by K. Gresham
Bo studied the sheriff’s face. He saw in it confirmation that James W. knew the story behind Bo’s murder conviction. Killing the man who had raped his sister had been justified violence in Bo’s eyes.
“I’m not your culprit, James W.,” he said flatly. “Neither is Pearl.”
James W. pulled a notepad out of his pocket. “That remains to be seen,” he said matter-of-factly. “Let’s go over this again.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hush, Little Mamma
“It’s turnin’ into a long day,” Elsbeth said. She smoothed the wine-colored sweater over her matching polyester pants and smothered a yawn.
“It’s only noon.” Pastor Matt Hayden looked out the hospital room’s single window. “I’m tired enough for it to be midnight.”
Miss Olivia’s room in the Wilks Medical Clinic was small, allowing only for a chair on one side of the bed. Elsbeth sat in the chair while Pastor Hayden leaned against the window jamb. A monitor hung on the wall behind the bed, and Matt watched as the heartbeat, now steady but very weak, pulsed in green across the bottom of the screen. The blood-pressure lines in red suggested that Miss Olivia was nearing stroke proportions.
The only reason Miss Olivia wasn’t in a hospital in Austin right now was that the roads were still covered with ice.
“Elsbeth?” Miss Olivia whispered.
“Miss Olivia.” Elsbeth sat forward in her chair and touched the old woman’s fingers. Intravenous tubes protruded gruesomely from the hand’s top.
“Pain,” Miss Olivia said hoarsely and put her fist over heart.
“Now?” Matt became instantly alarmed.
“Last night.” Miss Olivia closed her eyes. “You came.”
“I’ll always come, Miss Olivia. Me and James W. Do you want me to get him?”
Miss Olivia shook her head. “You were lookin’ for Ernie,” she said. “Last night. Did you find him?”
Elsbeth’s eyes rounded in horror, but the look was quickly controlled. Matt almost missed it.
“Don’t you worry about that, now Miss Olivia. You just take it easy so you can get stronger, you hear?”
“Ernie’s a bad one,” Miss Olivia said. She opened her eyes and looked at Elsbeth. “Never wanted to say it out loud before. Those questions you asked?”
“Forget about that, Miss Olivia,” Elsbeth pleaded. “It’s not important now.” Matt could hear the urgency in her voice to change the subject. “Jimmy Jr. said he might get here a day early. Just to see you.”
Miss Olivia seemed to settle down. A small smile hinted at her old, wrinkled mouth. “He’s a good boy.”
“He’s gonna be governor,” Elsbeth said with confidence.
“We’ll make sure of that,” Miss Olivia agreed. She closed her eyes, and this time Elsbeth looked relieved to see that the frail old woman relaxed enough to fall asleep.
“What was that all about?” Matt asked.
Elsbeth kept her gaze on her mother-in-law. “James W. said not to tell Miss Olivia about Ernie until she’s stronger.” She pursed her lips then, and Matt knew she would answer no more questions. He studied the back of Elsbeth’s head. For the first time since he’d met her, Elsbeth was silent.
“I think I’ll head on back to the parsonage for some lunch,” he said. “Chances are she won’t wake up again for a while.”
“You do that, Pastor,” Elsbeth said, flashing him a smile. “Sure do appreciate your time. You don’t have to come back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Zach Gibbons
“Heard you questioned my boy this mornin’.” Zach Gibbons, a scarecrow of a man, sat down in the chair across from the sheriff.
James W. was working at the Fire and Ice House’s corner table by the wood stove. Richard Dube, having been relieved of phone duty at the office, sat beside the sheriff, drinking a hot chocolate. The lunch crowd was starting to arrive, and the scent of spicy, warm food filled the restaurant. The sheriff had given thought to moving his investigation to the police station after the power had come back on mid-morning, but the promise of Dorothy Jo Devereaux’s shrimp and grits had chased away the idea until after lunch.
“Is my boy in some kind of trouble?” Zach persisted.
James W. looked at the sorry excuse for a man that sat across from him. Zach Gibbons’ eyes were red from his drunk the night before. His face was unshaven and dirty. Richard Dube had actually slid his chair back to avoid the stench emanating from the man. Zach’s plaid shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar in an attempt to look formal for his summons to the sheriff’s presence.
