Deadly Readings

by Laura Bradford

  “Isn’t that the organ player from St. Theresa’s?”

  “Yeah. And the father of the first murder victim.”

  “Is he getting angry that the suspect hasn’t been caught?”

  “He’s frustrated, like all of us. But he wanted to inform us that he’s posting a five-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to the arrest of the person responsible for these murders.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe a mention of that in Sunday’s paper will jog someone’s memory.”

  “That’s a good idea. You never know what the promise of cash will do.” He leaned back a little so the waitress could set their sandwiches on the table. “Is Scott Levine’s funeral tomorrow?”

  “Yes, it is. Sam is going because he was in a critique group with him.”

  Mitch nodded his head and smiled at Elise.

  “Shall we eat?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Sunday, July 4

  11:00 a.m.

  It was a hard rain. The kind that made you want to stay indoors with a bowl of soup and a good book. Certainly not the kind of day the weather forecasters had predicted for the country’s birthday.

  Elise couldn’t help but feel depressed as she sidestepped puddles on the way to St. Theresa’s. All week long she had been looking forward to her first firework display over the beach, and it was obvious the annual event would have to be canceled.

  “I wonder how much those television weather people get paid,” she mumbled to herself as raindrops pounded her umbrella. “Whatever it is, it’s entirely too much.”

  As the church’s steeple came into view, she could feel her stride getting longer and faster. It was almost as if her legs understood the mantra running through her head, a constant in her life since childhood. She could even hear the sound of her mother’s voice begging everyone to “eat faster or we’ll be late for church.”

  She had just reached the base of the church steps when she heard someone calling her name. She turned and saw Mitch walking toward her, his clothes soaked.

  “Hi, Mitch.” She knew her smile was huge. But she didn’t care. She wanted him to know how glad she was to see him. And not surprisingly, all thoughts of soup and a book magically disappeared from her mind.

  “Hi, yourself. Can you spare a few inches under that umbrella until we get inside?” he asked. “I forgot mine at home.”

  She moved the umbrella over a few inches and felt him squeeze in next to her.

  “Thanks, Elise. It sure looks as if the Fourth of July fireworks aren’t going to happen tonight.” They walked up the concrete steps together. “That means they’ll postpone them till Wednesday night.”

  “Really? I figured they’d just cancel them completely.”

  “No way. There’d be a mutiny if they did that.” He stopped speaking for a moment and cleared his throat. When he continued she could feel his eyes on her. “Want to go watch ’em with me?”

  She willed herself to remain calm, resist the urge to scream “yes.” He was actually asking for a date! When she finally trusted herself enough to speak, her voice was quiet but strong. “I would love to.”

  Mitch nodded, a self-satisfied grin spread across his face. He winked at her and reached for the church door. But just as she started inside, the sound of running footsteps made her turn.

  “Good morning, Mitch. Good morning, Elise.” Steve Brown waved his hand in their direction and darted through the set of doors to the right of where they stood.

  “That man has the strangest wave I have ever seen,” she whispered quietly in Mitch’s ear.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He waves his hand like he’s taking some sort of oath. He holds his pinky down with his thumb and then waves.” She pushed her thumb down on her bent pinky finger and moved her hand in a direct imitation of the new mayor.

  “I’ve never noticed.”

  “I noticed it in a picture Dean had of him leaving church a few weeks back,” she said. “I’ll have to ask him if he knows why the mayor does that.”

  They each grabbed a bulletin and started down the center aisle that ran between the rows of long wooden pews. She was looking for a place to sit when she felt Mitch’s hand on her back.

  “Mind if we sit together?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” She was so totally aware of the feel of his hand on the small of her back that she couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. With any luck, no one noticed the huge grin she knew was spreading across her face.

  Mitch stopped at a pew and waited for her to sit down first. She set her umbrella on the floor and kneeled for a prayer before the service started. The sudden feel of Mitch’s breath next to her ear made her look up.

  “Look over there,” he whispered, pointing quickly to the right of where they were seated.

  “I don’t see . . . Wait a minute. That’s Daniel Johnson, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  “Yup. I didn’t know he was a parishioner here, did you?”

  “I didn’t either.” She could feel her body tense as she looked at the man who had become a source of real fear for her.

  “Have you noticed how every single one of the victims was a member of this church?” Mitch asked quietly.

  She considered his words, realized they were true. “You know, I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but yeah . . . you’re right.” Slowly, she looked around the church, noting the familiar faces to her left and her right. The attendance at St. Theresa’s on a regular Sunday resembled that of most churches on a major Christian holiday. “I suppose that could simply be a ratio kind of thing. It seems like an awful lot of people belong to this church.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Monday, July 5

  9:30 a.m.

  There was an undeniable feeling of electricity in the conference room that morning as she walked in and sat down. Sunday’s paper looked great and Sam beamed like a proud new father.

  “Good morning, Elise. Did you have a nice weekend?”

  She grinned at her boss as he scooted a small white bag over to her.

