Jolly Dead St. Nicholas (10 page)

Ethel put the pie on the soapstone countertop next to the double-oven gas stove. “Carl’s beside himself about this. So am I.”

Adelaide opened the freezer, removing a large plastic container. “I think we’re all in shock. I wonder if they’ve located Douglas yet. Or, Susan.”

Are they together? I wouldn’t doubt that, if what Jerry accused them of is true.

Speaking Adelaide’s thought aloud Ethel said, “Maybe they’ve run off together, now that the coast is clear.” Her voice held a lot of rancor.

Adelaide put the container under hot running water in her deep porcelain sink. Once she heard the frozen soup break loose from the sides of the plastic, she got out a large pot and dumped the frozen mass into it. Placing the pot on the stove, she covered it, setting the flame on medium. Next she turned on one of the ovens for the biscuits.

Those tasks completed, she turned to Ethel. “We needn’t hypothesize about any of this until we know the whole story. Rumors will do no one any good at this point.” She opened a cupboard above the stove, retrieving a bag of flour, some baking powder and a glass mixing bowl.

“This will tear the church apart. Everything is going to come out now,” Ethel lamented. She sat down at the kitchen table.

Adelaide felt her insides quake. The shock and grief she’d felt after finding poor Jerry Hatfield’s body was now being replaced by anger. Anger at whoever did this. Anger that someone would defile the church in such a way. Anger at Susan Hatfield and Douglas Underwood for becoming involved in an affair in the first place.

She made the biscuits and put them in the oven. Ethel made a pot of strong coffee. The women had been best friends for so long they more or less treated each other’s’ kitchens as their own when visiting.

A knock at the back door heralded the arrival of Vernon Dexter. Adelaide glanced at the clock. Six-forty five. He was nothing if not punctual. He’d closed the pharmacy at six, counted the till, dropped the money in the night depository then walked over here, all within forty-five minutes, as he’d done so many other evenings through the years.

Coming inside, Vernon stomped snow off his boots on an old rag rug Adelaide kept by the back door. He took off his parka, hanging it on a peg next to the door, one reserved just for him. “It just started snowing, but it’s coming down fast and hard out there.”

Adelaide looked out the back door. She could see that the snowfall was already sticking to the ground. “How were things at the pharmacy? I assume the news of what happened at the church made its way over there at lightning speed.”

“It’s the talk of the town. People came flocking in wanting to know what the latest was. I had to fight to close up this evening.” He accepted a mug of the freshly brewed coffee from Ethel with a grateful smile. “This is just what I need.” He took a couple sips, then put the mug on the table. “How are you holding up?” He laid a hand on Adelaide’s shoulder.

Adelaide stirred the soup, which was now beginning to simmer. The feel of Vernon’s hand on her shoulder was a comfort, but only briefly. A rush of guilt swept through her as she thought about Albert. Her body stiffened just slightly. Vernon removed his hand then returned to the table where he picked up his coffee to take another sip.

Ethel excused herself to go find Carl.

Adelaide turned to Vernon. “What are people saying?”

His gaze held hers. “That there was a love triangle and Jerry’s dead because of it.”

“In other words people have already decided that Douglas or Susan killed her husband so they could be together.” Adelaide felt a thread of disgust tug at her insides.

“Pretty much.”

“What do you think?” She saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I think your minister made a very bad choice, one he may have to pay for dearly.”

“He’s your minister, too, Vernon, even though you don’t attend church regularly,” Adelaide reminded him. She turned back to the soup.

“Come on, Addy, you know how it is in a small town. Good sense always flies in the face of a juicy piece of gossip.”

She put the soup on low. “I’m calling Daniel. I want to know if they’ve found Susan or Douglas.”

She went to the phone on the wall just inside the kitchen doorway and dialed her son’s cell phone number. It went straight to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message. Next she called his direct line at the station house with the same result. Finally, she tried his home number. To her surprise, Brenda Collier answered the phone. Immediately Adelaide felt a little guilty for not calling Brenda to tell her about Jerry. Even though the woman wasn’t a church member, she was an employee who knew Jerry quite well since he and Carl were at the church each Monday morning to count the Sunday offering.

