A Murder in Mount Moriah

by Mindy Quigley

  Versa flicked open the lids and enumerated. “These are aspirins, because I get headaches from all this stress. Those whitish ones are evening primrose. These little round ones are Buford’s relaxing pills. These other ones are for his heart. The pink ones, we both take for cholesterol. These are Ginkgo biloba, for memory. These big suckers are Echinacea.”

  “What are those?” Lindsay pointed to a compartment filled with small blue pills.

  Versa hesitated. “If you must know, those are my weight-loss pills. Don’t tell the kids. I told them that I’m doing that Miami Beach diet, but I’m really taking these. They’re packed full of ancient Chinese herbs that suppress the appetite and speed up metabolism. The Empress of China herself takes them.” Anyway, I’ve lost almost four pounds since May so they’re really working.” Versa snapped that compartment closed. She proffered the oregano and olive oil pills once again. “You should really try these.”

  Lindsay shrugged and deposited the pills in the pocket of her white chaplain’s coat. “Can’t hurt, right?”

  “Of course not. They’re all natural.” Versa checked her watch. “I’m going home to get in a nice cool bath.”

  “I thought you were checking on Buford.”

  “I’ll be back soon. Don’t you worry your pretty, little head.”

  Chapter 40

  It wasn’t until several hours into an unusually hectic night shift that Lindsay finally had a moment to herself. The overnight on-call chaplain was tasked with covering emergencies—unexpected deaths, frantic ER patients. Often, Lindsay spent most of the shift tucked up in the uncomfortable cot in the chaplain’s office, trying unsuccessfully to catch a few hours of sleep. Tonight, however, emergencies seemed to be the rule rather than the exception. After seeing half a dozen patients, Lindsay returned to the chaplain’s office, intending to type up her notes. She plunked her stack of paperwork down on the desk along with a can of Fanta, an orange, and a bag of Cheetos. (She was in an orange food mood.) She pressed the button to fire up the aged PC. She clicked open the pull-tab on her soda can and sipped impatiently as she watched the computer creak along even more slowly than usual. A sharp tap at the door broke Lindsay’s focus on the computer’s seemingly endless series of boot-up maneuvers and diagnostic checks. Lindsay’s mouth dropped open when her father entered the office, looking ashen-faced and haunted. He sat down in the small, wooden chair in the corner of the office, searching the room like a convict trying to find a way out of his cell. Several times, he formed his mouth into shapes as if to speak, but no sound emerged. Finally, he said, “I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “I’ve had a lot going on.”

  “You never return my calls.”

  “Dad, I don’t have time for a lecture on family responsibility right now.”

  “I stopped by your house. There’s blood all over your porch. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

  “Well, I’m fine, as you can see.” Lindsay glanced at the computer screen, which flashed an error message and informed anyone who cared to know that it was planning to restart itself in “Safe Mode”.

  Jonah sighed. “Your mother came to see me. She wants a divorce.”

  Lindsay threw up her hands. “Well, hallelujah! Did you think I’d be opposed or something? For heaven’s sake, it’s about time you two made a clean break.” His face remained impassive, so Lindsay tried a more conciliatory tone, “If you’re worried about what people at church will think, don’t. A few of the old biddies will snipe, but I know everyone will understand.”

  Jonah’s expression remained grim. “A divorce isn’t all she wants,” he continued. Lindsay straightened up, her tight expression now beginning to mirror Jonah’s. “If I don’t give her what she wants, she said she’s going to come back.”

  “What do you mean ‘come back’?”

  “Come back, as in show up at the church next Sunday, take up a position in the front pew and be the pastor’s wife again.”

  “You guys have lived apart for more than fifteen years. She’s had Lord knows how many boyfriends in the meantime. Why would she want to come back?”

  “Because she wants me to give her $20,000.”

  “What?! Where does she expect you to get $20,000?”

  “From the money I embezzled from the church.”

