Moonlight, Murder, and Small Town Secrets

by K C Hart

  “We’ve been at the funeral home,” she answered. “I heard you were there earlier with Coach Finch.”

  “Yeah, that was just sad. I’ve never really cared for that guy. He was kind of rough on the ones of us that didn’t play football. Back then, he was just out of college and I guess he had something to prove. But man, he’s just falling to pieces. Phobs handled all this way better than this guy is.”

  “Well,” Katy sighed, “he’s being accused of killing the mother of his children. I don’t know how I would handle something like that either.”

  “Wait,” Todd sputtered, “who thinks he killed Laney Finch?”

  “I guess the sheriff does.” Katy paused for a second, reviewing all her notes in her mind. “He did arrest him, didn’t he?”

  “I just figured you already knew everything,” Todd said. “You’re always one step ahead of us, but today I know more than you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Katy said. “You’re not making sense.”

  “Look,” he said, “I’m in my truck just a few minutes from your house. Can I just drop by and catch you up?”

  “Of course you can. I’ll dip us up some ice cream and be waiting on you.”

  Katy and John arrived home just a couple of minutes before Todd pulled in behind them. They decided to skip the ice cream and have tea.

  “Alright, I’m confused,” Katy said. “I heard that yaw arrested Coach Finch because you found some work gloves in his jeep with evidence on them that linked him to the murder.”

  “Actually, that’s only about half true.” Todd paused, sipping his tea. He was enjoying this brief moment of being the most informed person in the room. “When we talked to Coach Finch about his wife’s death, he said he had been driving around town somewhere trying to clear his head and figure out where she had gone, so he didn’t have an alibi. We brought him to the station to try to help him retrace his steps and see if maybe he had stopped at a gas station or gone through a drive-through during the evening. That way he would have a witness for his whereabouts during the time of her death.”

  “How in the world did Emma Robinson get the tale she told me about the gloves and murder and stuff from that?” Katy looked from Todd to John in exasperation.

  “Well, honey,” John said, “you can’t expect accurate facts from the town gossip while standing in line at the take-out pizza place.”

  John was right. She should have tried to verify that information before just swallowing Emma’s tale hook, line, and sinker.

  “Now wait a minute. There’s more to this story.” Todd leaned forward and sat his empty glass on the coffee table. “Emma wasn’t too far off base. While the sheriff was inside the station talking to Coach Finch I decided to go snoop around in his jeep. I had driven it from the school over to the station behind him and the sheriff when we brought him in. He said to look all I wanted, that there wasn’t anything to find. So, I did.”

  John sat his glass down beside his nephews. “Let me guess. You found something like maybe…a pair of gloves.”

  “Sure did,” Todd grinned. “A pair of work gloves were in the glove box with what looked like dried blood all over them.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Katy threw her hand up in the air. “I know I can’t be wrong about this part. I was there when we found Laney’s body and I know there wasn’t any blood on her. She was strangled.”

  “Okay, Aunt Katy. Don’t get your feathers ruffled.” Todd sat back on the couch and looked at his aunt and uncle, like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

  Katy could see that he wanted to gloat just a little bit, but she couldn’t wait. “Come on Todd, spill it.”

  “The blood wasn’t his wife’s. We think that the blood was Jessa Williams’.”

  “What?” Katy was speechless for a whole five seconds. “That makes absolutely no sense. Why would he put the monkey wrench in Joe Phobs’ truck to frame him, then leave the gloves in the jeep for anybody to find? It’s got to be a setup.”

  Todd bobbed his head up and down. “I know Aunt Katy, I know, but you still don’t know the whole story. The sheriff decided that he had enough to arrest Coach Finch for Jessa’s murder. I don’t think he believes that Coach Finch was dumb enough to leave them gloves in his Jeep where they could be found, but he ain’t taking any chances. Plus, that ain’t all.”

