“I remember that. She’s stubborn when she doesn’t get her way or when she thinks an injustice is being done. But she sure can make that violin sing. I love it when she plays during the Sunday service,” I paused, scrunching my forehead as I thought. “Edith was a founding member of the winter solstice circle, but we don’t really know much about her background, do we? And she does have a temper. Maybe there is more to her than we know.”
Bob cocked his head. “You’re right. We don’t know much about her background. Although did I hear that she was married once, but her husband disappeared on the day of their first wedding anniversary?”
“I think that was just a rumor. One time when Edith was here helping to decorate for the winter solstice ceremony, she alluded to the fact that her husband had run off with her best friend. But she didn’t say anymore, and Julie and I didn’t ask.”
“Well, it sounds suspicious to me. I’m putting an asterisk by her name. Let’s keep going. What about Jackson? I’ve only met him a couple of times at church. But he seems like a nice enough guy.”
“Jackson is a friend of Edith’s. I think they met at the symphony. And that’s why he’s been at church a few times, when Edith has invited him. Jackson was a criminal defense attorney in Carmel until he couldn’t live with himself anymore defending people he knew were guilty. He believed everyone had a right to an attorney, but it couldn’t be him anymore. His wife was having an affair while he worked long hours and he just couldn’t take it anymore. He left her and his job and went to Sedona, Arizona, to stay at a spiritual retreat for a while to try to find his way. He seems to have come back a different person, as Edith tells it. He’s been coming to the winter solstice ceremony for about four years.”
“Maybe someone from his past killed someone else by a river,” said Bob. “That would make sense. It could have been one of his clients who did it but got off. Jackson knew he was guilty but couldn’t do anything because he was defending him. Jackson hasn’t been able to tell anyone all these years because of attorney-client privilege and wanted the weight of knowing the truth lifted from him. He used the fire ceremony to rid him of his guilt.”
“I like that. It sure makes more sense than Edith killing off her husband, or Sue helping along a patient’s death, or even Morgan murdering someone. Maybe I can call Edith and see what she knows about Jackson’s cases and see if any of them involved a murder by a river. It’s worth a shot.” It would sure ease my mind, I thought, if I found out that Jackson was alleviating his guilt over something one of his clients did.
“I guess we better talk about the last person on your list if we want to do this right. Maya. I know you’ve been good friends since that writing workshop. Do you think she could have written it?” Bob asked.
“No, I don’t. She’s been coming to the ceremony for five years. She works for the Indiana Writers Center now and is such an amazing poet and artistic, ethereal person. I just love how she can turn ordinary words into detailed photos in the mind. Or how she can put enough twist on an old saying to give it new meaning. Her creativity helps generate my imagination and helps me find the right words when I write. Her friendship has been a blessing to me. I just don’t know how she could have done anything so vile.”
“Perhaps Maya wrote a poem and she hated it. She saw it as one of her failures and wanted to burn it. All this drama for nothing.”
“Hmm. Possible I suppose. But my bet is on Jackson. That does make the most sense to me. Thanks for taking time to talk through these with me. My mind was going a thousand places before you got home. I knew you would help me sort this all out. I’ll try to call Edith tomorrow about Jackson.”
That night I tossed and turned unable to sleep. By the time I got up the next morning, my head hurt and my muscles throbbed. I knew the bottle of wine had caused the headache, but it was my dreams that kept me turning all night.
Instead of focusing on my sleepless night, I recounted the discussion Bob and I had yesterday. He was right. It was probably Jackson who had written those words. I needed to call Edith for any information she might have on him. However, the foggy feeling from my dreams still clung to me like an old worn cardigan. I decided first to contact my best friend to see if she could help me shrug off this sensation.
I texted Julie to see if she could come over. She replied immediately and said she would be over in the next half hour. She always made me feel better with her warm, compassionate personality, and I could confide in her what I discovered since I had convinced myself that Jackson had done it.
When she arrived, she gave me a big hug and told me how much the ceremony the other night meant to her. “Every year I just dread the holidays, but once we celebrate the winter solstice I feel in the spirit of things and look forward to the new year.”
“I agree. But this year has turned out a little different for me. That’s why I wanted you to come over. I didn’t sleep well last night because of horrible dreams. I know why I had the dreams, but I need to confide in you about what caused them.”
We sat down on the couch as I proceeded to tell her about finding the unburnt strip of paper and what was written on it. I told her about Bob and me talking about each person who attended the ceremony and reassured her that we knew she couldn’t have done it. I noticed while I was talking to her that she had grown very still and hadn’t said a word since I began. Her eyes were focused on her black pants. She glanced up when I stopped talking. I could see tears had formed in the corners of her eyes.
“I need to tell you something, Anne. I’ve kept this a secret for too many years. Through my therapy sessions with Morgan, I realized it was time to let this go,” Julie whispered, water dripping from her cheeks. “Do you remember Jody Brown from high school?”
“Sure. She was the head of the cheerleading squad who killed herself just before the start of our senior year. I didn’t know her very well though.”
