by Carol A. Guy
“Isn’t Rudy’s birthday today?” Adelaide asked Tina.
“Don’t remind him, for heaven’s sake. He’s grousing around like you wouldn’t believe.” Tina smiled. “I told him forty-six isn’t old. I’m forty-six. I don’t feel old.”
“And people say women are the vain ones,” Adelaide replied as they approached the church.
“I guess I’m early.” Tina looked at her watch.
“Come on in. It’s only twenty minutes until we open.” Adelaide took out her key and led Tina to the basement door off the kitchen. On the other side she could hear muted conversations. The cooks were already here, of course, probably had been for an hour or more. Besides the box lunches being served today, they had to begin preparing tonight’s dinner, which was sold out.
“Are you eating here tonight?” Adelaide asked Tina.
Tina shook her head. “Can’t. Rudy’s mother is cooking his birthday dinner at her place.”
“What do you hear from Leon?” Adelaide asked. The Engler’s twenty-one year-old son was in the Army, stationed in Germany. Through the years, Adelaide had formed a special bond with Leon, since she began tutoring him in difficult subjects when he was in the second grade. He’d been a bright, eager-to-learn child who had turned into an amazing adult. She’d already mailed his Christmas present a week ago.
“He’s doing fine. We’re a little disappointed he won’t make it home for the holidays, but he’s got leave coming up in March.”
They entered the kitchen amid stares from the workers along with a glare from Zelda Jackson, who again seemed to be in charge. Adelaide quickly shepherded Tina into the social hall. Already, baked goods were visible on the tables in the back. Two choir members, both women with grey hair and rosy cheeks, waved at them. Adelaide told them, “I’m on my way up to the office to get the cash drawers. Be back in a minute.” To Tina, she said, “Go ahead start looking around. Like last year, the merchandise is in the classrooms.”
Adelaide checked the time as she went upstairs. Hopefully either Jerry Hatfield, Carl Henshaw or Reverend Underwood would be here to open the safe in the church office, since they were the only three with the combination. To her relief, the minister was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, money trays stacked in his arms. “I saw you coming up the alley.” He handed her the trays rather abruptly. “I have to make a couple of hospital visits.” He stepped around her and hurried out the front door, allowing the people waiting outside to come in even though it wasn’t time to open.
Feeling somewhat flustered, Adelaide made a beeline for the basement where she quickly handed out the money trays to the workers.
* * * *
By eleven o’clock that morning the church was filled with holiday shoppers. Adelaide was taking her turn at the baked goods table. “These gingham aprons are a nice touch, Ethel. You’re quite the seamstress.”
“I wish everyone felt that way. Zelda Jackson refused to wear one yesterday afternoon. Probably because she didn’t think of it herself,” Ethel snapped.
Today Ethel was wearing a black dress accented by a red blazer. On her feet were black orthopedic shoes.
Adelaide knew Ethel had leg problems, which didn’t surprise her. After all, the woman had worked as a nurse for decades, first in Marietta then at the Crescent Falls Medical Center when it was built in the early 1980s. Long hours on her feet had done some damage. When she retired two years ago at the age of sixty, she’d had some of the varicose veins lasered away but many of the deeper ones remained.
Just as Adelaide finished with a customer, her attention was drawn across the room. In the doorway stood Reverend Douglas Underwood, looking around as though searching for someone in the crowd. Momentarily, Susan Hatfield entered the social hall from the kitchen. She stopped in mid- stride when she spotted the minister. He gave her a short nod of the head, then left. Susan looked around surreptitiously then strode toward the main doorway.
“Can you handle things for a moment, Ethel?” Adelaide asked.
Ethel raised an eyebrow. “I saw that, too.”
“I’ll be right back.” Adelaide stepped out from behind the table, following the preacher and Susan from the social hall.
