Missed You In Church: A Hunter Jones Mystery

by Charlotte Moore

  “Well, I asked her and she doesn’t. She’s been really silly about all of this, but she didn’t kill anybody,” Jared said. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Sam walked out with Jared, and found Bethie waiting for him in Shellie’s office, with the little camera Nikki had given her slung over her shoulder.

  “Daddy,” she said, running up to hug him. “I got some really good ostrich pictures. Can I put them on your computer so you can see them?”

  “They’re like that one day,” Jared grumbled to Shellie before he left. “One day, it’s like you hung the moon and the stars, and then you turn around and they’re like total strangers.”

  CHAPTER 22

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, THE SEARCH FOR Rocker Barstow ended.

  Sam got the call at 10:15 a.m., from Sheriff Thompson Carter of Herman County, some 50 miles south of Merchantsville.

  “Looks like a couple of kids down here found your guy, Barstow,” Carter said. “Or at least they found his truck and there’s a body in it.”

  He went on to explain.

  “The kids were floating down the river in inner tubes and one of them saw the tail end of the truck sticking up out of the water. One of them swam down under the water and saw there was somebody in the driver’s seat, seat belt on and all. The kid said he couldn’t tell much, but it looked like a white male with black hair. The main thing is the tag matches the one you were looking for. We’ve already taken a lot of pictures of the scene, and we’ve got somebody coming to haul it out. Let me tell you, that’s gonna be a piece of work.

  “You think the wreck killed him?” Sam asked, “Or he couldn’t get out and drowned?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Carter said. “But the windows were closed and it looks like he could have at least gotten out of the seatbelt. The cab’s not smashed in real bad. I already called the D.A.’s office. We’ve got the same one you’ve got. You coming down here? Think you can identify him?”

  “Yes, I’ll be there,” Sam said.

  “Well, there’s no way I can explain how to get here to somebody who doesn’t live here,” Carter said. “Just come to the courthouse in Eudora and one of my deputies will show you the way. Here comes the property owner, now. I gotta go talk to him.”

  Before Sam left Merchantsville, he scribbled out a press notice for Shellie to send out by e-mail and asked her to call Hunter at the newspaper and Will Roy at the radio.

  “Can they reach you for a comment?” she asked.

  “No,” Sam said. “Tell them I said that’s all I’ve got for sure right now. They can try calling Sheriff Joe Carter in Herman County. It’s his case now.”

  A few minutes later, Hunter called out to Mallory, “Hold the front page. We’ve got something about Rocker Barstow being found.”

  Mallory came toward her desk, as she opened the e-mail attachment and read the message out loud.

  Magnolia County Sheriff’s Office Media Advisory: A truck positively identified as belonging to Roger (aka Rocker) Barstow, person of interest in the investigation of the murder of Noreen Bremmer of Magnolia County, has been found in the Flint River in Herman County this morning. According to Herman County Sheriff Joe Carter, the body of a deceased white male is in the driver’s seat of the truck, which was mostly underwater when discovered. A positive identification of the body had not been made at the time of this release.

  Mallory blinked once and went back to deadline mode.

  “If we take out my County Commission picture, we can put it there,” she said. “Maybe we could use that picture of him.”

  “Sure as we do that, it will turn out to be somebody else’s body in the truck,” Hunter said. “Let’s just go with a boxed text.”

  The paper went to press with Mallory’s ostrich story and Bethie’s ostrich photos below the fold on the front page, and the short boxed story about the possible discovery of Rocker Barstow’s body tucked in between news of the Merchantsville City Council’s latest zoning squabble, and a meat-and-potatoes story about the projected enrollment for the Magnolia County public school system, which would open its doors again in two weeks.

  Sam and Skeet reached Eudora and followed a Herman County deputy over 11 miles of narrow paved road and two rutted and winding miles of dirt road, the muddy truck was out of water and sitting on the road. The driver’s door was open. The crime photographer was circling the truck, taking one picture after another.

