by Carol A. Guy
Adelaide felt her stomach sink. “How did you find out about all of this?”
Daniel smiled at her. “Judy’s cousin is a member there. She had plenty to say about the good reverend. She’s known Fran since childhood. Anyhow, it seems that Douglas was born poor but oozed charisma. He had ambition, too. On the other side of the fence was Fran, the plain homely daughter of one of the richest men in the city. She fell for the handsome Douglas. Daddy saw that his daughter got what she wanted.”
“You make it sound like he bought Fran a husband.”
“It is what it is, Mother.” Daniel sipped his hot chocolate.
“What about the murder weapon?”
“Well, if we could find that, it would help, of course. We’re looking, believe me. Problem is, I don’t have enough yet to get search warrants.”
He stared into his mug of hot chocolate.
Adelaide’s mind was whirling. “Have you heard anything from the medical examiner?”
Daniel shook his head. “He promised a report by noon tomorrow.”
“On Sunday?”
Daniel sighed. “Death and the investigation thereof take no holiday.”
Adelaide drank the last of her hot chocolate. “Listen, Daniel, don’t you think it strange that Jerry was killed in the middle of the bazaar? The church was full of shoppers, all of them possible witnesses. The killer certainly took a big chance. Why not wait until a more opportune time?”
“When you look at it logically it was an opportune time, Mother. People coming and going, a big crowd, everyone preoccupied with shopping, having fun, eating good food. Jerry slipped away to change into the Santa costume, the killer followed, caught him alone, then did the deed.” Daniel drained his mug. Getting up, he took both empty mugs to the sink where he rinsed them out before placing them in the dish drainer. He turned around, looking at Adelaide again. “I’ve asked Susan Hatfield to come in to the station tomorrow at one for an interview. The preacher is coming at three.”
Adelaide would love to sit in on those interviews, but knew it was out of the question. She had no official standing with the police department even though she often aided them in certain types of investigations. Murder, however, was quite a different matter.
“I still can’t believe either Susan or Douglas would do such a horrible thing, especially not in the church,” Adelaide said.
Oscar came into the kitchen and proceeded to rub against Daniel’s leg, wanting attention. He reached down, stroking the cat’s head. “Love makes people do crazy things, Mother. So does fear. Don’t forget that Underwood’s career was on the line. If Jerry exposed the affair it could have meant goodbye ministry. In all likelihood a divorce would have resulted, which in turn would mean he’d no longer be privy to Fran’s family money.”
“You make him sound so cold, so conniving.”
“Maybe he is. Let’s not ignore the possibility that he might have conspired with Susan Hatfield to get rid of her husband.” Daniel headed for the foyer.
As he donned his coat, Adelaide said, “Are you going to speak further to Fran?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s hiding something. Judy’s sure she lied about Underwood being with her during the time of the murder. She just as easily could have taken that shopping trip alone. Maybe her husband caught up with her later and coerced her into an alibi.”
Adelaide opened the front door, letting in a blast of cold winter air. Daniel hesitated on the threshold. “Look, I know you talked to Brenda earlier. She’s beside herself over this. I appreciate you inviting her over here for soup.”
Adelaide saw her opening so she took it. “I must say I was a little surprised to learn she had a key to your condo, Daniel. Are things between you two more serious than you let on?”
Daniel seemed a little uncomfortable, like the time when he was eleven and she’d caught him flexing his muscles in the full length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. “Just seems more convenient, that’s all. Brenda is good for me, Mother. She’s what I need right now. We’ll just have to see where it goes.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Adelaide watched him walk away, hunching his broad shoulders against the chill of the night and the heavy snowfall.
Chapter Thirteen
By Sunday morning, a six-inch layer of pristine-white snow covered the town of Crescent Falls. Under other circumstances, Adelaide would have marveled at how much Hawthorne Avenue, with its Victorian style homes lining both sides of the street, looked like a picture postcard from the past.