“Only needed information from the boy,” James W. reassured. “Same as I need information from you.”
“What kind of information?” Zach snarled.
Like father, like son, James W. thought. Neither one of them liked the law or answering questions.
“What time did you get to the Fire and Ice House last night?”
Zach scratched his beard. “Same as always. Right after supper, I guess.”
“Six or seven?” James W. prompted.
“Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”
James W. sighed. Specifics would not be easy to obtain from a man who spent most of his days in a drunken haze.
“Mind if I join you, Sheriff?”
James W. looked up to see Pastor Matt Hayden standing over the table. The look in the pastor’s eye told the sheriff that the preacher had something on his mind.
James W. pulled out the last chair at the table. “Have yourself a seat, Reverend,” he said. “This here’s Zach Gibbons.”
“Zach Gibbons?” Matt sat down. “Tom’s dad? That’s a fine young boy you’ve got there, Mr. Gibbons.”
James W. shot a look at the preacher for telling the fib, but Matt just smiled and shrugged. The sheriff resumed his interrogation. “So you got here at your usual time and left when?”
“Closin’,” Zach answered.
“Where’d you sit?”
“At the bar,” Zach said. “Like to watch the TV.”
“Who was workin’ last night?”
“Bo.” At least these short answers would make it easy for Richard to keep up with his notes, James thought. “What about Angie?”
“She went upstairs early.”
“How early?” James W. pressed.
“Hell, I don’t know.” Zach frowned his annoyance. “Had to get ready for a date, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“She came back downstairs a little while later. Right before the power went out.”
James W. kept his gaze steady. “Angie left the bar last night?”
“Ain’t no law against it,” Zach replied with a sneer.
James W. felt Zach’s contempt grow with each word the man said.
“The place wasn’t busy,” Zach continued. “Only me and Harvey. Fire kept us warm.” He nodded toward the wood burning stove nearby. “Beer kept flowin’. Switched to bottles when the power went out. Bo chunked a coupla six packs in the ice.”
“When did Angie come back?” James W. asked.
“A while later.” Zach licked his lips. “Musta had a good time. Got herself a nice coat.”
James W. noted that Matt had gone pale. Why? He’d have to ask the preacher about that later. He turned his attention back to Zach. “Angie went out last night? Durin’ the storm?”
“That’s what I said. Ain’t you got ears?”
“What about Bo? Did he leave at anytime last night?”
Zach considered. “Spent a lot of time in the kitchen,” he said finally. “Had to wait for beers.” He smiled, revealing two decayed front teeth. “Almost served myself once or twice.”
James W. was quite certain the man had done exactly that.
“Bo could’ve left out the backdoor,” Matt suggested.
Zach shook his head. “Naw. He was talkin’ to a woman in the kitchen.”
“A woman?” Richard Dube’s head came up.
“Yeah. She was cryin’.”
; “I didn’t know Bo had a girlfriend,” James W. said.
Zach looked at the sheriff and laughed. “There’s lots you don’t know, Sheriff.”
“Like what, Gibbons?”
“Like how Ernie got kicked out of this bar on Tuesday night.” He looked meaningfully at Matt. “And why.”
“Bo kicked Ernie out of the Fire and Ice House on Tuesday night?”
“Nope. Angie did. Said if she ever saw Ernie in her place again, she’d kill ’im.” Gibbons grinned. “That’s what this is about, ain’t it Sheriff? Somebody killed ol’ Ernie’s sorry ass, and you think Bo did it.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes glowing with certain knowledge. “Well, you’re after the wrong person, Sheriff Novak. Everybody knows Angie thought Ernie killed her ma. Threatened him with a knife in front of all of us. She left here last night with a fire lit under her. So you go talk to the pretty redhead, Sheriff.” His expression turned grim. “And you leave me and my son alone. Ya hear?”
***
“Simply because someone’s got a temper doesn’t mean they’re a murderer, James W.” Matt said, his voice low as the tables around them began to crowd. Richard Dube had gone to the bar to get another hot chocolate.
