Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  James W.’s gut tightened with guilt. Everything she said was true. “I’m a little dumbstruck, is all,” he mumbled. He looked back down at Judith, but he wasn’t looking at death. He was looking at someone who had cared about Pearl more than anything and was happy for her sister that she’d found love.

  Well, hell’s bells. Wasn’t this exactly what he’d been thinking not ten minutes ago? How Pearl had never caught a break? Hell yes, he’d heard Ernie’s snipes. And yes, he’d seen the bruises.

  All the woman wanted was to be happy with the man she loved.

  He turned to Pearl and took both of her hands in his. “This is what you really want?”

  Her eyes misted over, softening her determined expression. “More than anything, James W.”

  “Well, then I’m happy for you and Bo.” He squeezed her hands, sealing his support. Then a thought caught him like a blow right between the eyes. “Do you want me to tell, Elsbeth? About you and Bo?”

  “No. That’s for me to do. And thank you.” She raised up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “It means a lot.”

  At the sound of voices behind, Pearl shifted her gaze. “There’s folks coming in.” She patted his wrist, then let go. “But tomorrow? Can you please keep her quiet about Bo being at the funeral? He’s not gonna sit with me, or anything. He’ll stay in the background.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said as he moved to her side, getting in position to receive mourners. As the first of them approached, he forced himself to appear calm, but inside his stomach rolled in turmoil.

  Keep Elsbeth quiet? It’d be easier to lasso an atomic bomb.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Funeral

  The morning of Judith’s funeral was appropriately overcast. James W. sat in the breakfast nook, forking down the scrambled eggs Elsbeth had fixed, hoping this wasn’t the last meal she’d ever make for him.

  Pearl wanted James W. to make sure Elsbeth didn’t get mad at her when Bo showed up to the funeral. He’d thought about it long into the night. There was only one solution he could come up with, and it wasn’t good.

  He had to make sure Elsbeth got mad at him instead.

  He swallowed the last of his coffee, put his dishes in the sink, and headed for the master bath where Elsbeth was finishing up her hair. He stepped into the doorway and studied her in the mirror as she blotted her lips. Today she wore her funeral uniform—a black silk suit highlighted by a single string of pearls. Atop she’d placed the Jackie O pillbox hat with the short net artfully arranged over her too-brown hair.

  She was the spitting image of that very proper lady, his mother, Miss Olivia, the matriarch who’d reigned supreme at Grace Lutheran Church for over fifty years. His wife had stepped seamlessly into that role as the queen—make that Chairwoman—of the Altar Guild, as Miss Olivia had intended. And just like Miss Olivia, when Elsbeth was unhappy heads rolled.

  “What are you staring at?” Elsbeth said, plugging a studded pearl into her ear. “You look like you’ve swallowed a canary.”

  Time to do the deed. Give her a chance to blow now, and maybe she’d be able to hold her tongue at the funeral. “Honey, I think I did something that you might not be happy about.”

  She’d been reaching for the other earring but stopped and looked at him in the mirror. “What did you do?”

  “I was at the Ice House yesterday.” He cleared his throat when her eyes narrowed. “I had to talk with Tom Gibbons. He’s a busboy over there now. I told him the medical examiner was ready to release his father’s body.”

  She sniffed, then picked up the earring. “So?”

  “I saw Bo over there. You know, the bartender?”

  “You mean the murderer?” She marched past him into the bedroom. “I still can’t believe Judge Hitmer allows that.”

  “Anyway.” James W. barreled on. “He asked how Pearl was doing—after Judith’s passing and all.”

  “What business is that of his?”

  “Now, honey, remember how he helped Pearl when Ernie was treating her so bad? They’re friends.”

  She turned on him. “So?”

  “Well, I figured Pearl would appreciate having friends at the funeral. I’m not sure there’s gonna be a big turn-out today. You know, Judith has been sick awhile, and she’s older. A lot of her friends have already passed.”

