Christmas Can Be Murder: A Chaplain Merriman Christian Cozy Mystery (Chaplain Merriman Christian Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by Jacob Lee

  He turned around to face me, and my heart almost jumped into my throat! He was wearing an apron that was covered in blood, and was holding a bloodied filet knife! For a long moment, I was sure I was about to die, as I thought of the fact that this was the type of knife that must have killed Brenda — but then I glanced at the table he'd been leaning over and realized the man was actually cleaning fish.

  I concentrated on getting my heart rate back down where it belonged, while Gotter stammered and apologized. "Oh, you must be Chaplain Merriman," he said. "I am so sorry, I got up early and went down to the creek to do some fishing, and I was hoping to get these cleaned and fileted before you got here. I'm so sorry, I must look awful."

  I waved a hand in dismissal. "No, no, no apologies are necessary. I'm actually rather early, I guess I'm just the impatient sort. I can come back in a little while, let you get finished up."

  He wouldn't hear it. Instead, he showed me into his office and asked me to wait just a moment while he went to wash up. He put the rest of the fish on ice as we left the shed, assuring me that he could come back and finish them in a little while.

  When he came back to the office, I actually learned quite a lot about tax-preparation and why having an accountant do my taxes, rather than one of the services you could find in department stores, was a good idea, so I really did sign on as a client with him. While all I had was my pension for income, he had shown me that there were many ways that I could take advantage of perfectly legitimate deductions and drastically reduce the amount of tax that I would have to pay. Like any other American, I was more than happy to hear about paying less taxes.

  Once we were done with business, I sort of indicated Brenda's house next door with my head and asked him if he knew her, explaining that I'd been the one to find her when she stumbled into the road. I had wondered if I would be able to get him to talk about her at all; ten minutes later, I was wondering if he would ever shut up.

  "Oh, my goodness," he said, "yes, I knew her quite well. She and her little boy, oh my goodness, I loved them to pieces. For a little while there, I had actually wondered if he was mine, the boy I mean, because we had a relationship for several months after she first came back to town, but it finally dawned on us that we're better friends than lovers." He looked a bit sheepish, and grinned at me. "It's a little embarrassing, but I just couldn't keep up with her, you know, in the bedroom. She was into a few things that I had just never even known existed, and I just couldn't get into them. Don't get me wrong, it's not like she was into anything weird, or kinky, not really, but…" He shrugged. "I guess I'm just a prude," he said at last.

  I managed to laugh it off, wondering how to bring up the fact that he'd been seen sneaking through the bushes on the night of the murder, when he brought it up, himself.

  "What's really odd," he said, "is that I can't help wondering if maybe I could've saved her. See, for the last few weeks I've had the feeling that maybe she was interested in trying again, maybe there was hope for us, and if it meant I had to, you know, accept a few things, well, I could do that. I mean, I'm a big boy, right? So anyway, night before last I went over to try to talk to her about it, and see if I was right, but when I got there I could hear her talking to someone inside. I wasn't sure what to do, so I figured I would just wait. I mean, I didn't want to embarrass her, or myself, for that matter. So I just came on home, and ended up going to bed early. I didn't know anything was wrong until the police lights were flashing all around her house, and it woke me up.” He fell silent for a moment, and I saw tears slide down his cheeks. “It sort of sounded like she was arguing with someone about something, and now I just can't help thinking that if I'd only knocked, she might still be alive.”

  I reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Preston,” I asked, having reached a first name basis earlier in our meeting, “why didn't you go to the front door? Why sneak around to the back?”

