A Murder in Mount Moriah

by Mindy Quigley

  “You’re kidding! Well, as luck would have it, my son—you remember Courtland Jr.?—he just broke up with his girlfriend! She was a sweet girl, though she had been divorced, bless her heart, and she was nearly thirty-seven. Being older like that can make a woman, you know…” Mrs. Bugbee gave Lindsay a meaningful look. “Anyhow, Courtland Jr. is around here somewhere. Let’s just see if we can see him.” She craned her stubby little neck and scanned the crowd.

  Lindsay remembered Courtland, Jr. all too well. He was a sullen man with all the charm of a plastic bag.

  “Oh gosh!” Lindsay exclaimed. “I forgot…something. In my car. Catch up with you later! Tell Courtland I sincerely hope he can work things out with his girlfriend.”

  Outside, Lindsay saw a number of familiar faces from her father’s church. A congregated circle of white-haired ladies began to whisper to each other, gesturing at Lindsay with small, discrete inclinations of their heads. She was beginning to seriously regret her decision to come. She looked around again. If she could just find her father, she could say a quick hello to him and leave—her daughterly duty done. He was nowhere in sight, though, and the group of old ladies advanced on her like lions stalking their prey. Lindsay turned on her heel and walked in a wide arc around the portable toilets, emerging on the back side of the tents. A heavy sheet of undyed canvas hung across the intersection of the large tent with one of the smaller side tents, covering the tent pegs and the supporting frame. She looked around to be sure that no one was watching her, and she deftly unbound the cable ties that held the sheet in place. She stepped behind the sheet, quickly re-securing the ties and concealing herself in the small space. She inhaled deeply and looked around.

  Sharp shafts of light filtered in between the gaps in the canvas. Lindsay remembered how, as a teenager, she used to hide in the interstices of these tents, smoking cigarettes and reading V.C. Andrews novels, while her unwitting father preached a few yards away. She sat down now on the damp grass and closed her eyes. The air in her hiding spot was almost unbreathably thick. Her reverie was disturbed by the sound of voices close by. Peering out through the gap between the canvas sheet and the edge of the main tent, she saw Silas Richards and a younger man approaching her hiding spot. They stopped just on the other side of the canvas sheet and spoke in hushed, urgent voices.

  “It appears that it is all settled now,” Silas said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “I conferred with my lawyer yesterday and she does not foresee any further obstacles.”

  “That was a real lucky break we got. I mean, I hate that a man had to die, but that mess would have caused me no end of problems,” said the younger man. “We’re already having to work overtime to make up the time we lost.”

  Lindsay now recognized the younger man as Morgan Partee, the fiancée of Silas’s oldest daughter. The Partee family owned the largest car dealership in central North Carolina, the ads for which featured various members of the Partee clan waving American flags and extolling the virtues of their vehicles. Lindsay recognized Morgan as the blond-haired, blue-eyed Partee son who shouted, “Our prices can't be beat!” at the end of each commercial.

  “It is tragic. Deeply tragic. You are quite right in pointing out, however, that any developments in that direction would have posed a serious setback for our project. That entire line of inquiry is one that I would prefer never to see pursued,” Silas said.

  “I take it that you’ve made sure that that ‘line of inquiry’, as you call it, is closed?”

  “Unfortunately, he never revealed his source, and I didn’t ask him. I thought it best not to seem overly interested. In any case, I assume that he must have accidentally wandered across it somehow. I am not concerned, nor should you be, my boy. If nothing else has been brought forward thus far, I feel confident that no one else is aware of its existence.”

  Silas flicked his cigarette to the ground, snuffing it out with the heel of his shoe.

  Chapter 25

  “Well, it’s time we return to the festivities,” Silas said. He clapped Morgan on the back and the two men walked away toward the front of the tent. Lindsay peeked out, confirmed that there was no one around, and emerged from between the tents. Her thoughts were a jumble. It was as if she had pieces from ten different puzzles all mixed up inside her head; she couldn’t fit them together to make a unified picture. She could hear her father’s megaphone-amplified voice in the distance, and she decided to make one last attempt to see him before she left. As she followed his voice around the corner, she was confronted by a crowd of at least a hundred people standing on the grass around a shiny, red pick-up truck. A trailer hitched to the back towed a purple metallic jet ski.

