Seaside Secrets

by Glen Ebisch

  Ashley popped her head in the doorway and announced that Samantha Jones had arrived. Clarissa pulled her chair out from behind the desk and rolled it around so she could sit directly across from her visitor. She was just done as the woman walked through the doorway.

  Samantha Jones was African-American, around Clarissa’s age, and an inch or so taller, and although she wore a loose-fitting work shirt and baggy jeans, they did little to conceal her shapely figure. Clarissa invited her in and they sat across from each other, having agreed to go by first names.

  “Thanks for coming,” Clarissa started off. “As I said on the phone, Ramona highly recommended you, so I wanted to explain the job to you to see if you’d be interested.”

  “Ramona’s a wonderful person, and I’m honored that she should think of me,” Samantha said.

  After Clarissa explained in some detail the responsibilities of the position, Samantha sat for a moment without speaking.

  “So essentially, I’d be a combination janitor and handyperson,” she finally said.

  “The official church title is sacristan, but your description is pretty accurate,” Clarissa replied. “I realize that it is below your skill level. I’m sure it was below Jack’s, as well. I suspect he only did it because he was a member of the church.”

  “And the salary?” asked Samantha.

  Clarissa told her the salary, and Samantha smiled. “The title is clearly a substitute for money.”

  Clarissa smiled back. “Afraid so. I can promise that, over time, I will try to get you more.”

  Samantha shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t take the job for the money. It’ll be a good way to get my name out in the community—better than paid publicity. I’ll be happy to take the job,” she said.

  “Great,” Clarissa replied. “As I said, there will be a six-week probation period, and then the church board votes on making you sacristan. If you like us and we like you, we’ll be all set. I’d be particularly pleased to have you on the job since you’re a veteran.”

  Samantha smiled and nodded. “Since I have some time and my equipment with me, are there any jobs you’d like me to work on right now, Clarissa?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gunn the housekeeper says that the parsonage sink is draining slowly,” Clarissa informed her. “She’s over there right now and will be happy to tell you all about it.”

  “I’ll go right over and take a look.”

  “And, whenever you get a chance, I’d appreciate it if you’d inspect the church from top to bottom to see if there are any problems that may have been deferred.”

  “Will do.” Samantha put out a hand. “Thanks for the position.”

  Clarissa shook her hand. “I look forward to our working together.”

  As Samantha walked through the outer office, she and Ashley looked closely at each other, as if each recognized another person who might not fit into a simple social mold.

  Once Samantha left, Ashley turned to Clarissa and said, “If she’s as capable as she looks, she’ll do fine.” She handed Clarissa a slip of paper. “Here’s Sharon Meissner’s phone number. She works at Ocean Breeze Realty.”

  Clarissa thanked her and returned to her office to make the call. It was high time to resume her investigation.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Clarissa stood in front of Ocean Breeze Realty and tried to formulate an interview strategy. She had walked six blocks from the church to the pedestrian mall in the center of town where Ocean Breeze was located, nestled between an art gallery and a kitchen supply store. Crowds of spring tourists were strolling along through the mall, browsing in the shops and enjoying the pleasant weather.

  When she had called Sharon Meissner to make the appointment, Clarissa had used her by now shopworn reason that she was gathering information for David Ames’ eulogy. Sharon had immediately invited her to come over and had sounded anxious to help.

  After some back-and-forth with herself, Clarissa had decided that it would be best to take a gentler approach than she had with Owen Chandler. Sharon was probably grieving over David’s death and might yield more information if approached with sympathy rather than suspicion.

  Clarissa went into the office and told the young receptionist staffing the front desk whom she was there to see. The girl nodded with a smile, and quickly made a phone call.

  The woman who immediately came out of a back office was stylishly dressed, petite, and in her mid-fifties. Clarissa wondered what Sharon had seen in the emaciated man Clarissa had met in the hospital, but then she chided herself that no one looked his or her best when seriously ill.

  “Hello, Reverend, nice to meet you,” the woman said, putting out her hand and giving Clarissa a warm smile.

  “Please, call me Clarissa,” Clarissa said, shaking her hand.

  “And I’m Sharon.”

  The realtor led her into a small office that was slightly claustrophobic due the one small window being half-concealed by shutters. A large computer monitor seemed to dominate the room.

  “So how did you find out that I was a friend of Dave’s?” Sharon asked, sitting down behind the desk.

  Clarissa took the chair opposite Sharon. “I was doing a computer search on David and came across a newspaper picture of the two of you at the opening of a new bar in town,” she said.

  “Of course, I remember that night,” said Sharon. “I was there because I’d helped the owner purchase the bar. I invited Dave along because they were going to put on quite a lavish private party. He enjoyed that sort of thing.”

  Clarissa smiled. “Did you know David very long?”

  “We went out together for about two years. Of course, I’d sort of known him before that. I’ve lived in Shore Side for over twenty years, so I’d seen him around town a few times.” Sharon’s face darkened. “My husband died four years ago. It was very sudden. His heart. I didn’t socialize for a couple of years after that, except for what I had to do as part of my work. Then I met Dave.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Older than I was,” she laughed. “It took me a while to get over the fact that he was almost old enough to be my father. We even used to joke about it.”

