by Edie Claire
"Well, she can drag you right back out," Maura said firmly, grabbing Leigh's arm and pulling her away from the broken door. "Call me crazy, but every once in a while I like to write a report that doesn't have your name in it. Goodbye."
"Come on, Maura," Leigh cajoled. "I was just looking around; I didn't touch anything. And congratulations again on the promotion. The city's loss is the county's gain."
One corner of Maura's mouth lifted, but only slightly. She had spent eight years on the Pittsburgh city police force, and was only a stone's throw from making detective, when her father's death and mother's Alzheimer's disease had forced her to take a job closer to home in the Borough of Avalon. But after her mother was happily relocated to an assisted living complex, she had started working for Allegheny County—and had earned a particularly speedy promotion. It wasn't the city job she'd always wanted, but she was a detective, and Leigh was proud of her.
"So you investigate break-ins, eh?" Leigh asked, sitting down on the steps. An idea came to her. "What about arson? Are you working on the parsonage fire?"
Maura frowned. "Arson's a separate division. General Investigations handles burglary, robbery, and fraud. Now get out. Do I look like I'm joking?"
Leigh got up and began her ascent. After four years as college roommates and many more years as grownup friends, she knew Maura like she knew the back of her hand. And the detective definitely wasn't joking.
Chapter 7
Leigh hoped that Joy and Tim would enjoy their wedding day, because it certainly wasn't shaping up nicely for anyone else. Bess had been greatly distressed by the break-in at the animal shelter, even though she did eventually prove to herself that nothing had been disturbed, much less taken. Maura had declined to offer her opinion of the incident to Leigh, but eavesdropping had produced a few theories, including that someone might have just wanted a warm place to sleep. It seemed an innocuous enough crime, but coming so close on the heels of the Molotov cocktail, it had Bess more than a little rattled.
Which explained why the seasoned wedding coordinator wasn't taking the Tuesday evening pre-wedding chaos with her usual good humor. She had worked her way from distressed to perturbed, and was getting more perturbed by the minute. Her cast was misbehaving. Ted was completely manic, racing about the church and alternately dialing and slamming phones. Shannon dogged his every step, distraught. Even the bride and groom looked a little unsettled as a long-haired photographer ordered them and the groom's parents about, staging awkward prenuptial shots. The church members who were helping out fluttered back and forth between the Fellowship Hall and the sanctuary, wringing their hands and talking in hushed voices.
The inciting factor for most of the distress was clear. The wedding was scheduled to begin in ten minutes, and Reginald Humphrey was nowhere to be found.
"No one seems to know where he moved to," Bess told Leigh with disgust. She had settled herself in a back pew near the bride's entrance, and was less than pleased with her lack of mobility. "Barbara thought he told Shannon, Shannon thought he told Cindy, and Cindy thought he told Barbara. The upshot is, nobody knows where he is."
"Isn't he staying with someone in the congregation?" Leigh asked.
"He was," Bess said tightly. "But after the parsonage fire was ruled arson, he gave the board this song and dance about not wanting to endanger anyone. So he's been put on a living allowance, at least until the apartment Jed Antram volunteered becomes available. Humphrey told Shannon he'd found a temporary place, but he didn't give anyone the address. Just a phone number."
Leigh figured that explained the endless phone calls Ted was making. Wherever Humphrey was staying, he obviously wasn't there.
"Long time, no see," a voice called cheerfully from over Leigh's shoulder. "But in my profession, that's usually good news. How have you been? Busy at your new agency, I hear."
She turned to see a smiling, petite redhead decked out in an extremely flattering bright green dress. "Hello, Katharine," she said, trying not to sound as stiff as she felt. She didn't need to ask who had passed along her work habits. "We've been swamped all right. But I'm taking a week off. How about you? Doing well enough without my business, I hope."
Katharine Bower, attorney at law, smiled good naturedly. "Oh, there are still plenty of people out there who need defending. Even an occasional innocent one. They can't all be as gratifying as your case, though."