  Jonah stood on the back of the truck with a bullhorn, encouraging people to enter their names in the raffle. “Less than ten minutes left now to get your name in the drawing, folks. Remember the little orphans at La Casa Esperanza, our partner orphanage in Guatemala, need your help. This is not about trying to win the brand, spankin’ new Kawasaki jet ski so kindly donated by Morgan Partee of Partee AutoWorld. The Book of Proverbs tells you ‘cast but a glance at riches, and they are gone, for they will surely sprout wings and fly off to the sky like an eagle.’ No, folks. Buying these tickets will be your reward in itself. All your donations are going to help those little orphans. This is your chance to do some lasting good and have some fun to boot!”

  Jonah jumped off the truck when he caught sight of Lindsay, greeting her like she was the prodigal daughter. “Lindsay! Surely my eyes deceive me. You said you would come, and here you are.”

  “Hi, Dad. I was just on my way out, but I thought I’d say ‘hi’ first. So, ‘hi’.”

  His broad smile crumpled. “Aren’t you going to stay for the gospel jamboree? And there will be ribs. You love ribs. They’ve already fired up the barbecues.”

  “I really can’t. Sorry.”

  He sighed. “Well, then, at least buy some raffle tickets.”

  She looked at him wryly. “What ever happened to the days when you used to quote the verse from Hebrews: ‘Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have?’ When I was younger, you wouldn’t even let me have a deck of Uno cards in the house because you said it was a gateway game that would turn me into a hardened gambler. I think your exact words were, ‘It’s a slippery slope between childish games of chance and a life of selling yourself on the streets of Vegas for slot machine money.’”

  “I’ve mellowed.”

  Lindsay shook her head and handed over $10 to the cheerful mullet-haired woman who was selling tickets. She scrawled her name, tore off the stubs, and put them into the raffle wheel. When she turned back around, she saw Silas and Morgan approaching.

  “Reverend Harding,” Silas said to Jonah, showing parallel rows of big, slightly-yellowing teeth. The two men shook hands. “Of course you know my future son-in-law, Morgan Partee.”

  “Of course. And I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Lindsay.”

  “Ah, yes, the other Reverend Harding. As a matter of fact, Lindsay and I are old friends,” Silas said, smiling at his own joke. His expression quickly shifted from levity to gravity. “We became acquainted yesterday under some very unfortunate circumstances.” He shook his head. “I’m sure your daughter told you all about the poignant memorial service that she conducted for Mr. Vernon Young, and the subsequent sudden illness of Mr. Buford Bullard?”

  Lindsay faced her perplexed father and explained hastily. “Oh, yeah. I haven’t had the chance to tell you about that, yet.” Her habit of concealing things from Jonah had begun during her rebellious teenage years, when a great deal of information about her whereabouts and activities needed concealing. Somehow the habit had become a hard little knot at the center of their relationship.

  “Well, I’m sure that the two of you can discuss that at a later time. Now we are here under altogether more pleasant circumstances. Are we ready for the drawing?” Silas asked. Jonah nodded, his eyes still looking questio
ningly at Lindsay. Silas turned to Morgan. “Will you do the honors, son?” Jonah handed the megaphone to Morgan, who clambered onto the bed of his truck.

  “Howdy, folks! Who here’s ready to win themselves a jet ski?!” A collective holler rose up from the crowd. Morgan selected a pigtailed little girl and lifted her up onto the truck bed. “Well all right then! This little darlin’ is gonna pick our lucky winner.” The ticket-selling, mullet woman gave the wheel a spin. When it came to a stop, the little girl reached in, extracted a ticket, and handed it to Morgan. “Everybody ready? Number 684. Can’t hardly read this name.” He turned the ticket sideways and squinted. “Well look at that! It’s Lindsay Harding! Come on up here, girl, and climb on board your brand new jet ski!” Morgan jumped across to the trailer and patted the seat of the watercraft for Lindsay. The crowd whooped and cheered; the people immediately surrounding Lindsay nudged her toward the trailer.