  He didn’t seem to wonder how I knew about that but laughed, an ironic laugh that said he was asking himself the same question. “The police asked me that,” he said. “They came to see me yesterday, and asked about it, and I'll tell you the same thing I told them. We'd gotten in the habit, back when we were actually in a relationship, of going through the back doors of each other's houses, just so we wouldn't cause talk with the other neighbors. The ones on the other side of her place are a nice older couple, but they'd have been shocked if they knew she was letting me in like that, so we just figured it was best to keep it quiet. Even after we ended that, we still, whenever we needed to talk or anything, we always used the back doors. I guess it was just familiarity. The cops said there was enough obvious wear on the footpath between our houses to back up my story, and they didn't consider me a suspect because they didn’t find any sign of my fingerprints anywhere in the kitchen, which is obviously where she was killed.”

  I sat there and looked at him for a moment. “Preston, do you have any idea who she might have been arguing with? Or what it might have been about?”

  Gotter shook his head. “No, not a clue. I didn't even think to look and see if there was a car in her driveway, because that would have meant going around to the front. You can't see our driveways from the back; the view is blocked by trees. I thought maybe—but I shouldn't speculate, not on something like this.”

  I caught his eye and asked, “What? Preston, if you think you know something, tell me. It could be important.”

  He shrugged, and then gave me a weak smile. “Well, I did wonder if it might have been her father she was arguing with. I know she told me just last week that his new wife was costing him a fortune in drug bills, and she felt like the woman was snorting up her son's inheritance, not to mention her own. She was pretty ticked over it, and I thought maybe that would be the person she'd most likely be fighting with.”

  I thanked him, and then left a moment later. I could think of one other person she might argue with about that same subject, though, and that would be her tiny blonde stepmother! Could it be that Tiffany Hawley had killed Brenda to prevent her from raising a stink over the money Gavin was blowing on her?

  Eight

  It seemed to me that I needed to find out more about Mr. and Mrs. Hawley, but I didn't know how I was likely to do that without making a stink, especially after my last go round with them. Still, I've always been the kind to take the bull by the horns, so I rode out to Long Creek again, and the big estate with that barn shaped mansion on it. I stopped at the intersection to let a semi-truck pass before I turned into the road the house fronted on, and glanced over at the mansion.

  Suddenly, the front door opened, and a young man stepped out with Tiffany Hawley on his heels. She was smiling from ear to ear, and when the man turned toward her, she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, then stood there smiling and being coquettish as he got into a powerful sports car and drove away, down the road in the opposite direction from me.

  A split second later, I was following the car from a distance, staying far enough back that he probably wouldn't even notice a motorcycle on the road behind him. We went straight ahead for about four miles, and then it hit me where he was going, as he pulled in at the main office and equipment yards of Hawley Construction.

  The young man parked his car and walked into the brick office building that was probably worth more than any home twice its size, and I didn't even hesitate. That crazy curiosity of mine wanted to know what was about to go down between these two, so I walked into the building just as boldly as the youngster had.

  There was no one in the reception area, so I stood there and listened for a moment, then heard some voices growing louder and heated. I followed the sound, and a moment later I could make out what was being said.

  “Ten thousand,” the young man was saying. “That's how much you owe me, Hawley, and I want my freakin' money!”

  “Stone, you're outa your mind! I told you two weeks ago I wasn't paying for her crap anymore, and to cut her off, and then we settled up. I
don't owe you squat, and I want you to stay away from me, and stay the hell away from my wife! You may think I don't know what's been going on, but you forget something, Sonny boy—I've been around a lot longer than you have, and I know all about how things work. You saw my pretty little wife, and you got her to put out so you'll keep bringing her dope, but then you want me to pay for it, too? You're a stupid punk, boy, and I...”

  There was a crash, and Gavin Hawley let out a strangled scream. I didn't think, but just pushed my way through the door and looked around it. Stone, who was obviously the drug dealer Beans had told me about, had Hawley by the throat, and when I yelled, “Hey!” he spun around and shoved something into his pocket. Was it a knife? And was it possibly a folding filet knife?

