Never Preach Past Noon

by Edie Claire

  "Uh-huh," Bess was saying skeptically. "And did he say who killed him?"

  Leigh's eyebrows rose.

  "Well, JFK never would say either, would he? Maybe they have some sort of code."

  Leigh looked at her aunt questioningly, and Bess rolled her eyes. "Of course, Evelyn. But I thought you should know what the coroner suspects. All right, then."

  Bess said goodbye and sank the phone into its cradle with a flourish. "Evelyn Ewing," she explained with a grin. "She's ninety-one, and a good egg, even if she is rich as sin and terminally cranky. Likes to her amuse herself by pretending to be a medium. She just told me in no uncertain terms that Humphrey couldn't possibly have died of natural causes, because he'd appeared to her in a dream last night and told her to avenge his murder."

  "But he didn't say who killed him, of course," Leigh said, playing along.

  "Well, naturally not."

  Taking note of her aunt's good humor, Leigh decided now was as good a time as any for what she had to say. "Aunt Bess," she began, "I'm certainly hoping that Humphrey did die of natural causes, that the charges against Ted Hugh can be dropped, and that this whole investigation will just go away. But if the autopsy results do come back as—"

  "Nonsense," Bess interrupted firmly, picking up the phone again. "It won't happen. Nobody killed Humphrey. And nobody ever has to know he was a fraud."

  "But if he was a fraud," Leigh jumped in determinedly, "it would make a big difference to the murder investigation. Right now the detectives have nothing to go on for motive. But Humphrey the con could have any number of old enemies just waiting to pop him off! The guilty party could be out there right now—roaming around free while Warren's uncle rots in jail."

  She sat back and took a breath, proud of her speech. One look at her aunt, however, showed it had not been successful.

  Bess said nothing for a moment, choosing instead to look at her niece with wretched, doleful eyes. The expression was familiar; Leigh had seen it last winter when the Red Barn Theater put on A Streetcar Named Desire. It was the "Blanche DuBois" look, and Bess played it to perfection. "I can't believe you think so little of me," she said pathetically. "How can you think I'd be so selfish? I would never sit idly by and let Ted Hugh—or anyone else—go to jail for something they didn't do. But that's not going to happen, and there's a greater good at stake."

  She paused for effect, and Leigh managed to keep quiet till she started again. "When I told you that I was trying to gather evidence to debunk Humphrey, I didn't mean that I would confront the congregation with it. I only meant to confront him with it. I figured that with a little clever persuasion, and perhaps a bit of a monetary nudge, I could convince him to resign quietly and never be heard from again.

  "You see, losing a pastor isn't so bad in an established, mainstream church. You get used to the bad ones coming and going. But the First Church of the New Millenium is different. Most of the young people have never been in a church before. And if they find out that the only positive religious experience they’ve ever had was built on the charm of a con artist, they'll never go back to church. Any church."

  Leigh looked back at her aunt with frustration. Blanche had a point.

  "Please don't tell anyone—particularly your friend Maura—our suspicions about Humphrey," Bess pleaded. "Not just yet. Think how much harm it could cause—only for us to find out later that he died of a heart attack."

  The sound of a car engine—most probably her mother's Taurus—filtered in from the driveway, and Leigh took it as her cue to leave. "I'll think about it, Aunt Bess," she said heavily, rising. "But I can't promise anything."

  ***

  Leigh felt guilty. She wasn't sure why she felt guilty—she just did. Maura wanted her to be up front about what she knew; Bess wanted her to keep quiet. She couldn't make them both happy.

  She sighed and rounded the corner onto Nicholson Road. It was lunchtime already, and her stomach was enthusiastically suggesting a Baja chicken gordita. Deciding to comply, she turned toward Taco Bell. But as she passed the church parking lot, a flash of candy apple red caught her eye. It was Noel Humphrey's Monte Carlo. The widow had obviously not gotten far.

  Leigh swung her Cavalier into the parking lot, a grin forming. She could do Maura one small favor, anyway. Parking quickly, she headed for the side door and slipped in. There were no voices coming from the office, so she crept to the doorway and peered around the corner.