  “Sweet baby Jesus in the manger,” Lindsay said. Her heart pounded like a tin drum as she looked frantically toward her father. “I can't take it. Pick another name. I mean, how is that going to look?”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everyone saw the drawing. They all know that you won it fair and square. Besides, it’s not about the jet ski. It’s about helping the orphans.”

  Lindsay edged uncertainly forward, pushed along by the congratulatory crowd. She was suddenly very aware of the baking heat of the sun. Morgan hoisted her up and perched her on the seat of the jet ski. She felt as if the truck bed might drop from under her, trapdoor-like, and leave her dangling in midair. Morgan put his arm around her as she waved to the crowd, unable to muster even the faintest smile. Someone stepped forward and began snapping pictures, dazzling her with the camera’s flash. As ghostly flashes glittered before her eyes, her focus was drawn to the back of the crowd, where a thin, blonde woman broke away from the assembled onlookers. The woman’s eyes seemed to bore a hole right through Lindsay, even though she stood several hundred feet away. “Mom?” Lindsay whispered. Lindsay slipped from the seat of the jet ski, nearly pitching headlong into the crowd. Morgan steadied her, shouting, “This little lady is so excited she can barely stand! Let’s give her another round of applause, y’all, and then let her find some shade.”

  The spectators dutifully applauded and those in front eased Lindsay off the trailer. Jonah jumped up on the truck and began to lead a prayer of thanks for the money that had been collected in the raffle. Lindsay continued to make her way through the spectators. They bunched tightly together, their heads bowed and hands clasped in prayer. Lindsay scanned their faces, searching for her mother’s doppelganger. When she finally caught sight of the woman in the distance, she was climbing into the passenger’s side of a white SUV. Lindsay pushed through the crowd, emerging near the edge of the parking lot. But before Lindsay could reach the SUV, though, it was gone.

  Chapter 26

  When Lindsay got home after the tent revival, she decided to go for a run. The decision was in direct violation of her own rule about daytime summer jogging, but she needed the exertion and heat to flush the toxins from her mind. She followed her usual route to the Richards Homestead, ducking under the wire fence, passing the No Trespassing signs, and entering the welcome shade of the pine forest. She leaned against a tree to wipe the stinging sweat from her eyes. In the stillness of the thick summer air, she could hear a distant buzzing. At first it sounded like locusts. After a moment, however, she realized that it was, in fact, the whine of chainsaws. She wondered if the men she saw a few days ago could have been surveying the land for logging. The growing scarcity of timber meant that even scrubby pines like these could be sold at a decent profit. She jogged away from the sound, not wanting to be harassed for trespassing on private land. Her thoughts began to drift across her mind as peacefully as the high white clouds floated across the sky. What a shame it would be to destroy this little patch of wilderness to make printer paper or cheap office furniture.

  Then, without warning, the ground convulsed beneath Lindsay’s feet throwing her with a hard thud into the underbrush. Red dirt and tree bark rained down over her back. She lay still, too shocked to move. After what seemed like a very long time, she climbed up slowly onto all fours. She surveyed the bumps and scratches that covered her body. She winced as her left knee came into contact with the ground. An angry, red welt was already forming on her kneecap.

  “Hey!”

  Lindsay turned to see a denim-clad man emerge from the other side of the trees. He covered the distance between them in long, purposeful strides. He was wearing a neon orange safety vest over the top of his shirt, and a pair of binoculars dangled from his neck.

  “I thought I saw something moving over here.” His voice seemed to bounce around inside the tin box of Lindsay’s head. “What in tarnation are you doin’ out here? I damn near blasted you to kingdom come!”

  Lindsay tried to stand, but her legs refused to hold her. She settled for what she hoped was a dignified sprawl over the protruding root of a nearby tree.

  “Are you blind, girlie?! There’s about a million big ole signs that say ‘No Trespassing’ strung up all over. Do you know what that means? That means that your dim-witted, middle-of-the-day jogging behind don’t belong out here.”

