by Edie Claire
Bess shot a glance at Maura, then exhaled loudly. "Flower money is one thing, but this is out of control, and I've got to stop it. I won't let the congregation get cheated in perpetuity."
Leigh looked around the room, watching with disappointment as person after person filed down front, offering their condolences—and probably their checkbooks—to the blubbering widow.
Her aunt had her work cut out for her.
Chapter 19
"Excuse me! Excuse me, everyone. I have something to say."
An elderly man, even more frail looking than Ed, had slowly made his way up to the podium. He pulled the microphone into a shaky hand, and repeated himself until the noise died down.
Leigh leaned over to her aunt's ear. "Who is that? Is he a board member, too?"
Bess shook her head. "That's Reuben Colisimo. Old-time Presby man. He's a dear, but I'm afraid he's gone a bit daft the last few years. He absolutely adored Humphrey—they used to play pinochle together."
"Thank you," the man said finally, when the room hushed. "There's something I want to say. You all know me. I've been a member of this church—in this building—longer than God." He chuckled at his own joke, then continued. "And you know what a wonderful man I always thought the Reverend Humphrey was. He did what no one else around here could do—he brought the life back into Franklin Presbyterian Church."
Bess fidgeted, then vented into Leigh's ear while Reuben continued to sing the reverend's praises. "He doesn't even realize we're not a Presbyterian church anymore," she sighed.
"Maybe I was closer to the reverend than most," Reuben continued, "and maybe that's why he chose me to speak to. I don't rightly know, but I believe it's my duty to pass his message on to you."
Leigh and Bess turned their attention back on the speaker. His message?
"The reverend appeared to me in a dream last night," Reuben said proudly, his voice getting louder. "Maybe I was asleep, and maybe I wasn't, but I know my good friend when I see him. He told me he was preparing to move on to the other side—and frankly, friends, he seemed plum happy about that. But he also told me something else. He said, 'you've got to keep it going, Reuben. You've got to keep the people together. It's all up to you.'"
He paused and swallowed. "And then he told me this, I'm sure because he knew his dear wife would be talking to you this morning. He said, 'and I want you to make sure my sweet Noel is taken care of. I want you to make sure her mission has everything it needs. It's more important than you know. Because you see, there's a little boy at that mission. A fine little boy named Kunta—and he's been chosen by God for a very important task. But I've also seen that without the help of Noel and her mission, that little boy is going to die. I'm speaking to you tonight because I know you won't let that happen, Reuben.' That's what he said."
The silence that fell over the sanctuary was deafening. It was broken only by a muffled exclamation from Noel, who had sunk into the pastor's chair, surrounded by earnest comforters. "Oh, my Lord!" she said incredulously. "Kunta! How did you know about Kunta?"
Reuben Colisimo smiled benevolently. "I told you, my dear. Reginald Humphrey spoke to me himself—from the other side."
The room broke out in a frenzied buzz, and Reuben stepped away from the podium as several church members scrambled to approach him.
Leigh looked at Bess, whose eyes had gone from wide to narrow. "Reuben Colisimo is dreaming," she proclaimed. "It's nonsense."
Leigh watched as Noel pushed her way through the crowd to approach him, and the two embraced. "Do you think he's in on the scam?"
Bess humphed indignantly. "Reuben? Never. He's just losing his marbles."
"But the name," Leigh questioned. "How did he come up with that, you suppose?"
Bess humphed again. "Didn't you watch Roots, kiddo? It's probably the only African-sounding name a man like Reuben could think of."
Leigh considered. It was a pretty lame name choice. Had Noel only pretended to recognize it? It seemed a bit fortuitous, but it certainly was possible.
People continued to stream forward, a large crowd forming around Noel and Reuben. "This is bad," Bess said, clucking her tongue. "This is very bad."
Leigh watched with interest as Evelyn Ewing, again moving faster than a woman of ninety-one had a right to, pushed up to the podium and grabbed the microphone herself. She held it upside down at first, her lips moving unproductively as she talked into the cords. It took her a moment, but she finally flipped the device around, then proceeded to scream into it as a deafening squeal of feedback rocked the sanctuary.
