Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4)

by Christina Freeburn

  What if she knew?

  Gussie gave a nod to the choir director and the hymn began.

  I locked the thought up for the meantime. Three songs later, Gussie pivoted sharply to the right and the rest of the choir followed suit, trailing her off the stage.

  Pastor Evans climbed the stairs. He opened a bulletin, placing it on the podium. “Please be seated for announcements.”

  Murmurs floated around the sanctuary, papers rustled, and pews squeaked as the congregation settled back onto the cushions. Dawn clutched a bulletin in her hand. Something about it made her unhappy. Listed in the bulletin were the names of the women working in the nursery this week and the volunteers for next Sunday, the date for the next cleaning party, the code phrase for the menfolk who trimmed the bushes and mowed the lawn. At the bottom of the page was a list of prayer requests.

  Pastor Evans droned on, reading the bulletin verbatim. I pretended to listen as I tried decoding the pamphlet to find out what irked Dawn.

  Beside me, Dawn pulled bulletin after bulletin from her large bag.

  Pastor Evans finished reading and gazed around the sanctuary. “Is there anything I left out?”

  Dawn stood, pressing an armful of bulletins to her chest. “Yes.”

  Pastor Evans searched the sanctuary for someone else other than Dawn. He let out a nervous laugh. “This is the first time I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “I said yes,” Dawn said more forcefully.

  The entire congregation swiveled in their seats to face Dawn.

  “We’re running behind. If there’s time at the end of the service you can mention your news,” Pastor Evans said.

  Standing, I did what I did best and stuck my nose into the business at hand. “There was enough time a few minutes ago. Why isn’t Dawn allowed to speak?”

  Hope and Cheryl smiled.

  “It looks like she has a lot to say,” Pastor Evans defended his position.

  “Then let the woman speak,” Gussie said.

  “Go ahead, Mrs. Carr,” Pastor Evans said. Was it my imagination or had there been a sneer in his voice?

  “Why wasn’t Chad’s death announced in the bulletin? That’s what usually happens when a congregation member loses a loved one.” Dawn raised her arms and dropped the pile she held. Bulletins rained down to her feet.

  Pastor Evans loosened his tie. “It appears there was an oversight. My apologies.”

  He didn’t sound very sorry to me.

  Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “Can we also narrow down the date for my husband’s funeral? Since Saturday wouldn’t work because of a prior engagement that couldn’t be changed.”

  “We can discuss this later, Mrs. Carr,” Pastor Evans said. “I don’t have the church calendar with me.”

  “How about you or your wife get it?” Dawn pointed at the back door. “The church office is right next door, so it won’t take long at all.”

  “We’re in the middle of a service.” Pastor Evans opened his Bible.

  “I want to make sure I get my request in before something else more important comes up,” Dawn said.

  “Please don’t make me ask the ushers to remove you,” Pastor Evans said.

  “Doesn’t your husband’s body have to be released first?” Karen asked. “I was told it’s still at the morgue because there are questions concerning his death.”

  A sigh of relief floated around the congregation.

  Ted sprang to his feet. “Enough, Miss England.”

  “What? Doesn’t this town like the truth?” Karen crossed her arms and sent a smug look in Ted’s direction.

  “There’s a time and place for certain details, and in the middle of a church service isn’t it. Some of those details aren’t meant for the general public.” Ted narrowed his gaze onto Jasper, who sat beside Karen. Smiling, Jasper shrugged.

  It appeared Jasper was spending his forced leave talking with Karen. I hoped his sharing didn’t result in his leave becoming permanent.

  “Here we go again, the police hiding information.” Karen inspected her nails.

  “Or someone twisting the truth to shift blame,” I muttered.

  Karen spun around. “What did you say?”

  “I think you know.”

  Karen crossed her arms. “Do I?”

  “Yes. It was along the lines of people using their position to play games and turn an opinion into truth.” I gripped the back of the pew. “Let the police do their job.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Karen said.

