Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (8 page)

Jerry could tell Carl wasn’t buying it. He’d heard too much, obviously.

“Don’t lie for me, Susan. Or does lying come so easily to you now you do it automatically?” He glanced again at Carl. “Sorry. I need to get inside. I promised to help move the tables around after lunch so they’d be set up for the dinner tonight.”

Behind him, he heard Susan mumble something like, “I need to get away from here.”

Carl followed Jerry inside. “Why don’t you and Susan come out to lunch with us tomorrow after church? We’re going to the Dovetail Inn; it’s Ethel’s favorite restaurant.”

Jerry felt his stomach clench with anxiety. Carl meant well, but didn’t he realize it was useless. “We’ll skip the lunch, but I would like to meet with you tomorrow afternoon, privately. Mind if I come to your place about two-thirty?” He wanted to out the good reverend, brand him for the home wrecker he was. Plus he needed Carl’s input on another matter, one that was going to need their attention next week by the look of things.

“Sure. We’ll have dessert while we talk. Ethel’s baked several of her cherry pies. I made sure she saved one back.”

Ethel’s cherry pie, what could be more comforting?

“I’ll be there. Who can turn down Ethel’s baking?” Jerry said as he accompanied Carl into the social hall.

* * * *

Adelaide’s box lunch had consisted of a ham sandwich, a small package of chips and an apple. She’d eaten quickly; now she was suffering from a slight case of indigestion.

She checked her watch. It was almost two o’clock. The bake sale was over and the men were coming in to set up more tables for tonight’s dinner. She saw Carl and Jerry enter via the back door. They seemed engrossed in a serious conversation so she didn’t want to intrude. Ethel approached, handing Adelaide the till from the bake sale, which she needed to take up to the safe at once. As luck would have it, she saw Reverend Underwood coming out of the kitchen.

“Could you open the safe for me so I can put this money inside?” she asked him.

“I was just on my way upstairs to my study. Let me take it for you,” he offered.

She noticed the strange look he gave Jerry Hatfield.

Can’t say I’m surprised. I’ll bet the last person he wants to run into is Susan’s husband.

She watched as Reverend Underwood approached the door. Carl and Jerry were now headed toward the back corner of the social hall where the extra tables were stored on large, movable racks. She couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. An awkward confrontation had been avoided.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Adelaide smiled as she turned to find Vernon Dexter standing there. “Who’s minding the store?”

“No one. I just closed for the day—sent everyone home, including the people sitting at the soda fountain. Told them to take their business elsewhere.”

It was typical patter for them. Of course the pharmacy was not closed. On Saturday afternoons Vernon had a retired pharmacist named Marvin Bernard from Marietta come in to fill prescriptions. It gave Marvin some extra money while at the same time allowing Vernon a little break on the weekends. He’d go back at six to close up shop, after which he would put the deposit in the bank’s night depository.

“You missed lunch, but I saved you one. I think it’s a turkey sandwich, chips and an orange,” Adelaide told him.

She led him into the kitchen where the aroma of cooking chicken plus fresh apple pie filled the air. She got his box lunch from the refrigerator. They re-entered the social hall, taking a seat at one of the tables. Around them, men were converging to help set up additional tables.

As in years past, there would be eight double rows, split down the middle by an aisle. All totaled that would be 128 people who had reserved seats for this evening’s dinner. At twelve dollars a pop, eight for children under twelve, the church usually realized a good profit.

Once Vernon was finished eating he began helping with the tables while Adelaide decided to check on the classrooms, where she hoped they were selling out of merchandise.

As she was leaving the social hall a small boy tugged on her blazer. “When is Santa coming?” he asked in a plaintive voice.

She looked down into large blue eyes. Close behind him was a harried looking mother. “So sorry. He’s really excited.”

Adelaide squatted down so she was eye level with the child. “Santa will be here very soon. I’ll bet you can’t wait, huh?”

Each year, Jerry Hatfield played Santa at a party for less fortunate children that included games, treats and gifts. Parents were required to register their child by Thanksgiving Day for attendance. Toys were donated by the entire community and some were purchased by the churches. This year, in spite of the hard economic times, the citizens of Crescent Falls had come through with a bountiful harvest of gifts.