  “You didn’t.” She said it quietly. The scary kind of quiet he’d learned to fear.

  “I invited him to the funeral. Not the reception afterward, but so the church won’t be so empty.”

  “James Wilks Novak Sr.! How dare you!”

  Her explosion of rage had him checking to see if the windows were still intact. “Now, honey—”

  “What will people think? A convicted killer at a Wilks family funeral! Are you out of your mind?”

  He shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

  Her face flushed with anger. “You will march right over there and un-invite him.”

  Here came the words that would cost him dearly. “I’m not going to do that.”

  Her eyes almost bulged from her face. “What?”

  “No sense in creating bad blood. I’m the sheriff here. I can’t be making those kind of judgment calls. It won’t look good.”

  She grabbed her purse from the bedside table. “And you’d prefer bad blood with me?” She let the question hang under a steely glare, then looked at her watch. “We’re late.”

  James W. watched his wife stomp from the bedroom. “You’re going to regret this, James W.,” she called over her shoulder.

  Oh, yeah. He already did.

  ***

  The organ was playing a low, ponderous hymn when Bo walked into the sanctuary of Grace Lutheran Church. He’d never been in here before.

  At least twenty rows of pews spanned the distance between him and the ornately carved altar at the front of the church. The organ sat in an alcove off to the right surrounded by several benches Bo assumed were for the choir.

  Judith’s closed casket stood on its bier at the front of the center aisle. Pearl sat in the first row, sandwiched between Elsbeth and James W. There were only about fifteen or so people in the church. He recognized Sarah Fullenweider, the sheriff’s secretary, and Mandy Culver, the Child Care lady aka Trivia Team Captain, a few rows back on the right. The Yeck brothers mirrored those spots on the left. Behind them was a row of female senior citizens dressed in dark colors. Scattered around were various folks from the community, most of whom he didn’t know. He shuffled into the back pew.

  When the organ began to play the intro to the first hymn, the congregation stood. Pearl took the opportunity to look around at those assembled. When she spotted him, she smiled and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Bo nodded back at her, sending as much love in his look as he could.

  “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,” the congregation began.

  Though he’d never met the man personally, he recognized the pastor who walked up the center as Pastor Osterburg—Pastor Fred, as he’d heard James W. refer to him—the man who served at Grace before Pastor Matt Hayden. He was a short, squat fellow with a crooked nose centered in a long face, surrounded by a scraggly beard that reminded Bo of Abraham Lincoln.

  The liturgy Pearl had chosen was verbatim out of the hymnal, and Pastor Osterburg delivered it with a deep bass voice that filled the church. Another hymn, this one Abide with Me, was sung, Bo got another quick glance from Pearl, and the congregation settled in their seats for a Bible reading.

  Since no one was near him, he kept his gaze on Pearl. Her shoulders might be diminutive, but for weeks she had hauled her sister out of bed and into her wheelchair, then the bathroom. When Judith was finally declared bedridden, it was Pearl who would turn her every four hours, trying to avoid bed sores. Yes, those were strong shoulders, despite their size. But her spirit was even stronger.

  As far as he knew, Elsbeth didn’t know he was sitting in the back. How strong would Pearl have to be to withstand that
woman’s anger when she found out Bo and Pearl were getting married? Pearl had been through so much already. He knew she loved him with all of her heart, but Judith hadn’t been dead for even twenty-four hours when Pearl proposed to him. Maybe the best thing he could do for Pearl would be to slow things down.

  The organist started playing an unfamiliar tune, and Bo realized the reading was over. He rushed to his feet, realizing everyone else was already standing. In doing so he grabbed the pew in front of him to help hoist himself up, and it creaked loudly in the cavernous sanctuary. Heads turned to see where the noise had come from.

  Bo kept his face blank, but watched as every face registered his presence. Mandy Culver gave him a smile. Sarah Fullenweider’s jaw dropped open. The Yeck brothers looked a little surprised, then nodded their hellos. James W. paled, and closed his eyes as if in silent prayer. The row of ladies behind the Yeck brothers began whispering feverishly behind their hands. He was surprised they knew who he was. They were the type that would never stoop to the level of walking into a bar.