  Snickers filled the room.

  “Fine, I admit it. I don’t always listen, but at least I’m looking for the truth, not actively creating a different one.”

  “Face the facts, you’re helping a murderer.” Karen pointed at Dawn.

  “Time to leave.” Ted stepped out from the pew and headed for Karen.

  Loud brittle laughter stopped Ted in his tracks. I gaped at Dawn and slid a couple of inches away. The woman sounded like she was about to lose it.

  “If I killed my husband, don’t you think I’d say so?” Dawn grabbed the handle of her purse and hoisted it to her shoulder. “’Cause if I did, I’d receive some sympathy from this town instead of a cold shoulder.”

  I stared at the remnants of the items for Lake’s scrapbook. Mrs. Barlow had cleared most of the items from my table, but a few lingered here and there. I gathered up some errant sticker gems, a thin roll of pink ribbon, and some photos of crystal vases. I stacked the pictures, then tapped them on the table to even the pile. Two business cards slipped out. One was from Lake’s shop, and the other was for Vulcan Catering.

  My mind flickered to the business card with the burnt edges and grill graphic in Jim’s cash register. Vulcan Catering. He hadn’t been happy at me seeing it. Why? It wasn’t like it was against the law for him to have two food businesses in town. More questions rolled through my head. Why did Lake have one? Was she helping Jim? Was he drumming up business? Why hadn’t I seen the cards around town or Jim drop one off? We held a lot of events at Scrap This. My thought trail brought me back to why Jim was upset that I saw the card.

  The front door opened, wafting the smell of chicken and dumplings to me.

  “It’s your grandmas,” they called from the foyer.

  I swept the pictures off of the table into a tote bag. “I’ll go set the table.” And make sure I had enough clean dishes.

  I gathered up bowls and napkins and took them to the table.

  Hope took silverware out of the dishwasher. “We believe Dawn is innocent. We want to help you.”

  Help me? I didn’t want my grandmothers involved in solving a murder. There was no way I wanted to introduce my grandmothers to a murderer. “No.”

  “We’re not asking your permission, young lady.” Cheryl scooped spoonfuls of chicken and dumplings into the bowl. “Hope and I are adults and can make our own decisions.”

  “Just like you do.”

  Hope had a smug smile on her face.

  They both looked rather pleased with their copycatting. I didn’t like it one bit. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “If you can handle it by yourself,” Cheryl said, “then we can handle it as a team.”

  Hope nodded.

  Stirring my lunch to cool it off, I pouted. This wasn’t going my way at all. There had to be some way to convince them that sleuthing at their ages wasn’t a good idea. But if I said that, I’d guarantee their involvement, and possibly my destruction.

  “Don’t be a poor sport, dear. That’s not how we raised you.”

  “I’m not being a bad sport, I’m worried. Most of what I’m hearing is gossip. I have to dig around and ask questions to sort the fact from fiction. I know how you both feel about gossip.”

  “We don’t like i
t,” Hope jabbed her spoon in my direction, “and you shouldn’t either.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s just how information comes to me. People aren’t forthcoming with Ted or Steve either. Not that Ted shares with me.”

  “Steve does?” Hope asked.

  “A little. I don’t think he’s too keen about prosecuting whoever killed Chad Carr.”

  “No one in town cares a whit,” Cheryl said.

  “All they want to do is judge Dawn.” Hope wiped up a spot of sauce from the table.

  “If she had killed him,” I said, “they’d throw her a parade.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “Steve hinted the police are looking in her direction,” I said.

  Cheryl paused with a spoonful of chicken halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

  Quickly, I told them about the insurance policy taken out on Chad and the store. “Then there’s the rumor that Chad and Dawn were separated.”

  They put their utensils down, giving me their undivided attention.

  “Steve’s the one who mentioned it. Maybe the reason only Chad died in the fire was because he was living there alone.”