"Quiet, please," she commanded ironically. "Quiet, everyone. I have something to say as well."
Bess leaned towards Leigh again, smiling. "Now this should be good," she said hopefully. "Evelyn might claim to have a thing going with Elvis, but underneath all that drama she's as sharp as a tack. She won't let this get out of hand."
"As everyone knows," Evelyn began, "I myself have had many brushes with our brothers and sisters on the other side. And as I told many of you already, the reverend himself also spoke to me—Thursday night." She paused a moment, and Leigh was surprised that she didn't repeat his alleged "avenge my murderer" command for all to hear. Instead she swallowed visibly, then continued in a much more tenuous voice. "But what I need to tell you now is that Reverend Humphrey also appeared to me last night. And this message was a little different."
The room, which had resumed buzzing quietly when Evelyn recited her paranormal qualifications, fell silent again at her change in tone. "This time he told me that it was wrong of him to ask for vengeance against his killer. He said that he had made peace with his murder, and that now he wanted only to ensure that some good came out of his untimely death. He told me that it was his wish that those who cared about him forget about him now—and instead make a commitment to support the Millenium Mission in Kananga."
Leigh stole a sideways glance at her aunt, whose mouth had dropped open. "No," Bess breathed softly. "Evelyn!"
The woman at the podium looked uncomfortable, almost as if she could hear Bess's admonishment. "And then he told me," she continued, her voice shaking, "that although he couldn't explain the situation fully, that the future of our own children could very well depend on a small African boy named Kunta."
Now Leigh's mouth dropped open as well. She wanted to believe her aunt was a decent judge of her own friends' character, but this was ridiculous. She had never seen a more obvious setup in her life. She looked back over her shoulder to the empty spot where Maura had been standing, and noticed that many members of the congregation seemed to agree with her assessment. A sizable number, both young and old, were walking out the back of the church.
Unfortunately, a larger number were pressing forward, eager to further interrogate Reuben and Evelyn. She looked through the growing mass of people milling about the altar, but could not see Noel among them. Wherever the little con artist had crept to, she hoped Maura was close behind.
Leigh was about to excuse herself to help in the chase when a rapidly hobbling Betty Ivey blocked her exit from the pew. "Bess," the older woman gasped, breathing heavily from her efforts. "We have to talk. We've got to stop this. I want you to call the board together—right away."
Bess looked into Betty's determined eyes and smiled. "Absolutely."
***
After checking to make sure that the red Monte Carlo was still parked out front, Leigh began to scour the church. Where would Noel have gone? She couldn't take off completely. Surely the cash that people might have had in hand wasn’t all she was hoping for. She would have to leave an address—probably a post office box. Then she would disappear…
No. Not with Maura Polanski on her trail. After all, homicide or no, they were clearly dealing with a case of fraud here. And fraud, thank God, was firmly in Maura's jurisdiction.
She had searched every corner and classroom of the small church building when it occurred to her that there was probably only one place Noel could excuse herself to wi
thout rousing suspicion. She pushed opened the door to the ladies' room outside the parlor, and was gratified to see Noel Humphrey repairing her streaked mascara in the mirror. Maura leaned comfortably against the wall behind her.
"So, tell me again, if you don't mind, Ma'am," Maura was saying companionably. "The mission in Kananga is supported purely by private contributions from independent churches?"
The detective raised an eyebrow to Leigh as if warning her not to interfere, and Leigh quickly dodged into a stall.
"I raise money wherever I can," Noel answered lightly, unable to completely cover the nervousness in her voice. "My husband was my biggest supporter, but I have other friends on the West Coast who help out."
Maura tapped her pen on her notebook. "Would you mind giving me their names?"
Noel gave a twittering laugh. "Oh, dear. I don't have all that information with me, I'm afraid. Can I call you later?"
When hell freezes over, Leigh thought skeptically, wondering how long she could get by with eavesdropping. Should she flush the toilet for realism?
