Murder at the Mission

by Pamela Martin

  “What does your heart tell you, Norah?” my grandmother said softly. “Your head will make excuses on both sides of the argument, but your heart will only tell you truth. Have you prayed about it?”

  “Not consciously,” I admitted, “but I think that's what I was really doing as I thought about it this morning. Honestly, though, I don't feel like I've had an answer yet. I thought it was just me trying to avoid the issue, but it really doesn't feel like that. I really don't know if I...if anyone other than law enforcement...should get involved. What if Elena and I make things worse somehow?”

  She nodded. “I see your worries, dear, and I think they are valid. However, you said that you don't feel like that's the final answer. Maybe you need to wait a little longer. Do you remember what your grandfather used to say about making decisions about finding God's will?”

  I smiled through a few tears. “He said that man says, 'Don't just sit there, do something,' but God says, “Don't just do something, sit there.' He always told me to wait until I had peace about a decision, rather than just jumping on the first option offered, just to decide.”

  “I think that's pretty good advice for this situation,” she said. “Talk to Ben about it, and then listen to your heart. You'll know what to do when it's time for you to know.”

  I nodded, grateful yet again that I'd been blessed with such wise advisers in my life.

  “Now,” she said, “tell me what you've learned about the CCC, the state park, and Raiford Stripling. I may have to send the ladies home earlier than usual tonight, so I can start reading what you brought me this afternoon.”

  Laughing, I started telling her the highlights, and our talk about the book, the history, and our snacks for the evening carried us through the shopping and the return trip.

  “Woo-hoo! I made it through the meeting without falling asleep or smacking anyone, and now there are no more project meetings for at least three months,” Ben called later, as he came through the front door.

  “How many solitaire games did it take, though?” I asked, trying and failing to look serious.

  “Too many to count,” he said. “And I finished the outline of the article for that new journal. Stephan thought I was talking detailed notes on my laptop; let's hope he doesn't ask for a copy!” He handed me a bag of food.

  “Here's two dozen tamales – a half-dozen each of pork, chicken, refried bean, and pumpkin. I also picked up some of those awesome chips to go with your queso and salsa.”

  “Perfect!” I said. “Grab a bowl and pour them up while I pop the nachos under the broiler and fry up the churros. The salsas and the guac are in the fridge, if you want to grab them.”

  “Oh, man, I think I'm in heaven!” he exclaimed. “You made mango salsa and guacamole and churros? Yep, I can die a happy man tonight! Should I put the tamales in the oven to keep them hot?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I laughed at his antics. “So, the project's on track, I take it?”

  “Yeah; in fact, we're ahead of schedule by about two weeks,” he replied. “The field work should be wrapped up by the end of this week, and then we can focus on sorting and analyzing the artifacts we found. Jorge promised he'd have all the notes and stuff to me, ready for me to prepare the conference presentation paper and slides, in no more than six weeks. We are on the downhill side on this one.” His team was working on the excavation of a recently discovered site that appeared to be an Aranama camp.

  He popped a chip overloaded with salsa in his mouth and moaned. After a moment, he asked, “So what were you so eager to talk about?”

  “I have a lot to share with you from the journals, my research, and the other night's lecture, but there's something else that doesn't thrill me as much. I think I'd rather get that discussion out of the way first, though, so we can enjoy the food and the fun facts.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, psyching myself up to share Elena's news. Ben has known me long enough to know to wait for me; he didn't push me to talk before I was ready.

  I exhaled loudly and started. “Elena came by this morning. Someone at the SO shared the lab results from Mariette's wreck with her.” I looked up at Ben's face. “Ben, she wasn't drinking. According to the blood tests, someone had given her one of the date rape drugs. She didn't make the decision to drink and drive; she has been sober since she left rehab.”

  “Wow!” he said, after a second of shocked silence. “That's...that's huge news! Do they know how she got the drug? I mean, who slipped it to her?”