They were standing in an alcove by the door at the end of the hallway, the one leading outside. From the look of things, they were having a heated conversation. Adelaide blended in with a group of shoppers heading for the middle classroom, all the while keeping an eye on the twosome. She watched as Susan swiped what could be a tear from her cheek. When Reverend Underwood reached out to her, she pulled away. He was talking urgently now while she shook her head vehemently. Then she abruptly turned, pushed open the door and fled. He looked ready to follow her, but at the moment Fran Underwood came out of a nearby classroom. She grabbed her husband’s arm. They had words, after which he wrested his arm from her grasp, leaving quickly through the same door Susan had used.
“Looks like there’s more than just a snow storm brewing,” Zelda Jackson said from just behind Adelaide. “It’s pretty obvious what that was all about?”
Of all the people to witness that scene let alone find Adelaide spying on the preacher and Susan, it would have to be the town gossip. “Really? And what would that be?” she asked the woman, who now stood beside her in the hallway.
Zelda’s nasty smile told Adelaide she wasn’t buying the innocent act. “You know as well as I do that there’s something going on between those two.”
Adelaide turned to Zelda. “Aren’t you scheduled to work in the kitchen until after lunch?”
“My allergies are acting up, probably from all the mold and mildew in this basement. I’m going home for a while. I’ll be back later to help with the dinner,” Zelda said. She headed for the main stairs, her breath coming in short gasps as she began the climb.
I’m sure we can get along without you. Enough, Adelaide. Stop it. She may be a troublemaker but she does a lot of work around the church. You know the golden rule—treat volunteers like gold for they are a precious commodity.
* * * *
Jerry Hatfield exited his Monte Carlo in the church parking lot just as his wife Susan came out the basement door. She looked upset, as though she’d been crying. Hurrying up to her, he took hold of her arm, ushering her to a secluded spot near some bushes.
“What’s going on, Susan. You left this morning before I was up. Where did you go?” he demanded.
She pulled away. “I took a drive then I came here. I was scheduled to work at the bake sale.”
Jerry stepped closer. He was tired of the lies. What he wanted now was the truth. “You took a ride at seven in the morning? Where to? It must have been a heck of a ride.”
Looking ready to flee, Susan backed away, brushing against a spiny shrub. “I just needed to think, that’s all.” She sidestepped.
“I’ve had enough of this, Susan. You met him somewhere, didn’t you? Where? Here? Is that what you do now, cavort with the preacher in the church? How low can you go?” Jerry knew he was losing it but didn’t care at this point.
“Keep your voice down. Do you want everyone to hear?” Susan’s face was twisted up in a tense expression.
“You think people aren’t talking?” He barked out a sharp laugh. “Guess again. I told your boyfriend I’d see him defrocked and I meant it.” He grabbed her arm again, twisting it until she winced.
“Everything all right here?” Carl Henshaw said from nearby.
Jerry let go of Susan. When he reeled around, the sight of his easy-going friend acted like a splash of ice water in his face. Suddenly the anger was gone. Replacing it was a deep sadness that he’d been reduced to such behavior. He wasn’t the kind of man who would lay a hand on his wife.
Susan stepped around her husband. “I was feeling a little woozy. Jerry was just trying to make sure I didn’t fall.”
Jerry could tell Carl wasn’t buying it. He’d heard too much, obviously.
“Don’t lie for me, Susan. Or does lying come so easily to yo
u now you do it automatically?” He glanced again at Carl. “Sorry. I need to get inside. I promised to help move the tables around after lunch so they’d be set up for the dinner tonight.”
Behind him, he heard Susan mumble something like, “I need to get away from here.”
Carl followed Jerry inside. “Why don’t you and Susan come out to lunch with us tomorrow after church? We’re going to the Dovetail Inn; it’s Ethel’s favorite restaurant.”
Jerry felt his stomach clench with anxiety. Carl meant well, but didn’t he realize it was useless. “We’ll skip the lunch, but I would like to meet with you tomorrow afternoon, privately. Mind if I come to your place about two-thirty?” He wanted to out the good reverend, brand him for the home wrecker he was. Plus he needed Carl’s input on another matter, one that was going to need their attention next week by the look of things.