  Stone glared at me, and shoved his way out past me, mumbling something about getting my fat you know what out of his way. I almost went after him, but Hawley looked like he was actually gasping for breath, so I wanted to be sure he was okay before I left there. I went over to him and asked him if was all right, and he looked up at me. It took a second, but then he said, “Yeah, I guess I am—thanks to you. I think that boy woulda killed me if you hadn’t come in when you did.”

  “Yeah, well, I actually was wanting to talk with you, but when I heard the yelling, and then it sounded like you were in trouble, I thought I should just come on and make sure everything was on the up and up, in here.”

  Hawley nodded. “Glad you did,” he said. He looked up at me. “The other day, you said you're a—what was it, a preacher?”

  “I'm a US Army Chaplain, retired,” I said. “I'm still a Minister, just sort of a freelancer, nowadays.”

  He looked at me for a long moment without saying a word, then asked me to have a seat. “I've needed to talk to somebody,” he said, “so I guess it might as well be you.”

  I was slightly surprised, but then again, I'd seen many people come to a point where they just needed to let something out, and I guess it's part of the calling God placed on me that I'm one that people can talk to. I took the chair on my side of his desk, and said, “Mr. Hawley, are you a Christian?”

  Hawley sat there for a moment and then smiled. “I think I was once,” he said, “but that was a long time ago. I used to go to church every Sunday, when I was young, and I even—nobody would ever believe it, today, but I wanted to be a preacher, once. Isn't it strange, how we can go so far from where we started out? It doesn't really seem like life is long enough for so many changes, does it?”

  I nodded. “Sometimes, I think you're absolutely right. I know I've come a long, long way from where I was when God first called me.”

  Hawley didn't say anything for another few seconds, and then he sniffled as a tear made its way down his cheek. “I've made so many mistakes,” he said. “I've had a lot of chances to do the right thing, and let 'em all slip right through my fingers. I lost my wife years ago ‘cause I couldn't be the husband I should've been, always chasin' women and never home where I should be. Then I lost my daughter ‘cause I didn't know how to be any kind of father to her. She ran off to New York City, wanted to become a movie star, she said, but the people up there said she didn't have it in her. They told her she had a great imagination and oughta be a writer, so after five years she asked me could she come home and use one of my rent houses, and I said okay. Hell, I didn't know what else to say, y'know?”

  I nodded slowly. “I'm a father,” I said. “I think I can understand how inadequate you felt to deal with her, and why you felt you could only give her what she wanted. However, what children need isn't so much our constant consent to be who they want to be, they need our guidance to help them become who they need to be.”

  He was nodding his head, but there was an anger in it. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said, “and I know that I failed her—but we had found a way to make amends between us. She came to see me a couple of weeks ago, and we had it out, talked things through. We came to some agreements, and I put a stop to a lot of my wife's spending, and then set up a trust fund for Brenda to use in taking care of my grandson. Tiffany was pissed, but she was bleeding me dry with wanting this and wanting that, but—ah, hell, there’s nothin' to really say, is there? Brenda's gone, and I can't bring her back, and there's so much crap goin' on that I can't even stay sober long enough to keep my grandson.” He wiped away the tears that were now flowing freely, and then looked at me again. “I was so mad at you the other day, when they took Colton from me, but the shape I've been in, you were right to make 'em do it. If that boy had stayed with me and Tiffany, there's no telling what might have happened to him.”

  I smiled at him. “That only proves that you do have a good heart, Mr. Hawley,” I said. “You're putting your grandson's welfare before your own desires. That's one of the marks of love, that you put someone else before yourself, just as Jesus gave His own life as the sacrifice for all of us, so that we can be free of the guilt of our sins.”

  Hawley looked at me. “I'll be honest,” he said, “I don't know that I'm ready to go back to church just yet. I've still got a lot I need to figure out, and I don’t know what's gonna happen about other things that are goin' on. But I'll tell you this,” he said. “When it comes time, I'll be sure to talk to you.”

