Murder by Serpents (Five Star First Edition Mystery) (10 page)

“I'm glad they finally told you about it. I don't generally hold with womenfolk keeping secrets like that, but I guess it is really none of my business.” He paused to adjust his belt again. “I have to confess that I forgot all about this building until they came in to file the papers. When our congregation decided to move to a larger place, I called your aunt and she said we could use it for the time being—you know, as long as we pay for the power and water and keep it clean.” His lips lifted into a smile, forming deep creases in his cheeks.

“Tell me about John Mize.” Pops didn't look like a man who had just lost his pastor, and Tony couldn't decide how to work up to breaking the news of his being dead.

“Lordy, but that man has the gift. Luckily, he is on the side of good, ’cause he could sell water to a drowning man.” His eyes searched the room. “He isn't here yet, but I expect him to arrive at any time. He doesn't like to arrive too early ’cause it stresses the snakes.” Pops words slowed to a stop and a worried expression replaced his jolly smile. “I guess you are here about the snakes? We knew that it was only a matter of time before that weasel Stan turned us in.”

“In a matter of speaking.” Tony's voice dropped. This was the opening that he had been hoping for. “This morning, we found the body of John Mize, or at least we are presuming for now that it is him. There were several snakes in the vehicle with him.” He didn't volunteer information about the condition of the body or the fact that the snakes were loose.

“No! What happened?” Pops eyes filled with tears. He swayed, and Tony had to grab his elbow and help him to a chair. “He was just fine last night. Was he in some car accident?”

“We are really not quite sure what happened.” That was the truth but Tony hedged, avoiding any other questions. “It would help if you could tell me what time it was when you last saw him.”

“We finished our meeting about eight thirty. As usual, him and me were the last to leave.” Pops sniffled. His eyes left Tony's face and swept over the congregation. Watching them preparing for the meeting that would not take place, his eyes filled with tears. “After the others left last night, he went out and started his car and let it run for a while to warm up. The snakes don't like bein’ cold, you know, and they are always real tired after a service. You got to take care of ’em.”

Tony nodded but didn't mention that in his mind, one of the best things about cold weather was that snakes didn't like it. “Did you both drive away at the same time? Did he mention if he planned to stop someplace on his way home?”

“No. Well, not that I know of. When I locked up and got in my car, I'd guess it was just about nine. He was already in his car and the headlights were on. I assumed that he pulled out right behind me.” Pops more or less collapsed, clutching his head with both hands. He started making a terrible moaning sound.

“I never met the man,” said Tony placing a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder. He let Pops gather himself for a moment. “How did the two of you meet and start up this church?” Can you tell me anything about him? You know, like where he came from and if he has relatives other than Quentin.” He glanced around the drab room, watching the congregation. “When I talked to Quentin, I didn't learn much. I might have been talking about a stranger. You'd think a cousin would know a bit about the family, wouldn't you?”

Pops sat up straight. If they hadn't been in a place of worship, the older man looked like he would have spat on the floor. “Quentin is a wastrel and always has been. If he has any redeeming characteristics I don't know what they are. Have you ever known him to work a day in his life for an honest wage?”

Tony couldn't say that he had and shook his head. Quentin's income was suspect but largely unproven. It seemed to be a cross between welfare and larceny, but Quentin was not the immediate problem. “So, what can you tell me about your introduction to Mr. Mize?”

“I met him at another church meeting, oh, maybe two or three months ago.” Pops fingers began moving as if they were playing an instrument and he swayed to some music only he could hear. “After the service, we was just standing around and talking, several of us, about this and that and John mentioned that he had taken up serpents and asked us if we ever had.” His eyes moved as he watched the rest of the congregation. “A couple of us said we hadn't ever been present at a service like that and that we were curious but not sure whether we wanted to try it or not.”

“Did he show you his snakes?”

“No.” Pops shook his head. “Then he said that he had some snakes at his place and if we found a place where we could have a meeting, he'd enjoy preaching a bit again.”

“I gather you tried it and liked it.” Tony didn't think his faith would extend to handling poisonous reptiles, but he felt a grudging admiration for those who did. “Weren't you scared?”