“I don’t know if you knew this or not, since we didn’t hang around with each other in high school, but Wade dated her after he broke up with me. I didn’t like her, of course. I was jealous of her and blamed her for Wade dumping me.”
“I remember Wade. He was in my Algebra class. I never could understand what you saw in him. He was so arrogant.”
Julie got up and started to pace. “I realize that now… but then, I had our life all planned out—Wade’s and mine. Marriage after graduating from IU, then get the hell out of Indiana. But Jody had to hook her claws into him in Chemistry class. She always was asking him for help. And by the end of the school year, Wade came to me and said he wanted to take a break during the summer before we went to college. Right after graduation I saw him at The Dairy sitting on the stone bench sharing an ice cream cone with Jody. Then it seemed that everywhere I went, they were there. I couldn’t escape them. Her parents divorced that summer and she leaned on Wade even more.”
“Oh, yes, The Dairy. My first job and the only place in town to meet your friends on a warm Saturday night,” I interjected. I smiled up at her but stopped when I saw her lips quiver.
“The night she died, I saw them together again at The Dairy. This time, though, she was hitting Wade’s chest with her fists and yelling at him. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, and I didn’t care. I just drove on by and went to a friend’s house. The friend offered me some speed and I washed the pills down with cherry vodka and Mountain Dew. When I left, I was flying high, and ready to take on anyone who got in my way.”
She paused and looked me in the eyes. “I haven’t done any drugs since that night. And of course, I would never get in a car and drive like that now, but back then you know that’s what we all did.” She began to pace again.
“I heard there was a party at Old Jedidiah’s farm and decided to head there. When I came to the rickety metal bridge on County Line Road over the Big Blue River, I saw Jody sitting on the edge. I stopped and rolled down my window and yelled at her, ‘Whatcha doin’ out here, Bitch?’”
“She just flipped
me the finger. Well that made me mad. So, I put the car into park and got out, my skin was crawling and tingling, and I was itching to fight. I said to her, ‘What was that you did? Don’t you ever do that to me again if you know what’s good for you!’ She yelled back. ‘Wade broke up with me tonight. Are you happy now? Just leave me be.’ And just like that I pushed her off the bridge. I heard her scream as I slid around the front of my car and into the driver’s seat. I sped off and never looked back.” Julie stopped making a path in the carpet and looked at my wide-open mouth.
“The next day when I heard that her body was found in the river, I knew it was because of me. But I didn’t tell anyone I was out there that night. Everybody said that she had become despondent after her folks divorced and her father moved away. Then Wade broke up with her. When they found her diary stating she wanted to die, I figured she was on the bridge to jump anyway. And when her death was ruled a suicide, I just kept quiet.” Julie sat back down on the couch next to me.
“After that I decided to go to Butler instead of IU. Remember, Anne, I was a lot different in high school than I am now. I put on my happy-go-lucky face, but deep down inside this has been eating away at me for years. So much so I had planned to go to Morristown and tell her mom what happened, but then I heard that she had died.”
“And her dad passed away when we were in college,” I whispered, looking down at the floor.
“I feel awful about what I did in high school, but what can I do about it now except to release the burden of knowing what I did?”
Julie waited for me to speak. The tick, tick of seconds going by punctuated the time. I tried to think of what to say.
“I’m at a loss for words,” was all I uttered. I wanted to scream “How could have you done something so horrible and not tell anyone?” but I couldn’t say a word. I didn’t know what I would have done in her shoes.
We sat on the loveseat as the sound of the second hand filled the silence. Finally, Julie stood. I gazed up at her, black lines streaked her face. “You need to tell the police in Morristown. I can go with you. Or if you want me to go tell them I can. But we have to do something.”
“No, I can’t. And you won’t either. I thought you were my best friend and you’d understand. But I can see by your reaction you think I’m wrong. I’ll go now.” And with that she turned and went out the door.
My mind reeled. Wasn’t I right that she had to tell the police? Or if not her, should I? But what purpose would it serve now? Everyone in Jody’s family was gone, and I didn’t even know if anyone involved with the case was still around. My thoughts kept whirling. I couldn’t believe she’d never told me about this. I knew we didn’t run in the same circles in high school, but when we became close in college, I thought we told each other everything. She always seemed to have it all together and the perfect life. How could I not have known? She must have buried that deep inside her all these years. What should I do? What would happen to her, if the police found out? Would she go to jail after all this time? Surely, she has suffered enough keeping that secret.
With my head throbbing even more, I went to look for another bottle of wine. And with a little help from Oliver again, I knew what I had to do.
That evening I told Bob I was sorry I made such a big deal of the whole thing and reminded him that the point of the fire burning ceremony was to privately purge anything heavy in our hearts. After all these years we never discussed what we burned outside of our group and I was foolish to break that sacred bond now. He nodded in agreement with a look of relief in his eyes, kissed me, and said, “Now it’s time for bed.”
“I think I’ll stay up for a little bit while the fire burns out. You go on and I’ll join you soon.”
