Jolly Dead St. Nicholas

by Carol A. Guy

  Located on a large tract of land bordered by Dogwood Avenue and Beech Street in the northwest corner of town, the Crescent Falls Medical Center was a three story red brick building erected in the late 1980s. Next to it sat a modern looking dental clinic, all glass and steel with wide doors. Solar panels were visible on the roof.

  She found Dora sitting with Ethel in the emergency room waiting area. They both looked worried to death. At the sight of Adelaide hurrying toward them, Ethel jumped up, coming to meet her halfway. “Oh, they’re getting ready to take him to the ICU. I can’t believe this. What am I going to do?” She wrung her hands. Tears shone in her eyes.

  Tossing a magazine on a nearby table, Dora joined them. “There’s something with his heart now. They’re running more tests.”

  Adelaide felt sick inside. She led Ethel to an empty couch along one wall. Once they were seated, she said, “Tell me what happened.”

  “He must have been walking home from the church. He always took the alley. He was hit several times with something. They took his wallet. He…” She stopped with a gulp. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  Dora sat down in a chair opposite them. “I was taking out my trash when I saw something lying in the alley near the lot next to mine. At first I thought someone had hit an animal. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it was a person. The light was so dim along that stretch I didn’t realize who it was until I was right up on him. I called the paramedics at once.”

  Adelaide noticed Dora’s hands were shaking.

  Ethel said, “The police came also—Larry Schwartz and Dennis Ackerman. They have no idea what he was hit with. The foot tracks were almost obliterated by the heavy snow that was falling but they did see a second set besides Carl’s. They said, guessing by how much snow had filled up the footprints that he’d laid there for forty minutes at least. That’s just a guess, of course.”

  A nurse approached. “Mrs. Henshaw, they’re taking your husband up to the ICU now. You can go up to that waiting area. Only family may visit and for just fifteen minutes out of each hour.” She eyed Dora then Adelaide as though she could tell they were not family members.

  Adelaide turned to Dora. “You go on home. You have to get up to open the diner early in the morning. I’ll stay with Ethel.”

  Dora looked grateful to be rescued from the nightlong vigil. “You let me know how he’s doing, Ethel,” she said giving the woman a hug before hurrying away.

  Adelaide accompanied Ethel to the elevator, a feeling of dread settling like an unwelcome visitor in her mid-section.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Adelaide felt frazzled and unrested as she dragged herself into the Crescent Falls United Methodist Church on Tuesday morning. She’d stayed at the hospital until nearly four in the morning, at which time Ethel insisted she leave. “You can’t do anything here. I appreciate the company, but there’s no sense in both of us losing a night’s sleep.”

  Adelaide hadn’t argued. She knew she’d need all her wits about her later that morning. Today was the day she’d promised to sit in for Brenda in the church office.

  Finding the promised special edition of the town newspaper on her front porch, Adelaide had tossed it inside without even looking at the headline. She’d grown tired of the over eager reporter’s sensationalized story style.

  The church was empty as she entered the main hallway. Behind her the lock on the front door clicked loudly into place. Years earlier, after a former church secretary was assaulted, it had become necessary to install an intercom security system. Anyone without a key would need to press the button on the box beside the front door so the church secretary could ascertain the identity of the caller before allowing them access to the building.

  Adelaide unlocked the office door, flipping on the overhead fluorescent lights as she entered the room. The desk to her left was free of clutter. She took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner behind the door. As she’d done many other times when she filled in for church secretaries through the years, she unlocked the desk, placing her purse in the bottom left-hand drawer. The computer sat silently on the right side of the desk top. She debated about turning it on. She wasn’t very computer savvy and didn’t own one herself, but she knew she might need it at some point during the day, so she flipped the switch. She did know how to perform simple tasks on the machine. It hummed to life, red and green lights blinking furiously as it went through the startup cycle. She didn’t turn on the monitor. She’d do that later if she needed to use it.

  An early morning call to Ethel had confirmed that Carl’s condition was unchanged. He remained in a coma. “The police are sure it was a mugging. They found his wallet in the parking lot of the funeral home. Only the cash was gone. I think he was carrying about eighty dollars. Why would someone nearly kill a fine man like Carl for eighty dollars? He’d have given it to them if they’d only asked.” Ethel had sounded despondent, her voice ragged.

  Adelaide went to the coffee pot on the counter behind the desk and picked up the decanter, intending to fill it in the women’s restroom. A noise in the hallway stopped her cold. She exited the office just in time to see Douglas Underwood enter the small hallway leading to his study. She followed him, catching up just before he closed his door.

  “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be in today, Douglas,” she said, following him into the untidy room. Evidence of the search still littered his desktop. She idly wondered why Brenda hadn’t cleaned it up.

  “I came to clear out my things. I’ve been relieved of my duties for now,” he said tonelessly.

  “I see.” After what she’d heard from Daniel last night regarding Douglas’s checkered past, she wasn’t inclined to give him much sympathy, although she still had a hard time believing he was a murderer. “Carl Henshaw was attacked in the alley behind Dora Carmody’s home last night. He’s in intensive care.”

  “I heard about it on the news this morning.”

