Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 04 - With This Ring (16 page)

It was with a great deal of relief I’d thanked Wyatt for speaking to his minister and making the arrangements to have him officiate on Saturday. There was still a glimmer of hope the wedding could go on as planned without looking tacky and insensitive. Unfortunately, Pastor Steiner’s murder case appeared to be no closer to being solved than it was at the moment Bonnie Bloomingfield had found his dead body.

Tom Nelson was willing to minister at our wedding, but obviously not without reservations about the appropriateness of doing so while Pastor Steiner’s killer still walked the streets among us. Knowing this only increased my resolve to find the killer and see that he was apprehended and arrested in the next couple of days. Saturday was looming, only five days away.

When we walked into the sanctuary, we saw Wyatt and Wendy conversing up near the casket. We joined them after speaking to several of the church members we recognized. Most of them had been at the church the previous morning when I taken my ill-timed tumble onto the stage. As they glanced at my cast and asked about my welfare, I answered as nonchalantly as possible, wishing I were invisible. I took a quick glance up on stage and noticed someone had tried to temporarily mend the ripped velvet curtains behind the pulpit.

After a few minutes of pleasantries with my daughter and the police detective, I wandered off to mingle with other people in the crowd. Despite my embarrassment, I was hoping to catch and speak with some of Steiner’s other children. I wanted to determine if any of them beside Teddy might have a motive to kill their own father. I didn’t know if or when I’d get another opportunity to talk to them.

I avoided Teddy and Paula, for obvious reasons, and because they were gathered in a group with their siblings and their families, it was next to impossible to speak to any of the other brothers or sisters. I managed to find one of Steiner’s sons alone at a water fountain and offered my condolences. He introduced himself as Steve Steiner. I spoke with him briefly, just to feel him out. Steve was very solemn and withdrawn, and claimed to have been extremely close to both of his parents. I couldn’t find any aspersions to cast upon him.

A real estate agent in Delaware, Steve and his wife had just arrived in town an hour ago. His wife, Julie, had already been in nearby Overland Park on a business trip the past few days and had met up with him in Rockdale. Steve told me he’d listed his father’s home in Rockdale and some property in St. Joseph with ReMax Realty that very morning, and arranged to have all the furniture and personal items in the house auctioned off. Steve Steiner certainly wasn’t one to let grass grow under his feet. I didn’t think there was anything else to be gleaned from a conversation with him, so I told him he’d better get back to his family.

Despite my trying to sidestep her, Paula did catch up with me as I headed back to join Stone, Wendy, and Wyatt, who were still up near the casket. She inquired about my wrist, and then asked me if I was able to get all of the spaghetti sauce stains out of my clothing. I assured her I had.

“I’ve heard that tomato-based products like spaghetti sauce are the best things there are for getting the stench of a skunk’s spray out of something,” Paula said. “For instance, you can bathe a pet dog in the sauce after it gets sprayed by a skunk.”

“Oh really, how interesting,” I said. I wasn’t sure if she was making polite conversation or trying to infer I needed something to get the stink off me, so I didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. I chose to be amused, because clubbing her with my cast didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do at her father’s viewing.

Paula then reminded me of the luncheon at her house following the funeral the next morning, which came as a surprise to me. I assumed she was hoping I’d forgotten about the gathering. I told her my fiancé and I would do our best to make it. I volunteered to bring a dish with me, but Paula declined my offer. Everything had been taken care of, she told me. She was no doubt contemplating the mess I could make out of a large bowl of baked beans.

I kept the conversation with Paula as short as I could. I was certain my face was still as red as those stains she was just asking me about. On the way back to join the others, I stopped to look down into the casket. I had avoided it up until now because the very idea of an open casket at the funeral of a murder victim gave me the creeps. I might need closure, but I didn’t need nightmares too.

However, Pastor Steiner did look very handsome, and as if he were at peace. He didn’t look like someone who’d been the subject of a brutal murder. I had to admit the mortician had done a fine job with him. One would never know my daughter had sawed his body apart like a jigsaw puzzle while searching for the cause of his death.

