Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (12 page)

“Oh my,” Ethel whispered.

Before Adelaide could tap Zelda on the shoulder and demand an explanation for those remarks about Daniel, the organist cranked up the volume as the first strains of
Holy, Holy, Holy
, the traditional anthem that signaled the choir’s entrance down the main aisle, echoed through the sanctuary. Rising as a group, the worshipers with hymnals in hand began to sing along.

The service was a strained affair with Reverend Underwood looking tired and pale as he recited the scripture. During the choir’s anthem, he sat in a red velvet upholstered chair off to the side of the pulpit staring into space, his attention obviously elsewhere. The sermon sounded vaguely familiar to Adelaide. Then it dawned on her that it was a sloppily revamped version of one he’d preached during Advent last year. No mention was made of Jerry Hatfield’s death until just before the offering plates were passed around.

“We’ve suffered a tremendous loss here at our church this weekend. I’m talking about the unfortunate death of Jerry Hatfield, a longtime member of this congregation. I’m sure we are all aware of the circumstance surrounding his passing. It is a tragedy. I’ve been informed that the funeral will take place Wednesday at one o’clock in the afternoon at Purcell’s Funeral Home. Visitation will be from eleven until one. Burial will be at the Crescent Falls Cemetery.” Among murmurs from the assemblage, he signaled for the ushers to bring forth the offering plates.

After the service ended, Adelaide decided to circulate so she could listen to what people were saying. Of course, Zelda Jackson’s voice carried down the main hallway as she spoke with three women from the Faithful Followers Sunday school class. “I certainly wouldn’t trust Purcell’s to do a decent job. Susan should have had him taken to Mallory’s in Rosewood, then brought him back to the church for the service.”

The women all nodded like sheep—not surprising, since they were Zelda’s cohorts on several church committees as well as various civic organizations, including the Historical Society.

Next Adelaide saw Lloyd Fletcher talking with Dora Carmody. She sidled up near them but not so close as to be obvious.

“We really need more public support for the casino, Dora. I’m having some flyers made up. I’d appreciate it if you’d give them out at the diner,” Lloyd said. He put a well-manicured albeit pudgy hand on her bare arm, giving it a squeeze.

Dora favored him with a half-smile. “Make them big enough to use as placemats. I’ll make sure everyone has to look at them while they eat.”

Lloyd smiled brightly, exposing a row of white, even teeth. “Wonderful idea! You’re a woman to be admired, Dora.”

They moved away, out of earshot. Adelaide had wondered which side of the fence Dora was on regarding that issue, now she knew. She had found it distasteful, though, for the pair to be discussing the casino in church, especially in light of the tragedy that had taken place just a day ago. As she walked among the parishioners, she heard Jerry Hatfield’s death being discussed in hushed tones usually reserved for funeral home visitation conversations.

As she headed for the front door, hoping to mingle with the parishioners gathering on the sidewalk, Adelaide almost ran into Carl coming out of the church office.

“The offering is all locked up,” he told her. He looked peaked and his shoulders were slumped.

Ethel joined them. “I’m going to come in with Carl in the morning to count the offering. Reverend Underwood said it was all right. He said there should be two people.”

“Where
is
Douglas?” Adelaide asked using his first name as she often did, since they’d become close over the past year while working together on various projects.

“In his study, the last I saw of him,” Ethel replied. She leaned over closer to Adelaide. “Don’t pay any attention to what Zelda said. She makes up things all the time just to get attention. She doesn’t know anything about what goes on with the police.”

Adelaide smiled at her friend. Ethel was a good-hearted woman who would do anything for anyone. “I know. It’s already forgotten. Who is going to notify Mary Ellen Oliver she won the silent auction?”

Carl and Ethel exchanged glances. “We’re on our way to the Dovetail Inn for lunch—do you want to join us, and we can all go tell her later?” Ethel asked.

Adelaide thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’ll take a rain check on lunch. Where is the quilt? I’ll take it to Mary Ellen.” Truthfully, she had other plans.

I’ll take the quilt to Mary Ellen after lunch. Susan sees Daniel at one. Once she’s home from the police station, I’ll drop in on her—a condolence call. Douglas sees Daniel at three. That will be the perfect time for me to visit Fran.