Leigh wondered whether Katharine was referring to the case itself, or the fact that it had given the single, fortyish lawyer a chance to get her hooks into Warren Harmon III. She decided she didn't want to know. "Katharine, this is my Aunt Bess, who's coordinating the wedding. Aunt Bess, this is Katharine Bower, my ex-attorney."
"And a fine attorney at that, I hear," Bess said, shaking Katharine's hand firmly. "Are you here for the bride, or the groom?"
"I don't know either, actually," Katharine answered. "I'm here with—this handsome devil."
Leigh almost didn't recognize Warren as he strolled up and wrapped an arm around Katharine's pencil-thin waist. He was wearing a black tuxedo, and he looked divine.
"Everything's going to be fine, Bess," he said, his words more confident than his voice sounded. Being fundamentally honest, Warren was an even worse liar than Leigh—a handicap that made his success as a politician nothing short of amazing.
"Humphrey's here?" Bess said fiercely, sitting up as if to confront the man.
"No," Warren answered, gesturing for her to relax. "We still don't know where he is. But the wedding can go on without him. The other minister doesn't have a problem with picking up the homily and prayers, and he was going to do the actual ceremony anyway." He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. "It may be for the best. Once we made the decision to go on without Humphrey, my uncle calmed right down. If I didn't know better, I'd think he never did want Humphrey involved."
When Katharine and Warren had excused themselves to find their places, Leigh sank down beside Bess. "Why would Humphrey miss a wedding?" she whispered as the music started. "He certainly seems to love the spotlight."
"He also loves to grandstand," Bess muttered. "I bet you a dime he's hiding out down the street, waiting to make an entrance at the last minute." Her voice was angry, but her eyes flickered with dread. "At least," she said heavily, "he'd better be."
***
Leigh stuffed another cheese cube into her mouth and tried not to stare at Warren and Katharine, who were laughing playfully by the piano on the other side of Fellowship Hall. Despite all odds, the wedding had gone off without a hitch. And without Reginald Humphrey.
She tried not to dwell on the fact that Warren had hardly spoken to her all evening. She also tried not to dwell on the fact that Ms. Katharine Bower had had the nerve to catch the bouquet. Instead, she volunteered to help clean up the food, a task that brought with it the moral responsibility of not letting anything go to waste—a duty she took very seriously indeed.
She disposed of a few more cheese cubes and rounded up the crackers. The guests were dwindling, some no doubt disturbed at being offered stand-up hors d'oeuvres in a church basement instead of a sit-down dinner at a posh reception hall. But the bride and groom had been determined to take off early in preparation for their cruise tomorrow, and since Warren's Uncle Ted had grown up in the South, he hadn't considered kielbasa and the hokeypokey to be obligatory wedding traditions.
Leigh set aside the empty tray and began on the next one, picking up a yellow sliver of pepper and coating it with dip. She really should be trying to make Bess leave, but that was proving difficult. Bess was relaxing on a couch nearby, basking in the glory of having directed the First Church of the New Millennium's first wedding perfectly. Interestingly enough, she seemed to be keeping an eye on the couple at the piano as well. Katharine—bouquet still in hand—appeared to be telling some sort of story, and Warren was laughing heartily.
Leigh grabbed up both trays and turned away towards the kitchen. "Hasn't anybody heard from him yet?" she heard a woman
ask as she swung the trays onto the counter.
"Not that I've heard," another woman answered. The two were standing by the sink, drying a stack of serving spoons and platters. "And I just don't believe he could have forgotten. I'm really getting worried about him, and I think everyone else should be too."
Leigh lingered, making a pretense of rearranging the remaining pepper slices.
"Oh, Barbara," the first woman said skeptically, "you don't really think someone is out to get him, do you? Who on earth would want to hurt a man like Reginald Humphrey? I know he thinks that there are people in the world who resent new churches, but—well, that's a little far-fetched."
"You never know," the second woman said heavily. "What about all those church fires we had a few years back?"
The first woman shook her head. "He could have had car trouble. Or a fender bender."
"I called the police earlier, and they said there hadn't been any serious traffic accidents. But it could be something to do with his wife. She's in constant peril down in Zaire, you know."