“Nossir, I wasn't and that surprised me more than about anything on this earth.” He coughed a couple of times and then looked up and grinned. “To be perfectly honest, I don't much care for snakes.”

“What else did he tell you about himself?”

“He confessed that he did some time in a prison, but I don't know where it was or what he was in for. Didn't seem to matter. He told me time and again that prison changed his life forever and for the good. Jesus saved him.” Pops wiped a tear from his cheek. “I swear, he must have memorized the whole of the Good Book. If you gave him a verse, he could tell you where it came from. I never did see anyone who knew it that well.” Pops fell silent, apparently lost in thought. “Now that you bring it up, it seems like he did say that he was Quentin's cousin and that he stayed up there. He gave me a phone number for his portable phone.”

“I'd like to have that number, if you don't mind.” Tony wondered what had happened to the man's cellular telephone. It hadn't been in the car with him. Obtaining the phone records might help them track down the next of kin. “He didn't grow up around here, did he?”

“Nope. He said his family was not able to be with him just yet, that he came to prepare the way. I have no idea where they might be. I know that they must have supported him financially because our little group barely gathers enough funds to pay our minimal costs.” His eyes remained open even as tears overflowed his lower eyelids. “Now that you mention it, though, it seems like he did say that his wife lived in a nursing home. I got the impression that she had some kind of wasting disease but I couldn't tell you more than that.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears that were increasing. “How he must have suffered. Away from his family like that.” Pops blew his nose. “Now they must suffer too, losing him while he tended to our poor flock.”

The idea that John Mize's wife might be gravely ill and had no idea what had happened to her husband disturbed Tony. As much as he hated the idea of having to break the news to her, the idea that he might not be able to locate her seemed worse.

Pops must have had the same idea and began moaning. His eyes met Tony's and he said, “Don't you know that someone there must be worried about him? Will you be able to find his family? Imagine them not knowing.” Continuing to wipe his streaming eyes with one hand, he reached into his hip pocket. Extracting a piece of paper from his worn wallet, he handed it to Tony.

Written in Pops's meticulous handwriting was a telephone number. Tony didn't recognize the area code. “We will find them, with or without Quentin's help.” Tony promised as he added the number to his notes. “You have been a big help, Pops. I'll let you know what I learn about his family and his death. There is bound to be a funeral somewhere.” He glanced around at the small congregation. The members were settling on the folding chairs, glancing back toward the door. Pinkie sat on the front row, facing a folding table. A few of the men were consulting their watches. “Do you want me to tell the others?”

“What?” Pops seemed surprised that there were others present and then shook it off. “Oh my, I almost forgot all about the service.” His hands fluttered faster as he rose to his feet, automatically reaching for his beloved mandolin. “I don't know how I'll be able to do this, but I'll do the telling. I guess we'll pray here for a bit this evening but, without John, I expect that we won't be meeting again. Thank your aunt and mother for me.”

Tony watched as he moved to the front of the room and thought that Pops looked like he had aged ten years in ten minutes. Something that Pops said puzzled him. It had to do with the wife. Tony didn't remember seeing a wedding ring on the corpse. If Quentin's cousin had a girlfriend in the area, Pops didn't know anything about her. If Tony knew anything about Pops, it was that a philandering preacher would not receive any praise. Maybe Quentin invented a social life for his cousin, but maybe not. Who would know besides the deceased and the woman herself? Where did they meet?

The group of twelve quilters that Theo referred to as her “bowling group” met every other Thursday night in the back room at Theo's shop. By the time they began to arrive, Theo had Chris and Jamie building a fort.

The boys loved to stack bolts of fabric into walls. After the fort reached the desired height, a battle would begin. Theo couldn't decide whether they battled aliens attacking from Mars or reenacted the siege of the Alamo. It didn't matter to her. The boys entertained themselves, didn't break anything, and at the end of the evening helped put the bolts back on the racks.