  I smiled, and said, “Anytime, Mr. Hawley. Although, I do have one question I'd like to ask you now, if I may?” He shrugged, and I felt a twinge of guilt because I knew the question I was going to ask wasn't one he was expecting. “Would you know who Colton's father is?” I asked.

  He sat there and looked at me for a moment, and then shook his head slowly. “No,” he said softly. “She absolutely refused to tell me, even after we made peace. She said I wouldn't understand, and would make trouble.”

  A contractor that he worked with came in then, and suddenly I knew that our moment of camaraderie was over. I thanked him for his time, and he nodded curtly, so I let myself out and got onto the Harley. I rode home, and actually felt that I'd accomplished something; just the fact that Hawley was willing to even discuss things calmly was a miracle in my book, and if I had planted a seed that might bring him back to Jesus, then so much the better.

  I rode home and was welcomed by Baggins, who wanted to repeat the evening before and spend it curled up in my lap. I told him we'd talk about that after I found myself some dinner, and was eying my options—chicken noodle soup or chili, both of which came in a can—when the doorbell rang.

  I should mention that of the few people who ever come to visit me, almost none of them ever use the front door. For that doorbell to ring usually means one of three things: it's an official visitor, like a tax collector or cop; it's someone who's trying to find Annie Wilson, the lady whose estate sold the house to Nervy and me, and who wrote a series of novels that were so popular that people were still trying to track her down for an autograph eight years after her death; or the school was making the kids sell candy bars to raise money again, and every parent in town figured I'd be a soft touch for their kid to hit since I obviously ate a lot. For the first, I tried not to be home, for the second I tried to convince them that there was a better book they should be reading anyway, and for the latter—well, I bought a lot of candy once or twice a year.

  This particular time was the oddball, though, for when I opened the door there was no cop, no book fan and no candy bar; there was Naoma Brodrick, and she was holding my freshly altered Santa Suit.

  “Naoma,” I said, “hello! You didn't have to bring the suit out here, I could have come by and picked it up tomorrow.”

  She smiled and handed it to me. “Oh, I don't mind,” she said, and to be honest, Dex, there was something I needed to talk to you about, anyway.”

  “Well, then come on in,” I said, and took her coat as she entered. I have a nice coat closet just inside the door, and hung it there. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “Well, maybe something warm,” she said with a grin, and I told her I knew just the thing. I had found that a shot of fire cider in some hot chocolat
e was wonderful on chilly nights, and a few moments later, I had made a new convert and had been forced to tell her where to buy the brew.

  “Okay,” I said when we were sitting at the table sipping our spicy cocoa, “so what did you need to talk to me about?” I prepared myself for just about anything, since I'd found that a lot of the people I'd come to know in town seemed to think I was easier to talk to than even Brother Freddy, but I wasn't prepared for what she had to say. Naoma Brodrick knocked me right off my chair with the first words out of her mouth.

  “Dex,” she said, looking at me pleadingly. “Dex, my husband Keith is Colton Hawley's father.”

  Nine

  “Whoa,” I said, “slow down and run that by me again?”

  She nodded. “You heard it right,” she said. “They had an affair four years ago, and when she got pregnant, she said she didn't want or need any kind of support from him because she had plenty from her father. They ended the affair and Keith only got to see Colton when he could slip away from me, but about six months ago, when Brenda's father married that little tramp, he cut Brenda off, and she ended up needing help after all. She asked Keith, and that's when he confessed everything to me.” Her eyes were moist, and I could tell she was still struggling with the emotions involved, but she said, “It took me a month, but I got past the hurt and forgave them both. I'm a Christian woman, and it was the right thing to do, so we went and sat down with her and talked it all out. The past few months, we've even been having them over from time to time, and sometimes Brenda would let Colton stay over with our own three girls. They all get along great, and little Colton is a delightful boy who is so much like Keith that I'm just thrilled to have him around when he can be.”

  I sat there for a few moments, just staring at her. “Naoma, why are you telling me this?” I asked.