Blood Knot: a small town murder mystery (Frank Bennett Adirondack Mysteries Book 3)

by S. W. Hubbard

  The questions chased through his mind, a continuous round of recrimination: Why had he been forced to kill Oliver?

  Chapter 34

  The week that followed the shooting in the church was filled with steady activity.

  The state police and district attorney conducted a pro forma investigation and commended Frank for his handling of the crisis. The bear suspected of killing Jake Reiger was captured and relocated to a remote section of the Adirondack Park, far from the possibility of human interaction. Steve Vreeland was charged with being an accessory after the fact and obstructing justice. Paul Petrucci was released without being charged with any crime and he insisted on returning the money he’d received.

  The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place when Dawn Klotz had been located back in Ohio. She revealed that it was Oliver, not Costello, who had financed her “research” into the North Country Academy. Using insurance money he’d received after his parents’ death, Oliver had paid Dawn to pursue the expose of tough-love schools, hoping to create enough scandal that the entire industry would be shut down. She had hoped to launch her own career as an investigative reporter with the story, but the plan had backfired on both of them.

  From the moment he awoke every morning, Frank was busy meeting or on the phone with the state police, the DA, the DEC, the county social worker, the press, and parents of academy students. All the action allowed him to fall into bed at night, exhausted, and sleep until the ringing phone woke him again in the morning.

  But by the end of the week, the workload lessened. He had time to walk across the green for a donut at the Store, to eat lunch at Malone’s, to drive the afternoon patrol.

  Time to think.

  He replayed that awful moment over and over: Ernie calling out a greeting, Oliver raising the gun, his threat to shoot, Ernie’s utter incomprehension of danger.

  Then Frank saw his own right hand raised, his view along the barrel of the gun as he took aim, the tremendous pressure required to squeeze the trigger, the moment of impact, the falling body.

  He had never killed a man before. He’d wounded a man once—a bad guy who’d shot at him first—and that had been bad enough. The fact that he had been cleared of wrongdoing—commended, in fact—was absolutely no consolation.

  Every morning right before he opened his eyes, a voice in his head would murmur, “Something’s wrong with this day,” and in that moment he would remember: I killed Oliver Greffe. I killed a troubled, talented, very young man. I took his life and nothing will ever change that.

  The knowledge sat on him, a huge rock that crushed the joy out of every day. No joke was funny, no meal had flavor, no music was tuneful.

  “What’re you looking at? Don’t you have something to do?” he snapped when he felt Earl's watchful gaze on him.

  Earl’s reaction was neither hurt nor anger, but something much worse. “It’s okay, Frank.” He touched Frank’s shoulder lightly. “I understand.”

  But Earl didn’t understand because he'd never killed a man. And neither did the state police psychologist, whom Frank dutifully visited. The man said all the appropriate things, to which Frank made the appropriate responses. The doctor was satisfied; Frank left feeling worse than when he’d arrived.

  He ran into Edwin later that day. “You look like shit,” his friend said, eyeing him up and down. “You should talk to someone about this.”

  “I just talked to the state police shrink. He pronounced me cured.”

  Edwin scowled. "What kind of shrink goes to work for the police department? He probably graduated at the bottom of his class. Go see a real doctor.”

  “Like who? You can’t find a doctor to set a broken bone around here, let alone straighten out a cracked brain.”

  Edwin thought a moment. “You should talk to Bob. I think he could help.”

  “Bob who?” Then Frank took a step backward as understanding struck. “Bob Rush! That’s a laugh. The two of us are like oil and water.”

  “You underestimate Bob.” Edwin gave Frank a long look and his usual irony was missing when he spoke again. “And you’re wrong about his regard for you. Give him a chance. He could help you if you let him.”

  Frank sat in the middle of the darkened church. It was freezing in there. Now that Oliver was no longer giving organ lessons, Augie left the heat turned back to fifty until Saturday morning, when he set it on its slow climb to sixty-eight.

