Black Princess Mystery (15 page)

“Oh,” said
Mrs. Green, picking an envelope off the window sill, “a letter came for you
this morning.”

“Who’s it
from?”

“I don’t
know. There’s no return address.” She handed the letter to her daughter. “I’m
going to lie down now, honey. It’s been a very exhausting last couple of days.”

“Okay,
Momma,” Tasheka said.

She sat
down on the couch and waited until her mother left before opening the letter
that had been addressed to her using a typed label. To her shock, she soon
realized it was from Father Tim and by the postmark she discerned that he
mailed it on Thursday, the same night as the murder. He had probably dropped it
off at the mailbox outside Big Mike’s store on his way to the golf course, and
on the way to his death. Her whole body felt energized and her heart thundered.
She read the letter and quickly noticed his characteristic spelling mistakes.

Dear
Tasheka,

Thank you
for taking my call this afternoon. I tried to call again a few minutes ago, but
you must have already left for Lakeside. Tasheka, I know things between us have
deterorated and I apologize for what happened, but there is no taking it back
now. I hope we can be friends…if I servive. Someone wants to kill me. She has
told me so herself. (Check our secret place if anything happens to me.) I’m
going for a walk on the golf course now and I hope to clear my head. I hope you
don’t mind that I put this down in writing. I just had to communicate with you
even if only in this way.

TGM.

Tasheka
fondly smiled at Father Tim’s misspelling of ‘deteriorated’ and ‘survive,’ and
then felt a great rush of sadness. For a long time she sat motionlessly,
staring blankly into space, remembering their friendship and realizing that the
writing of this letter was one of the last things he ever did. Tasheka folded
the paper and slid it back into the envelope.

She
decided to call Mildred. “Sorry to bother you, Millie,” Tasheka said, “but I
was wondering if the police are finished at Father Tim’s?”

“They’re
finished. They went through the place with a fine tooth comb.”

“Did they
take anything?”

“They took
all his writings, his computer, all the correspondence he had saved, even his
answering machine.”

“Would you
mind letting me into Father Tim’s room, Millie? I leant him my mother’s
favorite book and I hate to sound crass, but I need it back.”

“That’s no
problem, Miss Green. I’m going over now. Would you like to meet me in about
half an hour?”

“I’ll be
there. Thank you, Millie.”

As soon as
Tasheka laid down the phone, the anxiety that had been plaguing her of late
began to build, and when she entered the church parking lot, a great sense of
disappointment overcame her. Usually Father Tim’s car was sitting there, but
today Mildred’s minivan stood alone.

“Good
morning, Tasheka,” Mildred said as she opened the door. “I’m just watering the plants.
Come in out of the cold, dear.”

“Thank
you, Millie,” Tasheka answered, lowering her head and walking into the rectory.
She took off her boots and hung up her coat. “Just keep doing what you were
doing, Millie, and I’ll run upstairs for that book.”

“No, dear,
I don’t mind at all,” Millie said, placing the broom against the wall. She
began walking up the stairs. “The police went through this place on Friday. My,
you should have seen them. They were a regular herd of army ants. They even
took the garbage. They looked through every book and magazine, tore the bed
apart, and went through the clothes drawers. I can’t imagine what they hoped to
find.”

Tasheka
followed closely behind her. “There’s lots of pressure on them, Millie. This is
a high profile case.”

“Indeed.”
She stopped at the priest’s door, almost as if she was going to knock then she
opened it. “Those two detectives were hard through this room.” Millie nodded.
“The older one is quite good looking.”

“I think
the younger man is very handsome,” Tasheka said casually. “I guess it all comes
down to taste.”

“Oh, yes,
Detective Henry is gorgeous, that goes without saying. He could be a model. But
he’s too young for me.” She laughed. “I’m no cougar.”

Tasheka
also laughed at the old woman who wore an ankle-length dress, an apron and
curlers in her hair.

“He’s
about your age, isn’t he?”

“Maybe a
couple years older,” Tasheka said, following Millie into Father Tim’s room.
“Did they ask you any questions?”