  Hope and Cheryl exchanged a knowing, and somewhat guilty, look.

  “There’s someone you need to talk to.” Grandma Cheryl pulled her cell phone from her sweater pocket and handed it to Hope.

  “I don’t think Dawn wants everyone to know her business,” Cheryl said. “But keeping this secret isn’t going to help her.”

  “Hello, Nancy,” Hope said into the phone. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my granddaughter’s place. I have an apple pie cooking and chicken and dumplings on the table. I’d like you to tell Faith what you know. Dawn’s life in this town depends on it.”

  Cheryl went next door for the pie while I set another spot at the table and Hope paced around in the living room.

  “I won’t repeat what she says,” I said.

  Hope stopped and faced me. “I don’t think you would do that at all. It’s just that Nancy will also have to tell the police. Someone is likely to get in trouble. What will happen to Dawn?”

  Happen to her? Had Dawn been committing another crime while her husband died in the fire? That was a good alibi, but it was one a person wouldn’t want to get around if they were trying to stay out of jail.

  Though the community was more likely to forgive and forget if Dawn had murdered her husband.

  “What does Nancy know about Dawn?”

  “Nothing nefarious. Nancy works at the nursing home where Dawn’s mother has been living for the last four months.”

  That was around the time the synthetic drug started being sold. It would be easy for the guy to start selling an illegal substance without his wife knowing about. She had a lot on her plate.

  A car pulled into my grandmothers’ driveway, and a woman in her mid-fifties slid out. Her hair was slicked back from her face and twisted into a messy bun, and she wore a fall-themed nurse’s smock. Cheryl exited her house holding the pie and directed Nancy to my house. I had chatted with the nurse a few times when my grandmothers hosted Bunco at their house, but didn’t know much about her besides her occupation and love of card games. My grandmothers always invited me to play with them. I never stayed long as I wasn’t interested in the game, just the snacks they served. I opened the door for Cheryl, Nancy, and the pie.

  Once we sat down at the table, Cheryl wasted no time filling Nancy in.

  Nancy picked at her food. “I wanted to say something once Chad died and the rumors started, but Dawn wants us to keep quiet. I heard what happened at church. Such a shame.”

  Hope tsked in agreement.

  “Simply horrific and very unchristian behavior,” Cheryl said.

  “Even worse because the pastor took part in it,” I said. “He’s supposed to be the best example.”

  “Even if the pastor behaves unkindly doesn’t mean all should follow suit.” Hope placed a bottle of water at Nancy’s place. “We all know right from wrong, and just because someone else started walking down the path of wrong, it is never a good reason to skip along behind them.”

  Nancy pushed her plate away.

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  Hope went to the cabinet and took out a plastic container.

  “What do you know about Dawn and her husband?” I asked.

  “The Carrs lost their home a few weeks ago through a foreclosure.”

  “But they lived on the second floor of the store. That’s what Dawn told me.”

  “They moved there after the foreclosure, but the second floor isn’t livable,” Nancy said. “They wanted people to think they chose to live at the store to save money and let the bank have the house.”

  Dawn lied to me. “Were Chad and Dawn sleeping in the store?” The fact that the one night she wasn’t there Made With Love went up in flames wasn’t something the police and insurance adjuster would overlook.

  “Chad stayed at the store, while Dawn slept on the floor in her mother’s room at the nursing home. Chad liked everyone believing he was a business guru and didn’t want to lose their respect, so he did everything possible to keep it quiet. Dawn was preoccupied with her mother, so she went along with his opinion on taking out loans and branching off into new items.”

  “Like potpourri?” I asked.

  Selling drugs to teens was probably more profitable than handcrafted items. Unfortunately, Nancy’s testimony was adding more evidence to the “why Dawn killed her husband” column.

  “Yes,” Nancy said.

  “Dawn didn’t want him at the nursing home?” I asked, hating the fact the nurse’s words proved the couple was on the outs.