  He let his head fall back against the pew and gazed up at the thick beams supporting the vaulted ceiling. He could still see the spot where Oliver's bullet had lodged in one. One tiny hole in the oak beam—the only outward sign of the desecration that had occurred here.

  And the silence.

  According to the scuttlebutt at the Store, Matthew hadn’t laid a finger on the organ keyboard since Oliver’s death. Another thing the town could thank him for— ruining their prospects for a new organist.

  A rustle of cloth and the creak of a floorboard roused him. Bob Rush stood in the chancel, surveying the decorations for Thanksgiving Festival Sunday. He adjusted the cornucopia the ladies had filled with fall produce, knocking loose the acorn squash keystone of the arrangement. Butternuts and mini-pumpkins and gourds bounced off the communion table and rolled down the aisle.

  “Shit!”

  Despite his morose mood, Frank laughed.

  Bob spun around, glaring. Then he, too, began to laugh.

  "Oh, man, I’m in trouble now.”

  Frank slid out of the pew and chased down an errant squash. “I’ll help you put it back together. Ardyth and Bernice will never know.”

  “Don’t bet on that. Ardyth has the location of each vegetable imprinted in her memory. If I don’t confess, she’ll think Bernice sneaked in here and changed it.”

  “In that case, you definitely shouldn’t confess. Sit back and enjoy the fireworks.”

  Recreating the cornucopia was like building a house of cards. After a few collapses, they finally hit on a successful arrangement.

  “What do you think?" Bob surveyed their work from a few steps down the main aisle.

  “Don’t preach too loud on Sunday. Sound waves could trigger another avalanche.” The instant he mentioned sound, Frank’s high spirits drained out of him. They wouldn’t have to worry about vibrations from the organ, would they?

  The transformation of his mood must have passed across his face. Bob’s tone grew gentler in response.

  “Matthew is going to play on Sunday. Did you know that?”

  Frank shook his head. “How did you change his mind?”

  “I didn’t change it. We’ve been talking a lot. He came to the decision himself.” Bob perched on the edge of the first-row pew, while Frank remained standing. “He doesn’t blame you for what happened, Frank. He’s been blaming himself.”

  “Matthew? Why? He did nothing wrong.”

  “He stayed silent. Matthew was closer to Oliver than anyone here. He suspected for a while that there was something wrong with his teacher. He knew about Oliver’s father; knew that his brother had killed himself although not all the details. Matthew told me that when he came into the church for his lessons, he often would find Oliver talking to himself. Sometimes Oliver would have flashes of irrational suspicion. But Matthew overlooked it all because he liked Oliver so much. He didn’t want there to be anything wrong with him. Now he thinks if he had come to me or you for help, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

  Bob paused and took a deep breath. “Maybe they would have, maybe not. I think you and I were seduced by Oliver’s charm and talent, too. I'm not sure we would have believed Matthew.”

  Frank had been listening with his eyes focused on the cornucopia. The colors and shapes swirled before his eyes, an abstraction of his seething doubt. “Nothing changes the fact that I’m the one who shot him. I should have been able to talk him down. I should have been able to get the gun away from him.”

  “He would have shot you, Frank, if you had tried. And then he
would have shot Ernie when he came in. How would that outcome be any better?”

  Frank jammed his hands in his pockets and looked up at the organ loft. “That’s just it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have shot Ernie. If I’d waited a second longer, Oliver would have realized the person below him wasn’t Payne. I shot too soon."

  “Oh, I think Oliver was quite aware that Ernie wasn't Payne, and he would’ve fired the shot anyway. Maybe he would’ve missed, maybe not. And then you would’ve fired.”

  For the first time in their conversation, Frank’s gaze locked on Bob. “What do you mean?”

  “Frank, has it ever occurred to you that Oliver wanted you or the state police to kill him? He put himself in an unwinnable situation because he didn’t want to walk out of this church alive. He wasn’t quite brave enough to turn the gun on himself. He let you do the job.”