“Sure. We’ll have dessert while we talk. Ethel’s baked several of her cherry pies. I made sure she saved one back.”
Ethel’s cherry pie, what could be more comforting?
“I’ll be there. Who can turn down Ethel’s baking?” Jerry said as he accompanied Carl into the social hall.
* * * *
Adelaide’s box lunch had consisted of a ham sandwich, a small package of chips and an apple. She’d eaten quickly; now she was suffering from a slight case of indigestion.
She checked her watch. It was almost two o’clock. The bake sale was over and the men were coming in to set up more tables for tonight’s dinner. She saw Carl and Jerry enter via the back door. They seemed engrossed in a serious conversation so she didn’t want to intrude. Ethel approached, handing Adelaide the till from the bake sale, which she needed to take up to the safe at once. As luck would have it, she saw Reverend Underwood coming out of the kitchen.
“Could you open the safe for me so I can put this money inside?” she asked him.
“I was just on my way upstairs to my study. Let me take it for you,” he offered.
She noticed the strange look he gave Jerry Hatfield.
Can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll bet the last person he wants to run into is Susan’s husband.
She watched as Reverend Underwood approached the door. Carl and Jerry were now headed toward the back corner of the social hall where the extra tables were stored on large, movable racks. She couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. An awkward confrontation had been avoided.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Adelaide smiled as she turned to find Vernon Dexter standing there. “Who’s minding the store?”
“No one. I just closed for the day—sent everyone home, including the people sitting at the soda fountain. Told them to take their business elsewhere.”
It was typical patter for them. Of course the pharmacy was not closed. On Saturday afternoons Vernon had a retired pharmacist named Marvin Bernard from Marietta come in to fill prescriptions. It gave Marvin some extra money while at the same time allowing Vernon a little break on the weekends. He’d go back at six to close up shop, after which he would put the deposit in the bank’s night depository.
“You missed lunch, but I saved you one. I think it’s a turkey sandwich, chips and an orange,” Adelaide told him.
She led him into the kitchen where the aroma of cooking chicken plus fresh apple pie filled the air. She got his box lunch from the refrigerator. They re-entered the social hall, taking a seat at one of the tables. Around them, men were converging to help set up additional tables.
As in years past, there would be eight double rows, split down the middle by an aisle. All totaled that would be 128 people who had reserved seats for this evening’s dinner. At twelve dollars a pop, eight for children under twelve, the church usually realized a good profit.
Once Vernon was finished eating he began helping with the tables while Adelaide decided to check on the classrooms, where she hoped they were selling out of merchandise.
As she was leaving the social hall a small boy tugged on her blazer. “When is Santa coming?” he asked in a plaintive voice.
She looked down into large blue eyes. Close behind him was a harried looking mother. “So sorry. He’s really excited.”
Adelaide squatted down so she was eye level with the child. “Santa will be here very soon. I’ll bet you can’t wait, huh?”
Each year, Jerry Hatfield played Santa at a party for less fortunate children that included games, treats and gifts. Parents were required to register their child by Thanksgiving Day for attendance. Toys were donated by the entire community and some were purchased by the churches. This year, in spite of the hard economic times, the citizens of Crescent Falls had come through with a bountiful harvest of gifts.
“Tell you what, why don’t you go to that room right there,” Adelaide pointed toward the nursery, “and play with the other children while your Mommy shops? You’ll have fun, I guarantee it,”
“Can I go to play with the other kids, Mommy? Please? Just don’t let me miss Santa.”
Throwing Adelaide a grateful look, the young mother took her son’s hand, rushing off in the direction of the nursery.
“You’re a natural-born grandmother,” Vernon said from just behind her.
Adelaide didn’t quite feel ready for that. “When the time is right, I know I’ll spoil my grandchildren rotten.”