I watched the embers glow for a minute, then got up, walked to the dining room desk, opened the drawer, and took out the plastic bag. Back at the fireplace, I pulled apart the zipped bag and removed the piece of charred paper. I slid back the metal screen and threw the paper onto the hot ashes. As I watched a little flame erupt, flare bright and die, I whispered, “May the light consume the darkness held within these words and release us from their burden.”
I shut the fireplace doors and headed to the stairs.
St. Lucia Buns
(Recipe by King Arthur Flour)
1 cup milk
1/4 teaspoon saffron threads, lightly crushed
1/2 cup butter
4 1/2 cups King Arthur unbleached all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon instant yeast
1/4 cup potato flour or 1/2 cup instant potato flakes
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/3 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Topping
1 large egg white (reserved from dough) mixed with 1 tablespoon cold water
Coarse pearl sugar, optional
Golden raisins, optional
In a small saucepan set over medium heat, heat the milk and saffron to a simmer; remove from the heat and stir in the butter. Set the mixture aside to allow the butter to melt and cool to lukewarm, 30 to 35 minutes. You can reduce the milk’s cooling time by about 10 minutes by refrigerating it.
In a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk together the yeast, flours, salt and sugar. Pour the lukewarm milk and butter mixture over the dry ingredients.
Separate one of the eggs and set the white aside to use later. Add the 2 whole eggs, 1 egg yolk, and the vanilla. Mix to combine, then knead for about 7 minutes by mixer, or 10 minutes by hand, until the dough is smooth and supple.
Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl, cover it, and let it rise for 1 hour, or until it’s quite puffy, though not necessarily doubled in bulk.
Gently deflate the dough and divide it into 12 equal pieces. Shape the pieces of dough into rough logs, and let them rest, covered, for about 10 minutes. This gives the gluten a chance to relax.
Roll each log into a 15" to 18” rope. They’ll shrink once you stop rolling; that’s OK. Shape each rope into an “S” shape. Tuck a golden raisin into the center of each of the two side-by-side coils, if desired.
Place the buns on a lightly greased or parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving an inch or so between them. Cover them, and let them rise for about 30 minutes, until they’re noticeably puffy, but definitely not doubled. While they’re rising, preheat the oven to 375°F.
Brush each bun with some of the egg white/water glaze. Sprinkle with coarse white Swedish pearl sugar, if desired.
Bake the buns until they’re golden brown, about 18 to 20 minutes. If you’ve used raisins, tent them with foil for the final 3 minutes, to prevent the raisins from burning.
Remove the buns from the oven and transfer them to a rack to cool.
Makes 12 large buns
Killing Santa Claus
By MB Dabney
Drake grunted and heaved with each step as he hauled the two large plastic containers up from the basement. And with each step, he silently cursed his wife.
It was true Shelly was the love of Drake’s life, her beauty and mere presence made his life infinitely more enjoyable. But when they moved into the house back in the spring, it was Shelly who instructed the movers to stack the Christmas decoration containers in a corner of the basement, instead of an enclosed, first-floor storage area. And with just one small child and Shelly often busy at work, Drake knew all along he’d probably be the one hauling Christmas gear up from the basement.
The foreknowledge didn’t keep him from grumbling about it.
“Here I am, getting this crap out every year…by myself,” he voiced to no one as he opened the basement door into the kitchen. But to his surprise, there was someone there.
“Thank you, baby, for finally bringing those things up,” Shelly cheerfully said as she sauntered over to deliver a small kiss to his full lips, and then a kiss to his clean-shaven head. “My big strong police detective, haulin’ up all those big, heavy containers.”
He let the playful
comment slide.
“What are you doing home so early?”
Shelly reached into a bag of groceries on the counter, then opened the fridge to start putting things away. “I had a surgery cancel at the last minute, so I decided to head to the grocery and come home early.”
Drake couldn’t help but smile at Shelly as they put away groceries, one of the most mundane of everyday tasks. Even in blue hospital scrubs, she was still a looker, just as much as when they married two decades earlier.
They moved into a modest, four-bedroom house shortly after her promotion to assistant head of pediatrics because it was near her job at All-Children’s Hospital of Indianapolis. On her salary, they could afford pricier digs. But a fancier house would appear unseemly for a police detective, despite Shelly’s earnings.
The neighbors, however, were thrilled to have a large black police officer on the block. At six-two and 250 solid, as he put it, Drake was a reassuring or menacing presence, depending on which side of the law you were on.
They were both startled when a neighbor suddenly appeared, banging frantically on the patio door.
“Help me, please,” she said, pointing behind her back toward the street. “It’s my husband Henry. Help me, please.”
Despite the cold outside, Drake and Shelly left the house without coats and ran behind the woman, who kept babbling on about her husband.
“Just got home. The car. The garage. Engine on.”
Three doors down, they rushed up a driveway. The garage door was up and inside the garage was a car with the motor running. A man was slumped inside.
Drake opened the car door and Shelly reached inside to check the man’s pulse. She turned back and shook her head, confirming what was obvious to Drake.
Henry Gibson was dead.
Homicide for the Holidays Page 16