“Brenda? Is Daniel there?” She could hear soft music in the background.

“No. He’s working on the…case. Oh, Adelaide…I can’t believe Jerry Hatfield is dead in such an awful way!” Her voice was thick, as though she’d been crying.

Adelaide felt her own eyes water. “I suppose it is all over the news.” Brenda lived in Rosewood, a few miles away.

Snuffling noises came over the line. “I arrived at the church around six-thirty. I’d promised to help with the dinner clean-up. The police were there. Daniel said you and the Henshaws had just left. He told me to come here. He’s had a rough day.”

Adelaide could tell the young woman was devastated. “Vernon, the Henshaws and I are about to have some vegetable soup. Why don’t you come over? You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. Finally Brenda said, “I’d do that, but—”

“Daniel will probably be tied up most of the night.” Then she realized something. “You probably have his house key, if he sent you to his condo from the church. We’ll just call him and tell him to come here when he’s finished—”

Brenda cut her off. “I appreciate the invitation, really I do. But, I think I’d rather be here when Daniel comes home. As for the key, I have my own.”

Adelaide’s sharp intake of breath surprised even her. “A key? Oh, I didn’t realize that.”

“It’s no big deal. Daniel keeps odd hours sometimes so it just seemed to make sense,” Brenda told her.

“I suppose so,” Adelaide replied uncertainly. “If you change your mind, Brenda, come over. We’ll probably be here for a while.” She hung up the phone. When she turned around she found Vernon stirring the pot of soup while Ethel removed the golden brown biscuits from the oven. She’d been so distracted by Brenda’s revelation about the key, she hadn’t even heard all the activity going on behind her.

“Bad news? Or should I say
more
bad news?” Vernon asked. He turned off the burner then put the lid back on the pot.

“No. At least I don’t think so. Daniel isn’t at home either. Brenda is there.” Adelaide busied herself setting the table.

Carl came into the kitchen followed by Oscar, who was now meowing loudly, an indication that his food bowl was empty.

“I’ll take care of my buddy here,” Carl said. He went to the wooden bin on the back porch where she kept the cat food. Next he refilled the cat’s bowl, which sat beside the refrigerator. Once that task was completed, he came up beside Adelaide at the stove as she ladled the soup into a tureen.

Leaning in close he said, “If Jerry was so sure there was something going on between Susan and Reverend Underwood, then it is probably true. He wasn’t a man who would make accusations without something to back them up.”

Adelaide knew this was correct. Jerry Hatfield had been a pragmatic man with an unshakable sense of right and wrong. But he was also a fair man—a man who would need solid proof before making any accusation.

Vernon said, “I wonder how Eric is taking the news? Surely he’s been told by now.”

Eric Hatfield, Jerry and Susan’s son, was a freshman this year at Ohio State University. Adelaide recalled just a week before how Jerry had told her about Eric making the dean’s list.

“Jerry was so proud of that kid. They were close, so close.” Carl’s voice trembled just a little.

Adelaide took the tureen to the table, where Ethel was conversing with Vernon in low tones. “Let’s eat. We need to keep up our strength. After that, I’ll find Daniel so we can get an update, even if I have to track him down in person.”

They joined hands around the antique oak table while Carl did the honor of saying grace.

It was close to ten o’clock Saturday night before Adelaide was able to locate Daniel. He finally answered his cell phone. “I’m just leaving the station. I’m coming over. Are you alone?”

“Carl, Vernon and Ethel left about a half hour ago.” She stopped short of reminding him Brenda was waiting for him at his condo, with her own key.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” The line went dead.

She left the kitchen and entered the foyer, where she flipped on the front porch light, then continued into the living room. After turning on the Christmas tree lights, she settled down on the sofa. Immediately Oscar jumped up onto her lap. As she stroked his soft, thick fur he began to purr. She let her mind wander.

Instead of the murder, however, her thoughts went to the way things had been before Albert was wracked with that horrible disease. They’d traveled some, seen the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, taken a couple of cruises—how grateful she was that they’d done those things then instead of waiting for retirement.

