Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (22 page)

Carl shrugged. “I have no idea. But it will come out now, I’m sure.”

“I know Jerry sometimes thought Susan was flirting too much. But, to be honest, I think, you’re right. If he’d known about an affair that long ago, he’d have put a stop to it immediately.”

“He wanted to meet with me on Sunday afternoon, privately. I got the feeling it was something important. I guess I’ll never know now what it was about,” Carl concluded.

Getting back to the results of the Staff Parish meeting, Harold said, “The D.S. made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to assign a new minister right away. I can’t say I agree with the decision. I think the only way for our congregation to start putting this whole thing behind us and move on is to start fresh now.”

“I agree. But you know church politics. At least we’re getting Reverend Preston this Sunday. Having our former pastor in the pulpit should help calm the choppy waters. We’re lucky he agreed to come out of retirement. I guess he’s doing Jerry’s funeral service, too.”

Harold got to his feet slowly. “Let me give you a ride home. It’s snowing again.”

Carl rose also. “Thanks for the offer, but I like to walk in the snow. Besides, I need the crisp, cold night air to clear my head. So much has happened, and I’m still uneasy about certain things.”

“I’ll see you at the funeral on Wednesday then. By the way, Ruth is handling the preparations for this one, including the body.” Harold walked to the parlor door, pulling on his overcoat as he walked.

Carl had noticed lately that Harold was taking less of an active role in funeral preparations, leaving that part of the business to his daughter. “She always does an excellent job,” he told his good friend, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder.

After Harold was gone, Carl unplugged the coffee pot, taking the glass decanter to the men’s room to rinse it out. He deposited the grounds in the trash can there also. Satisfied that the parlor was in good shape, he turned off the light then shut the door. Donning his well-worn but still serviceable wool coat, he left the church, locking the front door behind him.

As was his habit, he intended to walk home through the alley. The air was frosty and clean smelling. His breath made vapor clouds in front of him as he made his way behind the parsonage across the street. The house was dark inside. It looked bleak and forlorn, as though it was abandoned. He wondered idly where Douglas Underwood was tonight. The D.S.—with the approval of the bishop—had made it clear Douglas could stay in the house pending the outcome of the investigation. Carl suspected that was another reason the church higher-ups decided not to permanently relieve Douglas Underwood of his credentials. After all, what if he was innocent? That was the presumption, wasn’t it—innocent until proven guilty?

Snow fell gently, quickly coating his shoulders. He wished he’d brought one of his hats as he felt the large, wet flakes begin to soak into his close cropped hair. It felt good, though, to walk through the silence of the night with only his thoughts for company. He passed behind Dora Carmody’s house. Inside, he could see her kitchen light was on. He liked Dora. She was a hard working woman who had pulled herself up by her bootstraps when her life fell apart. Now she was a successful businesswoman who had raised two decent children practically on her own. He knew Harold had an interest in her. Carl was glad. It meant that his friend was beginning to move on with his life.

Carl thought about the rest of the week. Tomorrow he and Ethel planned to do some Christmas shopping. Although they had no children, Ethel had a brother, Earl, who was a high school principal in Rosewood. He and his wife had produced two children. They would spend time with them Christmas Eve day. Ethel’s bedridden mother, at the age of eighty-four, was in a retirement home in Marietta. They would visit her on Christmas Eve night after church services to exchange gifts. As for his own sister, Ruth, who lived in Florida, her gift was already in the mail. Christmas was a day Carl and Ethel set aside to spend together, quietly.

But before that, they had to get through Jerry’s funeral on Wednesday, something Carl was not looking forward to. He still couldn’t believe such an awful thing had happened to his good friend right in their church. As for Douglas Underwood, he prayed the man was innocent for everyone’s sake, but it didn’t look good.

Then there’s Mayor’s court on Wednesday night. I hope the docket isn’t too full.

Usually it consisted of a few traffic offenses or some minor things like the time one of the town’s citizens decided to burn trash in his back yard using one of those wire baskets to contain the flames. The poor man acted like he didn’t understand that trash burning on private property had been illegal since the mid-1990s. “But I live on the edge of town so the wind was carrying the smoke away from here,” the man had protested. A fifty-dollar fine got the message across.

