Murder at Stake

by Constance Barker

  That got a wave of disgruntled moans running through the crowd. The townsfolk became completely silent again as Red continued, his remarks really seeming to hit home for most people on an emotional level. I think that Billy Robinson was really surprised that everybody wasn’t excited about a new library for the town.

  Red said that a fancy new library in the middle of Paint Creek would be like a fancy crystal chandelier in the Old School Diner. That got a chuckle from the crowd, including me. Red’s folksy style had a way of putting everything in perspective.

  But Billy Robinson did not want to be outdone. He gauged the sentiment of the room quite well, like a skillful politician, and suggested that we don’t let the federal money go to waste and that we still find a way to honor the outgoing Congressman. He recommended that the council should vote to add a media center in the lower level of the old library, as Red had suggested, and build a new bridge over Paint Creek.

  He also thought it would be a good idea to name the bridge and the street that crossed the bridge and passed between the Village Hall and the library after Congressman Pattaway, who was born in our town. Maybe he would be a good representative in Congress. Nobody really minded losing the much-mocked name, “DeRange Avenue.” It was time to get rid of some of our Confederate memories anyway. Even though Kentucky was officially a neutral border state in the Civil War, we still had plenty of secessionist-sympathizing politicians after the war. We’ll see what happens, but it seemed that the teardown of the old library was off the table.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A dozen or so of us pulled some chairs in a circle and gathered in the back of the meeting hall to have a little reception for Red. I could see he was a little pale after his triumphant speech, so I insisted that he put on his oxygen tubes. He didn’t like using it in front of people, but he agreed – which meant that he really needed it. Of course, the conversation quickly turned to Jonesy’s murder.

  “You got this thing solved yet, Sheriff?” Jake Senior asked. “I don’t like people thinking that my boy here had anything to do with it, so you gotta find out who did.”

  Brody turned to me with a concerned look. “I might have to arrest Junior in the morning, Mercy,” He whispered to me, and then smiled at Jake and nodded. He had already checked out Junior’s alibi, and I told him during the council meeting about Junior flipping the hammer at the hardware store the morning before the storm hit.

  Earl Rollins was there and spoke up. “I been hearing that you’ve been using me as your cover story, Junior. But truth is, like I told you, Sheriff, Junior wasn’t at my place before the tornado hit. Makes him look pretty guilty, telling lies like that, if you ask me.”

  Jake was outraged, and stood up to defend his son’s honor. “Junior is no liar, Earl. If anyone’s a liar, it’s you!”

  Junior turned pale and had a sheepish look on his face as his dad continued to defend him. “Pops...” he said softly, but Jake didn’t hear him.

  Other people had been gathering in small groups before leaving, just to greet their friends and be neighborly, and they were soon attracted by the loud commotion coming from our circle. Sandy Skitter looked toward the ladies’ room to see if Hattie was returning yet, and then walked over toward our group.

  “Junior, just go ahead and tell them,” she told him, leaning over his shoulder.

  He looked at her and then mustered up all of his courage and stood up. “Pops,” he said again. “Pops!” He finally got Jake’s attention.

  Everybody was silent and looked at Jake. I thought my heart was going to pound right through my chest. What was Junior going to say? Then Junior burst into tears and fell to his knees.

  “I’m guilty, Sheriff! Put the cuffs on me, and throw me in jail!”

  His sobs echoed through the now-silent room. My gosh, could this be real?

  Sandy looked bewildered. “Junior! You couldn’t have done it. You were with me and Hattie the whole time during the storm. You didn’t leave Hattie’s house until the minute the siren stopped sounding.”

  What was Junior doing at Hattie’s house?

  “I know!” Junior continued sobbing and he spoke. “I did it...I went over to Hattie’s when I left the hardware store, and...” He stopped and looked around, but didn’t continue.

  “Tell them, Junior!” Sandy urged. “Tell them!” But Junior was too distraught to speak, so Sandy spilled the beans. “He hooked Hattie’s house up to the cable TV line in back of her house. He didn’t kill Jonesy, he was just helping Hattie steal cable service.”

