Praying for Peace

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  “You want to know if I saw anything?”

  I nodded as I turned into the driveway of my work. “Did you?”

  “Nope. Not a thing. Sorry about that. I felt you there, so I just popped in to see you is all.”

  “So, you didn’t notice anything odd, maybe hear something unusual?”

  “I ain’t been to the church much since I passed. When Thelma stopped going, I stopped going too.”

  “That makes sense. What about before, you know, when the fire happened. Can you remember anything about then? Thelma said you used to see Mr. Chamblee sometimes walking to town.”

  “A couple times, but not much after the fire. Man locked himself up in his house for the most part. Sad, what happened to him.”

  “You knew him, correct?”

  “Sure did. He’s a good man. Don’t think he had anything to do with that fire, that’s for sure, but he did have a temper, that one. Used to get him in trouble a lot of the time. I’m guessing that’s why he ended up holed up in his house all these years, trying to keep himself in line.”

  “I can understand that. Small towns are great, but the gossip can be rough.”

  “He got blamed for that fire by a lot of people, but I think he just wanted to save the church from going under is all. Don’t think he had any plans of hurting nobody.”

  I hoped he was right. “We’re having a little girl’s night tonight. If I can get Thelma alone, I’ll talk with her.”

  He smiled and a feeling of intense love swept over me. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’m sure she’d like that.”

  7

  I spent the morning until mid-afternoon working on projects associated with other historic properties in town, signed off on several privately funded restoration projects for some of them, and helped Olivia switch out the main room of the museums display. Since we were coming up on Halloween, we wanted to focus on the haunted historical tour, and had spent weeks gathering items and stories from the properties for an extended display run. It was fun, putting together the information, creating signs, researching and finding old photos of the suspected ghosts and paintings, though I knew them all to be true except one. One I’d yet to actually see, though that didn’t mean the ghost wasn’t real. It just meant the ghost didn’t care to show itself to me.

  Which, when I thought about it, was odd, but it was also beyond my control.

  One we’d finished the new display, I gathered my things and headed out to visit with William Chamblee. I had no idea how I’d approach the fire or Acel’s murder, but I knew I had to give it a shot. Mr. Chamblee had to know something that could help me connect the fire and the murder, and since I wasn’t sure if he was the bad guy in either, I hoped he’d open up to me.

  On my way, I sent Jack a text. I’d had a question for him but forgot to ask at dinner.

  He responded within a minute or two. “It’s pretty heavy, probably about ten pounds. Why?”

  I’d asked him how heavy the candelabra used to kill Acel was. “Just wondering.”

  “Right.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t strike me as the type that just wonders about anything.”

  Ugh. He was right. “There were two people at the church when Acel was murdered, and only one of them could have lifted someone that heavy over their head.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “So, are you questioning Newton?”

  “We already have.”

  “And?”

  “And, like I said last night, we’re focused on the gang angle.”

  “Are you getting fingerprints on the candelabra?”

  “We already tried. Whomever did this wore gloves.”

  “Really? You think a gang member would take the time to wear gloves?”

  “You think a pastor would kill an employee?”

  “I think anything’s possible.”

  “But not probable.”

  “I’m beginning to hate that sentence.”

  He laughed. “I can see how you might, but the fact is, I don’t see Alabaster as the killer.”

  “Does he have an alibi? I mean, he was in the church, but did anyone see him?”

  “Alice Mae saw him.”

  “So, the two people that could have killed him because they were in the church at the time of his death are each other’s alibis?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you think that’s cheating?”

  He laughed again. “There’s no cheating. It is what it is, Chantilly. Listen, I appreciate your interest in the case, but I’ve got this, okay? It’s what I do.”

  But not very well, I thought, at least not if he considers those two each other’s alibis. “I know.”

  “You’re the historic expert in town, let me be the murder investigation expert, and I think we’ll both be successful.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll see you at the tournament this weekend?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He hung up knowing I was annoyed with him, and I was completely fine with that.

  William Chamblee answered his door wearing a yellow graying undersized t-shirt with that showed the bottom half of his extra-large sized belly. “What?”

  That right there was one heck of a greeting, for sure. “Mr. Chamblee, my name is Chantilly Adair. I’m the manager of the historical society, and I’m working on a restoration project for the church. I was hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk?”

  “If you’re here to see if I killed Acel, I didn’t. Didn’t start that fire, neither.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I know this must be hard for you, but I would like to help if I can.”

  He moved over and pulled the door along with him. “Come on in. I don’t got nothing else to do anyway.”

  I entered his home cautiously because he could have been a murderer and an arsonist, and I couldn’t get the hairs on the back of my neck to go down. His home wasn’t what I expected, not that I’d expected anything in particular, but still.

  For a man that hadn’t gone out much in the last fifty years, he was incredibly neat. Not a thing appeared out of place in his small family room. Though his furniture was stuck in the sixties, and the yellow and greenish brown floral print wallpaper was faded to almost nothing, it wasn’t in bad shape otherwise. In desperate need of an update, yes, but beyond that, it was obvious William Chamblee took care of his home.