  “You almost blew me up,” Lindsay said quietly, almost to herself.

  “You’re darn right I did. We’re out here dynamiting all of these here stumps and boulders. Clearing this land.” He had come nearer to Lindsay as he spoke. His tone softened when he looked over her battered, dust-covered body. “Say, do you need a doctor or something?”

  “I think I’m okay.” She stood up and took a few hesitant steps. She felt a strange, cool sensation across her backside and craned her neck to see what was causing it. The tattered remains of her jogging shorts tickled the backs of her upper thighs, revealing her pink bikini briefs. “Uh, I think you dynamited my shorts off.”

  The man colored deeply and his eyes widened.

  “I don’t suppose you have any extra pants or anything?”

  “I’ll see what we got in the trailer,” the man said, hurrying back through the trees in the direction he’d come from.

  Lindsay slumped back down onto the tree stump. She groaned and leaned her head against the damp moss that covered the side of an adjacent tree. Her whole body ached and the ringing in her ears was now joined by a roar like the inside of a seashell—only louder and much less pleasant.

  The man emerged from the trees a few minutes later, followed by five other construction workers. He gestured toward Lindsay. “See? I told you! Nearly blew her to Timbuktu.” One of the men, more smartly dressed than the others, approached her. Lindsay thought she recognized him as one of the men in white SUVs she’d seen out here the past week.

  He spoke to her slowly, as you might speak to a very dim-witted toddler. “Are you all right, little lady?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Real glad to hear it. Could I trouble you to sign this waiver?” He held out a clipboard, secured to which was a densely worded document with a highlighted signature line at the bottom. “Not that we are implying any negligence or responsibility for your little mishap. After all, you are trespassing on clearly demarcated private land. However, we do have to protect ourselves from frivolous lawsuits and such.”

  Lindsay stared at him for a moment. She could scarcely believe that his first order of business after exploding her with dynamite was to ask her to sign a waiver.

  “Of course,” Lindsay said. She took the clipboard and scrawled a few choice words on the signature line.

  He took the clipboard, looking at what she had written. “Thank you for understanding, Miss….” he paused and cleared his throat. “Unusual name you have. Is it French?”

  “You could say that,” Lindsay said, flashing her best Southern belle smile.

  The man with the binoculars stepped forward and handed Lindsay a bright orange bundle. “Sorry. It’s all we could find.”

  Lindsa
y unfolded the bundle to find that it was an oversized safety vest. She put it on over her torn clothes. It hung down almost past her knees. “Thanks.”

  “Can one of the boys here offer you a ride home?” The clipboard-wielding man asked.

  “No. Don’t trouble yourselves. I’ll find my own way.” She turned her back to them, and, gathering the scraps of her dignity around her, hobbled home.

  Chapter 27

  Nursing her wounds on the couch later that day, Lindsay had called Anna and invited her over for a girls’ night in. Anna’s first question, when she arrived an hour later, was, “Why is there an enormous iridescent jet ski sitting on a tow trailer on your front lawn?” Lindsay had recounted the day’s events for Anna, and together they had hauled the beast into Lindsay’s backyard shed. Lindsay purposely tried to hide the extent of her injuries from Anna; she didn’t want to get bullied into going to the hospital. They lay now on opposite ends of the couch, flicking idly through the TV channels. “The Grave Robber” was wrestling with someone in a Neanderthal costume called “The Mastodon”. The remains of a frozen pizza (for Lindsay), the remains of a Greek salad (for Anna), and a half-empty bottle of wine (for both) lay in front of them.

  “I got a birthday card from Sarabelle,” Lindsay said.

  “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “You’d think of all people that’d remember your birthday is in April, your own mother would. If I pushed a seven-pound human being out of my hoo-ha, you can be sure I’d remember the exact minute.”

  “Well, at least she tried this year, which is an improvement. And she called to see if I want to meet up.” Lindsay took a drink of wine. “Actually, I thought I saw her at the revival this morning. She walked away, though, before I could tell for sure.”