“She had motive. She had opportunity.” James W. shook his head. “There’s a black bandanna in my evidence room with grease on it that wouldn’t wash out.”
Matt felt a sickening feeling grow in his gut as he realized James W. was seriously considering Angie as a murder suspect. “It looked like you had somethin’ to say when you came in,” James W. said.
Matt looked puzzled for a moment, then he remembered. According to Miss Olivia, Elsbeth had been looking for Ernie last night. Before the murder.
Somehow bringing that up right now didn’t seem like a good idea, Matt realized. James W. was on a scent. It was a wrong scent, but nonetheless, the sheriff didn’t look in a listening mood about questioning a member of his own family about the murder.
“Your mamma woke up,” Matt said instead. “I thought you’d want to know.”
James W.’s expression immediately changed. “Miss Olivia?” James. W. looked hopeful. “Did she say anything?”
“She knew who Elsbeth and I were. Was happy that Jimmy Jr. is coming. All things considered, she looked pretty good.”
James W. smiled. “I do appreciate your takin’ care of things with my family while I carry on this investigation, Preacher. I’ll never forget it.”
“I’m glad to be of help,” Matt said, then looked up as Angie approached the table. Her expression was grim.
“I think we’d better talk upstairs at your place,” James W. said, rising from the table. “Thanks again, Preacher. I won’t be needin’ any more of your help just now.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Too Hot to Swallow
Dismissed by a Novak for the second time that day, Matt watched as the threesome, Angie, James W. and Richard Dube, disappeared out the door that led to the back stairs.
Frustrated, Matt headed for the front door.
“You stayin’ for lunch, Preacher?” Dorothy Jo Devereaux called out from behind the bar. “I made shrimp and grits today. Got some cornbread, too.”
Matt considered. Waiting for him at home was a peanut butter sandwich. If he felt like splurging, he might even get up the energy to add some grape jelly. He took a deep whiff of the heavily scented air. God had not created him a fool. “Sounds too good to pass up, Dorothy Jo.”
“I’ll dish you up a bowl,” she said, then looked at him. “Bo’s in the kitchen eatin’ lunch.”
Matt met her gaze. “The sheriff had some questions for him earlier.”
“Yep.” Her smile was bitter. “I’ll bet they’ll try and hang this murder on him.”
“James W. seems a fair man,” Matt said.
She sniffed. “He’s as fair as a Wilks gets, I suppose. Bo needs to watch out, though. I don’t trust none of them.”
“You worried about Bo?” Matt asked. When Dorothy Jo didn’t answer, he nodded toward the kitchen. “How about I have that bowl of shrimp and grits in the back? I hate to see a man eat alone.”
Though Matt didn’t know her well, he would’ve sworn the wrinkled old woman looked relieved. He followed her into the kitchen, surprised at how familiar the setting felt. It had only been a week since he’d first stepped foot in the Fire and Ice House.
He sure hadn’t been interested in starting a conversation with Bo on that day.
Matt waited while Dorothy Jo dished him up a bowl of the steaming white grits, set some shrimp on top and finished it off with a ladle of red sauce. She set his plate down across from Bo’s, then turned to grab a half dozen corn bread muffins from the warmer and put them in a basket. “That’ll do you boys for a while. I gotta go slice lemons.” She left out through the swinging doors to the bar.
“Afternoon, Bo,” Matt said as he sat down across from the bartender.
“Preacher.” Today Bo’s bandanna was blue.
“Guess this business with Ernie has a lot of people nervous,” Matt said by way of opening.
“I’m not nervous.” Bo’s reply was flat.
“I was speaking of Dorothy Jo.”
At that, Bo’s mouth hinted at a smile. “She’s a worrywart.”
“Especially about you.”
Bo spooned up another bite of grits. “Feelin’s mutual.”
“You, Dorothy Jo and Angie have created quite a little family here for yourselves.” Matt shoveled in his first mouthful of the thick porridge.
His eyes rounded at the level of spice, and he swallowed quickly. Which was a mistake, he acknowledged immediately. He choked as the cayenne pepper ignited his throat on the way down.