“Tell you what, why don’t you go to that room right there,” Adelaide pointed toward the nursery, “and play with the other children while your Mommy shops? You’ll have fun, I guarantee it,”

“Can I go to play with the other kids, Mommy? Please? Just don’t let me miss Santa.”

Throwing Adelaide a grateful look, the young mother took her son’s hand, rushing off in the direction of the nursery.

“You’re a natural-born grandmother,” Vernon said from just behind her.

Adelaide didn’t quite feel ready for that. “When the time is right, I know I’ll spoil my grandchildren rotten.”

“That might happen sooner than you think, Addy,” Vernon said.

She felt a gnawing in her mid-section. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Vernon smiled widely. “Not likely.” He winked at her as he turned and walked away. “I think I’ll do some Christmas shopping,” he called over his shoulder.

“Men!” Adelaide scoffed.

“It’s quarter to three, where’s Santa?” Carl Henshaw asked Adelaide.

“Don’t fret. Jerry…I mean
Santa
…will be here soon,” Ethel told him. Then to Adelaide, “He’s like a little kid, I swear.”

Santa was scheduled to arrive in the social hall at two-thirty, where he would pass out the gifts to the children after which there would be games and other activities. As he did every year, Jerry Hatfield had slipped away to change into his costume in the church balcony, since the sanctuary was off limits to visitors during the bazaar.

Parents with their children in tow had begun arriving around two-fifteen. “The young ones
are
getting restless. Has anyone seen him?” Adelaide asked. She glanced around the room where dozens of children wiggled restlessly in chairs while others wallowed on the floor, impatiently awaiting St. Nicholas’s arrival.

* * * *

Running late as usual, Hester Ryan entered the church at two-forty. Her eight-year-old daughter, Alise, ran along the main hallway toward the sanctuary instead of going down to the basement where the bazaar was being held.

“This way, Alise!” Hester called. Alise either didn’t hear her or pretended not to, Hester wasn’t sure which. In any event, she followed the child, intent on steering her in the right direction.

Hester saw Alise open one of the double doors leading to the sanctuary. “Don’t go in there! Come back here at once.”

“Look, there’s a big Christmas tree in there, Mommy! Let’s go look at it,” Alise called as she skipped down the aisle. The door began to close behind her.

Hester followed her daughter. “Always going her own way, never listening.” She looked around, taking in the poinsettias lining the alter rail. She wasn’t familiar with the inside of this church, since her family attended St. Mark’s Lutheran across from the high school. “Come on, Alise, you don’t want to miss Santa.”

Hester stopped short at the sight of Alise staring at something in one of the pews. Her face was screwed up in a frown.

Hurrying to the child, she saw why Alise was perplexed. “What is that, strawberry syrup?” She stared at the crimson puddle on the seat. No, that wasn’t right. She raised her eyes then gasped.

Alise looked up also. “Look Mommy, Santa is asleep.”

Hester felt her mouth go dry and her pulse speed up as she looked at the figure doubled over the balcony railing. The red liquid saturating Santa’s white beard was blood, she realized, as a droplet landed with a plop on the seat just inches away.

Hester grabbed her daughter’s hand, meaning to flee from the horrible scene. Instead she found herself unable to move. So she began screaming at the top of her lungs.

* * * *

The scream was as loud as the wail of a siren. Adelaide jumped up from her seat, alarm charging through her like a locomotive.

Vernon got up, looking around. “What the heck was that?” He headed for the stairs.

Carl Henshaw followed with Adelaide close behind.

“It came from upstairs,” Adelaide said as she ran up the steps.

They rushed as a group along the main hallway into the sanctuary where they found a tallish, brown-haired woman Adelaide recognized as Hester Ryan clutching her small, blonde daughter, Alise.

“Santa’s bleeding,” Alise said, pointing up into the balcony.

Adelaide didn’t quite understand what was going on until she saw the pool of blood on the pew and looked up. “My Lord,” she whispered.

“Is that Jerry?” Vernon asked.

“Who else?” Carl replied. He got out his cell phone. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”

Adelaide laid a hand on Vernon’s arm. “Take Hester and Alise into the church parlor. Make sure the sanctuary door closes on your way out. After you put them in the parlor stand guard outside these doors and don’t let anyone in except the police and paramedics.” She motioned for Carl to follow her as she ran up the balcony stairs, cautioning him not to touch anything along the way.