  “Elena didn't know,” I answered. “She's determined that we – Elena and I, I mean – should figure it out. She wants us to go over and talk to Mariette.”

  “Again, just wow!” he said. “What do you think?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “First, is it even any of my business, or would it be an invasion of Mariette's privacy? And then, there's the fact that we don't know anything about investigations; what if we do something that makes things worse?”

  “What would be worse?” Ben said.

  “Well, what it the person who drugged her finds out that we're snooping and feels threatened? He...or she, for that matter...might try again, with something stronger, or he or she might do something, I don't know, more violent, to keep her quiet.”

  “Okay,” he nodded. “I don't think that would happen; I think that comes from all the mystery novel you've read. But you could just talk to Mariette, maybe ask her a few questions. That might be enough to help clarify things in her mind, so that she can tell the deputies enough for them to catch the creep.”

  “But is it right to nose around in her business in the first place? Like I told Mommaw, it's not like Mariette, Elena, and I are such tight friends,” I asked him.

  “And what did your grandmother tell you?” Ben asked. He had a smug expression on his face; he knew my grandparents pretty well, so I could tell he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

  “She told me to listen to my heart, and not to rush to a decision, either way,” I said. “She didn't really support either decision.”

  “And what does your heart tell you?” he asked. He paused, then he reached for my hand. “Norah, you are the only one who can know the right choice, but consider this. You can call Mariette and tell her that you've heard about the report. Tell her that Elena mentioned trying to help solve the whole thing, and just ask her if she'd like to talk to the two of you about it. If she says no, you can let it drop. If she says yes, you can hear what she has to say and make a decision about your next step then.:

  I sighed, “Yeah, that's kind of what I was thinking. I really don't feel comfortable 'sleuthing,' but I think I have to hear her out, if she wants to share. If I don't, I think I'll feel like I’m letting Poppaw down, and I'll also always wonder if I could have helped.”

  Ben gave me a big hug; then, winking at me, he said, “Okay, one problem solved. Let's eat!”

  I laughed, appreciating him lightening the mood. “Okay, okay....grab some plates and forks. I'll get the food on the table and pour us some tea.”

  As we ate, I shared some of the facts I learned about Raiford Stripling. “You know he was the premier restoration architect in Texas, of course.” Ben nodded; Stripling had been the subject of one of his grad school projects.

  “Did you know that his passion for architecture can all be traced – or blamed, depending on your viewpoint – on tomatoes?”

  “What?” Ben said. “What do tomatoes and architecture have in common?”

  I giggled at the thought that I knew something the professional historian didn't. “Well, it seems that, when he was 14 years old, he planted a tomato patch as a 4H project and he won a competition. Part of the prize was a trip to the Chicago Livestock Exhibition, where he fell in love with the buildings. His 'life calling' started as a result of that trip.”

  “I knew he had already gotten interested in architecture before he started college,” Ben mused, “but I had no idea that's how it started.”

  “Yep,” I said. “His dad promi
sed him a new Ford convertible if he went to Rice – I think to study medicine, but I forget that part. Stripling turned it down and enrolled at A&M instead. Apparently, he was a bit of a scamp, as your grandmother would say, while he was there. It seems that he was expelled from the Corps, so he became a “day duck” student.”

  “What was he kicked out for?” Ben said.

  “He shot out the light bulb at the top of the administration building,” I told him. “What I thought was funny, though, was that, even with that history, he was hired as a sort of 'keeper' for his mentor, S.C.P. Vosper. His job was to get the man out of bed and to work every day.”

  “Yikes!” Ben exclaimed. “If the guy who got kicked out of the Corps was the keeper, what kind of trouble did Vosper get into?!”

  “I know, right?” I laughed. I shared the rest of my notes with Ben, along with the still-warm churros and some dulce de leche ice cream.

  “I had a great time tonight, Norah,” Ben said later, as he was leaving. “Thank you for sharing your notes and your food with me.”