"I'd like as much information now as you could give me," Maura insisted politely. "It's important that the church members be confident their money is going to a good cause."
"Oh, of course!" Noel agreed brightly. "I have some pamphlets—all about the mission and what it does. I use them in my fund raising. I don't have any with me at the moment—perhaps I could bring them to you?"
Leigh flushed the toilet, and missed Maura's next comment. "The detectives who are investigating your husband's death would very much like to talk to you," the detective was saying as Leigh tuned back in. "In fact, I was hoping you'd come back to the station with me. With your help, I believe they might be able to wrap up the case this weekend."
There was a pause as Noel digested this information. "You know who killed my husband? For sure?"
A hard knock landed on the stall door, and Leigh opened it sheepishly. She didn't need to look at Maura's eyes to read the message they were relaying. Enough already. Get out.
Leigh walked to the sink and washed her hands at a leisurely pace. Noel paid little attention—her eyes were fixed on Maura. "Answer me!" she demanded. "Do you know who killed him?"
"Possibly no one, Ma'am," Maura answered calmly. "But you'll need to ask the homicide detectives about that. Shall we go talk to them?"
Leigh dried her hands on a paper towel and started to arrange her hair in the mirror, but Maura's reflected glare made her change her mind. She sighed and opened the door to leave. She let it swing back slowly, hoping to hear Noel's reply, but none came. The little minx was probably weighing her curiosity against her chances of being arrested for something. And the more they found out about Noel, the more likely "something" seemed to be. What made her so sure that Humphrey had been murdered?
Leigh was halfway back to the sanctuary when an unpleasant thought struck her. In light of everything else that had happened since, she had forgotten about the first phone call Bess had gotten that morning.
I know you killed him. All of you.
Could Noel have disguised her voice to sound like a man? It was the most logical explanation. Noel was the only one—with the possible exception of Evelyn Ewing—who seemed certain that Humphrey had been murdered. She knew that Bess had broken into Humphrey's house the night of the fire. She also knew that Bess and/or Leigh had stolen the key to his mini-storage unit. If she had half a brain, she would know they were onto him.
Then there was the bizarre incident with the recyclables bin. It did look as though Humphrey had set that up—probably just to intimidate Bess into not spilling anything she knew or suspected about his role in the fire. If he'd told Noel about that too—and why wouldn't he—it would give her even more reason to suspect that Bess had it in for him.
Leigh digested this theory for another moment, then exhaled in frustration. Surely Noel didn't believe that a woman like Bess would actually kill a man over a lame attempt at extortion. At worst, it would be her word against his, and though the congregation might believe Humphrey's version of events at first, once the police started investigating they were bound to find skeletons in the pastor's closet—and his credibility would be shot.
So what would make Noel or anyone else so sure that Bess—and whoever the heck "all of you" referred to—had committed murder?
She walked while she thought. And why had Noel come to Pittsburgh in the first place? Was she was part of the plan all along? Perhaps Humphrey—having decided the time was right to give up this particular gig—planned to disappear mysteriously, to be believed dead at the hand of his fictional enemies. Then Noel was to come looking for him. Why? So they could squeeze even more money out of the congregation, of course.
Leigh stopped in her tracks. Kunta. The visions. Maybe Evelyn and Reuben weren't in on the game. Maybe they'd been tricked. Tricked into believing they'd really seen Humphrey's ghost. It wouldn't be too difficult, since neither appeared to have all their marbles. Humphrey could show up with some cheap white makeup and a spotlight—
She shook her head. It was a brilliant plan, but there was just one problem. Reginald Humphrey was dead.
Wasn't he? A chill crept up her spine, and she started walking quickly. Of course he was dead. She had seen him with her own eyes. Maybe she could be tricked with a wax figure or something—given that the body was frozen stiff—but the coroner certainly couldn’t be. And the odds of a switch in the ambulance were too ridiculous to contemplate.