  “I know it’s wrong to steal cable, Sheriff,” Junior blubbered, “but I did it anyway. Miss Hattie gave me twenty bucks to do it, plus she gave me twenty bucks at the hardware store too to buy the cable and connectors and said I could keep the change from that too. I’m a bad man, Sheriff Hayes. I’m sorry!”

  “So, what were you doing out at Jonesy’s when he was killed?” the Sheriff asked, pointedly.

  Junior started to get control of himself and stood up. “I...I was heading out to Earl’s then, after I got the cable all hooked up, but I never made it. I saw that the twister had already destroyed the barn, so I pulled into Jonesy’s driveway to check on him, but I couldn’t get all the way in because of the downed trees. I waited in the car until the rain let up. That’s when I walked over toward the house and found Jonesy laying there, dead.”

  Hattie Harper strutted up, and all eyes turned to her. She looked at Sandy with accusing eyes.

  “What did you do, Sandy Skitter? You were sworn to secrecy forever. Hmmph.” She turned abruptly, with her nose in the air and started to walk out.

  “But, Hattie!” Now Sandy was distraught. Her whole life was built around her association with Hattie. “You can’t let Junior get charged with murder just so you can have free cable!”

  Hattie stopped and turned. “Why not? He’s just a useless slob anyway, just like his daddy...always talking about space aliens and weather machines. Hmmph. They should both be locked up anyway, away from decent people. Besides, I can do anything I want. This is my town, and everybody knows it.” She walked out, and I went to comfort Sandy. Babs and Jake were tending to Junior.

  Smoke and Deloris stood up and came toward me. “Mercy,” Smoke said, “I think we have to call an emergency session of ‘late night diner.’ These people have a lot to gossip about, and they’re going to throw us out of here in a few minutes.”

  “Great idea,” I agreed. “Just coffee and pastries should be good. We still have three or four fresh pies and some cobbler. There should be plenty of ice cream.”

  “I’ll turn on half the griddle for hamburgers too,” he said.

  “And I’ll make some coffee and iced tea,” Deloris added.

  Smoke made the announcement to the crowd, and most of the lingerers followed them out the door.

  Bud was starting to turn out the lights. “The chief’s office is still available to you on the first floor, Sheriff Hayes. It’s included in your contract with us, you know. You two can move down there if you’ve got more...police business to discuss.”

  He winked at Brody, and I rolled my eyes. Nobody loves and respects women more than older guys, but nobody can be bigger chauvinists either. I’ll chalk it up to generational differences for now.

  “We’ll take our conversation downstairs, Mayor. Thanks.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The setting moon cast hazy shadows over the desk in the first-floor office. It was quite spartan with just a wooden desk, a file cabinet, a fax machine, a green banker’s lamp, and a chair on each side of the desk. Brody stood at the window, looking out at the night sky with his hands clasped behind his back, and I leaned on the tall file cabinet next to him.

  “So, it looks like Junior isn’t your man, Sheriff. What now?”

  He sighed but kept his gaze on the stars. “Well, I’m very relieved that Junior can be ruled out now – if his story is true.”

  “Oh, it’s true. Ronnie Towns told me Junior was in his store buying
cable and supplies the morning of the murder, and Hattie was there too – and he paid cash, just like he said. Did you find Jonesy’s wife yet?”

  He sat on the corner of the desk and looked at me blankly. “Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since the evening of the murder, when Florence left the farm house after dinner. Josie told Florence her sister was coming that evening to stay with her, but it turns out she doesn’t have a sister. Her mother in Indiana hasn’t seen her either. But her car is still there, parked behind the farmhouse right where Jonesy left it. She didn’t buy a bus ticket either.”

  “Oh, my gosh! That scares me, Brody. I hope she’s okay.”

  “Well, there’s no reason to think there’s been any foul play. And, well...it kind of puts her on the top of my suspect list now.”

  “What about the butcher shop?”

  He looked confused. “What about it?”