  The office was empty except for the young secretary, Cindy, who sat at her metal desk staring into space. Her phone was off the hook.

  "Hello," Leigh said, not too loudly, but loudly enough to make Cindy jump an inch.

  "Oh, hello," the girl said, reddening. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. You're Bess Cogley's niece, right?"

  Leigh nodded. "I just wondered if Shannon was here. I'd like to talk to her."

  Cindy shook her head. "She's—well, you must know about Ted getting arrested."

  "Yes," Leigh said with a sad nod, "but I thought she might drop by. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do for her."

  Cindy offered to pass along a message, and Leigh proceeded with her real mission. "Is that Noel Humphrey's car in the lot?" she asked innocently.

  The secretary nodded, her eyes widening. "She's in the parlor with Barbara and Ed. She came in earlier with tears streaming down her cheeks, saying she wanted to help make the burial arrangements."

  Leigh's eyebrows rose. Noel had just told Bess that she wanted nothing to do with the burial arrangements. But then, perhaps that was before she realized he was really dead?

  Cindy ignored Leigh's reaction, casting a mournful glance down the hall instead. It was clear she would love to be a fly on the wall in the parlor that very minute, but apparently duty called. Such as it was.

  "Could I use your phone?" Leigh asked politely.

  Cindy looked down at the receiver that lay on her desk, and promptly reddened. "Sure," she said, plopping it back in place. "I, um…the reporters were calling, you know." She excused herself to use the restroom, and left Leigh to make her call in private.

  Perfect. Leigh scrounged around in her wallet for Maura's latest business card, and dialed the number quickly. Detective Polanski was not available. Would she like to speak with someone else?

  She would. Cupping a hand around her mouth and talking quietly, just in case anyone at the church was listening, Leigh reported Noel's whereabouts. With any luck, one of the detectives would be able to catch her before she flew the coop again.

  She had just hung up the phone when a surprisingly agile elderly woman appeared in the office doorway and headed straight for her.

  "You're not Barbara," the woman said accusingly.

  "No," Leigh agreed. "I'm Bess Cogley's niece, Leigh. I'm just using the phone. Barbara's in the parlor, I believe."

  The woman narrowed her eyes. "Well you need to get off the phone. I've been calling all morning." She turned around sharply. "Your aunt's a nice lady," she muttered as she walked away. "A bit too loose for my tastes, but a nice lady."

  Leigh watched the woman's retreating back with a grin. There was at least one thing she looked forward to about getting really old—being able to say whatever the heck she wanted, and not getting called on it. She gave the woman a few seconds worth of a head start, then walked down the hall toward the parlor. The woman opened the door without knocking and burst in—and Leigh snuck up close enough to listen through the doorway.

  "You're his wife, aren't you?" the interloper began accusingly.

  Noel's voice, thin and simpering, reached Leigh's ears. "Why, yes, I am."

  "Hmmm," the older woman murmured. "You don't look like a missionary to me. You look like something off a hippie wagon."

  Leigh stifled a laugh. She really couldn't wait to do that.

  Noel's voice had gotten stronger. "This isn't my working wardrobe," she said flatly, not quite succeeding in hiding her defensiveness. "I'm raising funds for the mission, and when I come to a
cold climate, I'm afraid I don't have much choice about what to wear. I manage with whatever is donated, so that everything else can go straight to the African people. It would be wrong for me to buy nice clothes for myself."

  "Humph." Leigh couldn't see the older woman's face, but the muttered syllable made it quite evident she wasn't buying. Good for her.

  "Did you want something, Evelyn? We were discussing funeral arrangements." It was Barbara's voice, thin and irritated. Evidently, she was buying.

  "Yes, I do want something," Evelyn announced. "I wanted to let you know that Reverend Humphrey appeared to me in a dream last night."

  There was a moment of silence, then Barbara spoke patronizingly. "Oh? And what did he say?"

  "He said that he was counting on me to avenge his killer. And I plan on doing it."

  "But Bess says—"

  "I already heard what she said," Evelyn interrupted. "She's wrong. He was murdered."