  Frank could hear his own breath going in and out through his mouth. “There’s a name for it. Suicide by cop.”

  "Yes. You were simply the weapon he chose.”

  Frank turned away. “Not quite. A gun doesn’t have a say in how it’s used. I didn’t have to let him co-opt me.”

  “Frank, there was no possibility for a happy ending here. Even if you had managed to talk Oliver down, he would have been convicted of Heather’s and Reiger's murders. He would have spent the rest of his life in prison or a mental institution. The Oliver we had come to love was already dead.”

  No possibility of a happy ending. Bob had hit it, there. That was what ate at him all day and night. “Why? Why did this have to happen?”

  “God—”

  Frank held up his hand. "Don’t say ‘God works in mysterious ways.’ Please just don’t say that.”

  Bob looked miffed. “I was going to say that with God, the worst thing is never the last thing. After the Crucifixion came the Resurrection. Some good will come of this, Frank.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “I couldn’t go on doing what I do if I didn’t. Some good will come.”

  “Like what?”

  Bob rose and embraced Frank without awkwardness or embarrassment. And for a longer moment than he would have admitted, Frank allowed himself to be held. He pulled away, and Bob looked him in the eye.

  “Be patient. Watch, and you’ll see it.”

  Chapter 35

  There was no miraculous rolling away of the guilt stone. But in the days following his talk with Bob, incremental erosion made the weight bearable.

  On Friday, Earl greeted him with a cheery, “Have you heard the news?”

  “Augie Enright came through his hemorrhoid operation—Doris beat you to it.”

  “No, not that. Big news—the North Country Academy is under new ownership. MacArthur Payne wants out of the therapeutic school business for good. He’s retiring to Montana.”

  Frank’s head snapped up. “Some other crackpot has taken it over? Forgive me if I’m not blocking the streets for a parade.”

  “Not a crackpot,” Earl protested. Then he hesitated. “Well, I guess they are kind of crackpots, but okay ones. And now the school won’t close, and Lorrie gets her job back. And with Chuck’s parents moving south for the winter, Chuck’s given up on trying to keep full custody of the kids. Everything’s working out great. Except for Ray—I don’t think they’ll be needing him anymore.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? Who’s taking over the academy?”

  "Paul and Katie Petrucci.”

  Frank gave Earl the look he had perfected for those occasions when his assistant dragged in some half-baked rumor and laid it at his feet like a cat presenting a dead mouse.

  “I’m serious, Frank. It’s for real. Katie and Paul are buying the school from Payne.”

  “Buying it? They can’t even make their house payments.”

  “That’s the other part of the news. You know that company they invested in—Nutri-Green? Well, it went public. They made half a million bucks just like that.” Earl snapped his fingers. "They’re selling some of the stock and using the money to make a down payment on the academy. Then Paul’s going to find some other investors—maybe some of the parents, since a lot of them are rich. And he and Katie are going to run it. It’s still going to be for screwed-up kids, but Paul’s going to treat them better. Use some different methods, or whatever.”

  Would Paul and Katie have the skill to pull this off? Payne’s authoritarian approach had certainly led to disaster, but he suspected academy kids would run roughshod over Katie and Paul. This was not a group who responded to time-outs.

  “How do you know so much about it?" Frank asked.

  “Paul’s over at Malone’s right now, telling everyone. You should go over.”

  “I think I will.”

  By the time Frank reached Malone’s, Paul’s crowd of eager listeners had dissipated. He sat in the back booth, poring over a stack of papers and writing notes.

  "Hi, Paul. I hear you have big news."

  Paul looked up, a radiant smile transforming his severe features. Frank realized he’d never seen the man happy before.

  “I guess Earl told you the basics. Katie and I take over the academy next month.” He nodded at the papers before him. “I’m working on a revised curriculum and a new prospectus.”