Sometimes the members of the group worked on projects together, making charity quilts or friendship quilts. Usually though, they brought their own projects and passed the evening, laughing, sometimes crying, and almost always getting a lot of work done. Their lives and their quilts were intertwined with friendship. Opinions about both were never in short supply.

The members, in addition to Theo and Jane, were Tony's Aunt Martha, their next door neighbor, Edith, a couple of younger women who were fairly new to the area, Susan and Amy, and an older woman named Caro. Caro's sister Betty came for socializing, but her arthritis kept her from holding a needle. Ruby and Ruth Ann had only recently taken the beginning quilting class and so were new members. Gretchen Blackburn was in her late thirties like Theo and Nina Crisp, Theo's best friend since childhood.

Nina and Jane were the only absentees this evening. Jane was off on her date with Red and Nina was confined to her couch, nursing a broken foot.

Theo's little group first became known as the bowlers because of Caro. When her husband had entered the early stages of dementia, over a year ago, his personality changed. Instead of supporting her, he began to bitterly protest her leaving him in the evenings to do something that he thought she could do perfectly well at home. One evening she arrived late and in tears and managed to tell them what he'd said. It took an entire box of tissues to hear the whole story and to come up with a plan.

The group decided that it was unthinkable that she would become a virtual prisoner in her own home. In her defense, they had dubbed the group the “Thursday Night Bowling League.” To cheer her up, they presented her with a baby blue bowling ball bag, which she always used to transport her current project from home to the shop. Her husband never did protest again, nor did it seem odd to him that she had suddenly become such an avid bowler when there wasn't even a bowling alley in town.

Theo looked around the room, satisfied with everything she saw. At this hour, the cream and beige striped curtains were closed, making the large space seem cozier. At the far end of the room, the quilt frame supported a red, white and blue sampler quilt. Quilters from all over the area had each pieced a different star block and all of the blocks had been sewn together to make the top. When they finished quilting it, one of the bowlers would sew a binding on the edges and it would be raffled off. They planned to divide the proceeds between the Red Cross and the closest shelter for battered women.

Martha and Susan and Amy were already seated at the frame, quilting, when Caro charged through the doorway, bowling bag in hand.

For the past month, Caro frequently arrived late because her husband had deteriorated to the point that she couldn't leave until their son came by to relieve her.

“Did y'all hear?” Caro's dark eyes sparkled with excitement. Tiny and quick, she darted about the room like a finch let out of its cage. Hovering for a second while she examined each woman's project in turn. “I heard that the little Mexican girl Quentin brought back from out west somewhere shot his cousin and they stashed the body in the parking lot behind Ruby's. Is it true?”

Ruby, Ruth Ann, and Theo looked at each other and then back at Caro. They all looked baffled. Theo thought that each one of them probably held a different piece of the puzzle but clearly none of them had heard anything close to this rendition.

Martha scooted her chair over to make room for Caro at the frame. “What little Mexican girl?”

Caro's normally pale face flushed with excitement, making her look years younger. “Well, some time ago, I heard from Nellie Pearl Prigmore that Quentin had brought this little girl home with him from Arizona or something.” She paused and looked into each face in the group. “You know that Nellie Pearl's house is practically on the road up to his place.”

Theo noticed that Caro didn't bother to mention Nellie Pearl's high-powered binoculars and the telescope that the older woman used to watch her neighbors. As that little habit of Nellie Pearl's was a frequent topic of discussion, it hardly seemed necessary. Nellie Pearl had the distinction of being the nosiest in a community of the nosy.

“When you say ‘little girl . . .’ ” Edith's middle-aged face reflected her dismay. “. . . do you mean a child?”

“Oh, no.” Caro perched on the edge of her chair and reached for the spool of thread. “I only saw her the one time, but I think she looked about twenty-five or so. It's so hard to tell. I was visiting Nellie Pearl one afternoon and saw Quentin and the girl driving toward town. She stared right at me. I thought she was a homely little thing.” Her face reflected her disappointment as she tilted her head to one side and blinked several times. “I guess I expected to see someone that looked more like Jennifer Lopez, even though I know she isn't Mexican.”