Approaching hastily, Adelaide ascertained it was Jerry Hatfield dressed in the Santa suit. It was obvious they could do nothing for him. He was dead. A wide black patent-leather belt lay on the front balcony pew, near where his body was draped over the oak railing. His fake beard had fallen forward, exposing the source of the bleeding. “He has a nasty looking puncture wound on the side of his neck.”

She scanned the immediate area, noting that the belfry door was open. “He was in the process of changing when it happened. His hat is on the floor.” She nodded toward a spot a few feet away. Suddenly she was shaking, her stomach churning. She backed away from the body, motioning for Carl to follow her down the stairs so they could wait for the police.

* * * *

Daniel McBride surveyed the murder scene closely, a knot forming in his mid-section. He’d known Jerry Hatfield all his life. In fact, the man had been his hero, even though Jerry had graduated high school eight years prior to Daniel. His feats on the football field were legend in Crescent Falls.

The paramedics had arrived, then left when it was obvious they were not needed. Now the coroner, a stoop shouldered man named Ben Mannix, was busy examining the body. It was a tight squeeze between the front balcony pew and the railing, but the smallish man seemed to be managing fine. Every once in a while he would mutter something into a hand held recorder.

Ray Butler and eight other officers were in the basement questioning shoppers and church members who had been working this afternoon. In the case of the shoppers, Daniel’s instructions had been to ask if anyone saw or heard anything out of the ordinary, take their contact information and let them go home. As for the workers, they would be asked to stay for further inquiries. Daniel knew they’d want to stay anyway, especially his mother, who would already be lining up suspects in her mind. She was still in the parlor with Hester Ryan and her willful daughter, Alise. In fact, he’d instructed his mother to keep an eye on them until he was finished here.

Footsteps on the balcony stairs caused Daniel to turn around, where he came face to face with Lieutenant Luke Fagan. “I got here as soon as I could. I was at Lloyd’s again. Someone took a hammer to one of those neon green lions. My opinion is they should have clobbered both of them then maybe he’d get rid of the things.”

Daniel stepped aside so Luke could walk around him.

Luke surveyed the crime scene for a moment. A metal case resembling a tool box dangled from his right hand. In a way, Daniel supposed you could call the items inside tools. Luke was the department’s first certified crime scene technician. He’d received his training while with the Columbus PD and took yearly classes to stay up to date on the latest techniques.

Ben Mannix stood up, facing them. “Time of death was around two o’clock. The weapon was some sort of knife…not sure exactly what yet. It missed the carotid but dissected the jugular.” He peeled off his latex gloves, stuffing them into a black bag he’d carried in with him. “I doubt he had time to struggle, but you might want to bag his hands anyway,” he told Luke.

From here the body would be taken to the county medical examiner’s office where it would be autopsied.

Once Ben was gone, Luke processed the body for transport. Pictures were taken, hands bagged, blood smears from the beard, neck, and clothing collected. The wide patent leather belt and the Santa hat were bagged, along with the box that had contained the Santa suit. Finally, two large, muscular men removed the body after wrapping it in a white sheet and zipping it into a black body bag.

Daniel watched as Luke then began the painstaking task of gathering fingerprints and any trace evidence he could find in the balcony. “We need to know when the balcony was last cleaned. My guess is if it was a while ago we’re going to find lots of prints up here but not necessarily the killer’s,” Daniel said, leaving Luke to his work. It was time to join his mother and the Ryans in the parlor.

* * * *

Officer Judy Hess approached the trio huddled together in the back corner of the social hall. She, along with several of her fellow officers had just finished checking IDs and taking statements from the shoppers before sending them on their way. After questioning several of the workers, four of the officers had left moments ago to go back on patrol. She sent one outside to look around the perimeter of the building for anything resembling a clue or murder weapon, which could be a knife or ice pick. The other two were searching the basement. That left Judy alone to question the three people she now approached—Vernon Dexter sat with the Henshaws at one of the tables. She’d known these people all her life, which made it difficult to picture one of them as a killer.