  Lindsay removed her glasses. She rubbed her temples in slow circles, as if trying to conjure a genie from a magic lamp. If she was still experiencing any residual brain fog from the painkiller, it had certainly cleared now. She leaned closer to her father. All the light and air in the room seemed to be concentrated into a single crushing point that throbbed painfully between her eyes. “You took money from your own church? Jesus, Dad, how low can you sink?” She could barely spit out the words.

  Jonah jumped out of his chair and began to pace the room. “I’ve lived in the same two-bedroom house for almost my entire life. I drive a ten-year-old Buick, when I’m not riding a 200cc motorcycle to save on gas. My annual vacation is two weeks at Aunt Harding’s house on the Outer Banks. Where exactly do you think I am hiding my vast, illicit fortune? I would never, ever take money from the church. How could anyone who knows me think that?! Dag blast it, Lindsay, if even you doubt me, no wonder someone like your mother would! And I don’t want to hear you using Jesus’ name in vain!” During his monologue, Jonah’s face had gone from almost translucently white to an unnatural shade of claret red. Lindsay couldn’t recall ever seeing him so angry. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she had seen him angry…period. Jonah crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling.

  The computer emitted a series of beeps—beeps that indicated that the boot-up had failed and the whole process needed to begin again. Lindsay glanced at the blue screen and then turned back to face her father. His eyes remained fixed on the air conditioning vent above her head. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She turned toward Jonah and began to speak, her words piling up thick and fast like snow on a frozen field. “Timothy pretended he was gay and left me. He made me lie to everyone because he said he was scared to come out. Really, though, he just didn’t love me. Now he’s having a baby with a Stepford wife nutcase with beautiful hair. Mom sent me a birthday card and called me. I thought she was trying to make things right, but now it’s plain as a drink of water that she wanted to try to cozy up to me to get to the money she thinks you’re hiding. Also, you may have heard that Silas Richards was arrested? Well, I’m the reason. And now I’m beginning to doubt he did it. This morning, Joe Tatum shot himself in the head right on my front porch.”

  The angry furrows on Jonah’s forehead began to reorganize themselves into an expression of concern. His voice softened as he said, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “I don’t know,” Lindsay inhaled deeply and sighed. She reached across the desk for her soda, bringing the half-empty can toward her lips. She paused thoughtfully with the can poised in mid-air. She set it on the desk and bent down to look at the computer’s CPU. She tipped the machine forward, resting the front side on the ground, so that the fan and the rear cable were exposed. She reached for her soda can, extended her arm, and poured the entire contents through the air vents in the back of the computer. For a few seconds, the inner workings sizzled, sputtered, and fried. Finally, there was silence. Lindsay set the machine back upright and resumed her seat. “I suppose they’ll have to buy a new one now,” she said evenly, staring at the now blank monitor.

  Jonah regarded her without emotion; as if Lindsay sabotaging the office computer with a sugary beverage was the most natural thing in the world. Finally he said, “Aren’t you worried about losing everyone’s work?”

  “It’s all backed up on the hospital’s server.”

  “Well then.”

  There was a moment’s pause, and then Lindsay spoke. “The jet ski,” she said.

  Jonah did not register surprise at her non-sequitur, instead taking up the dangling thread of the conversation. “You were right. She told me tha
t she was there that day, at the revival. That confirmed all her suspicions. She thought that we rigged the raffle so you’d win. Her mind is so addled by her own sinfulness that she can’t imagine that anyone could let so much money pass through their hands and not skim off the top.”

  “You’ve got to fight her,” Lindsay said with a sudden ferocity. “Let her move in. So what? You can outlast her. She’ll get bored of the game. She’ll see that you don’t have any money. She’ll go away.”

  “You don’t understand, honey. She is my wife. She knows that I will hold up my end of the marriage contract, even if she won’t hold up hers.” Jonah shook his head sadly and said, “Maybe she wouldn’t have pushed on me this hard in the past, but this new friend of hers, Leander Swoopes, has her wound around his little finger. He came with her when she called in. You should have seen the way he orders her around. I can’t understand what she sees in him, I have to say. Scrawny little fellow with big green bug eyes. They said that they’re coming over to the house tomorrow so I can give them my decision.”