Maybe I shouldn’t run again. I’ve been the mayor for over twelve years now. That’s probably enough. Time to let someone younger step in. Jerry would have been a good candidate.

A rustling noise behind him caught Carl’s attention. He turned around, expecting to see someone there, but the alley was empty. He squinted into the muted glow cast by the widely spaced vapor lights. He continued his walk, passing the two vacant lots separating the Carmody house from the Engler’s. Here, one of the lights appeared to be out, so he slowed down, walking gingerly to avoid a fall in the darkness.

When the blow from behind came, he thought something had fallen out of the sky, or that some prankster must have hit him with a snowball. He stumbled forward, trying to catch himself before he hit the ground. Instead he landed painfully on his knees. His ears rang. His eyes wouldn’t focus. Pain now shot up and down his legs. His head hurt all of a sudden. The next blow brought a spreading numbness which was almost a relief because he wanted the pain to stop. Blackness narrowed his line of vision as he pitched forward face down into the cold, wet snow.

* * * *

The phone jarred Adelaide awake. She was propped up in bed, an open book on her lap. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:08 PM. She snatched up the receiver, saying a groggy hello.

“Oh, Adelaide, it’s Ethel. I’m at the medical center. It’s Carl.”

Fully awake now, Adelaide jumped out of bed, the book slipping to the floor with a dull thud. “Carl? What happened?” Alarm shot through her like a speeding arrow.

“He was mugged, on his way home from the church after those meetings.” Ethel’s voice was tremulous. “Dora found him in the alley not far from her place when she took some trash out to her garbage can around ten-thirty.”

“I’ll be right there,” Adelaide said, hanging up the phone. She threw on a pair of wool slacks and a heavy sweater. After tugging on socks then her leather boots, she pulled a brush hastily through her hair. Grabbing her purse and coat, she ran out of the house to her car.

Located on a large tract of land bordered by Dogwood Avenue and Beech Street in the northwest corner of town, the Crescent Falls Medical Center was a three story red brick building erected in the late 1980s. Next to it sat a modern looking dental clinic, all glass and steel with wide doors. Solar panels were visible on the roof.

She found Dora sitting with Ethel in the emergency room waiting area. They both looked worried to death. At the sight of Adelaide hurrying toward them, Ethel jumped up, coming to meet her halfway. “Oh, they’re getting ready to take him to the ICU. I can’t believe this. What am I going to do?” She wrung her hands. Tears shone in her eyes.

Tossing a magazine on a nearby table, Dora joined them. “There’s something with his heart now. They’re running more tests.”

Adelaide felt sick inside. She led Ethel to an empty couch along one wall. Once they were seated, she said, “Tell me what happened.”

“He must have been walking home from the church. He always took the alley. He was hit several times with something. They took his wallet. He…” She stopped with a gulp. Tears spilled from her eyes.

Dora sat down in a chair opposite them. “I was taking out my trash when I saw something lying in the alley near the lot next to mine. At first I thought someone had hit an animal. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it was a person. The light was so dim along that stretch I didn’t realize who it was until I was right up on him. I called the paramedics at once.”

Adelaide noticed Dora’s hands were shaking.

Ethel said, “The police came also—Larry Schwartz and Dennis Ackerman. They have no idea what he was hit with. The foot tracks were almost obliterated by the heavy snow that was falling but they did see a second set besides Carl’s. They said, guessing by how much snow had filled up the footprints that he’d laid there for forty minutes at least. That’s just a guess, of course.”

A nurse approached. “Mrs. Henshaw, they’re taking your husband up to the ICU now. You can go up to that waiting area. Only family may visit and for just fifteen minutes out of each hour.” She eyed Dora then Adelaide as though she could tell they were not family members.

Adelaide turned to Dora. “You go on home. You have to get up to open the diner early in the morning. I’ll stay with Ethel.”

Dora looked grateful to be rescued from the nightlong vigil. “You let me know how he’s doing, Ethel,” she said giving the woman a hug before hurrying away.

