Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (17 page)

Douglas recognized the BMW parked in his driveway. It belonged to Fran’s brother, Alex. Shutting off the engine of his Nissan, he got out and bounded up the porch steps. The minute he stepped inside he knew why Alex was here.

Boxes were stacked everywhere. The door between the garage and house stood open. Following the sound of voices, he marched around the cardboard cartons into the garage. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling did little to dispel the gloom, but he could see clearly enough. “What’s going on, Fran?” He looked at his wife, who was standing in the far corner, closing a box lid.

Alex stepped into view from the shadows to his left. “What does it look like? She’s packing to leave.” He squeezed past Douglas and went into the living room.

Douglas spun around. “Was this your idea?” He glared at his brother-in-law. They’d never gotten along that well. Alex was an attorney who specialized in acquisitions and mergers. He’d made partner two years earlier in the large law firm where he’d been employed since he passed the bar.

“Not at all. Fran has her own mind. I’m just here to help my sister out,” Alex said smoothly. He hefted a box, moving it closer to the front door.

Fran gave Douglas a scornful look as she followed her brother back into the living room. “I didn’t need anyone to tell me it was time to leave you, Doug.”

He reached out but she evaded his touch. “We need to talk…privately.” He re-entered the living room and closed the door.

“I don’t think there is anything else to talk about.”

Douglas felt anger flush his cheeks. “You went to the police, Fran. Why?”

“To tell the truth.” She met his gaze. “You don’t have anything against the truth, do you, Doug?”

Douglas glanced at Alex. He wished the guy would leave them alone to talk. He had to make Fran understand what a bad position she’d put him in.”

As though reading his thoughts, Alex said, “I know her recanting that story you forced her to tell the police puts you in a terrible position, but the truth was bound to come out sooner or later. Honestly, Doug, another affair? Not even a year after you land here? Come on!”

Fran gave Doug a frosty look. “You need to stay somewhere else tonight. I’ll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon, then you can come back.
Alex
will be sleeping here
tonight.”

Douglas’s head was reeling. Stalking over to Fran he took her by the arm, nearly dragging her through the dining room into the kitchen. “Don’t follow us, Alex, or I swear I’ll do something drastic!”

When they were alone, he said, “What the hell are you doing? You can’t just leave me like this. My career is on the line. I need for you to stand by me.”

Fran’s smile was more like a sneer. “I can almost hear Tammy Wynette singing in the background, Doug. But no dice. Now let go of me.” She glanced down at her arm, which he still held in a vise-like grip.

His mouth suddenly felt dry as cotton. He released his hold on her. “You want them to think I killed Jerry Hatfield.”

Fran sighed. “Didn’t you?”

“No!”

“So, where were you when he died—with your latest conquest?”

Douglas couldn’t believe his ears. Fran might have known of his numerous affairs, but she’d never let on, until recently. Maybe she sensed it was different with Susan. Maybe she realized he had really fallen in love. “Don’t desert me now, Fran. I need you.”

“But I don’t need you any longer, Doug. Now please go pack your things,” she said softly before walking away.

When Daniel entered his condo at a little after seven o’clock, the combined aromas of tomatoes, garlic and basil made his mouth water. The blueberry muffins he’d eaten at the station hadn’t stayed with him very long. He was really hungry.

Soft music flowed from the stereo in the corner of the living room. He hung his jacket in the closet by the front door, then headed toward the dining area. The table was set for two with his good china, crystal and silverware. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen those items—a housewarming gift from his mother when he’d moved in years ago. A vase filled with fresh flowers sat in the center of the round mahogany table between two silver candlesticks that held slender white tapers. He continued on into the kitchen. The delicious smell was coming from a covered pan simmering on the ceramic cook top. A larger pot containing water sat on another burner. Lifting the lid on the smaller pot, he inhaled deeply.

“It’s marinara sauce,” Brenda said from the kitchen doorway.