But not even the winter wonderland displayed outside could lift her spirits. She’d gathered the newspaper from the front porch and now carried it into the kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee awaited her.
The Crescent Falls Tribune was normally a weekly paper published on Thursdays. Its owner of nine years, Rick Blanchard, had upheld that tradition when he purchased the paper from its former owner nine years ago. On special occasions, when warranted, extra editions were published. No doubt the murder of a prominent member of the community at a church bazaar qualified as a special circumstance.
With a mounting sense of dread, Adelaide opened the paper. The headline, in large bold print, read—MURDER AT THE CHURCH BAZAAR!
“Oh, my.” She threw the paper on the kitchen table. Going to the counter, she poured herself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal, then brought them back to the table, where she sat down to continue reading.
Glancing at the byline, she wasn’t surprised to see the article was written by the paper’s star reporter, Julie Buckner Simpson. Julie was a hometown girl who had gone away for a while after an unhappy marriage to her high school sweetheart ended. At the time there were rumors of drug use. She’d returned to Crescent Falls eight years ago. A week later she was working as a reporter. Her tabloid style of writing was a little too brash for Adelaide’s tastes, but she had to admit the girl had talent.
As Adelaide read, certain things jumped out at her, including an extremely accurate description of the crime scene in all its gory detail. Julie had interviewed Hester and Alise Ryan, who seemed only too happy to reveal every detail of their ordeal. It was also obvious to Adelaide that someone close to the investigation was the reliable source who divulged a description of the neck wound that killed Jerry.
Perhaps a police officer? Does Daniel have a mole in the department?
Adelaide finished the article, then threw the paper down in disgust.
Daniel will not be happy when he sees this. My guess is he will be reaming out every officer on the force, including the dispatchers, for this information leak.
Then she had a thought. The medical examiner’s office could just as easily be to blame, or the coroner, for that matter. Even the paramedics unnecessarily called to the scene or the people who removed the body might have talked out of turn. The list went on.
Adelaide’s mind wandered to thoughts of the Crescent Falls volunteer fire department. Formed ten years ago, it occupied a cinderblock building on the west end of Mulberry Street. Two of the firemen, Paul Carmody, Dora’s twenty-seven year old son, and Reed Fletcher, Lloyd’s twenty-two year old son, were certified paramedics. Could Lloyd’s son Reed be the leak? After all, there was no love lost between Reed’s father and Daniel, so any chance to make her son look bad would be pounced on immediately.
The volunteer fire department consisted of four other members—Bob and Dick Jackson, Zelda’s sons, Harry Buckner, Julia’s brother and the son of local market owner Hal Buckner, and Tim Hunter, who was the fire chief. However, none of them had been called to the scene yesterday.
She glanced up at the ornate clock on the kitchen wall. It was almost nine-thirty. She’d decided not to attend Sunday school today. With a knot the size of a fist in her stomach, she got up, took her half-empty cereal bowl and coffee cup to the sink and rinsed them out then trudged upstairs to finish getting ready for church.
* * * *
Adelaide wasn’t surprised the church parking lot was packed. Luckily
she found one of the few remaining slots. A TV news van was just pulling away from the curb. Standing on the sidewalk, hands on his hips watching their departure, was Police Sergeant Ray Butler.
When she entered via the smaller door adjacent to the lot, she noticed that the balcony staircase just off the foyer was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. She assumed the stairs on the other side of the sanctuary were similarly blocked.
For the occasion today Adelaide had chosen to wear a gray wool pantsuit with a white blouse. It was warm inside the church, so she shed her full length black cashmere coat and hung it in the small alcove containing several coat racks.
A tall young usher handed her a bulletin. He nodded somberly but didn’t speak. She seemed to recall he and his rather anorexic looking wife had recently joined the church.
“Isn’t it eerie here today, Adelaide?” said Dora Carmody as she rushedby, her maroon choir robe flowing behind her in the breeze from the open doorway where two teens had just entered. “I needed to give the organist some last minute changes.” She kept walking, not waiting for a reply or comment.
