Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (20 page)

“You know what I originally said, I’m sure, Adelaide. That I was driving around thinking, trying to get my head on straight after that argument in the parking lot with Jerry. Douglas and I agreed on the way home that he would say he went to the falls, which he often did during the holiday season.”

“Yet when Douglas got home and discovered that Fran had been in Marietta all afternoon, he forced her to lie and say he was with her, therefore giving him a
substantiated
alibi, unlike yours which would remain extremely flimsy. Didn’t you ever wonder about that? Seems to me he was more than willing to make
you
the number one person of interest in your husband’s death.” She saw something flicker in Susan’s eyes, perhaps a moment of doubt, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Susan angrily flung open the door. “I trust you’ll be at the funeral Wednesday.
Jerry
thought the world of you.”

Adelaide left without responding.

Adelaide was getting ready to walk across the street to the historical house for the meeting that evening when she heard on the local TV news that Douglas Underwood was still the number one suspect in the murder of Jerry Hatfield. They rehashed the story, showing film clips of Douglas leaving the police station this afternoon. Turning off the set, she immediately placed a call to Daniel’s cell phone, but got his voice mail. She tried his private line at the station with the same result. When she tried the regular station number, she expected the night dispatcher, Ron Elam to answer. Instead Mindy Cooper, the day dispatcher took the call.

Adelaide identified herself. “Are you filling in for Ron?” she asked in surprise. She checked her watch. It was six-forty-five. The meeting would start at seven.

“For a couple of hours. They called an emergency meeting of the finance committee at his church, so he needed to take a little personal time. Isn’t that your church too…the Methodist? I’m surprised you don’t know about it.”

Adelaide wasn’t really surprised that there would be such a meeting, since Jerry had been that committee’s chairman. Someone would have to fill that position quickly, at least temporarily. Ignoring Mindy’s subtle barb, she asked, “Tell me, is Daniel around?”

“He’s in a closed door meeting with the district attorney.”

“About Douglas Underwood?”

“I can’t discuss details, you understand. Gotta go, Adelaide. I’ll tell Daniel you called.” The line went dead.

Going to the refrigerator, Adelaide got out a large plastic container. Inside were the refreshments for tonight’s meeting, chocolate chunk cookies. The recipe was a tried and true one she’d used many times with good results. She carried the container into the foyer where she put it on the small occasional table there.

She checked her appearance in the oval mirror above the table. She’d changed into a navy blue pant suit and a white blouse. She’d applied minimal makeup and now noticed there were dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t slept well since Saturday, and it was showing.

Checking her watch, she turned to get her coat out of the closet. It was then she heard an indignant yowl. Looking down she saw Oscar peering up at her with his infamous death stare. That could only mean one thing, his food bowl was empty. Hurrying to the back porch she remedied that situation immediately. “Now, you have nothing more to complain about,” she told the tabby. He completely ignored her once his needs were met.

Returning to the foyer, she pulled her gray wool coat from the closet and slipped it on. Next, she unplugged the Christmas tree in the living room, turned on the small lamp on the table in the foyer and retrieved the cookies, then left the house, locking the front door as she went. The night was clear, with just the hint of a breeze that carried with it the aroma of burning wood. Many of the residents along this street made good use of their fireplaces during the winter months. When Albert was alive they used to build fires in theirs all the time. At least, Albert did. Adelaide could never quite get the knack of it. Truthfully, now that he was gone, she had lost the desire anyway.

Across Hawthorne Avenue she saw members filing into the stately Victorian Historic House and Museum. Through the front window Adelaide could see that the living room was packed. Of course, the main topic of conversation would probably be the murder of one of its members, as well as the inevitable arrest of Douglas Underwood. So as to avoid being bombarded with questions about the investigation, Adelaide went around to the back door, which led directly into the tidy kitchen. Zelda was there, brewing tea. The large coffee urn was making gurgling noises on the counter. Adelaide took off her coat and threw it over the back of a chair.

The kitchen was a throwback to the 1950s with a pink refrigerator and matching stove, plus one of those kitchen tables with a Formica top. The linoleum on the floor was gray with multi-colored speckles of green, pink and yellow. Gingham cafe curtains adorned the small window above the sink.