Humphrey was dead. Period. And for whatever reason, Noel—and possibly somebody else—seemed certain that he was murdered. Leigh stopped walking again as a new thought struck her. She might not be able to think of any reason why Bess would want Reginald Humphrey dead, but evidently someone else could. Perhaps Bess did have a reason to kill him.
Perhaps she just didn't know it.
Chapter 20
Leigh reached the parlor just as Bess and the other board members were filing in. She didn't wait to be invited, just hustled in and busied herself finding a foot rest for her aunt. If she was lucky, no one would notice her.
Bess, for one, didn't seem to mind her presence. "We need to talk," she said heavily, as the other board members found seats and pulled them into a tight ring. Leigh slipped out of the circle and sat in a folding chair against the wall. "I'm going to tell you people what I think, and I'm going to tell you now, because it's the only thing that's going to save this congregation from self-destructing."
Leigh took a breath. Bess was finally going to fess up about Humphrey. It was about time.
"Reverend Humphrey may or may not have believed in her," Bess began, "but I'm telling you, I know for a fact that Noel Humphrey is a complete fraud."
Leigh exhaled in frustration. Noel Humphrey?
"Well, hell's bells!" began Ed, gesticulating wildly. "Any third grader knows that! We’ve got to face facts here, people. The time has come. We've got a great church here, with great people. But everyone in this room knows it's built on nothing but a house of cards. Humphrey was rotten to his drawers! For God's sake, the man's dead. Can't we all admit it now?"
Leigh sat frozen in her chair, her mouth dropping open for the fifth time that day. She stole a glance at Bess, whose fillings were equally visible.
"Ed's right," Betty Ivey said firmly, standing up. "We all know what's going on here. Except, perhaps, for you, dear." She nodded sympathetically at Bess. "And I daresay it was only a matter of time."
"Nobody needs to get into specifics," piped up Sam Schafer, the youth leader. "Nobody wants to do that—that's why we let it go this long. But I agree—we can talk about it now. The man's dead."
"How do we know he didn't talk to Noel?" The voice came from a younger woman Leigh didn't recognize, whose face was pale and whose hands were shaking. "If he told her everything he knew—"
"He didn't," Betty Ivey said firmly. She was still standing, as if what she was saying was too important for a chair. "I know he didn't. I talked with Noel ear
lier. She hinted, all right—she knew what he was doing—but she didn't have the details. If she had, she would have used them."
"Maybe she used it on Reuben and Evelyn," Sam suggested. "I can’t imagine why they'd say what they did otherwise."
"Possibly," Betty Ivey said thoughtfully. "But I think Humphrey was reasonably discreet. I think he stuck to board members—and potential board members. Reuben genuinely liked him. You know that, Ed."
Ed's flushed red face made him look ten years younger. "Most everybody did, Dammit."
"Stuck to board members with what?!" Bess screeched. She was out on the edge of her seat as far as she could get without toppling off, and if she didn't get answered, she undoubtedly would do just that. Leigh was thankful for the outburst. It kept her from making a similar one.
"Oh, dear," Betty Ivey said, deciding to sit down. "You really were in the dark, weren't you?"
Bess's eyes blazed.
"I'll tell you, then," Ed said firmly. He took a deep breath. "Reginald Humphrey was a world-class con artist. Not that he made himself that much money. I don’t think the money really drove him. It was the power."
The other board members nodded solemnly. "He was a talented preacher," Ed continued. "He could have been a damn good minister if his heart was really in it. And God help me, I believe he really did like most of it. But something in his mind was twisted. He wanted power over people. He craved it. He had to have control, even if it was just over the little things."
"Every little thing," the younger woman mumbled malevolently.
"He cultivated friendships, built trust. He took his time." Ed paused and looked at Bess. "He would have gotten to you too, eventually, I'm sure." Then he smiled. "Then again, maybe not. Maybe you'd be smart enough to keep your trap closed."
Bess's hand flew to her mouth, and not—Leigh guessed—because of Ed's reference to it. "The confessions!" she cried. "All that nonsense about unburdening your soul. I've never believed in that sort of—" She stopped and looked around the circle. "Oh, my God. He was blackmailing you. All of you."