I looked at Steiner’s hands resting on his abdomen, one atop the other. His nails were nicely manicured, and I noticed they’d left on what I assumed was his wedding ring, even though he now wore it on his right hand. I admired a widower who wore his wedding ring to the grave, even years after the death of his loving spouse. The wedding band was unique, a flower blossom and a leaf, in different shades of Black Hills Gold. Very nice, I thought. Very similar to, and almost as attractive, as the ones we’d purchased for Stone and me for our upcoming nuptials.

“Well, hello again, Ms. Starr,” I heard a female voice address me. I turned to see Sandy Webster, and a stocky man with a military crew cut who had to be her husband, the high school football coach, Buck Webster. He looked like a football coach, or more precisely, a drill sergeant. He didn’t look like a man you’d want to cross. If he had told me to drop and give him twenty, I would have probably done it right then and there, in spite of my fractured wrist.

I was surprised to see them at the visitation, not expecting the Websters to know the pastor. I was pretty certain they weren’t members of the Rockdale Baptist Church congregation. But then, it was a small town, and everybody seemed to know everybody else in town, particularly a man who was as intricately involved with the community as Thurman Steiner.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, I excused myself and rejoined the others in my group. I listened as they discussed the season-opener baseball game for the Royals. When there was a pause in the conversation, I turned to point out the Websters to Stone and Wyatt, but they were no longer looking down into the casket. I glanced around and didn’t see them anywhere else in the sanctuary either. They must have paid their respects briefly and left.

“I just ran into Buck and Sandy Webster,” I said. “I wonder how they knew Pastor Steiner.”

“Like us, they probably banked at the Rockdale Savings and Loan, where Sandy works,” Stone said.

“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed. “And Steiner’s youngest son, Quentin, played football at the high school before he moved away from Rockdale a number of years ago. He was a sophomore on the team when I played for Coach Buck my senior year.”

We chatted with fellow church members, and I reluctantly walked through the receiving line with Stone to give our condolences to the family of the deceased. I stopped for a couple of minutes and spoke with the Jacksons, the relatives staying with us at the inn, and then continued on down the line. When a good-looking young man in his upper thirties introduced himself as Quentin Steiner, I asked him if he’d seen his old coach.

“No, I haven’t seen him. Is Coach Buck still here?” He asked.

“I think the Websters left already.”

“Darn, I’d have liked to have seen Coach Webster,” Quentin said. “He was like a second father to me back in high school. I haven’t seen him in years. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”

“It was nice to meet you too, Quentin, ” I said, sincerely. “We thought very highly of your father. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The line was still moving ahead of me and people behind me were waiting for me to move, as well. There was no way I could continue to converse with Quentin at this time, so I stepped forward to offer my condolences to his brother, Steve, who in turn introduced me to his wife, Julie. She had an air of sophistication about her, like her husband, Quentin, and beautiful long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. They both had a very polished, upper crust appearance, and an authoritative demeanor.

On the way home I congratulated myself for getting through the visitation without incident. Even Stone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as we pulled into the driveway. Now if the funeral tomorrow could go just as smoothly, I’d be happy. And then if a murder suspect was identified tomorrow afternoon, I’d be even happier.

* * *

At nine-thirty Tuesday morning, we were getting into Stone’s truck to head to the Rockdale Baptist Church for Pastor Steiner’s funeral. I had on a gray and pink pantsuit that hadn’t been easy to get on. As it was, I popped a button off the cuff of the blouse, and ripped open a seam up the sleeve that I could mend later on. Stone had on a navy blue sports jacket over a new pair of jeans. I’d ironed creases in them to make them look more dignified. Wendy, who was riding with us, wore a strapless tan and brown trimmed spring dress. I feared she’d be a little chilly in the outfit, but had to admit she looked fresh and youthful.

“Mom,” she had said, while getting dressed. “Do you think I should cut my hair? I’m getting tired of this style.”