  “They broke into my house,” Lindsay said. It was the first time she had given voice to her suspicions. She couldn’t help but notice that she had unconsciously chosen to state it as fact, rather than hedging with a “might have” or an “I think.” Deep down, she had known that the shadowy form in the hallway that night was her mother. “I knew it was her, but I didn’t understand why until now. Her calling me and sending the card must have been the soft sell. They were trying to butter me up to get to your treasure trove. Or maybe they thought I was in on the scheme. They were staking us out. That white truck outside my house the night you were over—that was them. The weird note and the smoking man. The green-eyed man looking in my window. Then the revival. And the break in.”

  “When did your house get robbed? Did you call the police?”

  “How could I go to the police and say that I thought my mom had robbed my house and stolen the jet ski I won at my father’s church picnic? Anyway, Sarabelle and her boyfriend went through all my papers; they must have been looking for evidence of where all your money was hidden.”

  Lindsay’s pager buzzed. With a little groan of frustration, she dialed the ER’s extension on the office phone. “Hi, this is Chaplain Harding. I just got your page.” She nodded as the voice on the other end spoke. When she hung up, she turned back to Jonah, “I’m sorry, Dad, but I’ve got work to do. I’ll come by your house in the morning, and we’ll sort this out. I promise. Don’t do anything until we’ve talked some more.”

  ##

  Her shift trudged on until the early morning hours, when Lindsay found herself alone by Joe Tatum’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall with each deep breath. Rob and John had gone home to sleep, and she had promised to look in on Joe during her shift. She drew the curtains across the window, not wanting the light from the approaching dawn to disturb him. It was strange to see Joe’s usually animated face so still and peaceful. The vulnerability didn’t suit him at all. As she took up her seat at his bedside, there was a soft knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Lindsay said, rising from her chair.

  Drew strode into the room. The door swung quietly shut behind him, leaving the two facing each other awkwardly in the half-darkness, like twelve-year-olds at a grade school dance. Each waited for the other to speak. Lindsay had never before had someone trigger such a jumble of emotions in her. She wanted simultaneously to kiss him, punch him, laugh at him, and run screaming from the room, never to be seen again. Whatever array of emotions Drew was feeling, he was the first to regain his composure and speak. “The nurse told me I could find John Tatum in here.”

  “You just missed him.”

  “Oh. I just wanted to tell him something.” He rocked on his heels as he spoke, seeming undecided about whether to move backward or forward.

  “I can give him a message.”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss the patient’s situation with someone outside the immediate family,” he said warily. He looked at her for a long moment; she could almost see him mentally flipping through the federal guidelines on patient confidentiality. The longer he stood silent, radiating a kind of bureaucratic aloofness, the further Lindsay’s emotional pendulum swung in the direction of ‘punch him.’

  “If you’re worried about HIPAA, don’t be,” she said, using the acronym for the patient privacy rules. “In addition to being a trusted friend of the Tatums and a Christian minister, don’t forget that I am a hospital employee who is bound by the same rules as you are,” she snapped. She knew that her level of annoyance was disproportionate with the situation. After all, Drew was just doing his job. Meticulously. But she found the formality of their interaction off-putting.

  “Sorry. Nothing personal. Could you let John, or Mr. Tatum, if he regains consciousness, know that the police are going to stop by in a little while to ask some questions.”

  “The police?”

  Drew had begun their interaction a little uncertainly, but now his tone was cool and commanding; it was a tone that Lindsay imagined he used in the operating room. “We pulled a bullet out of Joe’s scalp. Not a piece of debris. A bullet.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not a ballistics expert, but I took forensics classes in medical school. If Mr. Tatum’s gun was loaded with blanks, as his son swears it was, it is possible that some foreign matter lodged in the chamber could have become a projectile. Even with a blank in the gun, being shot at very close range can be dangerous. But this was not a blank or a piece of debris; it was an actual bullet. Either Mr. Tatum had slipped live rounds in his gun without you or his son seeing, managed to hold his gun at an incredibly improbable angle that defies the laws of physics, and then, accidentally or not, shot himself…” He trailed off.