  His tone was neutral, as though they were discussing a complete stranger. A flash of anger coursed through Adelaide, followed by the certainty that the man was suffering from some sort of shock because his life was in shambles.

  “Where is Brenda?” he asked. His hazel eyes looked bloodshot. He was wearing jeans with a brown sweater. She saw no evidence of a coat anywhere.

  “Off for the day. I’m holding down the fort. Let me make some coffee, then I’ll help you sort through some of the mess the police left behind.” She exited the room before he could protest.

  Once the coffee was brewing in the office, she returned to the pastor’s study. He was sitting at his desk staring off into space. She sat down on the loveseat. She had a lot of questions, if only she could get him to open up. “You know, Douglas, I’m a very good listener, so if you want—”

  “No offense, Adelaide, but I really can’t talk to you about any of this. My lawyer—”

  “Yes, Mark Cardosa,” Adelaide interrupted. “I’m sure he doesn’t want you talking to anyone about your case, especially not the police chief’s mother.” She saw that his hand was trembling as he picked up some papers and stuffed them into an open file folder.

  Getting up, Adelaide closed the study door, more as a gesture than anything else. She wasn’t really expecting anyone with a key to come into the church this morning, but you never knew. Once she was seated again, she said, “I promise you, Douglas, anything you tell me this morning will be kept in strictest confidence. I will not tell my son.”

  He eyed her shrewdly as though trying to decide whether he should believe what she said. Finally he sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his middle. “I had no reason to kill Jerry Hatfield. His threat, the one you overheard on Friday morning, was worthless. The previous week, I filled out my retirement papers. I intended to file them this week. I’m leaving the ministry.”

  Adelaide could only stare at him open-mouthed.

  He continued, “I told Susan on Saturday afternoon. That’s why she tried to break it off. She was ma
king a sacrifice. She didn’t want me to abandon my career. I finally convinced her I planned to retire anyway, as well as end my marriage. I was going to wait until after the holidays to tell Fran I was leaving her.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Douglas.” Deep down, Adelaide had to ask herself if she believed in him simply because he was a minister and her upbringing had taught her they were above immoral deeds. Of course, they were human and as such susceptible to the same temptations as anyone else. Recent scandals within various denominations had proven that. But there was something about this entire case that bothered her on a visceral level, a gnawing in her gut that said things were not as they seemed.

  Standing up, Douglas began shuffling through some of the papers on the desk. “I’ve done some things through the years I’m not proud of, but I really am in love with Susan. I want us to have a life together. You go back to the office. I can handle this.” His tone left no room for argument. She’d been dismissed.

  Returning to the office, she checked her watch. It was nine-thirty. Just when she thought it was going to be a slow day, the phone started ringing. Evidently Carl’s mugging had made the local TV news. Church members were calling to find out about his condition. Adelaide was kept busy answering inquiries for the next couple of hours. By eleven-thirty she was hoarse and out of sorts. The coffee pot was empty. She left the office to go rinse out the decanter, passing the pastor’s study on her way. The door was wide open, the place stripped bare of all his personal belongings, including most of the books in the built-in shelves along the wall. She’d been so busy she hadn’t even heard him leave.

  After lunch, which was a ham sandwich eaten at the desk, she decided to do a little sleuthing on her own. An afternoon with no pastor underfoot would be quite uneventful, she was sure. She felt confident she would be able to examine the scene of Jerry’s murder without interruption. Voice mail would pick up any calls and only church members with keys could enter the building without being buzzed in. She’d just keep an ear out for the annoying, harsh sounding buzzer.

  The sanctuary was dim, almost foreboding. The beautiful Christmas tree near the altar looked like a shadowy stalker, ready to strike. Turning right, she made her way along the back of the pews to the balcony stairs. The crime scene tape was gone. Slowly she examined the stairs, including the banister—for what, she didn’t know. Had the killer come this way? She stopped midway up the steps. Turning, she went back down, walking behind the pews, crossing the main aisle to the other side of the sanctuary. An old door, rarely used now, was located along the wall next to those balcony stairs. It was kept locked at all times. In fact, Adelaide doubted if anyone even knew where the key was. Adelaide tried the door. The oddly shaped oval knob creaked as she turned it but the door didn’t open.

  But the knob does turn. If someone had the key…

  The balcony steps on this side of the sanctuary were only about five feet away from the old door.

  How easy it would be to slip in here—this door faces the alley—and quickly go up the stairs. Jerry was near the center of the balcony near the steps to the belfry. He would have been preoccupied with getting changed into the Santa suit. Later the killer could just retrace his steps and slip out the same door. The church basement was full of people coming and going through the main entrance. It would be quite simple to use the alley as an escape route.

  Adelaide’s mind was in a whirl, her thoughts rambling. However, that scenario did make a certain amount of sense.

  She slowly walked between the balcony pews, looking for any sign of blood. Had the killer cut himself? That often happened. Stabbing someone wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Attackers often got small cuts on their own hands. She stopped at the spot where she’d found Jerry’s body draped over the balcony railing. A shudder quivered up her spine. She leaned forward, viewing the pew below where the pool of blood had settled.