  “There’s more? Please don’t tell me he confessed to Jessa Williams’ murder because I don’t believe it.”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Todd said. “You know I took Coach to the funeral home this evening?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The sheriff talked to Mr. Johnny, Laney’s dad, and set all that up. Mr. Johnny said he didn’t want anybody to talk to his grandkids about their dad being in jail. The sheriff thought that was a good idea, so he talked to Coach Finch and they decided to tell the kids that he was staying in town just to help the sheriff with some work. The sheriff sent me over to his house to get his suit, so the boys wouldn’t think anything was strange. You know, like they would if he showed up in the jumpsuit. Then we brought them all in together before the place got crowded.”

  “Misty told me she saw him there in his suit with his kids.”

  “Yeah, she did. But what I want to tell you about is what happened when I went to get his suit.”

  This time it was John that interrupted. “It didn’t have anything to do with high dollar flip flops did it?” John was enjoying teasing his wife. This had been a tense week for her, and he usually helped to defuse her stress with humor.

  Todd grinned. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Hush John.” Katy shot John a look from her recliner. “Let the boy tell his story.”

  “Okay Todd, quit dangling the bait. What happened?” John said.

  “I don’t know if you have ever been by the Finch house, but there’s always a lot of toys and stuff scattered in the yard, sort of junky. Well, today was the same way, but when I stepped onto the carport, I noticed that the door leading into the house was open. I grabbed my Taser and went on in. The place looked like a bomb had exploded in there.”

  “A bomb! How could a bomb go off on that quiet little street and nobody know?” Katy looked from one to the other but couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “No, wait,” Todd said, holding up his hand. “I said it just looked like a bomb went off, that’s all. The furniture was all turned over and ripped up. Junk was strewed from one end of that house to the other. Pictures were ripped off the walls, the beds were torn up. It was a mess.”

  “Was anyone there?” John asked, all humor gone from his voice.

  “No,” Todd shook his head, “the house was empty. I don’t know what went on there, but somebody demolished the place.”

  Katy had an idea what had happened at the Finch home but was not ready to share her theory with her nephew or her husband. “So, what did you do?”

  “I called the sheriff and he came over and taped the place off. We spent the rest of the day talking to the neighbors to see if anybody saw anything, but most of the people around there are at work in the day, so we didn’t get any leads.”

  “This is just getting plumb scary.” Katy rubbed the back of her neck to try to ease some of the knots she felt accumulating in her muscles. “What do you think happened?”

  “I don’t rightly know. The sheriff got Coach Finch’s suit and when we finally got back to the station, he quizzed him down, but he wasn’t much help either.”

  John stepped into the kitchen to grab the tea pitcher and began to refill their glasses. “How long has the house been empty?”

  “Since early yesterday morning when Coach Finch left for school.”

  Katy looked at her glass. She needed more ice but didn’t want to leave the conversation long enough to go to the kitchen to get it. She sipped the tepid tea and frowned. “Was anything stolen?”

  “We aren’t sure. It’s such a wreck that we can’t tell, and Coach Finch is at the jail, so he doesn’t
know anything.”

  “Were any of the door locks broken?”

  “That’s the funny thing.” Todd rubbed the tan stubble across his chin. “The carport door was open, but the lock wasn’t broken. None of the locks or windows were broken. We asked Coach Finch if he left his house unlocked and he said, of course he didn’t, there’s a killer loose in town.”

  John sat back down in his recliner and sipped from his tea glass. “So, the guy didn’t break in through the door, but the door was open?”

  “Yep, and the front door was still locked up tight.”

  Todd gulped down the last of the second glass of tea and stood to go. “If you think of anything that might help us figure this out give me a call. I’m ready for this mess to be over.”

  “You know we will.” John stood and slapped his nephew on the back. “In the meantime, you be careful.”

  “Oh, I am.” Todd stopped at the living room door and turned back to Katy who was still in her recliner deep in thought. “The old ladies from the church have almost scrounged up enough money to get me that vest.”