  It was a place that nobody was likely to know about except the landowner and people with boats. Private land that appeared to have been farmed at one time, it was now was high with weeds and a few straggling pine trees. The mosquitoes and gnats were out in full force.

  Sheriff Carter spit a gnat from his mouth and pointed out the place where the truck had gone into the water. Sam slapped a mosquito, killing it on his neck. A young woman deputy came up to offer them a spray insect repellent, and Skeet took the can gladly.

  “That’s where it went in,” Sheriff Carter said, pointing toward the steep embankment. “The only way to get here would be by this road, but it looks like he could have missed the curve, maybe going pretty fast, maybe drunk. He would have wound up going straight over and down. There wouldn’t be any way to stop at that point, and if it was nighttime, he couldn’t have seen much anyway. Looks like the engine was on when he hit the water.”

  Noting that the truck bed was empty except for muddy water and a few floating vines, Sam said, “We thought Barstow had a pretty good amount of stuff in the truck from when he moved out.”

  “Like what?” Carter asked.

  “A big TV, “Sam said, “Maybe a whole lot of canned beer. His clothes. Maybe three dogs.”

  “Well, dogs would have paddled right out if they were in the back. We didn’t find anything in the truck but him,” Carter said. “I hate to have to get the divers to go back in unless it’s some big deal.”

  “He might have just let them out of their pen to start with,” Sam said, slapping at a mosquito that had landed on his arm. “Let’s see if we can ID the body first. That’s pretty much all I need to know. It’s your case after that.”

  “Yeah,” Carter said gloomily. “Just what I needed.”

  The photographer called out, “I’m done with the truck,”

  The body was slumped in the driver’s seat.

  “I’m ninety percent sure that’s him, by the boots and the hair, and it’s the same build” Sam said,

  “We’re going to take him out now,” the coroner said. “We’ll put him face down and we can see if there’s a wallet in his pocket.”

  Sam went back to his car and got a two pairs of rubber gloves, and an evidence bag.

  When the body was out, face down, he managed to extricate a flat leather wallet from a back pants pocket, before he noticed the bullet hole.

  “Hey, looks like somebody shot him in the back,” he said.

  “Damn,” Carter said. “I was counting on this being an accident.”

  Sam thought about it as he slapped another mosquito, squashing it on his forehead.

  “And that means, somebody put him in the truck after he was shot, and then put the seatbelt on him and pushed the truck into the river,” he said.

  “Damn,” Carter said again. “Wish they’d done this in your county instead of mine. I don’t even know where to start with this.”

  “If you’ve got T.J. Jackson coming down, he knows all the background,” Sam said.

  The leather wallet was soaked but intact. Sam opened it and pulled out Rocker Barstow’s expired Georgia driver’s license.

  Sam pulled off his gloves and shook hands with Sheriff Carter, who looked more than a little disgusted.

  “Well,” Sam said. “It’s for sure he didn’t shoot himself in the back. Somebody killed him and belted him into the drivers seat. My guess is that he got shot somewhere else, and it took at least two to carry this off. Whoever drove Barstow’s truck needed a ride out of here.”

  “I imagine whoever did it was local,” th
e other sheriff said in a tone of resignation. “It was somebody who knew these back roads and how the river winds around here. The big question is why. You know any folks up your way who might have wanted him dead?”

  “How about that woman’s husband?” he asked. “Could he have paid to have this done?”

  On the drive home, Sam called Ben Barstow.

  The young lawyer didn’t speak for a moment when heard the news that his father had been shot.

  “Where’s Herman County?” he finally asked, and after that, “You don’t think Jack did it, do you?”

  “It’s about 50 miles southwest of here,” Sam said. “And no, I don’t think Jack had anything to do with it. I don’t think he’s left town since the funeral,” Sam said. “Besides, he’d have to have somebody to help him, and to know about that road down to the river in Herman County, which is on private land, but even without an alibi, it’s just not the sort of thing I can see him doing.”

  “Me neither. You want to know where I was?” Ben interrupted.