  “It was fine. But what’s this?”

  “Breakfast on me,” he said. “I know how much you like chocolate, so I got you an East Coast favorite.”

  She reached into the bag and pulled out an oddly decorated cookie. It reminded her of an Asian symbol she had learned about in high school.

  “It’s called a black and white. You’ll love it.”

  “Where’s mine?” Dean asked as he strode into the room.

  “I got one for everybody, don’t worry.” Sam reached down under his chair and extracted a white bag just like the one in front of Elise.

  “To what do we owe this fine honor?” the photographer asked as he pulled out his cookie and broke it in two.

  “Sunday’s paper was dynamite, so I decided to splurge.” Sam reached under his chair once again when Michael and Karen entered the room.

  Once everyone was settled and working on a cookie, Sam began the weekly meeting.

  “I want to thank you all for a job well done on this weekend’s paper. The story on the protest at town hall was exceptional, Elise. The quotes you got were awesome. And those photos you got, Dean—they were the kind of eye-catching shots that make a front page hard to resist.”

  Elise laughed out loud when she noticed Dean reach over his own shoulder and pat himself on the back. The pretend gun Sam shot in his direction was even funnier.

  “The story on Scott Levine’s murder was also well done,” Sam continued, barely missing a beat after the amusing gesture exchange. “Great job finding out he’d consulted Madame Mariah prior to his death, as well.”

  “I read that. What’s up there?” Dean raised an eyebrow in her direction as he simultaneously dunked a piece of cookie in his coffee mug.

  “Madame Mariah called me at home Wednesday night and told me she had seen Sc
ott Levine. She warned him he was in danger, but he thought she was joking.” Elise looked around the room at the faces of her coworkers. Everyone looked tired despite Sam’s effort to be upbeat. The constant commotion around town was wearing on them all. And the fact that news trucks from across the state were moving into Ocean Point wasn’t helping. “She’s genuinely concerned for her clients. Think about it . . . she didn’t have to admit to anyone she had seen him. No one would have ever known.”

  “Do you think she’s gotten off the police department’s list of suspects?” Dean asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “I know she’s been cooperative with the police so I imagine she’s almost off their list, but not necessarily off the list some people have made in their own minds.”

  “Like Daniel Johnson?” Sam asked pointedly.

  “It doesn’t help his case if suspicion is turned away from her. He’s been using the angle that she is somehow connected with these deaths to move his own agenda through the town council.”

  She saw Sam nod in agreement then look down at the meeting notes sprawled on the paper in front of him.

  “What did the mayor think of the picket the other day?” he asked her.

  “He wasn’t available for comment. He took the day off to get his parents settled in his home.”

  “Ever the saint,” Dean said sarcastically.

  “That reminds me, Dean . . . I noticed a few weeks ago that you had taken a picture of Mayor Brown as he was leaving church one Sunday.” She looked across the table at the photographer who lounged in his seat, one foot on top of the table. “In your picture he was doing a weird wave. Like this.”

  She held her bent pinky finger down with her thumb and waved her hand with the remaining three fingers extended, imitating what she had seen the mayor do the day before. “I saw him do that again yesterday on his way into church. Do you have any idea why he does that?”

  “I asked him about that once and he looked at me like I was some sort of pagan.” Dean put his foot back down on the ground and crumbled his cookie bag into a ball. “He said that it means to keep holy the sabbath day.”

  “What?” She stared at the photographer and waited.

  “Evidently that’s the third commandment, and like I told you before—he’s a religious guru.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.” Dean threw the balled-up paper bag in the direction of the wastebasket. It missed.

  “Nice to see your aim hasn’t improved any,” Elise teased in a nod to his lack of prowess at the dunking booth.

  “Okay, kids, let’s get back to business,” Sam said. “I’m sure you’ve all noticed the white panel trucks with the satellite towers on top. You’d be blind if you didn’t notice them on the way in this morning. Our little town has caught the attention of the country it seems, attention that is going to get old very fast.” Sam took a quick sip of coffee and paused. “I know my knee-jerk reaction should be to push everyone harder so we don’t get shown up by outsiders. But in the same breath, this is our town and this isn’t just a story for us. I want to keep the momentum we have going.”

  She was glad to hear him say that. She knew what a circus the press could cause and she didn’t want to make her mark in the journalism world that way. She wanted to make it with dignity and compassion. Fortunately, everyone on staff seemed to feel the same way.

  “So, what do you have going on this week, Tom?”

  The sports reporter snapped to attention and looked down at his notes.

  “I’ve gotten word that a member of the Knicks is going to be on vacation here this week with his family. If my sources pan out and he doesn’t cancel with everything going on around here, I should have a pretty good story for next Sunday.”

  “Do you care to elaborate as to who this player might be?” Dean asked.

  “Let me get him first.”

  “How about you, Karen?” Sam asked, turning his attention to the most difficult staff member.

  “I’m wrapping up work on my profile for next Sunday. This one is going to be on a gentleman in town who has some great history to tell about the Ocean Point of yesteryear.”