  There was a scuffling sound, as if someone were getting up quickly. "By who?" The voice was Noel's—high and demanding.

  Evelyn paused. "He didn’t say. But he may next time."

  No one else said anything, and Leigh retreated, sensing that Evelyn was about to make a dramatic exit. She slipped around the corner and waited until the older woman had gone, then crept back within earshot of the parlor.

  "Don't pay any attention to her, dear," Barbara said soothingly.

  "She sees Elvis, you know," Ed chimed in with a snicker.

  Leigh listened for more, but somebody—probably Barbara—shut the door again. She stepped up closer and tried to keep listening, but the sound was too muffled. She sighed and walked back toward the office. Where were the detectives? They were going to miss Ms. Humphrey again. She could tell Noel they were coming, but something told her that would result in an even more quickly revved up Monte Carlo.

  If only she knew more about cars…

  Her illegal thoughts were interrupted by Cindy, who caught her at the door to the office and quickly pulled her inside. "I saw you snooping out there," the young secretary said, her tone more respectful than accusatory. "What were they saying?"

  Leigh looked into Cindy's vacuous blue eyes and decided she wasn't a threat to anyone, despite the fact that she was darned good at watching people when they didn't know it. "Evelyn saw Humphrey in a dream. She's supposed to find his killer."

  The hope in the blue eyes dampened. "Is that all?" she said sulkily. "I was kind of hoping she was here to donate money to the memorial fund."

  "The memorial fund?" Leigh asked.

  Cindy smiled broadly. "It was kind of my idea. Using the money people would spend on flowers and giving it to Noel instead—for her mission."

  "I'm sure Noel will be thrilled." Leigh said sincerely. Very thrilled. "Does she know about it yet?"

  Cindy shook her head. "I think Barbara is telling her now. Everyone thinks it's a great idea." She paused, her round mouth suddenly pouting. "Except for your aunt. I don't know what her problem is."

  Leigh had some idea, but since she didn't choose to share it, she changed the subject. "Evelyn said Bess was a bit loose for her tastes," she said with a smile.

  Cindy smiled back. "Evelyn's a hoot. So's your aunt—usually. I admire a woman who's in charge of her own sexual destiny. That's why I like this church."

  Leigh's eyebrows rose. She wasn't sure what "sexual destiny" was, but she couldn't wait to hear what the First Church of the New Millenium had to say about it. "Pardon?"

  "You know," Cindy said with a grin. "Reverend Humphrey was a big believer in monogamy, but he never came down hard on the divorce issue. 'When life throws you a curveball,' he'd say, 'you've got to adapt—or get out of the way.'"

  Leigh stared blankly. Granted, she wasn't the best person in the world at baseball analogies, but this one seemed to be lacking. "And what did that mean exactly?"

  Cindy laughed. "I think it means, 'love the one you're with.' But of course he'd never say that."

  Of course. "So what did he say?" Leigh asked, suddenly more interested in Reginald Humphrey's theology.

  Cindy looked at her seriously. "There were a lot of issues he was a little vague on, to tell you the truth. But he was wonderful at making people feel good about themselves." She sighed. "He was such a big help to me when I failed out of beauty school. I felt so low—but he convinced me I was worth something. He gave me the job here. Most pastors would have looked at me like I was something out of the gutter, but Humphrey didn't pass judgment. He just wanted me to feel good about myself again."

  Leigh considered. "So Humphrey wasn't a fire-and-brimstone type preacher?" she asked.

  "Oh, no," Cindy answered, her eyes wide. "I hate that stuff. I don't think Humphrey even believed there was a hell, though he never came right out and said that, either. What he would say is that everyone bears the consequences of their sins while they're here on earth."

  Not an uncommon view, Leigh thought. She wasn't even sure she disagreed with it.

  "That's why, in order to be completely happy, you need to unburden your soul and deal with your life's baggage head on."

  Stop there. "You mean, like getting counseling?" Leigh asked. A tie-in with a local quack therapist she could see.

  "Sometimes," Cindy said speculatively. "But Humphrey did a lot of counseling on his own. Like I said, he worked wonders with me."