“That might happen sooner than you think, Addy,” Vernon said.
She felt a gnawing in her mid-section. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Vernon smiled widely. “Not likely.” He winked at her as he turned and walked away. “I think I’ll do some Christmas shopping,” he called over his shoulder.
“Men!” Adelaide scoffed.
Chapter Nine
“It’s quarter to three, where’s Santa?” Carl Henshaw asked Adelaide.
“Don’t fret. Jerry…I mean Santa…will be here soon,” Ethel told him. Then to Adelaide, “He’s like a little kid, I swear.”
Santa was scheduled to arrive in the social hall at two-thirty, where he would pass out the gifts to the children after which there would be games and other activities. As he did every year, Jerry Hatfield had slipped away to change into his costume in the church balcony, since the sanctuary was off limits to visitors during the bazaar.
Parents with their children in tow had begun arriving around two-fifteen. “The young ones are getting restless. Has anyone seen him?” Adelaide asked. She glanced around the room where dozens of children wiggled restlessly in chairs while others wallowed on the floor, impatiently awaiting St. Nicholas’s arrival.
* * * *
Running late as usual, Hester Ryan entered the church at two-forty. Her eight-year-old daughter, Alise, ran along the main hallway toward the sanctuary instead of going down to the basement where the bazaar was being held.
“This way, Alise!” Hester called. Alise either didn’t hear her or pretended not to, Hester wasn’t sure which. In any event, she followed the child, intent on steering her in the right direction.
Hester saw Alise open one of the double doors leading to the sanctuary. “Don’t go in there! Come back here at once.”
“Look, there’s a big Christmas tree in there, Mommy! Let’s go look at it,” Alise called as she skipped down the aisle. The door began to close behind her.
Hester followed her daughter. “Always going her own way, never listening.” She looked around, taking in the poinsettias lining the alter rail. She wasn’t familiar with the inside of this church, since her family attended St. Mark’s Lutheran across from the high school. “Come on, Alise, you don’t want to miss Santa.”
Hester stopped short at the sight of Alise staring at something in one of the pews. Her face was screwed up in a frown.
Hurrying to the child, she saw why Alise was perplexed. “What is that, strawberry syrup?” She stared at the crimson puddle on the seat. No, that wasn’t right. She raised her eyes then gasped.
Alise looked up also. “Look Mommy, Santa is asleep.”
Hes
ter felt her mouth go dry and her pulse speed up as she looked at the figure doubled over the balcony railing. The red liquid saturating Santa’s white beard was blood, she realized, as a droplet landed with a plop on the seat just inches away.
Hester grabbed her daughter’s hand, meaning to flee from the horrible scene. Instead she found herself unable to move. So she began screaming at the top of her lungs.
* * * *
The scream was as loud as the wail of a siren. Adelaide jumped up from her seat, alarm charging through her like a locomotive.
Vernon got up, looking around. “What the heck was that?” He headed for the stairs.
Carl Henshaw followed with Adelaide close behind.
“It came from upstairs,” Adelaide said as she ran up the steps.
They rushed as a group along the main hallway into the sanctuary where they found a tallish, brown-haired woman Adelaide recognized as Hester Ryan clutching her small, blonde daughter, Alise.
“Santa’s bleeding,” Alise said, pointing up into the balcony.
Adelaide didn’t quite understand what was going on until she saw the pool of blood on the pew and looked up. “My Lord,” she whispered.
“Is that Jerry?” Vernon asked.
“Who else?” Carl replied. He got out his cell phone. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”
Adelaide laid a hand on Vernon’s arm. “Take Hester and Alise into the church parlor. Make sure the sanctuary door closes on your way out. After you put them in the parlor stand guard outside these doors and don’t let anyone in except the police and paramedics.” She motioned for Carl to follow her as she ran up the balcony stairs, cautioning him not to touch anything along the way.