Albert had been a joyful man with a gentle nature. They’d spent many lovely hours gardening in the spacious yard surrounding this wonderful old house. In fact, he’d planted most of the fifty rose bushes that now graced the property. She recalled the first one. He’d bought it from a street vendor in Marietta. It was barely more than a twig. She’d scoffed at it, stating that they had blades of grass that looked heartier.

Undaunted by her skepticism, Albert had nurtured the plant through two winters until finally it burst forth with so many blooms during that third summer that they had to stake it up because the stems wouldn’t hold the weight. That bush still thrived next to the gazebo they’d later erected. Idly, she wondered if the rose bush missed Albert as much as she did, if it somehow knew he was no longer caring for it.

She stared at the Christmas tree, her eyes growing moist. How Albert had loved the holidays. He’d always insisted on a real tree. Each year they’d decorated it with ornaments collected throughout their marriage. Once he was gone, she’d opted for the convenience of one that could be boxed away for the next year. The treasured ornaments still hung from the plastic branches, though. As long as she lived, that was the way it would be.

The first year after Albert’s death, she’d barely decorated the rest of the house. In fact, she’d been doing good to put up the newly purchased fake tree. Last year she decided that in addition to the tree she’d at least hang some pine boughs from the mantel. She’d even put a few poinsettias around. At last, this year, she’d retrieved all the boxes from the attic. Again the house looked the way it had when Albert was alive. Except for the artificial tree, of course.

A knock at the front door brought her out of her reverie. Daniel stood on the front porch, snow covering the shoulders of his down-filled jacket. He looked exhausted. His thick, curly hair, also flecked with snow, was mussed, his eyes bloodshot. A stubbly beard outlined his chin line.

“I just got a call from Lloyd Fletcher,” he said with disgust.

“Surely he’s not harassing you about those damned lions at a time like this.” Adelaide really wanted to give the potbellied realtor a piece of her mind.

“He wants to make sure this
nasty business at the church
is handled quickly.” Daniel took off his coat and hung it over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, as he’d done since he was nine years old. He headed for the kitchen. She followed.

Adelaide didn’t see any reason to respond to Lloyd Fletcher’s asinine edict. What did he think the police were going to do, drag their feet? “Coffee?” she asked.

Daniel shook his head. “I’m stoked on caffeine now. How about hot chocolate?”

She used to make hot chocolate for him when he came home from school or sledding in the winter. “That sounds good to me, too,” she told him. She set about making the cocoa, not from a mix, but from scratch, as always.

“Where did that picture come from?”

Adelaide glanced around. He was pointing at the sunflower pastel that now hung on the wall opposite the table. “I bought it at the bazaar yesterday. It’s by Marian Canfield, the church organist.” Adelaide had chosen a spot where she could see the picture while eating her solitary meals.

“It’s nice. Cheerful,” Daniel commented with approval.

“Tell me what’s going on, Daniel,” she said as she worked.

He sat down at the table. “We found Susan at home around seven. She claims she left the church after the discussion—that’s what she called it—with Jerry. She denied it was a real argument. Supposedly, she went for a drive to clear her mind. I’d say she had a lot of mind to clear if it took her six hours.”

“Where did she go?”

“First toward the falls, then she says she kept going, driving around aimlessly, thinking. She seems to remember passing a few cars on some country road but can’t remember exactly where she was.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Not for a minute.”

“What about Douglas?”

“I had Larry Schwartz checking the Underwood house every half hour or so. He finally found the preacher and his wife at home around six-forty-five. Judy then joined Larry so they could interview them separately.”

Adelaide didn’t know Larry Schwartz well, but from what she’d heard he was a very conscientious officer who worked the night shift. She had heard rumors that he aspired to be a detective in a larger police department someday, however. In all likelihood this job was a stepping stone for him. Images of the tall, muscular young man came to mind. He was single and good looking, which made him very popular with the young single women in town, of course.

“How did they react to the news?” Adelaide asked.

“They’d already heard it on the car radio,” Daniel replied in an irritated tone.