Amused, Bo got to his feet and pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge. He handed it and a glass to the Preacher. “It’s that red eye gravy that gives it the kick.”
Matt downed half the gallon.
“Maeve was part of this family, too.” Bo returned to his seat across from Matt.
“Do you believe Ernie killed her?”
Bo broke off a slab of bread and buttered it thickly before answering. “No.”
“Why?”
Bo considered. “Ernie knew a lot of secrets. But he was a coward.” He bit into the bread and chewed thoughtfully. “It takes guts to kill somebody. Even an old lady with Alzheimer’s.”
“Somebody’s got to have a reason for doing something like that. Not just guts,” Matt observed.
Bo shot a glance at the preacher before swallowing. “I figure that whoever drove Maeve out to that deer lease cared about the secrets Maeve had.”
“Do you have any ideas who did kill Ernie?”
“Ernie knew a lot of things about a lot of people. He used that information to get stuff he wanted. Maybe he asked the wrong person for the wrong thing this time.”
“Like what?”
“It’s no fun doin’ time for murder.” Bo looked as though he were working the question through for the first time. “Maybe Ernie knew who drove Maeve O’Day out to the deer lease.”
Matt considered the suggestion. The Sinclair Station was situated such that Ernie could see just about everything that happened in town. Matt scooped up another spoonful of grits, then eyed it with suspicion.
Bo smirked. “You didn’t even bite into the shrimp yet. If the sauce doesn’t get you, that breading will.”
It was a challenge and Matt knew it. This time he was prepared for the kick that came with the bite and had a glass of milk ready. “How could Ernie know that?”
“He works in the center of town. Maybe he saw Maeve goin’ into someone’s house. Maybe he saw Shadow in the back of somebody’s car.” Bo shrugged. “All I know is that Ernie was a low-down piece of crap who’d blackmail anyone about anything.”
“You didn’t care much for Ernie.” Proud he’d managed to swallow without choking, Matt reached for the cornbread.
“Couldn’t stand him,” Bo said casually. “He hassled Angie. H
e was a lousy husband.”
“You know about him hitting Pearl, then.”
“And his drinkin’. And his womanizin’. Pearl deserves better than him.”
“You like Pearl.”
“Mrs. Masterson is a lady.” Bo’s voice lowered appreciably and Matt knew he was treading on thin ice.
“I understand she didn’t stay at her house last night,” he pressed.
“Really.” Bo rose abruptly from the table and took his dishes to the sink.
“Zach Gibbons said he heard a woman crying in the Ice House’s kitchen last night.”
Bo’s back straightened. “You suggestin’ somethin’, Preacher?”
Matt looked at Bo’s proximity to the knife rack and wondered exactly what means the ex-con had used to commit murder. “Nope. Not suggesting a thing.”
“Good.” Bo rinsed his dish in the sink and went out to tend the bar.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Go to Jail
Friday morning brought a warm breeze to Wilks. Pastor Matt Hayden, fresh from a morning shower after a good night’s sleep, marveled at the spring-like conditions as he walked from parsonage to church. Halfway down the path between the two buildings, he removed his windbreaker and slung it over his shoulders.
He’d finished Thursday on a happier note than he’d started it. He liked attending choir practice, though he didn’t figure his voice added much to the men’s section. Still, he enjoyed the people who laughed as much as they sang. He especially liked the desserts they ate when practice was finished.
Of course, talk last night had mostly been about Ernie Masterson. He couldn’t help but notice that not one person had expressed any sorrow over Ernie’s death. Horror, yes. Surprise, definitely. Regret, no.
Coming up with the sermon for Ernie’s funeral would be an interesting task. Matt had spent most of Thursday afternoon with Pearl, helping her with arrangements. The funeral was to be the next day, Saturday. Matt was grateful this weekend would be Layman’s Sunday. He didn’t have to prepare sermons for two days in a row.
He hopped up the front steps of the church, two at a time, invigorated by the sixty-degree temperature. He whistled as he opened the front door, already unlocked because the church secretary began her duties promptly at eight every morning. The hour was now closer to nine.