  I could feel myself blushing. “Anytime, Ben. And thanks for your advice. I'll call Elena and Mariette tonight and see what happens next.”

  Once again, I got a sweet kiss on the check, and I wondered again if the relationship would ever lead to more.

  12

  Murder in the Park

  by Norah Sewell

  Chapter Six

  “Let's see if Joey's back yet,” Paul said. “I know he wasn't expected yet, but it won't hurt to check.”

  Grace agreed and, as they started walking toward the recreation hall area, she said, “Tell me more about Charlie. I didn't really know him very well, although Mary certainly likes what she knows of him.”

  Paul laughed. “There was a lot to like about Charlie and not too much to dislike. That makes him sound like some kind of prig, but he wasn't like that. He was a genuinely nice person, but he wasn't all 'sunshine and roses' about it. He had very clear views of right and wrong, and he wasn't afraid to express them. However, if you disagreed with him, as long as you weren't hurting someone else, he was willing to leave you to it.”

  He thought for a minute and then continued, “He was very protective of those he cared about or of those he felt were being mistreated.” He gave a light snort. “I guess you already know that, though, after the mess with Joey the other night. He was generous and kind-hearted, too.”

  They walked in silence for a moment and then Paul said, “I think this story kind of explains Charlie well. A couple of weeks ago, Abe Connell came up to our fire circle one evening, carrying a burlap sack. He said, 'I got me some fresh peaches in this here bag, and, if anyone can guess how many, I'll give them the whole six of them.'”

  Grace laughed. “Oh, dear! That's couldn't have ended well!”

  “Actually,” Paul smiled, “it came out pretty well. Abe loves guessing games, and he doesn't really care I he wins or not; he only offers something in exchange so he can get folks to play along. Charlie put on his stern father face and said, 'Now, Abe, you know you shouldn't be making those kinds of wagers. And I'm afraid I'm going to have to show you why by taking those peaches off your hands. There are...let me think...there are six of them in the sack.'”

  “Abe's jaw dropped, and his face was one big mess of disappointment. There's not much on this earth that Abe likes better than peaches, and just about everybody knows that. He clearly hadn't thought through what would happen if someone 'guessed' correctly.”

  “Oh, that seems mean,” Grace said, “and that's not at all what I thought of Charlie.”

  “Yes, it seems mean,” Paul agreed, “but it wasn't what it seemed at all. Abe handed over the sack and wandered away. Someone challenged Charlie about taking them, and he just smiled and handed the sack to me. See, he'd planned all along to return them to Abe, but he also wanted to let the man save face. If he hadn't 'guessed' correctly, someone else would have taken advantage of the man. If he'd refused to take them after winning the challenge, it would have made Abe look bad. Instead, he took one out and sent me to put the sack on Abe's bunk. That way, he would just think someone had given him some more peaches; he wouldn't connect them to the first batch. And, by having me deliver them, there was no chance that someone would see Charlie and tell Abe what really happened.”

  Grace nodded, her eyes bright with understanding. “That's genius! He makes a point, but he also shows compassion.” She thought for a moment. “Mary has told some similar stories about him. I can understand why he was so well-loved.”

  After a pause, she continued, “So, then, why would someone want to hurt him? I mean, you seem to be assuming that someone did, that he didn't die without help. Who do you think it could be, and why would it happen?”

  Paul sighed. “I don't know. I believe that Willy didn't have a reason; he knew Charlie well enough to know that, if the man gave his word to keep a secret, he would do exactly that. Joey was pretty mad the other night, but enough to kill someone? That answer just doesn't feel right. And I can't buy Jimmy doing it; his panic about maybe being accused felt too real.”

  “I agree,” Grace said. “However, in books, love and jealousy are two of the main reasons for murder, so I don't know if we can completely rule out Mr. Brossardyet. The argument didn't feel that serious, even with the punches thrown, but it might have been more important to Mr. Brossardthan to the rest of us.”

  “I guess,” Paul agreed reluctantly. “Look – there he is, going into the newspaper room. Let's catch up with him and see what he has to say.”