  Pearl wasn’t looking at him, but at the reactions of those gathered. Her smile was confident, and she gave a slight nod of approval. Apparently she thought this was a good way to break the ice about their relationship. She gazed back at him and gave him a wink.

  Finally he allowed himself to look at Elsbeth. Her face was red, her gaze narrowed, her nose high. She wasn’t looking at him, however. She was staring darts at James W.

  The organ’s intro swelled, and everyone turned their attention back to their hymnals.

  “Blest be the tie that binds,” they sang, “our hearts in Christian love.”

  He shook his head and wondered if Elsbeth had ever actually understood the meaning of the hymns she knew by heart.

  ***

  The funeral over, the luncheon underway, James W. was somewhat surprised he was still alive. Apparently his wife’s looks couldn’t kill after all. He studied his plate heaped with potato salad, that orange Jell-O thing with the shredded carrots and those little pimento cheese sandwiches the altar guild always put out at receptions. Usually, he’d be wolfing the food down—Lutheran church ladies sure could put on a spread—but his appetite seemed nonexistent.

  Two hours of Elsbeth’s fury could do that to a man.

  He’d hoped Elsbeth would find another table to sit at, but Pearl headed his way when she finished with the buffet. Elsbeth was right behind her.

  “I can’t believe that woman didn’t come out to the cemetery!” Elsbeth was saying.

  “I was grateful she made it to the funeral. Fridays are her days off.” Pearl put her plate down across from James W.

  “Who we talking about?” he asked.

  “Mandy Culver,” Elsbeth said as if the name soured her mouth. “I keep telling you, James W. She’s up to no good.”

  It was a familiar rant to him. Elsbeth couldn’t stand the fact that the Child Care Director was a beautiful widow with more say than her about things at the church. Elsbeth considered Mandy to be a gold-digger after the preacher—a thought James W. never quite understood. The preacher was as poor as a church mouse—and Elsbeth thought Mandy was too young to be responsible for innocent babies. When Elsbeth had learned that the Child Care Director had formed a church trivia team that played at Angie’s Fire and Ice House, his wife had tried to get the young blonde fired.

  “I don’t care if it’s her day off.” Elsbeth plopped herself in the chair next to Pearl. “She has a responsibility to represent the church. And do you know what I heard?” She stabbed a fork into her potato salad, picked it up, then pointed it at him to make her point. “She had to go to a movie! Instead of being at Judith’s graveside service. That’s irresponsible!” The potato salad disappeared into her mouth.

  Not wanting to be asked his opinion in the matter, James W. quickly stuffed a pimento cheese sandwich into his mouth.

  “Judith was sick way before Mandy even moved here,” Pearl said easily. “I don’t think they ever met.”

  Elsbeth scowled. “James W., I think you need to talk with Pastor Fred about that woman.”

  “Why?” he asked around his full mouth.

  “If he’s going to take over for Pastor Hayden, he needs to know what’s what about his employee. Including the fact that she drinks.”

  James W. was pretty sure she was referring to the trivia team’s playing location. Elsbeth hated Angie even more than she hated Mandy.

  Or Bo.

  His cell phone pinged, and he pulled it from his suit jacket.

  “James W.? Arley Armstrong over at Benedict County,” came the voice across the phone.

  “Hey, Arley,” James W. said, immediately recognizing the voice of his counterpart at the sheriff’s office in the county north of Austin. He swallowed the ball of food he had in his mouth. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve got a helluva explosion at that gas station in front of the Wal-Mart just east of Hidden Lake Estates. I need some help.”

  James W. nodded. This was a frequent exchange between the smaller county sheriff departments. He’d called for Arley’s assistance only a few weeks back to help divert traffic around the grass fire north of town. “What do you need?”