She didn’t need the likes of Zelda Jackson to tell her that the outcome of this murder investigation would determine Daniel’s fate as chief of police. The vultures were gathering, led by Lloyd Fletcher. He’d use this murder investigation to bury Daniel if possible. Adelaide intended to make sure that didn’t happen by doing some investigating of her own.

Daniel looked up from his desk just as Luke Fagan walked into his office. “Good, I’m glad you’re here. I just received a fax from the medical examiner’s office,” he told his lieutenant. “Take a look at this.” He handed the paper across the desk.

Luke read the report then handed it back. “What kind of knife are we talking about here?”

The description of the wound track indicated a straight, slender blade, much like a stiletto yet a little thicker. “Not sure. The wound was three inches deep.”

Luke took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Daniel’s desk.

“Maybe a switchblade?” Daniel surmised.

“Could be.”

“Nothing under his fingernails, lots of hairs from that fake beard on his Santa suit. Other than that, not much.” Daniel felt frustrated.

Luke had some news of his own. “The balcony was cleaned on Thursday, so the only prints I got besides some smudges on the backs of the pews were Hatfield’s and the janitor’s, a guy named Burt Muldoon. He’s in the system from a DUI a few years ago.”

Daniel shook his head. “I know Muldoon. He likes his beer, but I don’t see why he’d kill Jerry Hatfield, do you?”

“No. I talked with him and his better half earlier today. He was at home all afternoon on Saturday.”

Daniel sighed. “The killer probably wore gloves.”

“It’s December. Everyone is wearing gloves.”

Pushing back his desk chair, Daniel stood up and began to pace. “I’ve got Susan Hatfield coming in for an interview in a few minutes. Why don’t you sit in?”

Luke stood also. “You think that Mrs. Hatfield and the preacher conspired to kill her husband?”

“Love triangles can spawn raw emotions. Several arguments occurred before the murder, one between the victim and the preacher and two that we know of between the Hatfields.”

The sight of Susan walking through the squad room toward his office caused Daniel to stop pacing. “She’s right on time. Looks like she brought company.”

Luke glanced out through the window. “Mark Cardosa. She came with a mouthpiece. How about that?”

Susan and Mark took off their coats, hanging them on the coat tree just outside Daniel’s office. Luke pushed another scuffed looking chair up beside the one he’d vacated. He motioned for Susan and Mark to sit down. Daniel noticed that Susan was wearing a black dress that clung to her like a second skin. Mark Cardosa looked suave in a sleek charcoal gray suit that was obviously custom-made. Luke stood in the corner next to a file cabinet.

Daniel closed the door, then resumed his seat behind the desk. For a moment he observed the widow Hatfield. Her blonde hair was piled atop her head in a way that seemed haphazard but really wasn’t. Light, feathery tendrils hung down around her face, softly caressing it. Her violet eyes were a little bloodshot but not swollen, which told Daniel she hadn’t been up all night crying about her loss.

“I’m really not sure why my client is here, Chief McBride,” Mark Cardosa finally said. He balanced an expensive looking leather attaché case on his lap.

Daniel had never cared much for the smooth-talking attorney. Born and raised in Cleveland, Cardosa had arrived in Crescent Falls a year ago stating he was tired of the rat race. Of course council members like Lloyd Fletcher, who saw an opportunity to have a big city lawyer on the town payroll, talked the town council into hiring Cardosa for the newly created position of legal advisor. From what Daniel had gleaned, Cardosa would mostly be reviewing city contracts. His duties did not include any prosecutorial actions, therefore he was free to take on private clients as he saw fit. Evidently he’d seen fit to take on the beautiful widow.

Daniel knew the trim, well-built attorney was forty years old. His dark hair was neatly styled, his deep brown eyes bottomless as an abyss. He drove a late model Corvette, a convertible of course. Recently he’d purchased one of the more prestigious looking Victorian homes on Hawthorne Avenue.

“First of all, Mrs. Hatfield, let me say how sorry we are for your loss. I admired your husband a great deal,” Daniel said. He then removed a tape recorder from his desk drawer and put it on the desktop. “We’ll be recording this interview.” He turned on the machine then stated the date, time and those present.