  “At first I laughed,” Katy said, looking up with a weak smile, “but now I think they might have the right idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Katy left her house at eight the next morning to see a new patient and start wound care. The patient’s home ended up being little more than a shack and definitely didn’t have the luxury of air conditioning. The 8x8 bedroom with low ceilings and one single forty-watt bulb to illuminate the darkly paneled interior had one tiny box fan in a single screen-less window. She did the wound care to the poor lady’s backside with sweat dripping from the tip of her nose.

  The little couple had lived in the tiny shack their entire married lives. The husband had worked as a janitor for the hospital in a nearby town until he retired, and his wife had been a cashier at the Pig when Katy was young. They had raised five kids in that dark little house and proudly displayed all five 8x10 glossy college graduation photos on their living room walls.

  “Three schoolteachers, one lawyer and one pharmacist,” Mr. Byrd boasted. “Two went on football scholarships, two on band scholarships and one on blood, sweat, and tears.”

  Now the couple was both in their eighties. The husband explained that all their kids were trying to get them to move closer to this one or that one, but they loved their little home place and would stay there as long as they had sense enough to make their own decisions.

  “If we move in with any of the kids, they’ll be trying to take care of our banking and make us go to their church. And I just can’t listen to that newfangled church music. I want my hymns played on the piano like I grew up on.” Mr. Byrd grinned a toothless grin. “Now don’t get me wrong, I think their church is just fine for my kids and their families, but I’ve been teaching my Sunday school class for almost thirty years and my men depend on me.”

  “Now honey, don’t be talking bad about the boys’ church music. I kind of like it as long as they don’t put it up too terribly loud.”

  “I know honey.” Mr. Byrd quickly agreed with his wife. “It’s alright for them, and I’m sure the Lord thinks its mighty fine…but, well, I guess I’m just happy where I am.”

  After the paperwork was completed outside under the shade tree, Katy led the couple into the tiny bedroom adjoining the living room for the wound care. Her patient, Mrs. Jemima Byrd had developed a boil on her hip which Dr. Roberts had lanced and cleaned in his office. Katy’s job was to teach Mr. Byrd how to clean the wound and pack it daily until it was healed. She would check the wound weekly and any time Mr. Byrd called with problems. Mr. Byrd was an apt pupil.

  “I’ve helped pull many a baby calf in my life and seen a ton of puppies being born. I even lanced a place on our old dog when the kids were little and put a poultice on it every day ‘til it finally healed. This seems to be about the same thing.”

  “Yes sir, it’s the same principle. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with this.” She instructed him on all the steps for the aseptic technique and then watched as the little old man gently cared for his wife.

  “Now honey, you tell me if I hurt you,” he said as he put on the rubber gloves.

  Mrs. Byrd lay on the old bed facing the dingy paneled wall with her eyes calmly closed. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine Calvin. It’s a little sore when you push that packing in.”

  When they were finished, she sat with the elderly couple in their dusty front yard under the shade of their massive oak tree and drank a glass of sweet tea. The little man still seemed pretty spry. He probably weighed one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, but he was only about five foot eight. He described himself as small and wiry.

  Mrs. Byrd was the complete opposite of her husband. She was around five foot seven when she stood up straight, but for several years now she tended to stoop forward at about a twenty-degree angle which made her a couple of inches shorter than her spouse. She weighed two hundred and seven pounds on Katy’s scales and moved at the pace of a turtle.

  “Mrs. Cross, I hope you’re being careful running up and down these roads,” Mrs. Byrd said, repositioning herself in the lawn chair very slowly to ease the pain in her hip. “Until they catch the killer, I ain’t sure you should be just going in strangers’ houses like you do.”

  “I’m trying to be very careful Mrs. Byrd,” Katy said, smiling at her concern. “Ain’t it a shame that we have to feel so unsafe in our own little community?” Mrs. Byrd never considered that even though Katy recognized the lady from a childhood memory, she had been a stranger to her only two hours before.

