A Dash of Murder (7 page)

“And because to her everything is black or white,” Stan added. “You’re either in league
with the devil or the angels.”

Stan pushed his chair into the desk and put his hands upright on the blotter as if praying. “Whatever she’s afraid of, it poses a risk to our little station. Very few towns agree to put out the funds to sponsor their own television station. I would hate to lose their
support.”

“If we can figure out why Canfield was killed, then maybe Miss Boyle will lighten up,” I said. Finding out more about Canfield wou
ldn’t hurt my situation either.

Maggie put her hand on her shoulder. “Betsy, even if you solve a hundred murders, it will not change the fact that we are doing something
Miss Boyle doesn’t approve of.”

“I just want to know why she was wandering around in the weeds at the hospital the other day. Was she just driving around and happened to see us over there? What’s he
r story?” I continued.

Stan straightened his bow tie. “Maybe she heard you were doing your investigation and it so incensed h
er, she showed up to stop you.”

“Howard,” I said, “how many people knew we were doing a prelimin
ary walk-through on Wednesday?”

“As far as I know, it was just
the three of us,” he answered.

“Maybe we need to ask her at the town council meeting just exactly what she was doing there. When my dad as
ked her, she just stomped off.”

Stan’s brow wrinkled, and he shook his head. “Well, whatever you do, don’t get her so ang
ry she shuts down the station.”

“First of all, she has to find someone who actually is bothered by the investigation,” said Maggie. “From what I can tell, she hasn’t come up with anybody yet. I don’t even know anyone from the town who had a friend or relative die o
ut there, come to think of it.”

It was kind of funny, but neither did I. Maybe Miss Boyle lost somebody out there? She was older than I was but by no means old. Miss Boyle was almost as much of a mystery as the murder of Oliver Canfield.

Later that evening, as Maggie, Zach, Danny and I entered the maple-paneled town council room, I could see the three council members sitting up at the dais. Two of the men I recognized as the Schuller brothers, Tom and Don. Tom ran Schuller Auto, while Don was in charge of the local Chamber of Commerce. They were both in their late forties and looked just alike except for the fact that even though both were bald, Tom had a full head of hair. Not exactly the hair God gave him, but he looked pretty dapper. The two of them often voted together on the council, which gave them a monopoly on the how the town was run. It was a terrific deal for them, but when they disagreed, which wasn’t often, the whole city would know about it. We had thought there would be bloods
hed on the trash pick-up issue.

The third man on the council was our own Dr. MacPhee. He looked smaller up there next to the two burly Schuller men. He wore a maroon vest and tie and smiled out at his wife Lillian, who was sitting in the front row. She had silver hair coiffed neatly so as to compliment her muted navy ruffled blouse and matching slacks. She certainly didn’t pick up that outfit at the SuperWally sale rack. Lillian MacPhee was a member of the Piper’s Hills Country Club set and a true style leader in this town. I glanced down at my faded leather sandals worn under my denim capris and tried to straighten out the hem of my soft blue
plaid shirt. Quite a contrast.

Leo Fitzpatrick entered with his son Tyler. Tyler immediately went over to a chair, slumped into it and pulled out a handheld video game. Zach was working on adding sums in his chair. I glanced over to him with pride, thinking what a good parent I was and then noticed some lovely stick people all over his homework paper. Fitzpatrick sat next to his electronically distracted son and folded his arms across his chest. He had to be the best-looking man to hit this town in a while, but he didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who knew it. His eyes rose from his son’s game and immediately zeroed in on me. I quickly averted my gaz
e to another direction. Busted.

“The meeting will come to order,” said Tom Schulle
r, tapping a gavel on the dais.

“We have been called to this emergency town council meeting in order to address an issue that has come to our attention this week. Mis
s Maureen Boyle has the floor.”

Miss Boyle quickly rose, her notes clutched to her small bosom, and walked to the podium in front of the dais. She adjusted the microphone up a bit to accommodate her height, cleared her voice, and began. “Thank you, Councilman Schuller.” She forced a smile and aimed it at each member of the council. “I come to you this evening because of a spiritual abomination about to occur at the Johnson Tuberculosis Hospital. The structure itself has been closed off to the public for years, but now the local police have decided to give a group of so-called paranormal worshipers free reign over its rooms full of sad, sad history. I should also add that the police have admitted they have relatives in this group and will fully suppor
t them no matter what they do.”

I could feel Maggie starting to wiggle next to me. She was ready to jump up and defend herself. She would be given a chance to speak after Miss Boyle finished assassinating the character of the
Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society.

“It is because of this that I ask the council to consider banning this fringe group and all others from the site and that the council discourage any kind of filming by our local station. The broadcast of this program could warp our young people for God knows how long. It is a disgrace that our station would even consider this type of program to be broadcast right here in our homes. Quite possibly, this brings into question the town’s financial support of NUTV and the programming t
hey are accepting for payment.”

“Yes, yes,” said Don Schuller. “I can understand your discomfort with the situation, Miss Boyle. Did I come to understand there was some sort of police investigation going on out the
re at present?”

“That is exactly right, sir. It seems there was foul play out at the old hospital, and one of our citizens was murdered. Now this group of … vultures …” Her eyes scanned the crowd and lit upon Maggie. “ … want to raise the spirits of the dead. Including the spirit of the murdered man, Oliver Canfield, one of the town
’s most prominent businessmen.”

The crowd murmured on that last statement. Canfield’s reputation preceded him, so the prominent businessman part probably wasn’t settling in too well. “This is a group and an event in our community we do not have to condone, gentlemen,” she said to the council, “and we look to your leadership to rid u
s of these Satanic influences.”

Howard bolted up in the back of the room. It seemed he had finally scrounged up enough courage to confront Miss Boyle. His eyes bugged out as the anger rose t
o his face. “That is not true!”