  “That’s terrific. Congratulations.”

  Paul began to chatter happily about his plans—the expansion of the creative arts programs, the counseling professionals he would hire, the camaraderie he hoped to foster among the students.

  "And then we’re going to—” Paul cocked his head. “You don’t think we can pull this off, do you?”

  Had the expression on his face been that transparent? Frank stammered in embarrassment, but then found his voice. Paul had given him an opening and he was going to take it. There was too much at stake to offer nothing but mindless assurances.

  “Look, I don’t pretend to know anything about educational theory, but can I offer you a little advice based on life experience?”

  “Go right ahead.” Paul's encouraging words didn’t jibe with the purse of his lips.

  “I’m glad you’re taking over the academy, I really am. I think the changes you’re planning will be great.” Leading off with positive reinforcement didn’t come naturally to Frank, but he gave it his best shot. “Just think about this: Sometimes, when you don’t like someone, you can’t imagine that anything they’ve ever said or done could be right. I lost my job in Kansas City because I couldn’t bring myself to listen to another cop who I happened to think was an ass.”

  Frank paused. "You and MacArthur Payne were at odds, but some of what he did at the academy had value. Those kids do need discipline, and structure, and close supervision to turn their lives around. They’re not equipped to handle complete freedom.”

  Paul listened to all of this while staring at his folded hands on the table. When Frank stopped talking, Paul never raised his eyes.

  So much for the dispensing of free advice. Paul obviously had his own vision for the academy, and the opinions of an old fart like Frank didn’t play into it. He stood and walked toward the door.

  “Frank.”

  With his hand on the door, he looked back.

  “I hear you.”

  Leaving Malone’s, Frank had a strong impulse to hear what Bob had to say about this new development. The pastor had the phone held to his ear as Frank approached the door, but he wasn’t speaking. He waved Frank in. “Just listening to messages. I’ll be done in a second.”

  Bob made a note on his calendar, pressed a button to move to the next message, and began to laugh. “Listen to this—you probably have the same message on your phone. Lucy’s planning another one of her matchmaking dinner parties. I wonder who she has in store for us this time?”

  “Why’s she calling you? I thought she already found success in that department,” Frank answered, feeling much less amused than Bob.

  “With Janice the sociologist? No thanks. I don’t know why everyone thinks pas
tors should be attracted to drab, earnest women.”

  Frank wasn’t sure what shocked him more—Bob’s brutally honest assessment of the charmless Janice or the implication that he and Penny were not an item. “Wait a minute, Lucy didn't invite Janice for you, she invited her for me.”

  Bob tossed a crumpled message slip across the desk toward his wastebasket and sank the shot handily. "Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone can see that Penny only has eyes for you.”

  Frank was so flabbergasted he couldn’t respond.

  “I could never date Penny,” Bob continued. “She’s still a member of this congregation—she never transferred to a new church after her divorce.”

  Frank coughed in an effort to regain his composure. “Well, surely there’s a way around that...”

  “I don’t want to get around it. I like Penny, and she likes me, but there’s no chemistry between us.”

  This had to rank as the weirdest conversation he’d ever had—discussing sexual chemistry with a Presbyterian pastor. He felt himself gaping like a fool.

  Bob continued with a twinkle in his eye. “Come on, Frank—I’m just a man like anyone else. I want a woman I feel a spark with, but finding someone is not easy when you’re in my line of work, especially in a small town. Try going to happy hour in Lake Placid and striking up a conversation with a girl. As soon as you tell her what you do for a living, she’s heading for the ladies’ room. I tell you, I could empty out an entire bar in a couple of minutes.”

  Frank laughed out loud. He’d never seen this side of Bob before—or maybe he’d chosen not to notice it—and suddenly he understood why everyone else liked the minister so much. “You’re right, it’s not easy being a bachelor in the Adirondacks. I guess we have no choice but to keep accepting Lucy's invitations.”