  “You have a lovely home, Mr. Chamblee.”

  He grunted. “Needs some work, but my wife loved it, and since she’s been gone, I don’t have the heart to change anything.”

  I smiled, and as I did, a flash of light wisped into the room and settled next to the older man. I kept focused on William Chamblee. “You must miss her.”

  He sighed. “Every day. Some more than others. Sure could use her here now.” He sat on his rust colored couch. “I know what’s going on out there, what people are sayin’ about me.”

  “I understand you were seen walking to town just before Acel was killed.”

  He averted his eyes from me and staring into his small dining room. “Ain’t taken that walk in a while.”

  “He’s lying.”

  Surprised by the sound of another man’s voice, I whipped around and checked behind me, discovering Charlie Sayers standing next to the front door. My eyes widened, and I quickly glanced back at Mr. Chamblee, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  “He’s lying. I was with Thelma when she saw him. Saw him myself, clear as day, walking right toward the church.”

  “Mr. Chamblee, with all due respect, there are witnesses that say they saw you walking toward the church.”

  He pinned his folded arms against his stomach and stood there, frozen for a few seconds before finally rocking forward, sighing, and nodded. “They’re right. I walked over to the church yesterday, but I didn’t kill Acel.”

  “Okay then, why did you go to church?”

  He shrugged. “Because it’s church, and that’s
what I do. Been going at least once a week since they fixed it after the fire. Just don’t go during service no more. A man’s got to make his peace, ask for forgiveness, and the best place to do that is in God’s house.”

  I gave him an understanding nod. “Yes.”

  “Had I known Acel was gonna die, I wouldn’t have gone yesterday.”

  Yes, if we could know the future, that would have been helpful for his innocent claim. “Can you tell me about the fire? I know you argued with Pastor Alabaster that day, but I’d like to hear things from your perspective.”

  He took a deep breath and then exhaled. “It wasn’t a new argument. I worked on the finance committee, and Jeremiah, he had a way of touching the hearts of his congregation members like nothing I’d ever seen before, but the man, he couldn’t manage money. Just didn’t see the importance of it.”

  “His gift was to bring people closer to God.”

  “And I was supposed to keep the money in line. He went and bought new bibles for the congregation and spent money the church didn’t have without getting approval. I wasn’t happy, and I told him so.”

  “Did you suggest firing Acel to reduce costs?”

  “We had a good congregation. They would have done what Acel did without taking a dime. Just didn’t see the point of paying someone when the church patrons could have done it for free.”

  “How did Jeremiah feel about that?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Jeremiah was a good soul. He wanted to contribute to the town, to give jobs to good people who wanted to work, and that included Acel.”

  “Did you think Acel wanted to work?”

  “’Course I did. Acel was a good man. I didn’t have no beef with Acel. I just didn’t see having to pay someone when we didn’t need to. And we made our amends years ago, no matter what people think.”

  “But Jeremiah disagreed about firing him?”

  “Strongly, too. Said he wouldn’t never fire nobody just because the church needed money. Said he’d go to the congregation and ask them for it through contributions. They’d give it, he said.”

  “But he never got the chance.”

  He shook his head. “Died that night.”

  “Did anyone see you arguing with Pastor Alabaster the night of the fire?”

  He sighed again, and when he spoke, there was sadness in his voice. “Alice Mae heard us. It was upsetting to her, I know, and I feel bad about that. Tell her that every time I see her, too. I ain’t proud of how I behaved, but I was doing what I thought was best for the church.”

  “Did you see Georgia Alabaster that evening?”

  “Just for a minute. She was heading home. Interrupted us and told us to behave like God’s children, not hooligans, and said she’d bring us both back some sweet tea and dinner. It was hot that day, and we was burning up in that church—” he stopped himself when he realized what he’d said. “We could have used the sweet tea, but I got too angry and thought it was best to head on home. And that’s what I did.”

  “Did anyone see you leave?”

  He shrugged. “Never much had an answer to that, but I’m guessing no. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been accused of setting that fire, now would I?”

  He had a point. “Mr. Chamblee, did you set the fire?”

  He dipped his head, stared at the floor, and then slowly shook his head back and forth. “I could never do something to hurt the church or the pastor.” He glanced up at me and looked me in the eyes with intent. “Ms.—”

  “Adair.”

  He nodded. “Ms. Adair, that church meant the world to me. I just wanted it to live on, to be the place it was meant to be.”

  A bright light appeared behind him, and as it took the shape of a man, I realized it was Jeremiah Alabaster. Charlie Sayers had disappeared completely when I wasn’t paying attention. Pastor Jeremiah placed his hand on William Chamblee’s right shoulder and smiled at me, and then he disappeared.

  I had no idea what that meant.

  “Do you think Ms. Alabaster blames you?”

  “We made our peace years ago.”

  “What do you think happened that night?”