  “Everything you can spare,” came the answer. “I’ve got a lot of dead and wounded, and a fire burning out of control.”

  “I’ll put out the call.” James W. was already shoving his chair back.

  “Yep. I sure appreciate it.”

  “I’m on my way.” He clicked off the call, then nodded to the women. “There’s been an explosion in Benedict County. Gotta rally the troops.” He spied Richard Dube a table over. “Richard,” he said, his voice raised. “We got a call.”

  “You’re in your suit!” Elsbeth protested.

  “I’ll swing by the house and change. It’s on our way.” He shoved away from the table. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You’d better.” Elsbeth said. “And when you get home, we’re gonna have us a little chat.”

  He recognized the threat in her tone, but pushed it to the back of his thoughts. People were dead and dying. Time to put his sheriff’s hat on. He hurried toward the fellowship hall’s nearest exit, Richard Dube in quick pursuit.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Standing Watch Over Hell

  As James W. rounded the last bend before approaching the gas station explosion site, he’d radioed to his deputies, “Do whatever they tell you to do.”

  He now regretted that order.

  He looked down at the body he’d been told to guard. The child couldn’t be more than five years old. He wasn’t sure if it was a boy or a girl—the face was all blood and bones and brains, and the clothes were shorts and a t-shirt. His instructions from the FBI agent in charge had been to not touch anything. Not to say he had any intentions to touch the severely burnt body, or peel away the remaining char of clothing that stuck to the child’s corpse. Thank God, someone finally brought a tarp over to protect the body.

  The youngster had been blown across the gas station’s parking lot, landing in a ditch about twenty feet from the explosion. James W. had been at this post for over two hours, his main focus to swat away the flies that came to crawl under the tarp and feed on the dead child’s flesh. Around him, EMTs swarmed what was left of the gas station and McDonald’s, looking for victims. Thirty feet away at the Wal-Mart, another line of medical personnel tended the victims who lay cut and bleeding from shrapnel from the store’s exploding front windows. Several ambulances had already left the scene, loaded with victims who’d been severely burned, or impaled by flying debris, or unconscious from having their heads slammed against the tarmac or a wall or each other as the percussion of the explosion hit them.

  Firemen blasted water at the flames that still licked at the gas station’s remains, and further out, two trucks were battling a grass fire which was headed straight for the fertilizer storage and distribution facility across the highway. Everyone remembered the carnage at the West explosi
on, making the scene even more desperate.

  Still, in spite of the mayhem all around him, he’d stayed at his post, protecting the child that would never laugh again, be hugged by loving parents, snuggle with the dog that was his or her best friend. Did the parents even know that at this moment their child was gone? Did they realize their youngster had just gotten out of the child care van and was lined up to go into the McDonald’s for a Happy Meal the kid would never eat? A witness had described the scene to the fire marshal. He thought at least five children had been blown into the air.

  This had to be an accident, right? James W. had thought at first. Then word came down. Evidence was mounting that an explosive device had somehow been rigged inside a gas hauler tank. The drivers of the truck—two men dressed in dirty jeans and t-shirts, sporting large hats that obscured their faces from security cameras—simply walked across the highway and into an abandoned store front. The explosion took place not thirty seconds later, and thirty seconds after that, a Ford Tempo had ripped out from behind the store front and sped down the highway.

  The Ford Tempo had already been found abandoned in a field two miles down the road. The vehicle had been reported stolen a day earlier.

  Someone, some monster, had purposefully done this. The law enforcement blood in James W. roiled, but the human soul in him was devastated.

  He’d done a lot of thinking in the two hours he’d stood here. About his life. About those he loved. About the things he’d left unsettled.

  Finally, the medical examiner and his crew came to begin their examination of the dead child. James W. walked to his car, turned the key in the ignition and hit the air conditioning on full. He slugged down the hot remains of the water bottle he’d grabbed from the fridge when he’d run by the house to change into his uniform. He knew he had to get back out to the scene, but there was one thing he needed to do.