“The affair or the murder?” Sandy asked.
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, as far as the affair was concerned, you were at ball practice, sporting venues, or other after-school events. You were golfing, you were fishing, you were hunting, you were bowling, and you were anywhere else you could go to get away from me. Basically, you were gone more than you were home, so running around on you was pretty easy.”
“I’m sorry,” Buck said. “I never realized how unhappy you were. I should have stayed home more, spent more time with you and the kids. Please forgive me. Put the gun down and we’ll talk it over and work things out.”
It pained me to watch Buck grovel for forgiveness when it was his wife who’d had the affair and committed murder. He might have not been the best husband, but he provided for his family, and he professed to love Sandy. And, as far as I knew, he was loyal to his wife. He wasn’t attentive, perhaps, but he most likely wasn’t abusive, a cheater, or a cold-blooded killer either.
“What about the murder?” Buck asked, his voice having dropped several octaves. “Where was I when that took place?”
“It was early and you were still asleep. I was home and back in bed before you even woke up. I was sweating and shaking like a leaf, but naturally you didn’t notice because you pay almost no attention to me these days. I could have been lying there dead myself, and you’d have gone right on about your day without giving me a second thought. “
“Sandy, you know that’s not true! I would have gone back to the bedroom to check on you when you didn’t come into the kitchen and fix me breakfast like you’ve done every morning of our married life.”
That’s not what I think Sandy wanted to hear. It only stood to remind her of her depressing life with Buck as a husband, and what might have been had she and Thurman eventually ended up together.
With renewed resolve, Sandy pressed the gun firmly against her temple and squeezed her eyes shut. I knew the moment had come. Sandy was concentrating hard, lost in the moment. I was the nearest person to her, and seeing her eyes were tightly closed, I made a lunge for her right arm, the arm that held the gun.
Ka-Boom! A loud explosion reverberated through the garage. I watched the large pistol bounce off the concrete floor. I grabbed the gun mid-bounce as a mounted jackalope fell off the wall and down on to the workbench below. The fur was flying and the left antler was broken off right above the bottom spike from the fall. There was a ghastly-looking hole where the animal’s nose used to be. If the jackrabbit hadn’t already been dead, it would be now.
Sandy collapsed to the floor. She was emotionally and psychologically spent, but not injured from the accidental firing of the weapon. As she began to sob into her hands, several uniformed policeman rushed through the side door into the garage with their weapons drawn. Wyatt Johnston was in the lead. I knew they thought they were walking into the middle of a massacre when they heard the gunshot as they were approaching the house.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled. “Everything is okay!”
“Is anyone injured?” One of the cops asked.
“No, although the jackalope didn’t fare well,” I said. I quickly explained what had just happened. Wyatt told me that Wendy had been vacuuming when my call came in, drowning out the ringing of the phone. Because of this, the answering machine picked up and captured nearly the entire conversation that had taken place inside the garage. Sandy’s recorded confession would no doubt be valuable evidence in court. Wyatt said he didn’t really want to know how Sheila and I had ended up in the Webster’s garage, but was thankful I’d had enough wits about me to dial home. Wyatt went on to explain that Stone had walked into the kitchen and heard the voices being picked up by the answering machine. He’d let the machine keep recording and dialed Wyatt on his cell phone. Wyatt, who was in his patrol car just a couple of blocks from the Webster’s house, called for back up, and he and his partner were on the scene within a minute or so.
“As you can imagine,” Wyatt said, “Stone, Randy, Wendy, and everyone else at the inn are frantic. Please ring the house again and let them know you two are all right. My partner is cuffing Sandy right now, and we’ll take her to the station and book her.”
“Okay, good. I’m so glad this turned out the way it did. My entire life was passing before my eyes for the second time in the last few days. It was really annoying me that I was about to get killed on my wedding day,” I said. Sheila echoed my sentiments. She claimed she wasn’t wild about getting shot on any day.
Wyatt smiled, and went on to say, “I don’t know how you two figured out Sandy was the killer, but she was totally off the radar as far as the investigators were concerned. We had questioned Buck, because of the black Mustang reported to have been seen in the area at the time of the murder, but never even considered speaking with his wife. We didn’t even know Sandy and Steiner were acquainted.”
“Well, I’ll tell you all about it later,” I promised. “Right now we need to get back to the inn so Sheila can style my hair for me and we can get ready for the wedding ceremony. You’re still planning on being at the inn at three, aren’t you, Wyatt?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. After what’s taken place here this morning, Stone might need someone to hold him up while he repeats his vows.”
“And I might need someone to drag him to the altar!” I replied. Flashbacks from my wedding nightmare were going through my head. It wasn’t too late for Stone to change his mind and leave me standing at the altar. I just hoped the clown, Paula’s dogs, my late great-grandmother, and a long-retired NFL quarterback didn’t show up this time!
Chapter 19
“With this ring, I thee wed, with all I am, and all I have,” I spoke softly, looking directly into Stone’s watering eyes, with all our family and friends looking on from their chairs in front of the gazebo, where Tom Nelson stood in his flowing robe, holding his open Bible. “I offer this ring to you as a symbol of my love, and my commitment to love, honor, and respect you, from this day forward. As this ring has no end, neither does my love for you. I ask you to wear this ring as a reminder of the vows we have spoken today.”