In the background Adelaide could hear the soft organ prelude that signaled the service would start in five minutes. Her gaze went to the pew that just yesterday had contained that awful pool of Jerry’s blood. It was clean but empty. Otherwise almost all the seats were taken.
There were a couple of conspicuous absences, however. She didn’t see Fran Underwood in her usual spot—second pew to the right of the main aisle. Also, Susan Hatfield didn’t seem to be in attendance, not that she really expected her to be. There was a tension in the air, like the worshipers were collectively holding their breath in anticipation of what would happen next.
She wended her way around the back of the nearest grouping of pews to the spot where Ethel Henshaw sat, midway down the larger section to the left of the main aisle. Squeezing past several parishioners, she sat down in the vacant spot next to her friend. Ethel was wearing a navy blue dress with a simple string of pearls around her neck.
“I saved you a seat. Carl’s ushering. I knew it would be crowded. Most of these people only come at Christmas and Easter,” Ethel said just loud enough for those around them to hear.
Adelaide couldn’t help but notice that many of their neighbors shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“Where’s Fran?” Adelaide whispered.
“I would imagine she’s too devastated by the rumors to show her face,” Zelda Jackson said as she turned around from the pew in front of them. The gleam in her eyes was as predatory as ever. “Did you see that article in the paper this morning? I’d say it won’t be long before Susan Hatfield gets what she deserves, along with you-know-who.” Her voice was more of a hiss than a whisper. Several people turned to look her way.
“And just what is it that Susan deserves,” Adelaide asked, leaning forward so her voice wouldn’t carry as much.
“Come on,” Zelda scoffed. “I’ve been noticing the way those two look at each other for months. You saw what happened in the basement hallway during the bazaar, same as I did. Don’t pretend you aren’t thinking the same thing I am. Jerry was in the way and now he’s not.”
“I really think it’s too early in the investigation—”
Zelda cut her off with, “It’s really bad timing for Daniel, isn’t it? I mean what with his job being in jeopardy. If he doesn’t get this right, who knows what will happen to his police career.” With that, she turned around, settling herself in the pew.
“Oh my,” Ethel whispered.
Before Adelaide could tap Zelda on the shoulder and demand an explanation for those remarks about Daniel, the organist cranked up the volume as the first strains of Holy, Holy, Holy, the traditional anthem that signaled the choir’s entrance down the main aisle, echoed through the sanctuary. Rising as a group, the worshipers with hymnals in hand began to sing along.
The service was a strained affair with Reverend Underwood looking tired and pale as he recited the scripture. During the choir’s anthem, he sat in a red velvet upholstered chair off to the side of the pulpit staring into space, his attention obviously elsewhere. The sermon sounded vaguely familiar to Adelaide. Then it dawned on her that it was a sloppily revamped version of one he’d preached during Advent last year. No mention was made of Jerry Hatfield’s death until just before the offering plates were passed around.
“We’ve suffered a tremendous loss here at our church this weekend. I’m talking about the unfortunate death of Jerry Hatfield, a longtime member of this congregation. I’m sure we are all aware of the circumstance surrounding his passing. It is a tragedy. I’ve been informed that the funeral will take place Wednesday at one o’clock in the afternoon at Purcell’s Funeral Home. Visitation will be from eleven until one. Burial will be at the Crescent Falls Cemetery.” Among murmurs from the assemblage, he signaled for the ushers to bring forth the offering plates.
After the service ended, Adelaide decided to circulate so she could listen to what people were saying. Of course, Zelda Jackson’s voice carried down the main hallway as she spoke with three women from the Faithful Followers Sunday school class. “I certainly wouldn’t trust Purcell’s to do a decent job. Susan should have had him taken to Mallory’s in Rosewood, then brought him back to the church for the service.”
