did Joe say to upset you that way?” Versa asked.

  “Did he tell you anything about the S.O.B who shot Vernon?” Keith asked.

  “Do you think Vernon really gave him a message?” Either Kennadine or Kristalene said, while the other interjected, “Or was he just telling stories?”

  “Hang on everybody. Give me some room to breathe,” Kimberl
ee said holding her hands up. “I can’t talk about it just yet. I’m sorry, y’all. I don’t mean to be so mysterious. But I’m overwhelmed and I need to think about what he said for awhile and decide what to do.”

  Lindsay surveyed the assembled Bullards. One round pink face was missing from the tableau. “Where’s Buford?”

  “Silas Richards took him to a room upstairs. We all thought he’d better lay down for a spell, and for once, he agreed,” Kathilee said. “Momma just sent Keith to check on him a minute ago. He said he’ll be back down presently. Speaking of which, we’d better get some food into you, Reverend Harding. You’re such a skinny thing that a strong wind could send you flying.”

  Versa and the twins clicked her tongues and nodded in agreement. Lindsay joined them at the head table and they all sat down. The round tables were laden with large platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans with ham—a veritable wonderland of bacon grease and butter. Lindsay dutifully loaded up her plate; she could either appear to go along willingly, or risk being force-fed by the Bullards.

  After a few moments, Silas Richards entered the room and walked rapidly toward the Bullards’ table. “I am very sorry to intrude upon you, but I need you to follow me upstairs immediately.” Looking at each other with surprise, the Bullards, along with Lindsay, rose and followed Silas out the door. They hurried anxiously and wordlessly after Silas up the grand central staircase, turning down a series of plush carpeted hallways until they reached a large pine door. A uniformed member of the club staff stood just outside. Silas dismissed him with a patrician wave, “Thank you, Cedric, that’s all now.” Turning toward the Bullards, he continued. “One of the waiters came in a moment ago to see if Buford wanted anything. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer.”

  Silas pushed the door open. Lying unconscious on the floor next to a leather and mahogany couch was the prone body of Buford Bullard. A tall, awkward-looking teenager in a waiter’s uniform stood nervously to one side as another teenage girl in a bathing suit and board shorts was performing CPR, counting chest compressions aloud.