  There’s nothing here. The lab technicians vacuumed, swabbed and fingerprinted every inch of this area. What is there left to find?

  Feeling totally disheartened, Adelaide descended the stairs, making her way back to the church office.

  Around three o’clock a call came in from a parishioner with an address change. “I’m spending the winters in Florida now. I want the church newsletters sent here from December to May,” the woman said. Adelaide wrote the information on a pad of paper then told the woman to enjoy her winter in the sunny south.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Jerry Hatfield,” the woman said. “It’s just awful. Is it true Reverend Underwood has been suspended?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “What about Carl. Is he still in the hospital?” the woman asked.

  For someone in Florida, she surely knows a lot about what is happening here.

  Aloud, Adelaide said, “He’s still in a coma.”

  As though anticipating Adelaide’s unasked question, the woman said, “I read about everything on the Internet.”

  “The Internet?”

  “The Rosewood Gazette has a website. They’re covering the story. I’m sure Rick Blanchard at the Tribune is putting out special editions like mad.”

  Adelaide cringed. “Yes, he surely is.” They chatted for a few more moments, but Adelaide didn’t give the woman much more information. Let her get it online.

  After ending the call, Adelaide turned on the computer monitor, opening the file that contained church members’ information. She’d done this task dozens of times. Once the information was entered, she closed out the file. On the main screen were numerous icons. One in particular caught her eye, but when she clicked on it, a window appeared asking for a password.

  She logged off that site then moved the cursor up to the Favorites tab. Knowing Brenda, she probably had all the local news stations and papers listed there. Adelaide was right. She clicked on the Rosewood Gazette where she scanned the story about Carl’s attack. She felt her chest tighten when she read that one paramedic said lying in snow had staunched some of Carl’s bleeding, perhaps saving his life.

  Scrolling down, she passed about a dozen files. Near the bottom she found the listing for the local TV station’s website. There she read not only about Carl’s attack, but the murder of Jerry Hatfield. She went back to the Saturday night newscast, when the story first broke on the local station. There were some videos which she watched with avid interest. It was obvious from the beginning that the police were focusing on the widow and her lover, the local preacher.

  Snorting with disgust, Adelaide turned off the machine.

  When she left the church at four-thirty, she decided to drive to the medical center to check on Carl. No doubt Ethel would be there, keeping her vigil. She knew what it was like to sit for hours beside a sickbed. Moral support from friends and family was always welcome.

  When she arrived on the second floor, she saw through the glass partition into Carl’s room that Ethel was having one of her fifteen-minute visits. Glancing around the half-full waiting area, Adelaide took a seat on one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs. Moments later, to her surprise, she saw Harold Purcell walk in. He spotted her, a look of relief coming over his face. As always he was dressed tastefully, this time in a navy blue suit with a white shirt. Looped over his arm was a dark gray overcoat.

  “I just had to stop by to see how he is doing,” Harold said, sitting in the empty chair next to Adelaide. “If only he’d let me give him a ride home after the meeting.” The regret in his voice was evident. “I should have insisted.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Harold. I don’t think there has been any change,” Adelaide told him. She glanced into the room. Ethel was now holding Carl’s hand.

  “Will they allow us to visit?”

  Adelaide shook her head. “Family only, for now.” After a few moments of silence, she asked him, “How did the phone conference go last night with Leland Carver?” Adelaide had known the district superintendent for many years, having served on district committees herself. She’d always respected th
e man, but now had mixed feelings about him after discovering he’d assigned a known adulterer to their church.

  Harold nodded. “They’re sending Reverend Preston on Sunday. As for Reverend Underwood, he’s been relieved of his duties for the time being.”

  Adelaide nodded. “I know about the suspension. Douglas was at the church today, cleaning out his study.”

  “You spoke to him? How does he seem? Did he say anything about his situation? The rumors going around town are getting really out of hand.”

  Adelaide sighed. “I’m sure.” She had promised Douglas that their conversation would be confidential. “Even though I’m disappointed in his behavior with Susan, I still don’t think he killed Jerry.”

  Harold frowned. “You know, something else may have been going on with Jerry at the time of his murder, Adelaide.”

  This perked up her interest. “How so?”

  “Carl said something last night about Jerry being preoccupied in the weeks before his death. We agreed it couldn’t have been because of Susan and Douglas’s affair since he obviously didn’t know about it until right before he died. The more I thought about it, the more I realized Jerry did seem a little distracted during the time period Carl was referring to.”

  “Distracted how?”

  “Like he had something weighing on his mind. Something nagging at him.” Harold pursed his lips thoughtfully. “In fact he made a comment to me a few weeks ago, around Thanksgiving, about things not always being as cut and dried as we’d like them to be.”

  “Did he say what he meant?”

  “It was after a Rotary Club meeting in Marietta. I said something about some criminal case that was in the news. I told him I didn’t understand why the jury was out so long when the person was obviously guilty.”

  Adelaide was a little confused. “Did he think the person was innocent?”

  “Not really. In fact I asked him that and he said no. But he added that sometimes justice can be served in a less intrusive way, by giving the person a chance to make things right.”