Leigh could have lingered longer, partly because she wanted to hear more about Humphrey's absentee wife, and partly because the artichoke dip sitting on the counter was awesome on the wheat crackers. But a movement in the doorway outside the kitchen caught her eye, and when she realized her aunt was gesturing to her, she quickly hustled over.
"Are you okay?" she asked, wishing Bess would quit getting up when no one was around to catch her. "Are you ready to leave yet?" She hoped fervently that her aunt's answer was yes. It had been a stressful day, and artichoke dip or no artichoke dip, she wasn't sure how much longer she could watch Katharine and Warren bonding in formal wear.
Bess put a finger to her lips and shook her head. "Not quite. There's one more little job I have to do. This way." She pivoted quickly on her crutches, swung a little off balance, and righted herself just as Leigh swooped in with a hand.
"I've got it," Bess said firmly. She hobbled down the hallway to the base of the back staircase, and took a deep breath. "Now I see why old lady Thomas never went down to Fellowship Hall," she said ruefully. "She had to get back up."
Leigh sighed. She had tried to talk Bess out of coming downstairs in the first place, but reminding her aunt of that would serve no purpose now. "Why don't we take the main staircase?" she suggested. "I don't think those steps are as steep, and they're carpeted."
Bess shook her head determinedly and began her slow and careful ascent. "I don't want anyone to see us."
Leigh got a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was a familiar sensation—the one that always popped up when someone was about to try and convince her to do something stupid, and she was about to agree to it. She sighed. "Where exactly are we going, Aunt Bess?"
"To find some answers," Bess said gravely. She didn't say any more until she had worked her way laboriously up the rest of the stairs, and then had stopped to rest a moment. "I don't know what Humphrey's trying to pull," she said finally, having caught her breath at last, "but I'm not going to let him get away with it." She set off again down the upstairs hall, and Leigh trailed her anxiously.
When they reached the door to the main church office, Bess glanced through its glass window, then turned to her niece with a whisper. "Good—it's clear. Follow me." She moved silently past the office and swung open the next door down.
Leigh followed her aunt inside and instinctively shut the door behind them. Whatever her aunt planned on doing, it was undoubtedly better if she didn't get caught. "So," Leigh asked, studying the dark, musty-smelling room she assumed was Pastor Humphrey's office, "what exactly are we looking for?"
"I'm not sure," Bess answered. "But I'll know when I see it." She sat down in the swivel chair behind the desk and leaned her crutches against the wall.
Leigh looked around critically at Humphrey's modest, uninspired workspace. The walls were pale yellow, a tired-looking brown shag carpet covered the floor, and one burnt-orange curtain was stretched over the single window. An ancient mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, flanked only by a file cabinet and a dorm-sized refrigerator.
Hardly the lap of luxury, she thought to herself, wondering why any non-legitimate pastor would put up with such a hole. She was about to pose that question to Bess when a large picture on the wall caught her eye. It was a black-and-white portrait of a much younger Humphrey, his arm around a tiny woman with long, dark hair. It had all the earmarks of a wedding photo, including a bouquet, though the couple wore modest dress clothes instead of a tux and gown. The man looked happy as a clam, smiling gleefully, his freckled skin still smooth and glowing with youth. Just like the boy in the army picture.
"You can really see it there, can't you?" Bess said proudly. "Take off the wrinkles and the age spots, and there's no doubt about it. Reginald is Dan's 'Money,' sure as I'm alive."
Leigh didn't comment. "And this is the missionary?" she asked, referring to the bride. "I thought you didn't think he was really married."
Bess waved a hand toward the picture dismissively. "Who knows? Maybe he was married once. Whoever that woman is, he didn't dump her immediately. There were more recent pictures of her hanging in the parsonage."
Leigh took another look at the picture, trying to determine if Humphrey looked like a man in love. "He seems happy enough," she mused out loud. "But his eyes aren't really twinkling. I wonder if a photograph can capture that."
"I need a screwdriver," Bess lamented, interrupting her thoughts. "Humphrey never locks his office, but he always locks the desk drawer when he leaves. The scoundrel."