  “Well, I mean, maybe there could have been some kind of business motive. The Pastor was Jonesy’s business partner...not that he had anything to do with it, but maybe there could be a money trail that points somewhere.”

  “The state team already checked it out. The books are clean as a whistle...just small cash withdrawals for salaries.”

  It seemed that Brody had done a pretty thorough job on the investigation. “So, the state’s lawyers are still running things?”

  Brody smiled. “It seems a beautiful young nurse and restaurateur scared them off. The odd circumstances with the stake through his heart has kept the media circus going strong throughout the state, so they do want to get this thing solved. I have to check in with Alexandra Witherspoon every couple of days.”

  A twinge of jealousy ran through my stomach. “That must be awful for you, having to talk to that gorgeous blonde runway model so often.” Did I say that out loud?

  One corner of Brody’s lip curled with the first smile I’d seen on him since the meeting upstairs ended. He stood up and folded his arms. “Don’t tell me the indomitable Miss Howard is...jealous?”

  I turned a little bit away from him and tried to hide my pout. “Don’t be silly. Why should I be jealous of a tall, shapely, brilliant, successful, hideous beast like her?” My gosh, I was turning into an insecure high school girl.

  Brody stepped closer, lifted my chin with his strong finger, and tilted my head towards him. His face was a little too close, and the intimacy made me inhale quickly and deeply. “You shouldn’t be. That hideous beast can’t hold a candle to you, Mercy.”

  He smiled as our eyes were fixed on each other for a brief eternity. I would have gladly accepted his kiss in that moment, but instead he just pulled me into a warm embrace and held my head against his shoulder. “You’re the only shapely model I want walking my runway, Mercy Howard.” Then he held both my shoulders at an arm’s length. “And if you’re a good girl and stop pouting, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone tomorrow.”

  I punched him in the shoulder and tried to squelch a laugh. “Careful with the witty comments there, buster. I’m supposed to be the clever, snarky one in this...um...group.” Group? Now I’m a babbling idiot...and how did my eyes get moist?

  “I’m going to use the ladies’ room, Brody. Be right back.”

  “Sure. I’ll get some coffee from the vending machine. Double cream, no sugar for you?” he asked as he fumbled for change in his pockets.

  How did he know how I took my coffee? I felt a little flattered that he paid enough attention to remember. “Yes, that’s right.” He was making frustrated grunts as he pulled a few pennies and nickels out of his pocket. I pointed to my purse on the desk. “Inside zipper pocket,” I said. “There’s probably enough change for a down payment on a 747 jetliner in there.”

  When I returned there were two coffee cups on the desk, but Brody had an odd look on his face.

  “What is it, Brody? Is something wrong?”

  He sat on the corner of the desk, and I took the chair by the door. “Mercy...you’ve got...a pistol in your purse. That’s a dangerous weapon. Do you know how to use it? Do you have a permit to carry?”

  And why would his assumption seem to be that I don’t know what a gun is for and don’t know how to handle it? “Yes, I have a little Saturday Night Special. I’ve had it for about 12 years or so, Brody, ever since I left Paint Creek for college in Louisville. And I’m sure I’d have no trouble polishing you off in a showdown on Main Street at High Noon.” There was more than a tinge of competitive righteous indignation in my tone, but I was a little offended. I wished I hadn’t said it in quite the way that I did, but I said it.

  “Well...I didn’t mean to imply...”

  “Yes, you did.” Shut up, Mercy...

  “Say, Mercy, I’m going to the shooting range tomorrow for my bi-monthly practice. Why don’t you come along? You can show me what you’ve got. We can do the regular target practice inside, and then we can try the Old West town they have set up in back with bad guys jumping out of doorways and stuff. Then I can update your permit when we’re done. I’ll buy you lunch if you can outshoot me.”

  I gave him the stink-eye and pushed the brim of my imaginary cowboy hat up a couple of inches. “Bring your wallet, cowboy. Loser buys lunch at the Hideaway Cove Country Club. I hope you like crow.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Sheriff rolled up in front of the diner at exactly 9:00 a.m., and I went out to meet him. The breakfast rush was over, and my food order was emailed in.

