Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (5 page)

As they stepped into the main hallway, Susan heard the pastor’s door click shut behind them.

* * * *

Opening the door to the men’s room a little farther, Jerry Hatfield stepped into the hallway. He’d arrived just after Susan, watching from the shadows outside as she entered the church. Once she was clear of the main hallway, he’d entered the building. Sneaking into the short hallway that led to the pastor’s study, he’d ducked into the men’s room where he stood with the door open just a crack, waiting. He hadn’t had to wait long. Not even five minutes later, Susan came sneaking down the hallway, then knocked on the pastor’s door. Moments later he’d left the restroom, tiptoeing across the hall where he pressed his ear against the old oak door. Unfortunately all he could hear were murmurs from the other side. It had sounded like they were arguing. A noise in the main hallway made it necessary for him to return to the men’s room, but he’d witnessed enough. There was no reason for Susan to be in Douglas Underwood’s study tonight. The only activity she participated in at the church, besides being secretary of the United Methodist Women, was the choir, and the preacher had nothing to do with either of those.

His suspicions had been correct. There was something going on between those two. Now he just needed to decide how to handle it.

Adelaide arrived at the church early on Friday morning to help the first shift of Christmas Bazaar workers get settled in the various Sunday school classrooms.

Entering the first classroom, which on Sunday morning housed the Christian Circle class, she was thrilled by the way the tables were arranged. Handmade Christmas tree ornaments were displayed attractively. In one corner an artificial Christmas tree held many more of the distinctive adornments. Household items in holiday themes, such as ceramic soap dishes, hand towels, embroidered tablecloths, decorative wall hangings and hooked door mats, all made by devoted church members, filled several more tabletops. On a small table in another corner handmade candles were displayed. The aroma of cinnamon along with pine filled the air. There was also Christmas music, thanks to the church’s PA system.

“Good morning ladies,” Adelaide said breezily.

Ethel, who was rearranging merchandise on one of the tables, looked up and smiled. Susan Hatfield, from her position at the Christmas tree, merely nodded. In Adelaide’s opinion the woman looked haggard, as though she’d slept poorly, although she was, as always, well turned out. Her hair was piled high atop her head today with an attractive comb holding it in place. Jade earrings dangled from her earlobes. The turquoise-colored outfit she wore was no doubt a designer original.

Poor Jerry, footing the bill for all her fine things. Well, I suppose he doesn’t mind. Everyone knows how he spoils her. Who would have thought the obese teen would blossom into the woman who made men’s heads turn when they passed her on the street.

It was true. Susan had been one of those girls about whom it was often said She has such a beautiful face, it’s a shame she’s so fat. Adelaide could only imagine the torture she’d endured before the miracles of modern medicine caught up with her needs. Bariatric surgery had turned her life around.

“Are you in a trance, Adelaide?” Ethel asked.

Adelaide shook herself out of her reverie, glancing sideways at her friend. Today Ethel was wearing a stylish emerald green dress that toned down her well rounded figure. Her only jewelry was a bright red pin in the shape of a Christmas tree.

Adelaide thought about her own attire, a pair of black slacks, white blouse and crimson blazer. She rarely wore dresses, citing her birdlike thin legs as the reason. They weren’t her best feature, so she opted to cover them up. Albert had once referred to her as statuesque. In her opinion it was just another way of saying she was tall. Her father had always encouraged her not to slump, often pulling her shoulders back from behind when she did so. Now she had good posture, something she often thanked him for silently. But she’d always considered her best feature to be her luxuriant auburn hair, which she now kept cut stylishly short.

“I’m just thrilled by the way this room looks. You two did a great job,” Adelaide told Ethel. In a lower voice she added, “What’s wrong with Susan? She looks like she’s ready to burst into tears.”

Ethel glanced across the room. “She’s been like that since she got here. I’m not surprised though after what I witnessed last night on their front porch.” She drew Adelaide aside out of Susan’s earshot.

Adelaide listened with mounting concern as Ethel told her about the argument she’d heard between the Hatfields.

“That doesn’t sound good at all,” Adelaide said.

“Trouble in paradise,” Ethel predicted.