As I finished speaking, I smiled at Stone. As much as I had adored my first husband, Chester, Stone was my one true love, and I couldn’t wait to begin our married life together. My eyes began welling up too as Stone read his vows out loud to me. I could hear Wendy sniffling beside me, and looked up at Andy just in time to catch him wink at my daughter. I hoped the next wedding we attended would find Stone walking Wendy up the aisle to marry his nephew.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. Stone, you may kiss your bride,” the minister said. As Stone kissed me tenderly on the lips I heard the flapping of wings as two doves flew out of their cage and around the gazebo twice before heading skyward. I’d always heard having it rain on your wedding day was a sign of a successful and happy marriage to come. At that moment I could have sworn I felt moisture dropping from the sky. I hoped it was coming out of the single fluffy cloud above us, and not one of the doves.
* * *
“Congratulations, Mrs. Van Patten!” Wyatt said, kissing me on the cheek. “The wedding was perfect, and you look beautiful. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see this day turn out so wonderfully. I had my doubts about it for a while.”
“Me too,” I said. I knew exactly what he was referring to. The day could have ended in tragedy, but instead, Sheila and I were unharmed, and Pastor Steiner’s killer had been apprehended and charged with first-degree murder just in time for our wedding to take place exactly as scheduled. I couldn’t be any happier. “Thanks, Wyatt. But actually, Stone and I have discussed it, and he’s content with my decision to keep my last name. We aren’t young adults anymore, and going through the hassle of having it changed on my driver’s license, social security card, bank accounts, credit card accounts, passport, and all that, seems a little unnecessary. We feel we’re just as married whether or not we share the same last name.”
“Well, as long as you two are happy, that’s all that matters to me,” Wyatt said. “I’ll be glad when all of your guests get their fill of cake and ice cream, and head home. You’ve had an eventful day and I know you can’t wait to get out of that dress and back into your jeans and t-shirt.”
“Stone invited you and Veronica to the fish fry tonight, didn’t he?” I asked in amusement.
“Well, yes, but that’s not the reason I’m anxious for the crowd to clear out. I can hardly wait to hear your story about how you came to find out Sandy Webster was the killer we’ve been trying so hard to find. But I realize you have a lot of wedding guests who want to congratulate you, and that you need to mingle and visit with them right now. So the story can wait until later during the fish fry.”
“Well, it might be a couple of hours, Wyatt. Would you like some leftover blueberry cobbler in the meantime? There’s some in the fridge you can have to tide you over until supper,” I offered.
“I thought you’d never ask!”
The End
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THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON
A Lexie Starr Mystery
Novella
Excerpt from
The Spirit of the Season
A Lexie Starr Mystery
Novella
by
Jeanne Glidewell
My Lexie Starr holiday novella is dedicated to all the members and past members of the military, and their families. As a token of my personal appreciation, I am donating all the proceeds from the sale of this novella to the Leavenworth, Kansas, Chapter of the Toys for Tots program. I hope you will consider donating an unwrapped toy, or two, to your local Toys for Tots Chapter, which benefits many underprivileged families and helps them to all have a merrier holiday season.
~
When I walked into the smoke-filled auction barn the following evening, I looked around the room for a portly gentleman with less than a handful of hairs strategically combed across his head in a pitiful attempt to look like he wasn’t only fourteen plucks short of being completely bald.
I spotted him almost immediately. He was surrounded by a swarm of men who were vying for his attention, and I could hear his bellowing laugh clear across the room when someone tickled his funny bone. I watched him reach up and pat down his few remaining hairs, apparently to prevent his secret of being nearly bald from getting let out of the bag.
I wasn’t planning on bidding on anything, but I wanted to look like I had a reason to be there, so I signed up at the counter and was given a wooden placard with the number sixty painted on it.
I then headed to the concession stand to purchase a large cup of coffee. After one sip of the strong brew, I decided the city hall’s vending machine couldn’t possibly produce coffee that tasted any worse than the cup I’d just paid three bucks for. But that, of course, didn’t prevent me from planning to drain the cup and possibly return for a refill.
If at all possible, I wanted to land a seat right next to the mayor. I walked over and with my back to the throng of people enveloping him, I pretended to be engrossed in a text message on my phone. I was on high alert, waiting for him to make a step toward the metal bleachers, which were like those you’d find in a junior high school gymnasium.
When at last he headed in that direction, I dashed toward him, nearly knocking three people over in the process. In my haste, I spilt about a quarter cup of the crappy coffee on the back of an elderly man’s overalls, but he seemed oblivious to it, so I didn’t stop to apologize. However, I did rue the loss of about seventy-five cents worth of the awful tasting, but caffeine-infused, beverage. Maybe Wyatt was right. I had no boundaries when it came to drinking coffee.