Turning around, he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. Brenda never wore a lot of makeup. Usually her shoulder length golden hair was tied back at the nape of her neck. Tonight, however, she’d applied some mascara as well as eyeliner, accentuating those wonderful indigo eyes. Her hair was slightly curled, cascading down around her face like spun gold. She was wearing a pink sweater with matching slacks. She looked soft, feminine, and very desirable.

She came to him, slipping into his embrace. Her perfume was light, slightly floral. Pulling away, she went to the stove. “I have a bottle of Bordeaux chilling. The pasta will be ready in about twenty minutes. I made a salad. There’s also some steamed asparagus.”

He smiled, beginning to relax. “Let’s have some wine while the pasta cooks,” he suggested.

She turned up the heat under the big pot. On the counter was an electric steamer, where he assumed the asparagus was cooking.

He retrieved the bottle of wine from an ice bucket on the counter, uncorking it while she got two glasses from the cupboard above the sink. He allowed her to precede him into the living room.

The furniture was well placed, using the available floor space to best advantage. She took a seat on the leather sectional, patting the space beside her. He sat down and placed the wine bottle on the coffee table. She set the glasses beside the bottle, signaling for him to pour. “Not too much for me. I want to have more with the pasta,” she told him.

He poured her a glass and handed it to her. After he’d poured his own, he sat back with a sigh.

“You look beat, Daniel. Are things really going that badly?”

He sipped at his wine. Leaning his head against the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes, cradling his wine glass in both hands near his lap. “You need to know, if things go as expected tomorrow morning, we’ll be serving several search warrants, including one at the church that will include the pastor’s study. We’ll be taking his computer plus anything else we think might be of use in helping us solve Jerry Hatfield’s murder.”

“Oh, my. So you do suspect Reverend Underwood.” Brenda’s voice trembled slightly.

Sitting up, Daniel turned sideways so he could look at her. Brenda did the same, tucking one leg up under her. “I need to ask you some questions, Brenda. Did you overhear that argument between Jerry Hatfield and Underwood on Friday morning? My mother says you came out of your office about that time.”

Brenda met his gaze. She looked a little forlorn. “She asked me the same thing. I really didn’t hear it. The office door was closed because I was running the announcement sheet for the bulletins. I think the printer must have helped to drown out their voices.”

“What made you come out of your office then?” Daniel took another sip of wine.

Her cheeks turning a little pink. “After I finished running the sheets I needed a potty break.”

He grinned at her. “Sorry. Tell me this, though. Did you ever hear Underwood and Jerry arguing?”

Now her expression was troubled. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble, Daniel. It could mean nothing.”

He felt his senses go on alert. “Tell me, Brenda. This is no time to hold back information.” His tone was a little sharper than he intended. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t like it. “Just tell me, please,” he said more gently.

She got up. “I think the water is boiling. I need to put in the pasta.” She quickly left the room. When she returned she sat down beside him, this time a little closer. “I’m sure this means nothing, but I did notice something. You know that Mr. Hatfield and Mr. Henshaw come…came into the church every Monday morning at nine to count the offering money. They used the parlor. Then, Mr. Hatfield would make the deposit on his way to his insurance office. Without fail, every Monday morning Reverend Underwood would go into the parlor to say good morning to them. Sometimes they’d talk for a while. Over the past few months, though, Reverend Underwood hasn’t been doing that. In fact, it seemed to me he went out of his way to avoid running into them.”

“Into
them
or just Jerry Hatfield?” Daniel muttered, thinking out loud. He watched her closely. He knew he was pushing her but he needed to know the truth. “What’s your opinion?”

Brenda seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t like this, Daniel. My job has certain confidentiality issues, you know that.”

“I’m not asking you to betray a confidence. Just tell me what you saw. This is a murder investigation, Brenda,” Daniel reminded her.

She took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. “I think he was avoiding Jerry Hatfield. On several occasions when Mr. Hatfield left to make the deposit, Mr. Henshaw would go to the pastor’s study and they’d chat.”

“Have you heard any rumors about Underwood and Susan Hatfield?”