Reverend Underwood entered the room, stopping just inside the door. Adelaide heard Susan’s sharp intake of breath. She also saw the way the minister seemed to go out of his way not to look in the woman’s direction.

“It’s almost time to open. People are waiting at the front door. I predict this bazaar will be a great success,” the minister said. His voice seemed a little strained to Adelaide, as though he was trying too hard to be upbeat.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” Adelaide watched as Susan hurried to the door then out into the hallway.

Ethel cleared her throat. “Well, I hope she makes it back here before the onslaught. We’ll be swamped. This is always the first place they come.”

Adelaide excused herself. She had to continue her rounds. The next room was where her class, the Faithful Followers, met each Sunday morning. The theme today, however, was art. Charcoal drawings, oil paintings, pastels and various ceramic items as well as sculptures, all created by members with artistic inclinations, covered the tables. Adelaide surveyed the items, thinking that they were quite good, really. In fact, she had her eye on a cheerful pastel drawn by the church organist, Marian Canfield.

Tending this room were Dora Carmody, who took a break from running the diner each year for this event, and Fran Underwood, the preacher’s wife.

“Hold that floral pastel for me, will you Dora?” Adelaide said. She pointed to the small drawing of sunflowers on the nearest table.

Dora picked up the painting, which was in a nice little gold frame. After placing it on the cash table at the back of the room, she joined Adelaide, who was walking around looking at the other merchandise.

“Honestly, Adelaide, I don’t know what is wrong with Fran today. She’s in another world. I know she’s been crying. No amount of makeup can cover those telltale bloodshot, swollen eyes,” Dora whispered.

Adelaide glanced across the room at Fran Underwood. She seemed oblivious to their presence. “You’re right. She looks terrible.” It was true. The woman never was a fashion plate, but today the shapeless gray tweed dress made her look completely washed out. Her lackluster hair hung limply around a pale face. She was walking aimlessly around the tables, adjusting items as she went, but Adelaide could tell her mind was somewhere else.

“You know,” Dora continued, “last night right before choir practice, I saw Susan Hatfield coming out of Reverend Underwood’s study. She had the same look on her face, like she was about to lose it.”

Adelaide thought about Susan’s strained expression a few minutes ago in the other room. “Maybe she’s in counseling.”

Dora sniffed. “I think they’d been holding hands. I saw them let go the minute they saw me. Do you suppose that’s part of his counseling technique?” She looked guilelessly at Adelaide.

“It’s not up to us to speculate,” Adelaide said rather sharply. Then softening her tone, she added, “Times are hard for everyone here right now. I’m sure the Hatfields are feeling the pressure, too.”

Before Dora could respond, Adelaide left the room, continuing on to the next one. As she entered the Young Christians classroom that also doubled as a meeting room for the Youth Fellowship, she was pleased to see all the beautiful hand-made afghans and quilts. On a separate table at the back of the room a special quilt was on display. The sign on the table read—
Silent Auction…Make Your Bid Here
.

Each Wednesday over the past six months, the women from the adult Sunday school classes had met in the church social hall to hand sew the project from scraps of material donated by members of the congregation and others in the community. The results were truly amazing. Adelaide wrote down her bid, dropping it in the designated box.

When she turned around she nearly ran into the church secretary, Brenda Collier, who was holding a small black device that resembled a camera.

“This is my favorite room. So much hard work went into making these items. Smile, Adelaide, I’m recording every room for posterity before they let in the shoppers.”

Adelaide took a better look at the small camera. “I’ve seen these video recorders advertised on TV.”

Brenda turned the machine off. “Isn’t modern technology wonderful? I just love all the new things they’ve come out with lately.”

Adelaide held out her hand. Brenda placed the recorder in her palm. “I have an old Minolta larger than this. I can remember when camcorders were so big it took two hands to hold them up.” She handed the recorder back to Brenda.

Brenda smiled. “I came down earlier to take snapshots on my iPhone for the church newsletter. But with this I can get a panoramic shot of each room. It was actually Reverend Underwood’s idea. I’d better get back upstairs. The phone’s been ringing off the hook this morning.” She left the room.