Adelaide accompanied Ethel to the elevator, a feeling of dread settling like an unwelcome visitor in her mid-section.

Adelaide felt frazzled and unrested as she dragged herself into the Crescent Falls United Methodist Church on Tuesday morning. She’d stayed at the hospital until nearly four in the morning, at which time Ethel insisted she leave. “You can’t do anything here. I appreciate the company, but there’s no sense in both of us losing a night’s sleep.”

Adelaide hadn’t argued. She knew she’d need all her wits about her later that morning. Today was the day she’d promised to sit in for Brenda in the church office.

Finding the promised
special
edition of the town newspaper on her front porch, Adelaide had tossed it inside without even looking at the headline. She’d grown tired of the over eager reporter’s sensationalized story style.

The church was empty as she entered the main hallway. Behind her the lock on the front door clicked loudly into place. Years earlier, after a former church secretary was assaulted, it had become necessary to install an intercom security system. Anyone without a key would need to press the button on the box beside the front door so the church secretary could ascertain the identity of the caller before allowing them access to the building.

Adelaide unlocked the office door, flipping on the overhead fluorescent lights as she entered the room. The desk to her left was free of clutter. She took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack in the corner behind the door. As she’d done many other times when she filled in for church secretaries through the years, she unlocked the desk, placing her purse in the bottom left-hand drawer. The computer sat silently on the right side of the desk top. She debated about turning it on. She wasn’t very computer savvy and didn’t own one herself, but she knew she might need it at some point during the day, so she flipped the switch. She did know how to perform simple tasks on the machine. It hummed to life, red and green lights blinking furiously as it went through the startup cycle. She didn’t turn on the monitor. She’d do that later if she needed to use it.

An early morning call to Ethel had confirmed that Carl’s condition was unchanged. He remained in a coma. “The police are sure it was a mugging. They found his wallet in the parking lot of the funeral home. Only the cash was gone. I think he was carrying about eighty dollars. Why would someone nearly kill a fine man like Carl for eighty dollars? He’d have given it to them if they’d only asked.” Ethel had sounded despondent, her voice ragged.

Adelaide went to the coffee pot on the counter behind the desk and picked up the decanter, intending to fill it in the women’s restroom. A noise in the hallway stopped her cold. She exited the office just in time to see Douglas Underwood enter the small hallway leading to his study. She followed him, catching up just before he closed his door.

“I wasn’t sure what time you’d be in today, Douglas,” she said, following him into the untidy room. Evidence of the search still littered his desktop. She idly wondered why Brenda hadn’t cleaned it up.

“I came to clear out my things. I’ve been relieved of my duties for now,” he said tonelessly.

“I see.” After what she’d heard from Daniel last night regarding Douglas’s checkered past, she wasn’t inclined to give him much sympathy, although she still had a hard time believing he was a murderer. “Carl Henshaw was attacked in the alley behind Dora Carmody’s home last night. He’s in intensive care.”

“I heard about it on the news this morning.”

His tone was neutral, as though they were discussing a complete stranger. A flash of anger coursed through Adelaide, followed by the certainty that the man was suffering from some sort of shock because his life was in shambles.

“Where is Brenda?” he asked. His hazel eyes looked bloodshot. He was wearing jeans with a brown sweater. She saw no evidence of a coat anywhere.

“Off for the day. I’m holding down the fort. Let me make some coffee, then I’ll help you sort through some of the mess the police left behind.” She exited the room before he could protest.

Once the coffee was brewing in the office, she returned to the pastor’s study. He was sitting at his desk staring off into space. She sat down on the loveseat. She had a lot of questions, if only she could get him to open up. “You know, Douglas, I’m a very good listener, so if you want—”

“No offense, Adelaide, but I really can’t talk to you about any of this. My lawyer—”

“Yes, Mark Cardosa,” Adelaide interrupted. “I’m sure he doesn’t want you talking to anyone about your case, especially not the police chief’s mother.” She saw that his hand was trembling as he picked up some papers and stuffed them into an open file folder.