  “I can see where that might be a problem,” Clarissa said.

  “But it wasn’t . . . not really,” Sharon said. “Dave was the kind of guy who made that stuff seem unimportant. He was just a fun guy who never acted his age, at least not until near the end.”

  Clarissa decided to work around to what really interested her. “Did David ever talk about his past?” she asked.

  “Bits and pieces. But he wasn’t one of those guys always rambling on about the good old days. He’d talk about working on the fishing boats, and some of the restaurants he’d worked in when he was younger.”

  “Did he tell you about working for Royce Llewellyn?”

  “He mentioned it once,” Sharon said. “I’d read a newspaper story on the history of Shore Side that talked about the murder, and I asked him if he remembered it, since it was before my time. He said he’d worked for Llewellyn for a little while. But he didn’t say any more than that.”

  “What sorts of things did the two of you like to do?” Clarissa asked to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, the usual. We’d go out to dinner. Hit a movie. Walk on the beach. That sort of thing. We’d go to a bar occasionally, but not often. A lot of guys in bars would recognize Dave because he grew up here. They’d want to come over and join us, but I think he liked to keep me more to himself.”

  And away from people who might say too much, Clarissa thought.

  “Probably the biggest thing we did was to go on a Mediterranean cruise together,” Sharon mused.

  Clarissa raised her eyebrows. “David must have had a good pension to afford that sort of thing.”

  Sharon shook her head. “From what he told me about his work history, it was mostly on fishing boats and pick-up construction jobs, so I doubt he had any pension,” she said. “I asked him once where he
got the money to take us around. I figured I was making more than he was, and I should at least pay my fair share. But he never let me pay. When I asked him, he just put a finger beside his nose, which I took to mean that it was a secret. But with Dave you could never tell. He was quite a kidder.”

  Clarissa smiled. “So he never gave you a hint?”

  The realtor leaned back in her chair. “One time I got a little more insistent than usual because I was feeling particularly guilty about not paying my way. And he said that someone else was paying for both of us. I asked who that was. He just smiled and said that sometimes, the people who do things are the ones you would least suspect. He wouldn’t tell me anything more than that.” She shrugged.

  “What you’ve told me will be very helpful for when I speak at his wake,” Clarissa said. And very helpful for her investigation.

  “Do you know when that will be? I’d like to attend, even though we hadn’t been going out for the last couple of months,” Sharon said.

  “Why not?” Clarissa asked.

  “When Dave found out that he was really sick, he told me it was over between us,” Sharon said sadly. “He didn’t want me hanging around watching him die. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen. I hadn’t seen him in the two months before he passed away.”

  “Well, I haven’t been told exactly when the wake will be,” Clarissa said, avoiding any mention of police involvement. “But once I find out, I’ll definitely let you know. Did David have any other good friends that I could talk to?”

  Sharon paused. “I don’t know that he had any close friends, which is kind of odd when you figure that he lived in town his whole life. There were some guys at church that he used to play golf with, but I never got the impression that they were close friends. Once he said to me that ‘old friends were the best friends.’”

  “What did he mean?” Clarissa asked.

  “When I asked him, he said Jack Spurlock was his only old friend, and the only one left that he trusted, because Jack had been there for him when he needed him. He said that, when he died, he intended to pass something important on to Jack.”

  “Did you have any idea what he intended to pass on?”

  “Maybe money.” Sharon laughed. “He certainly didn’t have any valuable stuff. His apartment was so bare that you would hardly think that anyone lived there.”

  Clarissa figured she knew what David planned to pass on to Jack—the identity of Llewellyn’s murderer.

  “I wonder if Dave left a will?” Sharon said.

  Clarissa didn’t know the answer to that. “Did he have any family?” she asked.

  “Some cousins, but they weren’t close. Who will settle his estate?”

  “I imagine his lawyer, if he had one,” Clarissa supplied.

  “So Jack Spurlock will get whatever Dave left him.”

  Clarissa shook her head. “Jack died a couple of days after Dave.”

  Sharon shook her head and tears came to her eyes. “Maybe he died because of the death of his friend.”

  “Perhaps,” Clarissa said, and thought, but not in the way you think.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clarissa stood in the shower, enjoying a brief few minutes of relative relaxation. She was getting ready for her date with Andrew Corrigan, but her mind was focused more on David Ames and wondering whether she would ever find out who had killed him. She felt that she knew why he was killed, just not who had done it.

  As the hot water sluiced over her body, she reviewed her suspects. Maggie Preston and Doris Llewellyn had accused each other of killing Royce Llewellyn, and both were likely suspects for that murder. But while Maggie was physically capable of smothering David Ames, Clarissa doubted that Doris was strong enough. So that gave Maggie the edge as the killer. But it was somewhat doubtful that Maggie had enough money to have paid blackmail to Ames for almost fifty years. Her luncheonette was doing well now, but it must have been a long struggle before she was financially secure. Doris, on the other hand, was probably well enough off to have paid Ames to keep quiet. Therefore, both women were flawed suspects.