  “We don’t even have locks on our doors,” Mr. Byrd said, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Never needed them before. Ain’t got nothing worth stealing, so we ain’t ever worried about it. But these two women getting killed, and for who knows what reason, has spooked us.”

  “Do you think you might need to purchase a couple of locks, just to play it safe?” Katy asked.

  “Naa.” The old grey-haired man chuckled and shook his head. “Wouldn’t do any good. Anybody with a lick of sense could get in through those windows. We have to sleep with them up in this heat or we’d melt.”

  “I guess you have a point, but it’s a scary time we’re living in right now.”

  “And you know these things always happen in threes.” Mrs. Byrd patted her sweaty brow with a damp paper towel. “My momma always said when two folks die, just go ahead and keep the black dress out because somebody else will be passing shortly.”

  Katy drank the final swallow of tea from the ancient metal Tupperware tumbler. “Mrs. Byrd, I hope you’re wrong. I’m praying that the police catch this person before anyone else is hurt.”

  “Well honey so am I, but you should know, being a nurse and all, that people always pass in threes. I’ve seen it myself too many times to doubt.”

  Katy had heard the old wives’ tale often and knew several people, including some nurses who believed it to be true. She immediately thought of Jessa’s unborn child as being victim number three but didn’t say anything more on the subject. “I hate to rush off,” she said, standing up and handing the glass to Mrs. Byrd’s waiting hand, “but I have to get back to the office and do some paperwork. Another nurse will be out tomorrow to watch Mr. Byrd do the wound care one more time, then our visits will be weekly.”

  The elderly couple watched her from their lawn chairs as she walked across their grassless front yard to her car parked in the boiling hot sun near the highway. They waved good-bye as she headed back toward town. They probably spent most of their days right there under that hundred-year-old oak tree watching the cars pass up and down the busy road. She wondered if they’d be looking for her car on the road now that they knew her.

  After the paperwork was completed, she decided to drive by the Finch’s house. The yellow police tape looked eerie draped across the front door with the bright blue and red little Mickey Mouse riding toy just two feet away o
n the lawn. The fact that someone had been in the Finch’s home and looked through all their personal belongings gave her the creeps. Had the intruder been looking for whatever Laney had hidden under the bed at her mother’s house? If he had, then the Carson family could be in danger by keeping that box. Katy tried to call Amanda Carson from her cell but didn’t get an answer. She turned her car back toward her house and tried to decide what to do. Amanda thought that only she and Katy knew about Laney’s box, but what if Laney had told someone else? Mrs. Simmons said Laney liked to talk. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Laney could keep the important secrets. Katy sure hoped she had kept this one.

  She pulled into her carport deep in thought. She slipped off her dusty tennis shoes and sweaty socks and padded barefoot across the kitchen to the chest freezer, opened the door, and leaned over to find something to cook for supper. The jarring ringing of the house phone abruptly broke the silence. She jumped straight up from the coolness of the freezer, throwing her hands in the air, and dropping the slippery frozen yellow brick of corn on her left foot. The top of her foot was a perfect target for the pointy corner of the square block of frozen vegetables. It jabbed like an arrow into the soft flesh right between the base of her big toe and second toe. The pain was immense and instantaneous. Katy decided to ignore the blaring phone and pay attention to the blood spurting from the puncture wound now on her foot. She picked up the bloody bag of corn and threw it toward the trash can then limped to the bathroom to attend to her war wound; leaving a small trail of blood and footprints to dry on the cool, pale ceramic tile kitchen floor.

  She perched on the side of the tub in her bathroom and turned the cold water on full force. The water splashing into the empty tub echoed loudly as she turned her back to the closed bathroom door and eased her injured foot under the water to wash away the blood that had now slowed to a small red trickle. The throbbing began to ease. Now that the bleeding was getting under control, she could see that the wound was not too deep. She leaned her body to the side and rested her head on the wall next to the faucet and closed her eyes. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and her blood pressure was probably sky-high. She would sit still for just a second before getting up to clean the mess she’d left in the kitchen.