“It looks like I was right about our minister. I had him pegged from the beginning. Slick, that’s what he is. Slick. Now he’ll get what’s coming to him,” Zelda said. She had a self-satisfied smirk on her face that Adelaide wanted to wipe off with a slap. Instead, she put the cookie container on the Formica counter.

“A full house tonight. What is the program, again?” Adelaide had no intention of debating the guilt or innocence of Douglas Underwood with this woman.

“Christmas around the world. Tina Engler is presenting it. She has all sorts of ornaments to demonstrate how different countries decorate their trees for the holiday.”

Adelaide left Zelda there and entered the dining room, which was a study in nineteenth century heavy walnut. The table was long and highly polished with thick ornate legs. Along one wall stood a matching sideboard with antique china displayed on its dust-free surface. From the ceiling hung a brass light fixture that did a barely adequate job of illuminating the area.

Through a wide archway was the living room. The fireplace was black marble. Adelaide couldn’t recall it being used since the society renovated the house. On the mantel was an elaborate nativity scene. Lace curtains graced the curved front windows that were part of a turret running up to the second floor. A six foot Christmas tree with vintage ornaments stood in front of the windows. The lights on it were replicas of candles, twinkling cheerily.

A horsehair sofa sat along one wall, a matching chair beside it. A beautifully restored carved oak grandfather clock stood against the opposite wall. The lighting in here was provided by another ceiling fixture, this one not much brighter than the one in the dining room, and a brass floor lamp sitting next to the sofa. A well-worn, authentic rug from the early twentieth century covered most of the hardwood floor.

Through another archway leading to the foyer and stairs, Adelaide could see that the ornate banister was wrapped with holly.

Folding chairs filled the open space in the center of the living room. Spotting Ethel, Adelaide sat down in an empty chair beside her. “Carl couldn’t come because they called an emergency meeting of the finance committee for seven. Then the district superintendent is going to have a phone conference with the Staff Parish Committee at eight,” she said.

“Are they sending another minister for Sunday?” Adelaide asked.

Ethel doodled on the notebook she held in her lap. “They’ll have to. Reverend Underwood has been relieved of his duties as of four o’clock this afternoon.”

Adelaide felt heartsick. This was a terrible blow for their congregation. She looked around the room. Mary Ellen Oliver, Historical Society treasurer, occupied a nearby chair. When she nodded a greeting her way, she was rewarded with a warm smile in return. She spotted Gayle Nelson, the society president, standing by the front door talking to Brie Hunter, membership chairman. All the officers were here, plus many other members, even Hal “Buck” Buckner, owner of the small market out by the high school. Rick Blanchard, publisher of the local paper, sat in the back row. She also spotted the paper’s star reporter, Julie Buckner Simpson, walking around the room, talking to people. Was she hoping for a scoop or some revealing quotes?

Adelaide noticed Zelda, who was this year’s society tour coordinator, slip into the room and take a seat off to the side. As usual, she had a frown on her face.

Gayle called the meeting to order. Looking through the archway, Adelaide could see that the dining room table now held refreshments. On one end, her cookies were displayed on two large silver trays. Disposable dessert plates and napkins, both in brilliant Christmas colors sat beside the trays. Coffee thermoses and tea pots were on the other end, along with Styrofoam cups, sugar, cream, lemon wedges and plastic stirrers.

Trying to relax, Adelaide listened as Ethel read the secretary’s report. Next, Mary Ellen delivered the treasurer’s report with her usual efficiency. Once the reports were approved Gayle moved on to new business. It was then the subject of sending flowers to the funeral home for Jerry Hatfield’s service on Wednesday was discussed.

“He was a long-time member so of course we’ll want to send a nice arrangement,” Gayle said.

At that moment Zelda stood, eyeing Harold Purcell who had slipped into the meeting at the last minute. “I would like to suggest that we don’t have the flowers delivered until Wednesday around noon, though. I’ve noticed a few times that the arrangements at viewings look a little wilted. I’m not sure what the problem is, but it always seems overly warm in the funeral parlor.” She stared at Harold as though waiting for him to say something.

Adelaide felt her stomach tighten. Zelda always found a way to needle Harold whenever he attended a meeting, which wasn’t that often anymore.

Harold stood up, clearing his throat. “We had some problems a few months ago with the heating and air conditioning system. That’s been repaired. It is working fine now. I can assure you if the flowers are delivered on Wednesday morning they will stay fresh until the service at one.”

“It’s
winter
. The flowers aren’t likely to wilt, are they, especially now that the temperature control in the funeral parlor is repaired?” Gayle asked. Her emerald green eyes looked innocent, as though she were trying to understand what the problem could be. The winter white sweater and slacks she wore softened her appearance. Artfully arranged around her neck was a red silk scarf.

Adelaide knew that innocent look was an act. Gayle was an expert at defusing almost any controversy by simply convincing the participants it wasn’t worth the trouble. She was a born diplomat.

Dora Carmody had a look of consternation on her face. “I wouldn’t think so, either. I agree with Gayle. I think we need to get the flowers there in the morning so they get a prominent place on the wire racks next to the coffin.”

“Well, we could always send a donation to a worthy cause in Jerry’s memory instead,” suggested Rudy Engler, no doubt hoping they would choose the church coalition where he worked as manager.

“We could do both,” Gayle suggested with a smile.

Mary Ellen cleared her throat. “Our treasury isn’t exactly bursting with money right now, as you could tell from my report.” She flipped through the pages of a ledger she held in her lap as though emphasizing her point.

“I’d be willing to kick in some extra,” Brie Hunter said.

At once most of the members agreed to do the same.

Adelaide had had enough of this kibitzing. She stood up so she could be seen. “Jerry was very civic minded. I move, in addition to flowers, we make a donation to the church coalition in Jerry Hatfield’s name. I also move that we make an annual gift at Christmas time in his name to the church coalition. Amounts to be determined by available Society funds and collected donations.” She was glad to see that she had everyone’s full attention.

“I second that motion,” Mary Ellen hastily intoned. “The specific amounts will be included in next month’s treasurer’s report.”

The motion passed unanimously.

Next they discussed the schedule for the museum tours during the rest of the holiday season. Tour guides were needed. Adelaide felt uneasy. She looked around, noting that many of the other members were still whispering amongst themselves even while Zelda was giving her report. In the end, Zelda said she’d post a sign-up sheet in the kitchen.

Just as Gayle was ready to close the business portion of the meeting, Mary Ellen mentioned that maybe it would be a good idea for the society to add a third money making project to its schedule. “The April fashion show is always a success, as is the September Victorian Tea, but it wouldn’t hurt to think about an additional way to raise funds.”

Zelda, who normally coordinated those two events, huffed. “And just what did you have in mind? I am already spread too thin as it is.”

Adelaide wanted to gag. Zelda ran both current projects with an iron fist, of course, and then complained she was over-extended. It was at her insistence that the servers at the Victorian Tea wear full length dresses and white gloves. For some reason, though, the townswomen loved the event and continued to attend year after year.

Before Adelaide knew it she was standing up talking. “Well, Gayle could appoint a committee to come up with ideas which we could discuss next month. After the additional fundraiser is agreed upon, I’m sure there are enough other members to find a volunteer to chair that particular project. You wouldn’t have to do a thing then, Zelda, since you’re already so busy.” Knowing that Zelda had to be in charge of everything or she wasn’t happy, Adelaide wasn’t surprised to see the woman’s face blanch a bright red. She wheezed several times, all the while glaring at Mary Ellen, as though blaming her for bringing up the point in the first place.

“It’s getting late. We need to move on to the program,” Gayle said. “We can discuss this at the next meeting.” She nodded at Tina Engler, then sat down in a vacant chair near the foyer.

The program was blessedly short, although somewhat interesting. Soon it was time for refreshments. Mary Ellen came up to Adelaide at once. “Oh, Adelaide, thank you so much for talking me into giving a statement to the police. I feel like a ton of weight was lifted off my shoulders.”