  Elise tried to listen politely to Karen, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore Dean’s dramatic yawning from across the table.

  “How about you, Dean?” Sam asked, firmly. His disapproving tone was a bad disguise for his obvious amusement over the photographer’s antics.

  “I’m just doing the photojournalism thing this week. Lots of stand-alone pictures.”

  “Elise?”

  She sat forward in her chair and looked hopefully at her boss.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing a second part to my fortune-teller story. I’m thinking a personal account version with me as the guinea pig could be pretty interesting.”

  “Great idea. I’ve always wondered what those psychics really do, and interest is certainly at an all-time high right now.”

  Pleased with Sam’s reaction to her story suggestion, she looked down at the next idea she wanted to present.

  “But, Elise, please be careful.”

  10:30 a.m.

  “Hello, this is Elise Jenkins. May I please speak with Detective Burns?”

  She played with the phone cord as she waited, aware of how anxious she was to hear his voice again. The connection she felt to him was so much stronger after their lunch together.

  “Detective Burns here.”

  “Hi, Mitch, it’s Elise. Just wanted to see if you’ve got any updates for me on the investigations that I can go on the record with.”

  “Still ongoing of course. Nothing new at this point but I hope to have something for you very soon.”

  “I’ll check back again with you tomorrow.” She was just about to say good-bye when she heard him speak.

  “Wait! Are we still on for the fireworks on Wednesday night?” he asked.

  The eagerness in his voice was hard to miss.

  “Yes, we are. What time do they start?”

  “Probably around nine thirty, but I thought maybe we could catch a bite to eat beforehand.”

  The prospect of a date with the handsome detective brought an immediate smile to Elise’s lips. She knew that Wednesday couldn’t possibly come soon enough.

  “Sounds good,” she said quietly, hoping that her coworkers weren’t eavesdropping. She twirled her pen between her fingers as she tried to think of more things to say to prolong their conversation. “I’m going to be up on the boardwalk tonight.”

  “Why is that?” he asked quickly.

  “I’m doing a personal account follow-up to my fortune-teller story. You know, having my reading done so I can write about the experience.”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Elise,” the detective said, a note of worry evident in his voice.

  She liked the idea that Mitch Burns was worried about her. If he didn’t care about her, he wouldn’t care what she did. But just the same she was surprised by his obvious concern.

  “I don’t believe Madame Mariah has anything to do with the murders and I thought you didn’t either.”

  “There must be some sort of connection even if she’s innocent,” he said.

  “If you’re worried, why don’t you tag along?”

  “I would if I could. I’m having dinner with my Aunt Betty tonight. She lives about twenty miles from here and I can’t disappoint her.”

  “She’s the woman who took you in after your parents died, isn’t she? The one who makes the delicious pies?”

  “Yup. That’s the one. My mouth is watering already.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” she said. “I better get going. We just got out of our weekly staff meeting and I have a list of stuff I need to get working on for next Sunday’s paper. Oh, that reminds me, I asked Dean about the mayor’s odd wave.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that Mayor Brown is reminding people to keep holy the sabbath day.”
/>   “Are you serious?”

  “That’s what he said,” Elise answered. She looked at the clock and reluctantly cut the conversation short. “I’ll see you Wednesday night, right?”

  “You bet. I’ll pick you up at sixty thirty if that’s okay with you. We can grab a bite, ride a few rides on the pier, and then watch the fireworks together on the beach,” he said.

  “Sounds great. I’ll see you then,” she said softly. “Good-bye, Mitch.”

  “Bye, Elise. Please be extra careful tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Monday, July 5

  8:15 p.m.

  The smell of popcorn beckoned as she stepped off the wood plank staircase and onto the boardwalk. It wouldn’t be the healthiest dinner she had ever eaten but it certainly wouldn’t be the worst.

  Elise waited for a break in the throng of people that crossed in front of her, an unwelcome obstacle between her and the old-fashioned red popcorn cart a few short yards away. Her stomach gurgled loudly as she looked around at the crowds of people anxious to be out and about after a long, rainy weekend.

  It would be fun to meander around the booths and souvenir stands, but she wanted to get to Madame Mariah’s as soon as possible. A large crowd surely meant a lengthy wait for the psychic and she was anxious to hear what the woman might say in regards to Elise’s romantic possibilities.

  The break she was waiting for finally came, and she headed straight for the popcorn stand. The smell of the buttery treat was simply more than she could resist.

  “I’d like a small buttered popcorn, please.”

  The teenage girl behind the booth stood there and looked at her expectantly.

  “You do have popcorn, don’t you?” Elise looked at the girl curiously. Why wouldn’t she fill the box?

  “Yes. But there is no way you’re gonna be able to eat this without something to drink. I’d rather get it all at one time.”

  So much for pleasing the customer. Elise looked at the handwritten board next to the cash register and read the limited beverage choices. “How about a bottle of water.”