I’d worn the same short curly hairdo since I was a senior in high school, so I was hardly the person to ask about trendy new hairstyles. But I thought it was time Wendy updated her look to something more flattering to her thin face. Her straight, dark brown hair hung down to just below her shoulder blades. It had a tendency to look stringy, but I didn’t think cutting it was the answer. All it really needed was some waves to look fuller. “Have you considered getting a perm wrap, or something like a spiral perm? I like the length, but I think it might look better with a little more body to it.”

To get an idea how a spiral perm might look, Wendy had borrowed my curling iron and added some waves to her hair. I thought it looked terrific now, as we headed down the driveway. She seemed to be pleased with the results too. She even wondered out loud about how Andy would like the new style.

Finding a parking spot was next to impossible. We ended up parking two blocks from the church. As we walked down the sidewalk, we noticed a small faded red truck slowing down and pulling over to the curb in a spot Stone had thought was too narrow for his full-sized truck.

“Look, Lexie,” Stone said. “I’ll bet that’s the truck that was parked at the pastor’s house earlier in the afternoon the day Steiner was killed. It looks like Perry Coleman, the organist at the church.”

“Yes, it is Perry. He’s also an elder. Wyatt said he was highly emotional when notified of Pastor Steiner’s passing.”

“I should think if he’d been at Steiner’s house just hours before the pastor was murdered, Perry
would
take it hard. The killer could have come earlier in the day and killed both of them, not wanting to leave any witnesses. I’m sure the thought crossed Perry’s mind,” Stone said. “Or, it’s even possible that Perry’s presence might have thwarted the murder altogether. Overtaking two grown men would have posed a bigger challenge than just overpowering the pastor himself. Perry isn’t a large man, but he’s taller and heftier than Steiner was. And probably ten years younger.”

Wendy and I both agreed. I felt certain the crime scene investigators had spoken with Perry. He was probably the last person to have seen Steiner alive except, of course, for the murderer. I wondered what he and the pastor had discussed that day. Could they have had a disagreement of some sort? Did Steiner seem anxious, worried, or out of sorts for any reason during their visit? I hoped to get a moment to speak with Perry before the funeral service.

Stone must have been thinking the same thing. He stopped on the sidewalk and waited for Perry Coleman to exit his car. Naturally, we stopped too. “Good morning, Perry. Would you care to walk with us?” Stone asked. Perry nodded and fell in to step with us. “It looks like there will be a huge crowd here this morning. The church grounds are already teeming with people.”

“I’m not surprised,” Perry said. “Thurman was a fixture in town and loved by everyone.”

Well, not exactly
everyone.
There was someone out there who hadn’t placed the pastor high on his or her list of favorite people. Would that someone be attending the funeral this morning? I’d heard it was not unusual at all for the killer to show up, pretending to mourn the deceased to help ward off suspicion.

“Are you playing the organ at the service this morning?” Stone asked.

“Yes, I’ll be playing ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ and ‘In the Garden’ with Frieda singing the vocals. The hymns were selected by Thurman’s children.”

“Good song choices,” Stone said. “I heard the family also selected a casket made of solid oak. Those are beautiful, but quite expensive.”

Enough small talk, I thought. We’d be at the church in a short amount of time. Before they started discussing the types of flowers in the casket spread, I decided to jump in with some questions of my own.

“Detective Wyatt Johnston, who’s a good friend of ours, told us you were at the pastor’s house, making a social call, earlier on the day of his death. With that being so, it must have been a terrible shock to you to hear he’d been killed just hours later.”

“Yes, I was shocked and quite devastated. I just broke down at the news,” Perry said. “But it wasn’t strictly what you’d call a social call. We were deliberating on whether or not to add a Bible study class for teenagers and young adults. We’d argued about this many times before. Thurman told me we couldn’t afford it at this time because the church was experiencing some financial troubles. But I thought, and still think, making the church attractive to youth is essential to the future of the church. We need to draw young people into the fold anyway we can.”