  They entered the room to find Joey settling at one of the desks, resting his elbows on the surface, and putting his head in his hands.

  “Joey,” Paul greeted him. “You're back early. I thought you were staying with your aunt and uncle until the first of the week.”

  “Oh, hello, Paul,” Joey replied. “And hello, Miss Wells. I came here hoping to find you.” He shook his head before continuing. “When I got to Edna’s, my uncle was feeling much better, and my cousin had just arrived to help her mother take care of him. I finished up a few chores around the farm and headed back here; there wasn't anything for me to do, and I didn't want them to have to feed me if I wasn't helping out.”

  He looked up at Paul. “I was so sorry and so shocked to hear about Charlie, Paul. Do they know what happened?”

  Paul shook his head. “The sheriff and Judge White said that he looked like he'd been in a fistfight, but I didn't know anything about it. I haven't heard anything more from either of them since this morning.” He looked at Joey for a minute and then, seeming to make up his mind about something, he said, “What about you, Joey? You were pretty angry the other night; did the two of you mix it up again?”

  “No!” Joey exclaimed. “No way! We talked and fixed things between us. Even if we hadn't, that wasn't a big enough argument to kill someone over. It wasn't even much of a fight; Charlie threw one punch, I went down, and it was over!”

  “Well,” Paul mused, “that could have made you even madder, maybe made you want to take another shot at him.”

  Joey shook his head vigorously. Before he could speak, Grace asked, “Mr.Brossard, you said that the two of you made things up. Would you mind telling us what happened?”

  Joey smiled. “Charlie acted like Charlie, that's all. He found me and said that he wanted to apologize for losing his temper. He said that he shouldn't have resorted to fighting, and he regretted it. Then he said that he just thought about how he would feel if someone was treating his sister like I was treating Miss Simmons, and it made him lose control.” Joey ducked his head, looking a little ashamed.

  “When he said that, I thought about my little sister. She's only seven, but, if I saw or heard someone acting like I was around her, if she was Miss Simmon's age, I'd probably rip his head right off. All of a sudden, I was ashamed of myself. I told Charlie that I would apologize to Miss Simmons right away, but he suggested that I might send the message through you, Miss Wells. He sa
id that a gentleman wouldn't want to make a lady feel uncomfortable and that Miss Simmons probably wouldn't feel too safe around me right now. That's why I came here looking for you. I was hoping you would tell her how sorry I am and that I promise that I will not treat her or any other woman that way ever again.”

  Grace laid her hand on Joey's arm. “Mr.Brossard , I am glad to talk to Mary for you, and I'm sure that she will appreciate the message. Perhaps you can tell her yourself in a few days, when she's had time to think about it. And thank you for telling us what happened.”

  Joey looked at her gratefully. “Thank you, miss; that's more than I deserve.”

  Paul cleared his throat. “Joe, do you have any idea who Charlie might have fought with? Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him, to kill him, even?”

  Joey thought briefly. “The only person I can think of is Thom Wilson. It's kind of well-known secret that he's been taking supplies from the camp and selling them off, and there's a rumor that he might even be stealing some of the things they've dug up around the church. Jimmy said that Charlie had just found out, and that he was going to find Thom and put a stop to it – especially to using Jimmy to steal for him. If Charlie threatened to turn Thom in, he might have tried to stop him. Maybe they got into a fight, and Thom hit him harder than he meant.”

  Paul nodded. “Yes, I guess that's a possibility.” He held his hand out to shake. “Thank you for talking to us, Joey, and for not getting angry when I practically accused you of killing a friend.”

  “Well, I was a little mad, but I understand, too,” Joey said, shaking Paul's hand. “I know you want to figure out what happened, and I know that, if I were you, I'd probably think I did it, too.” He paused and then said, “I wasn't as close to Charlie as you, but he was one of the best men I've known. If I can help you find out who did this, I'll do whatever it takes.