  “Good morning Sheriff!” I smiled brightly as he walked around the car to meet me on the sidewalk. His eyes were feasting on my body from head to toe, and it felt good.

  “Morning, Mercy. I see you’re ready for some outdoor action.”

  I was wearing my best skinny jeans, white athletic shoes that I had never worn outside, and what Deloris called a “peek-a-boo” scoop neck tank top. My hair was in a ponytail, and I put on just enough makeup to make my lips and eyes pop.

  “Yup... but still presentable enough for our lunch at the Country Club, Brody.” He nodded in agreement and opened the passenger door for me. “I see you brought your own car instead of your patrol car...that’s good.”

  “Well, yeah, I didn’t want the town gossips to think you were under arrest. But I still wore my uniform so they won’t charge me at the shooting range.”

  I stepped up into the very high and over-sized SUV. I was glad I wasn’t wearing heels and that my jeans had a little stretch to them. The tall lawman got in the driver’s side and turned the key. The big engine hummed quietly and smoothly. It had the feel of luxury, especially compared to Jake’s pick-up truck, which vibrated like an unbalanced washing machine in the spin cycle.

  “Okay, Brody, let’s figure out this murder. We should have all the evidence we need; we’re just missing something when we try putting it all together.” I put on my sunglasses and pulled down the car’s sun visor, which had a mirror on it. I looked good, and Brody kept stealing glances as he made an illegal U-turn in front of the diner, almost clipping a parked car in front of Brandi’s donut shop. I smirked and pretended not to notice as he blushed and headed for the shooting range, half-way between Paint Creek and Calhoun.

  “Well, let’s go over the evidence, Mercy. Maybe we can figure it out before lunch.”

  “Okay, well, what time did Jonesy...you know...die?”

  “Coroner says between 1:00 and 2:00 in the afternoon. She couldn’t narrow it down any more than that because the cold rain may have affected lividity and body temperature.”

  “Well, it shouldn’t really affect postmortem lividity. That’s just the blue patches on the skin from the blood settling. I did notice some early signs of rigor mortis in the eyelids and jaw and that could have been accelerated a little by cooler temperatures from the storm. What was the rectal temperature?”

  He gave me a weird look and pointed toward the autopsy report on the console. I looked it over.

  “Well, it says that the rectal temp was 89.5 degrees at 7:45 p.m. So, the Glaister equation would put t
he time of death at 1:45.”

  He gave me an odd look again.

  “The body temperature drops about 1.5 degrees Farenheit every hour after death, so nine degrees would put the time of death 6 hours earlier, at 1:45. Since the air was cooler due to the storm, I think it would be more likely that he died earlier that that rather than later. He left the diner the same time the siren began to sound, and I remember looking at my watch. It was 1:20, so he must have been killed shortly after he got home.”

  Brody nodded. “The funnel cloud touched down at two o’clock according to Florence in the farmhouse next door, which jibes with the National Weather Service. It didn’t pick up the whole barn like Junior told us before – he wasn’t there yet – but it did completely destroy it in short order. Then it wandered off to the Northeast and dissipated.”

  “What time did the siren stop? That’s when Junior left Hattie’s, according to Sandy last night.”

  “Bud has it on a 30-minute timer. That way he can take cover, and the people have plenty of time to get the message too. So, it would have shut off ten minutes before the twister hit the barn, if your start time is right. Junior had to drive across town and then a few miles past the creek, so he probably got there right afterwards. His car was outside the fallen trees, so he arrived after the tornado passed through, but Jonesy’s car was near the house. That means he got there before the tornado hit. The all-clear didn’t start until about 2:30, when I came into the diner and you all came out of the basement.”

  “Yeah, we were down there for about an hour. I remember hearing it when we were coming up the stairs. Still no word from Josie?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know, I was talking to him before he left the diner that day, Brody. He wanted me to go out to the farm and talk to Josie. She had told him she wanted to talk to him about something, and he was really nervous about it. He thought she was going to tell him she wanted a divorce. I wonder...”