Leigh watched as her aunt pulled on the handle of the thin, center drawer—and slid it out easily onto her lap. "Well, I'll be darned!" Bess said with surprise, digging quickly into the contents. "It wasn't locked after all." She picked up a small key and studied it carefully, then dropped it unceremoniously into a breast pocket.
"Aunt Bess!" Leigh protested. "He could come back anytime, you know."
Bess ignored the comment. She rifled through the remainder of the drawer's contents, then fixed her eyes on the refrigerator. "Open that for me, would you, kiddo?"
Leigh stepped over to the mini-fridge and popped open the door, clueless as to why would Bess would care. "There's nothing but some pop and some mustard," she said with frustration. "Can we go now?"
Bess sat back in the chair and propped up her chin with her hands. She looked at the window, and her brow furrowed. "What did he do that for?"
Leigh assumed she was referring to the less-than-stylish window dressing. "Do what for?"
"Stretch the curtain like that. There used to be two. What could he have done with the other one?"
Leigh couldn't see how Humphrey's taste in interior decorating mattered to anything. "Aren't you going to look at the file cabinets?" she asked, eager to get the operation over with. "You've seen everything else."
Bess shook her head, her eyes still staring at the curtain. "He never locks the file cabinets—ergo, there's nothing incriminating in them."
Leigh sighed. She had always thought her Aunt Bess was sharp, but her behavior in this case was a little over the top. Humphrey might be a con artist working an elaborate scam—then again, he might not. Granted, he looked an awful lot like the boy in the army picture, particularly when he was younger. But she could swear that the silly boot-camp nicknames meant nothing to him, and it was hard to believe he could have forgotten his old army buddies completely. Besides—other than the picture, Bess had no evidence at all that the reverend wasn't a reverend. What's more, he had saved her from both a fire and the embarrassment of being exposed as a burglar—no questions asked. So, what was his crime?
"It's time we leave, Aunt Bess," Leigh said firmly, retrieving the crutches. As she did, her eyes were drawn to a metal wastebasket on the floor beside the desk. It was filled with crumpled up paper—and hypodermic syringes. Her eyes widened. She tapped Bess's arm and pointed.
Bess glanced briefly into the wastebasket, then took the crutches an
d struggled up. "Good eye, but that's nothing," she said with disappointment. "Humphrey's a diabetic." She led the way out of the office, and her niece closed the door behind them.
"Can we please go home now?" Leigh begged. "I'll bring the car around to the door by the office."
Bess nodded. She put a hand over her jacket pocket and smiled. "You'll be around tomorrow, won't you?"
Leigh had a strong instinct that the best answer for all concerned would be "no," but that wasn't what she said. "Sure. Why?"
Bess grinned. "I need a ride to the S.P.E. Mini-Storage in Wexford. It seems I have a date with a padlock."
***
Leigh had slept fitfully, and she felt it. She was tired all over the next morning, and her stomach was still complaining about last night's lengthy hors d'oeuvres spree. When Bess announced she was ready to leave, Leigh gave up on breakfast and helped her aunt into the Cavalier. "You don't look so good this morning," Bess noted cheerfully once the car was moving. "Is the bed okay?"
"The bed's fine," Leigh answered glumly.
Bess let silence hang in the air for a moment, then cleared her throat. "She certainly was attractive, wasn't she?"
An image of Katharine Bower in her form-fitting green dress popped immediately into Leigh's mind. She squelched it. "Who? You mean Joy? Yes, she was gorgeous."
"No, silly," Bess said with a grin. "I mean your competition. The lawyer."
Leigh hit the brakes hard to catch a stop sign she'd almost missed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not competing with anybody."
Bess scoffed. "Spare me. You were so green last night I thought you'd sprout roots. And you always insisted Mr. Harmon was just a friend."
"He is just a friend," Leigh said stiffly.
"Things change. Stop pussyfooting and tell him how you feel."
Leigh sighed inwardly. Either everyone around her was amazingly perceptive, or she was the most transparent person on earth. Either way, it was irritating. "It's complicated," she said noncommittally.