  He didn’t take a moment then. He went right into his theory. “Those candles were always in the way, and always gettin’ knocked over. The table coverings were old, they would light up like a firecracker, and that’s what I think happened. Jeremiah didn’t want nothing happening to anyone there, so he helped whoever was still there inside, but for some reason, he didn’t leave himself. Maybe to get Acel, maybe Alice Mae, maybe even his wife, I don’t know, but whatever kept him in that church, that’s the reason he died. It was an accident.”

  8

  I had about thirty minutes before the ladies came by for our facials, and nothing prepared to feed any of them, let alone Austin. Luckily, I’d made a trip to Alpharetta recently and ordered fresh potpies to go from a trendy new potpie store. It amazed me that potpies were a trend when they were something my momma made at least once a week my whole life. I’d grabbed three and frozen them all, but at least they didn’t need to be thawed before baking.

  I preheated the oven to three hundred and seventy-five degrees and set the kitchen table for five. After I tossed two bagged salads together, threw in a cut up tomato and some fake bacon—my mother was very likely turning over in her grave for that travesty–I changed into a comfy pair of sweats and a baggy blue t-shirt.

  As much as I wanted everyone to come by, and as much as I wanted to support Olivia’s new business venture, I was give out, and really could have used a night to chill out on the couch with my latest read, a fun mystery by an author named Ava Mallory, and Austin playing video games on the floor next to me.

  Even though that’s what I wanted to do, the reality was it probably wouldn’t have happened anyway. I would have just focused on Acel’s murder and the church fire because I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I knew there was a connection, I just couldn’t make it.

  Olivia and Thelma arrived, and true to her word, Thelma wore a silky pajama set with a pink and gray floral design. She came without a wig, keeping her natural hair wrapped up in a pink scarf. She’d scrubbed her face free of her colorful palette of makeup, and I admired her soft, pale skin. I wondered what her secret was? She’d worn so much makeup, but her skin was nearly perfect. Maybe she did her own facials on a regular basis?

  We made small talk as we waited for Delphina to arrive. Austin filled the women in on his lacrosse event coming up, and when Thelma didn’t know exactly how the sport worked, he explained it.

  “It’s kind of like a mix of hockey and basketball, and maybe a little of soccer too, but you use a netted stick to catch and throw the ball instead of your hands and feet.”

  “Is it like football? My Charlie and me, we used to watch football together. He liked the game part of it, but me, I liked to watch the boys running around in those tight pants.”

  Olivia and I laughed, but poor Austin, he turned all kinds of red and stuck his face down into his phone.

  Del finally arrived, and since Olivia claimed near starvation, we got to eating right away.

  Del stuffed a large fork full of chicken pot pie into her mouth and groaned. “Did you make this? It’s the best thing I’ve tasted, other than my food, I mean.”

  I smiled. “Are you comparing my cooking to yours? I think that’s the best compliment you’ve ever given me.”

  Del grunted and excused herself to fill her glass. She washed her hands again and threw the paper towel into the garbage. “Well, look at this. A pie box from Pot Pies To Go. Guess my competition ain’t local after all.”

  I laughed. “I hadn’t said I made it.”

  “You inferred.”

  “You assumed.”

  “Oh, bless her heart. Assuming makes an—”

  Del stopped Thelma from continuing that sentence. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Thelma blushed.

  As we finished dinner, and after Austin went back to his video game in the
den, I opened up a discussion about the church. “I spoke to William Chamblee today.”

  Del and I began clearing off the table. I told her not to help, but she wouldn’t listen. “Did he confess?”

  “Uh, no, and I think he’s telling the truth.”

  “About what?” Thelma asked. She wrapped the pot pie in aluminum foil and placed it inside my refrigerator. “I’m going to help Olivia set up. You two look to have this handled.”

  “Go on,” Del said to me.

  “About what happened that night.” I put the last dish in the dishwasher. “He said Georgia Alabaster saw him there and that she left to get food for him and her husband.”

  Del raised her eyebrow. “And?”

  “And Pastor Newton confirmed that.”

  “So, what’re you saying?”

  “When I met with Georgia, she said she left during the argument with Acel, not William.”

  “She’s a confused old woman, hasn’t been right as rain since the pastor died.”

  “Jeremiah was there when I talked to her, and I think she knew it.”

  That stopped Del in her tracks. “What do you mean?”

  Olivia hollered from the parlor or family room as people tended to call them these days. “You ladies coming? I’ve got everything ready, and Thelma’s getting tired.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute,” I said.

  “Keep your pants on,” Del said.

  I gave her a hard stare, and she flinched. “She’ll forgive me. Now tell me, why do you think she knew her dead husband was there?”

  “Because there were two women at the cemetery, and when they waved at me, she waved back.”

  “Don’t see nothing wrong with that.”

  “The women were dead.”

  She stopped wiping my kitchen table and stared at me. “You sure about that?”

  “If they weren’t then that was one amazing disappearing act, and they didn’t even need a puff of smoke.”

  “Well, slap some butter on me, and call me a biscuit.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you say anything?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think she knew they were dead, but I’m pretty sure she feels her husband, and I think she might even see him. He was there when we talked.”