When I realized that I wasn’t going to beat a tall, slim gentleman coming from the opposite direction, to the only empty seat next to Bradley Dunn, I pointed to the floor directly behind the lanky fellow, and hollered, “Look out!”
When the man stopped abruptly, and turned around in alarm, I practically flung myself into the seat he’d been about to sit down on. The bewildered gentleman looked back toward me with a questioning expression, and I said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I saw a big wad of gum on the floor and I didn’t want you to accidentally step on it and get it all over your shoes. It must have just been one of those floaters I’ve been prone to ever since my botched retinal surgery.”
The man just shrugged, and looked at me like he’d just come in contact with an escapee from an insane asylum. He turned around and found himself a seat three rows back on the opposite side of the bleachers. I felt a little embarrassed, but I got over it quickly when I reminded myself I’d been successful in getting a seat right next to the mayor. In my somewhat crazed state of mind, it was akin to getting an audience with the Pope.
I didn’t want to seem too obvious or anxious to speak to Mr. Dunn, so I sat quietly while the auctioneer began speaking in that rapid-fire manner that always amazed me. When a heard a mosquito flying by my ear, I swatted at it and unintentionally bid fifteen bucks on an old accordion that looked like it had been shipped to America on the Mayflower. Luckily, another woman who looked nearly as old as the accordion outbid me.
After several more items had been auctioned off, there was a pause in the action as the auctioneer’s assistant went to retrieve the next item on his list.
I took this opportunity to turn to the mayor, and ask, “Aren’t you Mr. Dunn, the mayor of Rockdale?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, without even turning to acknowledge me with even a quick glance in my direction. A flitting gnat would have received more attention than I did.
“Did you happen to hear about the theft of some very expensive toys from the storeroom at City Hall, which had been donated to benefit underprivileged children?”
“Yeah, I heard something about that,” he replied, with a total lack of interest.
“I’m the person who conceived the idea for the appeal to the public for toys and other helpful items for a struggling family in our community. Do you have any idea who could have done such an awful thing as to steal some of these donated items? I know you were in the building that evening, and I wondered if you happened to see anything unusual, or see anyone suspicious enter or leave the building, possibly with a large box of toys,” I spoke earnestly.
“No, sorry. I’ve been too busy with a lot more important things to dwell on the loss of some silly toys. An issue like that, of such low caliber, would have been the last thing on my mind Sunday night. I really can’t be bothered with such trivial matters when I have an entire town to look after.”
He turned away from me, as if to signal my allotted thirty seconds of his precious time were up. His nonchalant dismissal of the theft and me infuriated me. Who did he think he was? Maybe he thought he really was as important as the Pope, and his time was beyond valuable.
This was Rockdale, where the streets were rolled up at seven, and the three stoplights in town began blinking red at that same time. How could this pompous ass show such little regard for the welfare of local citizens, and the happiness of helpless children? I knew Stone wanted to stay on the good side of all the people involved with the city government, but I couldn’t suppress my anger with Mayor Bradley Dunn’s callous attitude, and his condescending treatment of a family in his jurisdiction.
The Spirit of the Season
by
Jeanne Glidewell
~
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The Spirit of the Season
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JUST DUCKY
A Lexie Starr Mystery
Book Five
Excerpt
from
Just Ducky
A Lexie Starr Mystery
Book 5
by
Jeanne Glidewell
“Name’s Reliford,” he answered, although it came out sounding more like “really bored” because of his current condition.
“Hmm, I knew a lady whose last name was Reliford before she got married a few years ago. Her name was Bertha. Poor lady was found dead in the library a couple days ago. Was she any relation to you?” I asked, innocently.
“Yeah, she was my old lady for a long, long time. Went by Bert, and now I hear she goes by Ducky. Always hated the name her mama give her. Too bad about the dying thing; heard she hung herself.”
“Yeah, that’s what the investigators said. She didn’t seem like the suicide type to me, though. Did she to you?” I asked.
“Dunno. Never could figure that broad out, myself.”
“Were you two still on good terms? When was the last time you saw her?”
“Ain’t talked to Bert since the divorce was final,” Bo said. He had drained his last beer in two or three gulps and opened up another bottle. He seemed in somewhat of a stupor, as he continued, “But I think I might have seen her in (hiccup) town a couple weeks ago. I pulled up behind a (loud juicy belch) VW bug at a light, and the driver looked like that old (very graphic adjective) bitch, so then I (incoherent muttering) so I could teach her a lesson.”
“You must be very angry about the divorce. I’m sure you didn’t deserve to be dumped that way,” I said, hoping to get him stirred up and elaborating, no matter how crudely, on how he, in a drunken rage entered the library after I left, got involved in a heated argument with Ducky, or Bert, as he called her, and decided to drag her up the ladder and hang her from one of the log beams. Afterward, to save his own hide, he typed up a suicide note on one of the computers designated for library patrons to use, printed it out, and left it on the chair at her desk. That’s what I hoped to hear and be able to decipher, amid all the hiccupping, belching, cursing, and even, occasionally, noxious farting. With all the sounds emitting from him, this old fellow was a one-man band.
Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 04 - With This Ring Page 22