Following the secretary out into the hallway, Adelaide turned the opposite way, going into the final room, the nursery and children’s classroom, which would be used for babysitting purposes during the bazaar. Teenage members of the Youth Fellowship were volunteering their services. She glanced in the door, noting that four teens were waiting to accept their charges. She waved at them then crossed the hall, entering the kitchen.

Zelda Jackson, her face flushed, stood at the long counter along one wall assembling the box lunches. Beside her were several other church members. They had an assembly line going, which Adelaide assumed was Zelda’s idea, since she always liked to be in charge.

Adelaide advanced through the kitchen, waving at the workers as she went. At last she entered the social hall, which was a beehive of activity.

Along one wall was the bake sale. The aroma of chocolate combined with brown sugar floated her way. Those had to be from Ethel’s chocolate chip cookies. She also spied three pecan pies, which she knew Ann Hinderman had donated. As she watched, one of the women she’d greeted in the kitchen entered the social hall carrying two lemon meringue pies. Adelaide had made three last night, two for the sale and one for Vernon. She doubted if he would have time to attend the bazaar today, but knew he’d be here tomorrow.

She glanced around. The men had set up twelve tables, six to a row. That should accommodate the shoppers eating lunch just fine. Tomorrow evening the room would be rearranged for the chicken dinner.

Voices outside in the hallway heralded the arrival of the first wave of shoppers. Heading up the stairs, Adelaide smiled a greeting at Gayle Nelson, owner of Gayle’s Gifts & Flowers. With her was Brie Hunter, proprietor of Brie’s Boutique.

“I can’t wait to see the quilt that is up for bids this year,” Brie said immediately. She was an athletically built strawberry blonde with lively eyes. Her husband of three years, Tim, owned the local auto repair shop on Dogwood Avenue.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Adelaide told her. “By the way, how is Reverend Lipscomb?” Brie and Tim were members of the local Presbyterian Church.

“He’s healing nicely. An appendectomy is no fun ever, but with his diabetes and heart problem, we were really concerned. I’ll tell him you asked.”

Gayle Nelson laid a hand on Adelaide’s arm. She was petite but well built. Her long red-brown hair was tied back at the nape of her neck with a wildly patterned scarf. “I just wanted to thank you for sending my dad that get well card, Adelaide. It meant a lot to him.”

“He and Albert loved to play golf together. I know he misses my husband very much also. I just didn’t want him to think I forgot about him, that’s all.”

Gayle was originally from the nearby town of Rosewood. She’d only moved to Crescent Falls when she opened her gift shop. Although she was a member of St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, Adelaide didn’t think she attended regularly.

“How is your father doing now? I know it couldn’t have been easy for him to be laid up with a broken ankle. He’s such an active man.”

“He’s doing great. Physical therapy has really helped. He’s determined to be back on the golf course by spring.”

“Come on, Gayle, we’ll miss all the good stuff,” Brie urged. She waved goodbye to Adelaide.

Adelaide watched the women disappear into the first classroom.

Now that Adelaide was satisfied that everything was more or less under control in the basement, she headed upstairs to look for Reverend Underwood. She was hoping to spend a few moments alone with him so they could discuss their church’s portion of the community food pantry funding for the coming year.

Several years ago the local churches had combined their efforts into a coalition. It had been Adelaide’s idea, really. She’d noticed that although each church in town had a food pantry to help its poorer members, there were times when one or the other’s resources ran low. Plus, she didn’t feel a person or family should be forced to have a church affiliation to get needed help. With support from their former pastor she’d been able to get a committee together, two members from each church, to investigate the possibility of forming a cooperative effort that would combine resources, therefore making it easier to serve the needy. It had been Ethel’s idea to start the thrift store in conjunction with the food pantry. Now, the Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Lutherans and Catholics worked together for the good of the community.

With giving somewhat down, however, the church budget was stretched thin. Adelaide’s suggestion was simple—an old fashioned ice cream social held on the Crescent Falls UMC lawn during the July fourth weekend. Not only would the proceeds help finance the second half of next year’s required allotment for the food pantry, but it would be a great way to bring the townspeople together in fellowship. Also, it would be right in the middle of camping and fishing season, so visitors would attend, bringing more money into the coffers.