Susan glanced at the tissue box on Daniel’s desk, but extracted one from her expensive-looking leather clutch bag and dabbed it under her nose. Daniel didn’t see any evidence of the need to do so, however, since there were no tears in her eyes. She mumbled something that sounded like a thank you.

Mark Cardosa shifted slightly in his seat. “So, why are we here?” His tone was crisp, his eyes suddenly dark as coal.

“We just need to clarify some things, that’s all,” Daniel said, focusing his attention on Susan, not Mark.

“Such as?” Mark said. He snapped open the attaché case, extracting a legal pad. Closing the lid, he used the case as a makeshift desk. From the breast pocket of his suit coat, he retrieved a pen. The words
Monte Blanc
were emblazoned in gold across the shaft.

“I’d like a little more information about where you were, Mrs. Hatfield, on Saturday afternoon,” Daniel said. He gazed steadily at her.

“I went for a drive. I needed to get away.” She seemed to be concentrating on something over his shoulder. The window there looked out over the south entrance to the parking lot.

“Why?” Daniel asked.

“To clear my head,” Susan replied.

“Trouble at home?” Luke asked.

“I just needed some time to myself.” She looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together in her lap.

“My client answered these questions on Saturday evening when you notified her of her husband’s death, Chief. So, unless you have anything new…” He seemed about ready to get up.

“We’ve gathered quite a bit of new information since then, Mr. Cardosa,” Luke said.

“Tell me about the argument you had with your husband on Thursday night,” Daniel raised his voice, causing Susan to jump, then dart her gaze his way.

“What? Thursday…I don’t…how did—” she sputtered.

Cardosa stepped in with a warning. “Don’t say another word, Susan.” He glared at Daniel. “Are you charging my client with something?”

Why bring an elephant gun to a turkey shoot? This guy isn’t helping his client one bit. He’s coming on too strong, too fast.

Daniel sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes on Susan. “What was the argument about?”

Luke Fagan stepped forward. “Just so you know. You were overheard.” His voice was steady, without much inflection.

Susan looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She glanced over at her attorney, who was now making notes on the legal pad. That’s when it occurred to Daniel that Cardosa knew nothing about that argument between the Hatfields.

Luke now stood next to Susan’s chair. “So how long had your affair with Douglas Underwood been going on?”

Daniel had always admired Luke’s interrogation techniques. The two men often worked in tandem when questioning suspects. “Jerry followed you to the church that night, Susan, did you know that?” Daniel asked.

“No. He couldn’t have. I didn’t see…” Her lips were forming an O now as she shot a desperate look at Cardosa.

Daniel spoke up. “What about the fight you had with your husband in the church parking lot the day he was murdered? Witnesses say it turned physical. Was that argument about your affair?”

Luke took up where Daniel left off, not giving Susan a chance to respond. “Jerry finally caught on that you were sleeping with that preacher, didn’t he? He confronted your lover on Friday morning, did you know that?”

Susan’s face drained of color. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She shook her head as though denying the truth of what she was hearing.

Daniel could tell that a lot of this was news to Mark Cardosa by the expression of surprise he was trying hard to conceal.

“He threatened you. He threatened your lover. The game was up,” Luke said somewhat more softly.

Daniel could see that Cardosa was less than pleased that his client hadn’t been completely forthcoming with him.

Good. Divide and conquer.

“You might as well tell us the truth, Susan. Lies won’t help you now. It’s all going to come out.” Daniel stared at her.

Recovering from the surprise revelations, Mark Cardosa snapped open the attaché case, replaced the legal pad, shut the case then rose from his chair. “Get up, Susan. We’re leaving. They’re on a fishing expedition. They have no proof of anything, or else they would arrest you.” He nearly yanked Susan from her chair, steering her roughly toward the door. “All married couples argue. It’s not proof of murder.”

Luke strolled over and opened the door for them. His gaze was on Susan as she hesitated on the threshold, looking up at him. “If you have nothing to hide, it’s in your best interest to tell us everything, Mrs. Hatfield.”

Cardosa pushed Susan the rest of the way out of the office, pulling the door shut behind them. They quickly grabbed their coats and hurried from the station house.

“That went well,” Daniel commented with a grimace. He turned off the recorder.