Tom Schuller pounded his gavel. “
Miss Boyle has the floor, sir.”

I felt Maggie jump up beside me. “She sure does, because I wouldn’t step on the garbage she’s throwin’ out. We are not affiliated with anything Satanic. I’m sitting in the pew same as you each week. I just don’t lord it ove
r others as you are apt to do.”

Tom Schuller b
anged the gavel again. “Order!”

Miss Boyle’s mouth soured. “As you can see, members of the council, these are the kinds of people we are forced t
o deal with in this situation.”

“And what kind
of people is that, you … you …”

Tom Schuller interrupted before my aunt could fill in the blank. “If you would like to speak, Mrs. Schaeffer, then stand behind Miss Boyle at
the podium and wait your turn.”

Maggie left the seating area, heaved an indignant sigh and stood behind Miss Boyle. The two of them were a contrast in height standing next to each other. My aunt’s head was right about at Miss Boyle’s bony shoulder blades. Miss Boyle turned slightly, looked down her nose
directly at her and continued.

“I would like to move that all access to the hospital be prohibited to the Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society on Ha
lloween or any other day.”

Miss Boyle gathered herself and glowered at
my aunt as she left the podium.

Maggie reached up to adjust the microphone but could not quite get her fingertips on the top. Howard hastened to the front to help her out with the mic. After making the adjustment, he continued to stand up there with her. It was the bravest thing I had seen h
im do in our short association.

“Gentlemen,” she started quietly. It was a distinct contrast to the near-yelling she had focused on Miss Boyle a few moments earlier. Aunt Maggie was pulling on every ounce of reserve she had to follow the decorum of the town council. “The Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society is not an agent of the devil. We are people who are curious, that’s all. We’re curious about the possibility of an existence on another plane. I lost my husband, Jeeter, a few years back, and for a while there I didn’t think I could go on. One of the comforts I have found is in my faith, that’s true. But until I get there and meet him on that celestial cloud, I would just love to know where he is and if he’s all right. Sounds crazy, I know. And I know I’m not going to find him floatin’ aro
und out there at the hospital.”

“What about the argument that the site
is unsafe?” asked Don Schuller.

Howard lowered his head to speak into the microphone. “Sir, we have done a preliminary safety check of the property and have found t
he structure still very solid.”

Arvin Wilson, Chief of Police, stood up in the back of the room. He had on the same navy blue uniform my dad wore with a few extra pieces of brass affixed. He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger, and he stepped forward. “If I may add, Don. My men have checked through the site, and there has been an officer posted there at the crime scene ever since the discovery of Mr. Canfield. We want to find who killed Mr. Canfield and need to protect our investigating area. Lieutenant Kelsey has spoken in depth with the members of the paranormal group and made sure they know what they can and cannot do. With all of these conditions in place, I think the coexistence of the police and ghost hunters will be fine.” He stepped back and tipped his Stetson, making me think of a knight stepping
away from a king.

Leo Fitzpatrick, who had been listening quietly, rose from
his chair and raised his hand.

“Yes, sir,” said Tom Schuller. “If you have something to present to the council, please come to the po
dium so everyone can hear you.”

Fitzpatrick strode to the front of the meeting room. “My name is Leo Fitzpatrick, and I just wanted to ask what kind of plans the
town has for the old hospital.”

Don Schuller leaned back in his well-padded chair. “Can’t say we have much of a pla
n at present, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Dr. MacPhee added, “That old place has been there for so long, most
of us have forgotten about it.”

“So there was n
o plan in place to develop it?”

“Not that I know of. Nothing has come through the
Chamber of Commerce,” Don said.

“Thank you
.” Fitzpatrick left the podium.

“Well you’ve certainly all given us something to think about,” said Tom Schuller. “The investigation is scheduled to go off on Saturday, Halloween, and it is now Thursday night. We will take about 24 hours to discuss, research and come to our decision. I would like to schedule another meeting tomorrow afternoon, if that is okay with the other members of the council?” He looked
at his brother and Dr. MacPhee.

Both of the
other men nodded in agreement.

“See you all tomorrow, then.” The crowd rose from their chairs and started exiting the room. Leo Fitzpatrick stood with his son and glanced back at our little group. Fitzpatrick smiled and raised his hand with an awkward wave. As I waved back caught his son sneering at mine. I turned to Zach
and blocked his view of Tyler.

“Mom?” Zach said. “Were they talking about the place wher
e you found Da – Mr. Canfield?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Very sad,” bemoaned Danny as he folded his han
ds in front and shook his head.

“Could I go with you on Halloween and see w
here you found him?” Zach said.

Here’s an issue you don’t find in the parenting magazines – do you take your child to the crime scene or not? I looked down at Zach, who was putting his schoolwork back into his bag, his eyes pleading with mine, a li
ttle smile playing on his lips.

“Come on Mom, I would stay out
of your way.”

“No,” I told him.

“You wouldn’t even know I was there. Besides, I could help carry in
equipment. Right, Aunt Maggie?”

Maggie just shook her head
no. Zach had hit a tough crowd.

“I’m going,” said Danny.

Zach’s eyes grew wider in disbelief. “You’re letting Danny g
o but not me? That’s not fair.”

We walked out the door to the parking lot. “Danny’s going because I can’t leave him alone overnight, and all of us are over there. I need him with me. He’s going to be up for a while and then sleep
on a cot next to the NUTV van.”

“You cou
ld put up two cots!” Zach said.

“Cool,” said
Danny. “It’ll be a sleepover!”

“Did you forget you already have an obligation that evening?” I said. “You will only be across the field in the woods camping with the Scouts. If anything big happens, I’ll let you know, okay?” Zach looked at the grou
nd sulking. I repeated, “Okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered.