Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (21 page)

Adelaide wondered now if she should have left well enough alone. Mary Ellen’s statement probably would be used to put another nail in Douglas’s coffin, so to speak. Admonishing herself for that thought, she said, “It was the right thing to do. I still can’t imagine him as a cold blooded murderer.”

“You’re in the minority, then,” Mary Ellen told her.

“It won’t be the first time.”

Mary Ellen leaned closer to Adelaide. “Also, thank you for backing me up about the additional fund raising idea. I could tell I’m now on Zelda’s you-know-what list.”

“Don’t let that bother you. Almost everyone I know, including myself, made that list a long time ago.” Adelaide watched Mary Ellen head for the opposite corner where Rudy and Tina Engler were standing. She noticed that Harold Purcell had slipped out at some point, probably because he was expected at the church for the Staff Parish phone conference with the district superintendent.

At least the poor man won’t have to endure Zelda’s slings and arrows any longer this evening.

As she meandered around the dining room table, Adelaide was approached by Vernon, who she’d seen slip in midway through the funeral flowers discussion. He took one of her cookies off of the tray and got a cup of coffee. Leaning over so only she could hear, he said, “I have a good reason for being late. I ran into Ron Elam on his way to the church for that finance committee meeting. I asked him about the murder case. He said they’re pretty sure the district attorney is going to convene a Grand Jury.”

“This just keeps getting worse.” She moved away as Zelda got a little too close. The woman was obviously eavesdropping.

Vernon kept pace with Adelaide. “Well, at least the preacher has a good lawyer, thanks to Susan.” He went to join the Englers.

Ethel came up to Adelaide, a cup of tea in her hand. “I’m ready to go. This bunch is on my nerves tonight. I wonder how it’s going at the church.”

A high, lyrical voice broke into their conversation. “Oh, Adelaide, I hear the police made quite a mess at the church. Did you get a look at the murder weapon they pulled out of the preacher’s garbage can? Is it true Fran Underwood is filing for divorce?” Julie Buckner Simpson stood next to them, her green eyes afire with avid curiosity. Her slender body looked tense, her jaw muscles jumping spasmodically.

Is she on something? Her pupils do look a little dilated. Uppers? Cocaine? Surely not. But who knows these days. Teenagers aren’t the only ones using drugs, it would appear.

“No comment,” Adelaide snapped.

Rick Blanchard, cell phone to his ear, approached them. “We don’t need a comment, this is better.” He turned to Julie. “Underwood’s alibi fell apart, and guess who is footing the bill for his high-priced lawyer, Mark Cardosa? None other than the grieving widow, Susan Hatfield!” His voice had carried so that everyone in the room heard it. All conversation stopped as the society members stared at the tall, dark-haired newspaper publisher. “Well, folks, there will be special edition of the Tribune tomorrow morning. Let’s go, Julie. We have a lot of work to do.”

Julie scurried out of the room in his wake.

Well, more cats are out of the bag. Terrific.

Zelda again smiled smugly.

Ethel sighed.

Vernon shook his head.

The rest of the members all began talking to one another at once, sounding to Adelaide like a swarm of angry bees.

Adelaide called Daniel’s cell phone the minute she got home from the meeting. He answered on the second ring. He sounded weary, his voice heavy, as though he’d been asleep.

“Are you at home, Daniel?”

“Not yet. I was just getting ready to leave the station.”

“Come to the house so we can talk.”

“I’m beat, Mother—”

“Is Brenda waiting at your place?” She felt justified in asking, since she didn’t want to interfere if they’d planned some time together.

“No, she’s at home. She’s not living with me, Mother.”

“I didn’t say she was. Just come for a bit, we need to discuss some things.”

“I don’t think—”

“I have chocolate chunk cookies.”

“I’ll be there in five.” He hung up.

When Daniel arrived on her doorstep at nine-thirty he looked as exhausted as he’d sounded on the phone. His hair was a thick mass of unruly curls, his usually expressive green eyes dull and bloodshot. She also noticed that his shoulders were slumped as he removed his coat and hung it up then walked heavily into the kitchen, lowering himself into one of the chairs around the table. Reaching for one of the cookies, he said, “Don’t badger me. I’ll tell you what I know.”

“I don’t badger, Daniel,” Adelaide said as she filled his favorite mug then put it down on the table in front of him.

After taking a sip he made a terrible face. “What is this swill?” He examined the contents of the mug with suspicion.

“Chamomile tea. It will help you sleep plus soothe your nerves. I don’t think you need coffee keeping you awake tonight.” Adelaide brought her own mug of tea to the table, joining her son.

Daniel put the mug down, ignoring it. “You know they do make decaf coffee.”

Adelaide made a snorting noise. “That’s not
real
coffee. It tastes like old burnt tires. I won’t have it in the house, you know that.”

Oscar, snoozing in his cat bed next to the refrigerator, looked up, yawned, then went back to sleep.

Daniel reached for his second cookie. “Okay. The letter opener had two partial prints on the back side of the handle, which is smooth if you recall. They were Underwood’s. The front was too ornately carved to hold a print. The blood on the blade was Jerry Hatfield’s. There were also specks of blood on the handle, also Hatfield’s. The blade was shoved about halfway into his neck. That fake beard absorbed a lot of the blood, the rest dripped down on that lower pew. The ME says he might have lived for a minute at the most. There was no arterial spray since the blade hit only the jugular vein.”

“Douglas’s prints would naturally be on the handle. Obviously the killer wore gloves,” Adelaide said.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “The murder weapon was in his garbage can, Mother.”

“Which anyone could have accessed Sunday night after it was put in the alley. Your assumption that it was put there right after the murder may not be correct.”

“He had a heated altercation with Jerry, which
you
overheard, by the way. Then he lied about his alibi when we first questioned him. He dragged his wife into things by making her lie for him. When she blew that out of the water, he got his girlfriend to say he was with her.”

Adelaide sipped her tea, waiting for that calming effect to kick in. “Susan swore to me she told the truth about them being together. I believe her, Daniel.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you believe her?” Daniel stared across the table at her.

“Because in the past her brutal honesty has often put her at odds with people here in Crescent Falls.”

“People do foolish things for love, Mother.”

Adelaide realized Daniel was speaking from experience. She recalled all too clearly his disastrous relationship six years earlier with a beautiful young woman from Marietta who strung him along, borrowed thousands of dollars then left town, never to be heard from again. Daniel was in love that time and it ended up costing him almost all of his savings plus a broken heart.

“Unfortunately, you’re right. Douglas never should have gotten involved with Susan in the first place. She came to him for help and he stepped over the line. He was the minister. He was in charge of the situation. She was vulnerable and he knew that. He used poor judgment, certainly. However, those actions don’t prove he’s a murderer.”

“No, but the evidence seems to. Plus we now have signed witness statements from both Dora Carmody and Mary Ellen Oliver that indicate Underwood and Susan were having a love affair. That goes to motive. Jerry was in the way so he had to be eliminated. Oh, and Fran Underwood came into the station and signed her statement before she left town today.”

“Then why hasn’t he been charged?”

Daniel shifted in his seat. “The DA is being very careful with this one.”

“Yes, it would appear so. Could it be he has some doubts? Perhaps he realizes this case is a little too pat?”

“We just want to build the strongest case possible before we charge Underwood, that’s all. Getting a jury to believe a minister is a cold-blooded killer will be quite a feat, even with overwhelming evidence. Rutledge only wants to prosecute cases he knows he’ll win.”

Adelaide believed it. She’d seen Washington County DA Delano Rutledge in action once when she had jury duty. He was an imposing figure, tall and muscular. His light brown hair was expertly cut to hide a spreading bald spot on top of his head. His piercing blue eyes were known to cause many a defendant to stumble through testimony. His conviction record was exemplary, had been since he first joined the DA’s office fifteen years ago as an ADA. That was probably why the voters kept putting him back in office.

“He’s probably going to convene a Grand Jury,” Daniel added.

Adelaide raised an eyebrow. “So I heard at the Historical Society meeting tonight.”

Daniel’s face blanched. “What? Who the hell told you that?”

“Our newspaper publisher got a cell phone call during refreshments telling him that little tidbit plus the fact that Susan is paying for Douglas’s defense.”

“When I find out who is leaking all this information, they’re finished,” Daniel promised through clenched teeth.

“Well, you won’t find out from Rick Blanchard or his star reporter. You know, I tried to tell Susan she shouldn’t be paying for Douglas’s defense.”

“It’s put her in a bad light, for sure. That’s why we’re still looking into her involvement in her husband’s death.”

“She admitted to me a little while ago that she and Douglas intend to be together eventually. She’s still very much in love with him.”

Daniel made a sour face. “Eventually could be a long time if they’re both behind bars.”

Adelaide assessed her son for a moment. “You’d like to charge her as an accessory, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s on my wish list, I suppose.”

“Trouble is you have no proof.”

Daniel ignored the comment.

“Be honest with me, Daniel, do you
really
believe Douglas killed Jerry?” Adelaide finally asked.

Daniel sighed heavily. “Jerry was one of my high school heroes. I want his killer punished.”

“So do I, Daniel. I just want to make sure it is the right person.”

“Or persons,” Daniel added. “By the way, we’re looking into Underwood’s past. According to his wife, Fran, he was a chronic cheater. So we subpoenaed his records from the district and found out he’d been transferred a couple of times because of his lecherous behavior.”

Adelaide felt her face flush with anger. “The district superintendent knew about this but they sent him here anyway?”

“We found references to such incidences in the notes we reviewed.” Daniel got up, pushing his chair back in against the table. “It’s not uncommon. You know that. Truthfully, I think Jerry had about as much chance of getting Underwood defrocked, as I have of being elected Pope.”

Adelaide rose also. She knew her son was right. Ministerial bad behavior was usually punished with a move to a less desirable church where the minister could evaluate the error of his ways. Depending on his, or her, age, early retirement might be strongly suggested.

She walked Daniel to the door then watched him climb into his pickup truck. Oscar joined her, meowing loudly as he rubbed against her leg. Bending down, she picked up the purring feline and stroked his smooth, silky head. “Well, Oscar,” she said softly to the cat, “seems like everyone except me and Susan thinks Douglas is guilty. Obviously, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

She glanced up into the streetlight at the corner. It was snowing again.

* * * *

After the Staff Parish Relations Committee phone conference with the district superintendent, Carl Henshaw and Harold Purcell lingered in the church parlor, discussing the evening’s events. The other committee members were gone.

Carl sat in a floral print easy chair, Harold in the one beside it. They were downing what was left of the coffee.

“How did the finance committee meeting go?” Harold asked. He shifted his lanky body in his seat as though he couldn’t get comfortable.

Since Harold wasn’t on that committee, he had only been present for the Staff Parish phone conference that began at eight-fifteen and ended a little before nine. Carl didn’t mind sharing some information with his long-time friend. Harold was the soul of discretion. “They appointed me as temporary chairman. Now we need to look for another member. I don’t suppose you’re interested.”

Harold smiled. “Under other circumstances I might decline, Carl, but in this case I’m saying yes.”

Carl felt a flood of relief. “I knew I could count on you.”

“What did you think of the comments the D.S. made tonight?” Harold asked.

“It’s obvious he’s having a hard time with this. As we all are.” Carl stopped for a moment. “Let me ask you something, Harold. You were friends with Jerry also. Did you notice anything strange about his behavior over the past few weeks?”

Harold rearranged his navy blue suit jacket a little then tugged at his shirt collar. “He was quiet. Now that I realize what was going on between Susan and the preacher, I see why.”

“I don’t think he knew about that until just a couple of days before he was killed.” Carl pulled at his lip.

“You think there was something else bothering him?” Harold sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“He acted worried. What I’m talking about goes back to the end of October or thereabouts.”

“He may have suspected it then, but had no proof.”

“I don’t know. Look at the way he behaved Friday and Saturday. If he’d suspected way back in October that Susan was having a fling with the preacher, he’d have confronted them then, don’t you think?”

Harold nodded. “Do we know for sure how long those two have been involved?”