  Before Sam could answer, Ben said, “Working on Friday, at a low country boil one of the other lawyers gave on Saturday afternoon, furniture shopping on Sunday, working on Monday, court yesterday…”

  “That’ll do it,” Sam said. “Thanks, but you’ll probably be hearing from somebody down there, or maybe from T.J. Jackson.”

  “Well, give me Sheriff Carter’s number if you’ve got it,” Ben said. “I guess I ought to pay the funeral home costs. It’s not like anybody else is going to do it.”

  Sam gave him the number.

  “Thanks,” Ben said. “Is this a closed case, then? I mean my mother’s murder?”

  Sam wished he could say yes. Instead he said, “Not yet. I know how you feel about it, but we were a good way from proving any case against him. It was all circumstantial, and there are two guys giving him an alibi, whether we believe them or not. We haven’t found anybody in Merchantsville who saw him around that day.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed,” Jack Bremmer said to Mallory that night after Sam had paid a visit to tell them about Rocker Barstow’s death. “Whoever killed that man did it did us all a favor, and Noreen, too. She wouldn’t have wanted to be remembered as his wife, and none of us needed to go through a trial.”

  “He never was charged with the crime,” Mallory said.

  “Well, that’s because Sam was taking his precious time with every last detail, and wasting time talking to my office staff,” Jack said. He looked weary.

  “And there’s something else I need to tell you, Mallory. Any money problems Noreen may have told you about are under control now and there’s enough for what we need to do at the agency and for the wedding costs.”

  He didn’t say it happily.

  “Noreen’s insurance policy?” Mallory asked.

  “Yeah, they transferred the money to my account today. Ben got a nice amount, too. Noreen didn’t leave a will, but I’ve meant to ask you if you want her car. It’s newer than yours and it’s paid for.”

  “No, I don’t,” Mallory said, “It would make me sad, and all the gossips would have something to say about it. You know how people are around here. Half of them would be saying ‘Did you see Jack Bremmer’s daughter driving around in Noreen’s car?’”

  “You’re right,” Jack said with a slight smile. “But what are we going to do with it?”

  “Maybe ask her minister,” Mallory said. “You could sell it and give the money to some mission in her name.”

  Jack nodded.

  “And let’s try to have a happy wedding,” Mallory said.

  Mallory went to bed early, and tried to read, but her thoughts kept circling back to Rocker Barstow.

  He must have done it, she told herself, and he was dead, so there’d be no trial. Miranda had been bratty, but she had a point. It really was time for all of them to focus on the wedding.

  After that, Mallory thought, remembering what Hunter’s friend Nikki had said, Miranda would be Chad’s responsibility. And her dad would find somebody to manage the agency for him.

  “And my life,” Mallory said in a whisper, “Will be mine again.”

  She wasn’t sure whether she had said that to herself, her mother or Noreen, but she fell asleep with her book still unread.

  “Here’s what I don’t understand,” Hunter said, after she and Sam had watched the story on the 11 o’clock news, “Why did Rocker Barstow’s murderer go to all that trouble with the truck. Why not just throw Barstow’s body in the river? It might never have been found.”

  “Good question,” Sam said. “I think there’s an answer, too. It was the truck everybody was mainly looking for and a truck’s pretty hard to hide. Probably they thought it would sink and nobody would see it for months.”

  “What about the dogs?” Hunter asked.

  “Nobody’s seen the dogs,” Sam said, “I think whoever shot Barstow went to his place in the middle of the night and made it look like he’d moved out and run away. Probably they let the dogs out I can’t see anybody taking those dogs with them.”

  “Poor mutts,” Hunter said, tossing Flannery’s tennis ball across the room. “Do you think they’ll ever find out who killed the man?”

  “Not my county, not my problem,” Sam said, putting his arm around her, as Flannery ran after the ball. “Let’s go walk Flannery and then go to bed. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I’m tired of even thinking about Rocker Barstow. I just wish he had left a confession so we could close this case forever.”