The women all nodded like sheep—not surprising, since they were Zelda’s cohorts on several church committees as well as various civic organizations, including the Historical Society.
Next Adelaide saw Lloyd Fletcher talking with Dora Carmody. She sidled up near them but not so close as to be obvious.
“We really need more public support for the casino, Dora. I’m having some flyers made up. I’d appreciate it if you’d give them out at the diner,” Lloyd said. He put a well-manicured albeit pudgy hand on her bare arm, giving it a squeeze.
Dora favored him with a half-smile. “Make them big enough to use as placemats. I’ll make sure everyone has to look at them while they eat.”
Lloyd smiled brightly, exposing a row of white, even teeth. “Wonderful idea! You’re a woman to be admired, Dora.”
They moved away, out of earshot. Adelaide had wondered which side of the fence Dora was on regarding that issue, now she knew. She had found it distasteful, though, for the pair to be discussing the casino in church, especially in light of the tragedy that had taken place just a day ago. As she walked among the parishioners, she heard Jerry Hatfield’s death being discussed in hushed tones usually reserved for funeral home visitation conversations.
As she headed for the front door, hoping to mingle with the parishioners gathering on the sidewalk, Adelaide almost ran into Carl coming out of the church office.
“The offering is all locked up,” he told her. He looked peaked and his shoulders were slumped.
Ethel joined them. “I’m going to come in with Carl in the morning to count the offering. Reverend Underwood said it was all right. He said there should be two people.”
“Where is Douglas?” Adelaide asked using his first name as she often did, since they’d become close over the past year while working together on various projects.
“In his study, the last I saw of him,” Ethel replied. She leaned over closer to Adelaide. “Don’t pay any attention to what Zelda said. She makes up things all the time just to get attention. She doesn’t know anything about what goes on with the police.”
Adelaide smiled at her friend. Ethel was a good-hearted woman who would do anything for anyone. “I know. It’s already forgotten. Who is going to notify Mary Ellen Oliver she won the silent auction?”
Carl and Ethel exchanged glances. “We’re on our way to the Dovetail Inn for lunch—do you want to join us, and we can all go tell her later?” Ethel asked.
Adelaide thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’ll take a rain check on lunch. Where is the quilt? I’ll take it to Mary Ellen.” Truthfully, she had other plans.
I’ll take the quilt to Mary Ellen after lunch. Susan se
es Daniel at one. Once she’s home from the police station, I’ll drop in on her—a condolence call. Douglas sees Daniel at three. That will be the perfect time for me to visit Fran.
She didn’t need the likes of Zelda Jackson to tell her that the outcome of this murder investigation would determine Daniel’s fate as chief of police. The vultures were gathering, led by Lloyd Fletcher. He’d use this murder investigation to bury Daniel if possible. Adelaide intended to make sure that didn’t happen by doing some investigating of her own.
Chapter Fourteen
Daniel looked up from his desk just as Luke Fagan walked into his office. “Good, I’m glad you’re here. I just received a fax from the medical examiner’s office,” he told his lieutenant. “Take a look at this.” He handed the paper across the desk.
Luke read the report then handed it back. “What kind of knife are we talking about here?”
The description of the wound track indicated a straight, slender blade, much like a stiletto yet a little thicker. “Not sure. The wound was three inches deep.”
Luke took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Daniel’s desk.
“Maybe a switchblade?” Daniel surmised.
“Could be.”
“Nothing under his fingernails, lots of hairs from that fake beard on his Santa suit. Other than that, not much.” Daniel felt frustrated.
Luke had some news of his own. “The balcony was cleaned on Thursday, so the only prints I got besides some smudges on the backs of the pews were Hatfield’s and the janitor’s, a guy named Burt Muldoon. He’s in the system from a DUI a few years ago.”
Daniel shook his head. “I know Muldoon. He likes his beer, but I don’t see why he’d kill Jerry Hatfield, do you?”
“No. I talked with him and his better half earlier today. He was at home all afternoon on Saturday.”