“Yes, a
lot of questions!”

“Oh?”
Tasheka said with great interest. “What kinds of questions?”

“Detective
McNab seemed very interested in Father Murphy’s friends. He wanted me to make a
list.”

“What did
you tell him?”

“There was
nothing much to tell, really. Father Murphy was friends with most people. I
told Detective McNab that he liked you, your mother and pretty well everyone
else who lives in Lakeside. Just between the two of us, dear, I have to
question the police’s competence when they’re asking about Father’s friends.
I’m no genius, but I think they should be more interested in his enemies.” She
smirked. “I had to tell Detective McNab everything I knew about Mike Power.”

“He was
interested in Mike Power?”

Mildred
nodded meaningfully. “He was very interested in Mike Power. He also wanted to
know everything about Gina.” She whispered, “I think he wanted to check out the
alibi.” Mildred held up her hands. “What can you do when the police interview
you? There’s no holding back.”

“No, of
course not. The truth is always the best way to go. If the worst someone can
say about you is that you tell the truth, well, I think you’re in pretty good
shape, Millie.”

Mildred
smiled. “That’s so true, dear.”

The two
women suddenly fell silent and looked around the priest’s bedroom. Against one
wall was a large mahogany bed covered with a blue spread. The furnishings in
Father Tim’s room were sparse and included only a four-drawer pine bureau, a
reading table on which sat a blue vase containing dried flowers, and several
bookshelves. A small picture of Jesus hung above the bed and beside it was a
huge framed picture of the Virgin Mary. The room had a slight odor of ammonia
and incense, and seemed to hold a heavy presence. It was uncomfortably quiet,
even eerie. The phone rang.

“I’ll be
right back,” Millie said, hurrying down the stairs to answer it.

The second
she left, Tasheka laid down her purse, moved a stool and folded back a small
mat. The floor below was made of pine boards, but when she pushed on one short
length, it popped up on the other side, like an eight-inch teeter totter.
Quickly she removed a blue tin box and took off the top. Inside were papers,
including letters she had written to the priest. They seemed like ancient
history now. She quickly stuffed the papers into her purse and a small business
card dropped on the floor. She picked it up and saw it was for Baxter Gable’s
long-haul trucking and included Henrietta’s name, their address, and phone
number. On the back, handwritten in red ink, were the words,
I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch
.

Henrietta Gable’s handwriting?
Tasheka
wondered with confusion, thinking of how relaxed her friend seemed the day
after the murder. She could clearly picture Henrietta leaving the car in front
of Matt’s garage and walking up to them without a care in the world.
But why would Henrietta threaten Father Tim?

Tasheka
again inspected the writing and felt reasonably certain it was in a woman’s
hand, but what woman, that she did not know. She then heard Mildred hang up the
phone, so she hastily put the empty box back into its hiding spot. But just
before she snapped the board back into place, a previously unseen piece of
paper fell from her hand and dropped into the hole. There was some kind of
message on it that she desperately wanted to read, but she simply didn’t have
the time to fish it out, so she quickly fixed the board and covered it over
with the mat and stool. As Mildred entered, Tasheka was still leaning over, so
she stealthily untied her shoelace and then looked up at Mildred as she re-tied
it.

“Did you
find the book, dear?” asked the old woman.

“Not yet,”
Tasheka said sweetly.

“Which
book is it?” Mildred inquired. “Maybe I can help.”

“
Crime and Punishment
by Dostoevsky.”

“Here it
is, dear,” Mildred said, picking the paperback off the top shelf and from clear
view. She looked into Tasheka’s eyes as she handed her the novel. “Who do you
think the police suspect?”

“I don’t
know,” Tasheka replied.

“Let’s go
downstairs,” Mildred said. “I don’t feel so comfortable in Father Murphy’s room
anymore.”

When
Tasheka leaned over to pick up her purse, she surreptitiously slipped her hand
under the curtain and deftly unlocked the window. Then she left the room with
Mildred, glancing back one last time as the housekeeper closed the door.