  CHAPTER 23

  A WEEK PASSED THAT WOULD ONLY be remembered later for temperatures going above 100 degrees, and late afternoon thunderstorms that did little to lower the temperature. There was one tornado warning that didn’t materialize and a good deal of grumbling about the sheriff’s office, which had failed to make an arrest in the Noreen Bremmer murder case.

  Some of the men – especially friends of Jack Bremmer were convinced that her first husband had committed the crime and managed to get himself murdered because of the lowlife he was. A few who had been at the graveside service after the funeral even speculated that Noreen’s son was the murderer.

  Some of the women were more worried that it was a home invasion and the perpetrator could still be at large and in the community, laughing at all of them and waiting for another opportunity to break into a home where a woman was alone.

  Jared Winslow confided to several friends that as far as he was concerned Sam Bailey had botched the whole thing up, made a lot of people angry, and needed some competition at election time. He also made arrangements to switch all of his insurance to Burt Hilliard’s agency and encouraged others to do the same.

  Amber Winslow, in the meantime, was interviewing for jobs in Valdosta and giving Jack Bremmer as a reference.

  For Miranda and Mallory Bremmer, however, it was a week of dressing up and showing up. There were two luncheons and two evening parties, a kitchen shower, and a linen shower.

  At home Mallory took on the responsibility for packing up all the gifts so that they could be shipped to Mobile as soon as the bride and groom were back from Hawaii. As she worked, she continued the detailed list that Noreen had started when the first presents arrived.

  Miranda’s room stayed in an upheaval as she dressed for different events, and went through her wardrobe repeatedly considering what to pack for her honeymoon, and what to send for later. She tried different hairstyles between events and talked to Chad each evening. Mallory was impressed that her sister followed her fiancé’s request that she not call him at work.

  Clarissa Scarbrough fretted.

  Mallory didn’t really seem to care about the thank you note issue, which Clarissa brought up on Monday over the phone.

  “No,” Mallory said. “I don’t want to start writing them for her. I have a job and she’ll be in Mobile with plenty of time on her hands. She needs to write them herself and Chad can write some, too. Maybe we could jot down a few sample notes for her to f
ollow. Honestly, Aunt Clarissa, I haven’t finished writing the thank you notes to all the people who sent flowers and food when Noreen died, and Miranda hasn’t written a one.”

  “Well, I’ve written quite a few of those to those who came by here,” Clarissa said, primly. Sometimes we all need to work like a team for family’s sake.”

  “Yes, and sometimes, Miranda needs to be on the team. It isn’t my responsibility to thank people for Miranda’s wedding gifts,” Mallory said firmly, “and it isn’t yours either. Besides, if they aren’t postmarked from Mobile, people will know she didn’t write them.”

  “Well, it’s just going to worry me sick,” Clarissa said. “You’re sister is sweet as an angel, but you know as well as I do that there’s no way in the world we can make her get them done once she’s over there. You save me a copy of that list and I’ll just write them all myself after the wedding. Maybe I can send them to Chad and he can mail them from Mobile.”

  Mallory didn’t argue.

  The next day, Clarissa was fretting about birdseed.

  “We have to get together this evening and make the birdseed bags to give out at the reception,” Clarissa told Miranda and Mallory on Tuesday as they were leaving the luncheon given by Noreen’s Sunday School Class.

  “I was so hoping that somebody would have thought of that at one of these events,” she said.

  “Well, I’d be fine if nobody threw birdseed at me!” Miranda said.

  “Well, dear, most of them won’t even do it,” Clarissa said. “It’s just a tradition, like when you change to your going-away outfit and throw your bouquet, but we must have them.”

  She turned to Mallory, “Could you take care of that, dear? All you need is some pretty pink nylon net or maybe organdy and some pink ribbons and a bag of birdseed. It will be fine if we just have a hundred, I think, because so many people leave a reception early.”

  “Where do I buy pink nylon net or organdy?” Mallory asked.