  Cindy's eyes had turned moist, and Leigh felt guilty for the semi-interrogation. This was one person who didn't secretly dislike Humphrey—she was sure of it. "I told him about—well, an unhealthy relationship I'd once had," the girl continued, her voice faltering. "He was so understanding. Not judgmental at all. He helped me see that it wasn't my fault—that I deserved to be happy again."

  Leigh grabbed a tissue off Cindy's desk and forwarded it along. Interesting information or no interesting information, she didn't want to be responsible for ruining this poor girl's day.

  "Cindy, are you okay?" The soft voice came from behind them, and Leigh turned to see Shannon standing behind her shoulder.

  "I'm fine," Cindy said hurriedly, wiping away the rest of her tears and trying to smile. "I just got a little choked up again. But don't worry about me. What's happening with Ted?"

  "The arraignment is scheduled for this afternoon," Shannon said with a visible effort to sound brave. "Ted should be out on bail as soon as it's over."

  "That's great!" Cindy said with enthusiasm. She went on to babble at length about how certain everyone was that Humphrey had died of natural causes, and how all the unpleasantness would be over with shortly. Some people might be upset about Ted messing with the body—but everyone would understand eventually—really, they would.

  Leigh didn't share Cindy's unbridled optimism, but at the moment she was in favor of anything that could make Shannon look healthier. Deep hollows seemed to have formed overnight under the woman's cheeks and eyes, and the modest outfit she wore hung on her body as if she were made of wire.

  "Shannon!" Barbara called from the office doorway, "How are you? How is Ted?" She and Ed rushed in, and Shannon explained her situation again. Leigh looked anxiously over the couple's shoulders to see if Noel were with them, but the distant rev of a motor answered her question.

  Damn! She slipped out around the others in the office and tore off towards the Cavalier. Maybe she could catch Noel—or at least follow her to where she was staying. The detectives had to talk to her. If they were worth their salt, they'd see through her in a minute and the whole case would open up—homicide or no homicide. Bess might believe that the church was better off not knowing that Humphrey was a con artist—but Leigh wasn't convinced. Especially not with people like Cindy anxious to throw more money Noel's way.

  The last flash of red drifted out of sight down the road just as she jammed her keys into the ignition and cranked. But the Cavalier made only a gurgling sound. She looked at the dashboard and cursed fluently.

  The car was out of gas.

  Chapter 17

&nbs
p; Oh, right. The gas station. Cursing the irresistibility of donuts, Leigh slammed her car door and trudged back into the church, where the people she had run out on now stood staring at her.

  She was able to explain her automotive woes pretty easily, but explaining why she had taken off after Noel like a bat out of hell was trickier. "It's very important that the detectives speak with Humphrey's wife," she began. "There are legalities that need to be taken care of by the next of kin, you know." She had no idea if that was true, but it sounded plausible, so she kept going. "Besides, they might need her to get personal information on Humphrey—medical history, that sort of thing."

  "Of course!" Barbara said dramatically, her hand flying to her mouth. "We should have thought of that! What if the coroner can't figure out what really killed him? The detectives did ask me if I knew who Humphrey's personal physician was, but I didn't, darn it! Do you know, Shannon?"

  Shannon shook her head regretfully. "No—he never talked about things like that. If the church had provided insurance, we might have some paperwork. But as you know, Humphrey refused benefits; he preferred to handle his own affairs." Her brow knitted. "I never suspected he might have any health problems—other than the diabetes, of course."

  Barbara shook her head in agreement. "The diabetes is all I ever heard about. He had bronchitis last fall, but otherwise he seemed fit as a fiddle. Still, it wouldn't hurt to call people and see if anyone remembers anything. If we could get into his personal papers, we might find something…but I guess they're all gone now."

  Barbara was undoubtedly envisioning a pile of ashes, but Leigh was envisioning something else. She had been trying to forget her questionable dealings with Humphrey's mini-storage unit, but what if there were valuable information inside? Information that could point to a natural cause of death?

  "Leigh?" Shannon's soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

  "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly aware that she'd zoned out of the conversation. "What did you say?"