“Mike had
that thing with Father Murphy during the tournament,” Mildred began as they
walked down the stairs. She suddenly stopped, turned, and lightly touched
Tasheka’s forearm. Her eyes were gleaming. “But a lot of people are whispering
Jake Thompson’s name. Don’t tell a soul I mentioned it, though. This is just
between me and you, Tasheka.”

Tasheka
hardly knew Mildred, except for the fact that she was considered the most
prolific gossip in the history of Lakeside, but she softly touched and lightly
squeezed Mildred’s hand. “Everything said here is just between me and you,
Millie.” Tasheka smiled as if they had formed an unbreakable pact. Her words
were like pouring oil on the machinery of rumor and innuendo. “We know how to
keep a secret.”

“Jake
Thompson,” Mildred said meaningfully, her eyes rolling.

“I’ll tell
you everything I know,” Tasheka said, as if speaking to her lifelong best
girlfriend, “but you have to tell me everything you know, too.”

Mildred
needed a little foreplay. “I know a lot,” she said softly, nodding, “so I don’t
think there’s much you can tell me.”

“Yes,
there is,” Tasheka assured her, nodding in a more pronounced way. “For
starters, I saw Jake Thompson the morning after the murder. He was driving by
the church! You should have seen what I saw.” She suddenly stopped and looked
at her watch. “Or maybe you’re busy, Millie. Should I go?”

“No!”
Mildred exclaimed, as excited as a sailor watching an exotic dancer. “What
should I have seen?”

Tasheka
assumed a slightly superior expression. “I know a lot, Millie,” she proclaimed,
“but I hate wasting time repeating. Let’s see if you know anything I don’t.”

“You were
friends with Father Murphy,” Mildred noted. “You must have talked.”

Tasheka
stared into Mildred’s eyes and nodded. The young woman’s gaze was very intense,
like a fortune teller or hypnotist, and Mildred could not turn away. Tasheka
smiled warmly and sat down on the couch with the elegance of a perfect lady.
She pointed to the recliner opposite the couch and slightly gestured to
Mildred. Mildred sat opposite her with a look of apprehension, but Tasheka
leaned forward and with her fingertips lightly touched Mildred’s wrinkled
hands. “This is just between you and me, Millie,” she said, as if the two of
them were the only members in a clandestine club. “Let’s share.”

“Did he
talk about it much?” Mildred queried.

“Well, you
know, Jake Thompson is a workaholic and his wife is a little artsy. And, you
know.” She raised her eyebrows as if in invitation. “Oh, let’s just say it,
Millie! I think we need to get this off our chests.”

Mildred
whispered so softly that her words were almost inaudible, but Tasheka
distinctly heard a reference to confessions.

“Yes, of
course, Father Tim told me about the confessions. But I need to know if he was
telling the truth. I think I’ll just die if I don’t finally have proof that it
really happened.”

“She was
coming to confession three times a week,” Mildred offered.

“He said
she was there four times one week,” Tasheka lied, looking down and away as if
she had shared her most jealously guarded secret.

“I believe
it,” Mildred assented.

Tasheka
seemed disappointed. “Is that all you know, Mildred?”

“I know a
lot,” she said, eager to prove herself. Mildred squinted as if in code. “Some
women have lively imaginations, but there are certain topics they should
discuss only with their husbands.”

“Agreed,”
Tasheka said. “So you heard what I did, did you? Tell me and I’ll
cross-reference.” She again touched the elderly lady’s arm. “Hold nothing back,
Millie.”

“I was
cleaning the balcony in November when Father Murphy came in,” Mildred began,
her face incredibly animated. “He had no idea I was there because my car
wouldn’t start and I had walked to work. I was just about to call down to him
when the door opened and in walks Linda Thompson wearing this long coat. A
moment after she noticed Father Murphy, she walked right up to him and opened
the coat.” Mildred looked on the verge of a heart attack. Her face was flushed
and she could hardly breathe.