  “No, we didn’t. It wasn’t easy for us to let Dawn stay in the room; two people was pushing it. The first night Dawn stayed over by accident, her mother didn’t have any night terrors. So the next night, I pretended I didn’t see her hiding behind the curtains, and again her mother had a calm and restful night. Since Dawn’s mom having a restful night meant the nurses had a calm night, we decided to let Dawn stay. If the director found out we allowed an extended overnight visitor, our jobs would be in jeopardy. That’s why Dawn didn’t want us to say anything even if it gave her an alibi.”

  “You were being kind to a homeless woman,” I said.

  “It probably won’t matter. Dawn doesn’t want to repay our kindness by getting us in trouble,” Nancy said.

  “We know,” Cheryl said. “That’s why we want to help.”

  “But we’re talking about a murder charge,” I said.

  “That’s also why I came.” Tears filled Nancy’s eyes. “She shouldn’t have to suffer because of what her husband has done.”

  “Has done?” The delicious lunch soured in my stomach.

  Nancy glanced down at the table, running her finger through a spot of condensation that dripped from the water bottle. “Chad used to come by and talk to Lucy, Dawn’s mom, for hours. She adored the man. I overheard him telling Lucy things were turning around. He found a way out of his and Dawn’s money troubles. Soon he was going to have enough cash to take care of her and her daughter like queens. Her mother is non-verbal, so he had no worries she’d tell anyone what he said.”

  “Do you think he meant he was selling Janie?”

  “I do now,” Nancy said.

  “Have you told anyone else your suspicion?”

  “Dawn. You. Your grandmothers.” There was a long pause before Nancy added another name. “And Coach Rutherford. I figured if anyone could stop Chad from selling drugs to the kids, it was the coach, so I told him.”

  TWELVE

  I turned down the street leading to Ted’s house, crafting the introduction to our conversation. The police were left off of Nancy’s people-in-the-know list, and I insisted t
hey be added. I was elected for the role. I hoped I got through my whole spiel before Ted threw me out or arrested me.

  Ted lived in a nice subdivision close to the south side of town. The street was quiet for a late Sunday afternoon. Two teenagers played basketball in a driveway; otherwise the neighborhood was empty.

  Ted’s house was a single-family home tucked into the corner on the cul-de-sac. It was a charming house build in the 1920s. The porch had recently been updated with a fresh coat of paint, and a bucket of tar was by the garage door. The driveway must be the next item on Ted’s home improvement list.

  I parked, took in a deep breath, and slowly let it out, repeating the process while I waited for my nerves to settle down. Nope. My hands still shook and the smell of the pie, a peace offering my grandmothers contributed, was more an annoyance than a comfort. I wasn’t confident about Ted having a pleasant reaction to my impromptu visit.

  The front door opened and Ted stepped out barefooted, wearing faded jeans and a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. I’d interrupted him during a game. Hopefully he wasn’t an avid football watcher. I rolled down the window as Ted walked over. “Hi.”

  Ted propped his arms on the window ledge. “Well, what do you know? There is some chick parked in my driveway.”

  “It’s unusual for you to have a woman visitor?”

  Ted raised a hand. “Thanks, dude.”

  A teen dribbled a basketball by us and lifted his chin in greeting. “Thought you’d like to know. Lot of crazies been coming by.”

  Ted snorted. “Little does he know.”

  “You think I’m crazy?” Temper. Don’t ruin your mission before you even get out of the car.

  “More like aggravating, which drives me crazy.” Ted opened my car door. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “What over with?” It was a habit for me to explain away what I was doing. It was the one constant in our relationship, besides his flirting and subtly, and sometimes not so subtly, mentioning more developing between us. That seemed to have disappeared from our relationship lately, and I was growing concerned. Why had it changed? Was it because of the favoritism talk surrounding me? Or had Ted got tired of waiting for me?