  “Or?” Lindsay demanded.

  “Or someone was trying to kill him.”

  Chapter 41

  Lindsay sat on the cold linoleum in the hallway outside Joe’s room and closed her eyes. Her thought process had come completely unmoored. She felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, spinning wildly through the air while little snippets of the past few days’ events played in a tiny window inside her mind.

  She decided she should call Jonah and let him know that she might not make it to his house after all. As she fished around in the pockets of her white coat for her cell phone, she fingered the herbal remedies that Versa had given her. She pulled them out and examined them. Her knee pain had dimmed to a dull throb. The painkiller she’d taken earlier combined with Jonah’s and Drew’s revelations, made her feel lightheaded and giddy. She looked up at the sound of voices and saw Warren striding quickly down the hall, accompanied by Special Agent Fleet. She pocketed the pills again and walked up to greet the men.

  Warren looked dismayed to see Lindsay. He clearly hadn’t expected to have to continue the charade he had begun in the library the other night. “You remember my, uh, girlfriend, Lindsay?” Warren said to Fleet. “Lindsay is a friend of the Tatum family. She was there when Mr. Tatum was shot,” Warren explained, as if to excuse her presence. He turned back to Lindsay. “Is Mr. Tatum, Sr. available for questioning?”

  “Available for, yes. Coherent enough for, I’m afraid not,” answered a voice from behind Lindsay. She spun around to find Drew standing just behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. Avoiding eye contact with her or Warren, he addressed Agent Fleet directly. There was no doubt that he had heard Warren refer to Lindsay as his girlfriend.

  “I believe we spoke on the phone. I’m the neurosurgeon who operated on Mr. Tatum.” He and Fleet exchanged introductions and handshakes.

  Fleet flipped through a small notebook. “What about Mr. Tatum’s son? John? Is he available?”

  Lindsay sputtered, “He’s at home. They were tired. I mean, he went to sleep. At his home.”

  Fleet flashed a quick, contemptuous glance at her. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Harding, Sergeant Satterwhite and I need to have a few w
ords with Dr. Checkoway.” As the three men walked away, Lindsay willed a tornado to come along and sweep her into another world. Instead, she remained fixed in the middle of the hallway staring at the point where the corridor dead-ended into a large pane of glass. The black night outside was invisible; the window reflected back a forlorn image of the empty hall and Lindsay’s small white-coated frame. Two orderlies emerged from the stairwell behind her, holding sacks full of food from a nearby, all-night burger joint. The restaurant was famous for offering milkshakes in 150 flavors. The two men walked slowly past Lindsay in the direction of the window.

  “Why does my order always got to be the one they get wrong?” the first man complained, sucking his milkshake disconsolately through a straw. “Blueberry Cheesecake Milkshake and Strawberry Cheesecake Milkshake. Ain’t the same thing.” He took another sip. “I don’t like strawberry. I don’t even know why I’m eating this.”

  “Then quit eating it.”

  “I got more than half of it left. I can’t waste it.”

  “Fine, give it to me, then,” said the second man. He took a sip and stopped, looking questioningly at the first. “I thought you said that this was strawberry cheesecake.”

  “It is.”

  “I can’t taste no difference between this and blueberry cheesecake.”

  “I think they just change what color cheesecake they use.”

  “But they taste the same.”

  “I still like the blueberry one better.”

  The second orderly pried the plastic lid off the top and surveyed the contents. “Yeah, I see what you saying. The other color is better. This one look like blood and guts.”

  Although Lindsay had only been half-listening to their exchange, there was something in the content of their conversation that flipped a little switch in her mind and lit up the electric grid of her brain. She hurried past the two orderlies in a frantic quest to find Versa Bullard before any more harm was done.