  Clarissa sighed. She got out of the shower and began to dry herself.

  Then a thought came to her. She had been assuming that Royce had been murdered for a personal reason based on his philandering or his mistreatment of his employees, but what if someone had stood to gain financially from his death? She decided to talk to Detective Baker after church on Sunday to ask about Llewellyn’s business associates.

  As she was drying her hair, her mind drifted to her other pressing problem: Kenneth Rogers and his sidekick, Harry Blanchard. If Harry was able to convince enough members of the congregation that the sale of the land was a good idea, he might get it approved. If that happened, Clarissa could imagine some members of the church board being forced to resign in protest of the result.

  What if Harry got his cronies elected to a new board, and they did everything he wanted? Clarissa could easily see herself losing her position. She wondered with grim humor what the record was for the shortest tenure as a minister. Then she took a deep breath and told herself not to rush down that dark tunnel. Probably none of this would come to pass.

  She slipped into her dress, applied some light makeup, and ten minutes later, was standing by the front door waiting for Andrew to arrive.

  Why had she agreed to have Andrew pick her up at the parsonage? She should have said she would drive herself to wherever they were having dinner. What if things didn’t go well? If she had her own transportation, she could just get up and leave because she wasn’t dependent on him for a ride home. Although dramatic exits weren’t exactly her thing, she always liked to leave her options open.

  She shook her head; she was worrying too much about this. After all, it had been a while since she’d last been on a date.

  The doorbell rang, and Andrew stood on the doorstep with a bouquet of spring flowers in his hand. He followed Clarissa into her kitchen, where she put the flowers in water.

  “Where are we going to eat?” she asked, trying to sound casual as she arranged the flowers in their vase.

  “The Stafford Inn, if that’s okay with you?” Andrew replied.

  “That’s fine,” she said, relieved that it was only half a mile from the parsonage, within easy walking distance—even in dress shoes. “I could have walked down there and met you.”

  Andrew smiled. “On a first date I like to observe all the proprieties.”

  She wondered if that made him a gentleman or a hidebound traditionalist. She was still wondering about that as she got in his car and they drove the few blocks to the restaurant.

  Andrew turned his keys over to the valet, and they made their way to the hostess’ station. She quickly led them to a nice table for two that looked out on the garden.

  The waitress took their drink orders. Andrew asked for a martini, while Clarissa chose a glass of white wine.

  Andrew looked across the table at her and smiled. “Well, let’s get the most difficult question out of the way first. Why did you decide to become a minister?” he asked.

  Clarissa sighed to herself. This was the question that every man asked her. Most ministers, male or female, found themselves frequently queried about this, but she thought it was more common for women to be asked, since female ministers were still a bit of a novelty.

  Andrew must have detected her discomfort. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Clarissa said. “It’s just that people seem to expect some kind of dramatic answer, like there was a banner across the sky from God that told me to follow this profession.”

  Andrew smiled. “There wasn’t?”

  “Not exactly. It all started when I was a junior in college and got hurt just before our championship lacrosse game,” Clarissa explained. “I was the captain of the team, and I was completely devastated. For me, winning that game was the most important thing in my life, and I wasn’t even able to go on the fiel
d and help my team.”

  “Did your team lose?”

  “Actually, they won easily.” She gave a short laugh. “Somehow that made it even worse, because they won without me, their star player. That’s when I began to realize that I wasn’t as important as I thought I was, and that I had to start getting over myself. So I devoted a lot of my time during my senior year to doing volunteer work through a local church. The minister there was a great guy, and that’s how I began to think about going into the seminary.”

  The waitress brought their drinks, and they were silent for a few moments before the conversation started up again.

  “Did you ever go back to playing lacrosse after your injury?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, but I was never quite as good as before.”

  “Because of your injury.”

  Clarissa paused and looked across the room. “No, because I was less aggressive. I never cared quite as fiercely about winning after that.”

  “I get the feeling that you’ve never stopped caring about winning,” Andrew said.

  Clarissa smiled. “Maybe just not at any cost.”

  “And was it through volunteer work that you got involved in religion?” he asked.

  “Through serving others, I found my way to God. I also found that all the studying I was called to do in the seminary somehow spoke to me and met some need that I had. I still can’t fully explain it.”

  The waitress came by and took their dinner orders. As soon as she left the table, Clarissa said, “Enough about me. Time to turn the tables. Why did you become a lawyer?”

  “The easy answer would be because my father is one,” Andrew answered. “I’ve always admired him and felt that the job he did was definitely a service to others. But when I got my first job in Manhattan, I began to see that there are many different types of lawyers. I was spending all my time defending large corporations, often against suits brought by the little guy who had been wronged. I know someone has to protect the rights of businesses, but that wasn’t what I wanted to spend my life doing. I was more interested in working on the individual level like my dad did, helping out friends and neighbors. The money certainly isn’t as good, but the job satisfaction is greater.”