She ran a hand through her hair. As it feathered out and fell back into place, that floral fragrance again floated his way. “I’ve heard a few unkind things. No one said anything directly to me, but I’ve overheard some of the women talking. I try not to listen to gossip. It can be very destructive.”

“What kind of things did you hear, Brenda?”

The timer dinged in the kitchen. She got up, gathering the wine bottle along with the two glasses. “No more of this, Daniel. Tonight was supposed to be for us to enjoy each other. I’m not going to waste it like this.” She flounced out of the room.

“Oh boy, now I’ve done it,” he murmured as he got up to follow her.

He helped her get the meal on the table in silence. Once they were seated, he said, “This looks great. More wine?”

She held out her glass but didn’t look at him. He helped himself to spaghetti while she served up the salads. The asparagus was still slightly firm, just the way he liked it. Fresh, yeasty dinner rolls slathered with butter lifted his spirits.

“You’re right, Brenda. No more shop talk. I’m sorry,” Daniel finally said halfway through the meal. He noticed she was picking at her food. “Did I tell you how good you look tonight?”

A small smile crept over her face. “No. This is a new outfit, too.”

“The color suits you. I like your hair down like that.”

The smile widened. “Thank you.”

“You also smell very good.”

“I know.”

He stretched out his leg, touching hers under the table. She gazed at him, the candlelight dancing in her eyes.

He felt a little foolish yet very powerful at the same time. She did that to him. “What’s for dessert?” he ventured.

Her lips curled up in a seductive grin. “Me.”

* * * *

Daniel’s bedroom contained heavy dark furniture that included a free standing armoire along one wall. A multicolored oriental rug covered the hardwood floor. As he lay next to Brenda listening to her soft even breathing he had a heightened sense of well-being.

Brenda stirred beside him and opened her eyes. The only illumination in the room was from a small lamp on the nightstand that cast an amber glow over the room.

“I lied, you know,” she said sleepily.

“About what?” He turned toward her, running a finger down her bare arm.

“Dessert. I have something very special.” Rolling away, she got up.

“I can’t wait,” he said to her retreating form as she wrapped a silk robe around her body, tying it at the waist.

She returned shortly carrying a lacquered wooden tray. Daniel sat up when he saw what was on it—a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries along with two glasses of white wine.

“You, sir, are in for a real treat,” Brenda said as she put the tray on the nightstand. “This chocolate will melt in your mouth. The strawberries are at a perfect ripeness, even if they aren’t home grown,” she told him with a wink.

Standing beside the bed, Brenda took one of the plump berries from the bowl, feeding it to him. Daniel sighed as the delicious combination of flavors seemed to burst inside of his mouth.

She handed him a glass of the wine. It glowed a rich gold as the light hit it. “It’s Frascati. It’s wonderful with fruit.”

She helped herself to a strawberry before sitting down on the bed beside him. The strawberries were addictive. He ate several more, sipping the wine with appreciation. It was the perfect complement to the fruit.

Later, as sleep pulled at him, Daniel decided that if things kept going this well with Brenda, next Christmas he’d be slipping an engagement ring on her finger.

Adelaide arrived at the church on Monday morning just as Reverend Underwood was pulling his blue Nissan into the parking lot.

Well, that pretty much confirms my theory that he spent the night elsewhere.

Normally the minister just walked across the street from the parsonage to the church. If he had to make hospital calls later, he would just retrieve his car from his own driveway.

The snow had stopped after depositing a five-inch blanket of white over what was already on the ground. Snow plows had cleared the streets quite efficiently overnight. Everything looked crisp and clean. She could well imagine that the falls would receive a lot of visitors this week, since Christmas was only two weeks away. From now until Christmas Eve, the town would be full of strangers. It was always an invigorating time for Adelaide, who loved the vitality of the season. This year, however, a gloomy pall seemed to hang in the air as residents tried to deal with the awful murder of one of Crescent Falls’ leading citizens.

She caught up with the minister at the door leading directly from the parking lot into the sanctuary. She knew he always used that entrance because he could then slip into the hallway leading to his study through a back doorway.