Authors: Terri Reid
Tags: #Romance, #Paranormal, #Romantic Suspense, #Mystery & Suspense, #Suspense, #Ghosts
Final Call (14 page)
Mary let herself into Winneshiek Theater. She flipped on the
lights and walked backstage.
“Faye,” she called. “Faye, I need to speak with you.”
“I’m not here.”
The voice echoed throughout the theater.
“Well, that’s too bad,” she said, “because I’m thinking of
offering you the part of a lifetime. Excuse the pun.”
Faye appeared next to her.
“Really, the
part of a lifetime?”
Mary nodded. “I’m still working on the script, but I need
some input from you.”
“Will I get a writing credit?” she asked.
“Yes, as matter of fact, you can be a co-writer.”
She seemed to consider it. “Are you any good?” she asked. “I
really can’t have my name associated with dribble.”
Mary took a deep breath.
Count
to ten, Mary.
“I’m award-winning,” Mary said, neglecting to add that it
was a Distinguished Service award.
Faye smiled. “Well then, I’d be happy to collaborate with
you.”
Mary sat down at the edge of the stage and pulled out a notebook
and a recorder. “I want to be sure my notes are correct,” she explained to Faye,
“because I want the Faye McMullen story to be perfect.”
“The Faye McMullen story,” Faye repeated, clasping her hands
to her chest. “It’s bound to be an Oscar winner.”
“At the very least,” Mary agreed. “So how do you see the
main character?”
Faye floated across the stage. “As a lonely misunderstood
woman, unlucky in love, despised for her wealth and beauty, and only wanting to
do what’s right for all the little people.”
Mary jotted down some notes. “Okay, let’s focus on the
unlucky in love portion,” she said, “because people really love romance.”
Faye nodded. “You’re right, romance and tragedy,” she said.
“A single woman pregnant with a married man’s child.
She
knows he’ll never leave his wife and...”
She turned to Mary and shrugged.
“Quite frankly, she really didn’t want to marry him; she was
just looking for a distraction.”
Mary couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Faye had been
pregnant? Faye had an affair with a married man?
“So, what does she do?” Mary asked.
“Well, she went to Europe of course,” she said. “That’s what
all the wealthy girls in her situation did. They went overseas and took care of
their problem.”
She glided over to Mary and placed a hand on her abdomen.
“Except, for some reason, when she got there, she couldn’t quite bring herself
to take care of the problem the way most of the other girls did,” she said.
“She felt the baby move and something odd happened. She actually found
something she could love.”
“What did she do?”
“She stayed in Europe, in Tuscany, and pretended she was a
widow,” she said sadly. “She was all by herself. Her parents were not only
disappointed that she had been foolish enough to get pregnant, they were beside
themselves that she hadn’t seen reason and ended the pregnancy.”
“The baby was born,” she said, her voice grew soft. “He was
beautiful. He was tiny and pink and perfect.”
She sighed and Mary shivered at the intense sadness of the
sound.
“But, even though she was foolish enough to give birth to
the baby, she knew her parents would never allow her to keep him,” she
explained. “So, she contacted the faithful family retainer and gave him the
charge to discreetly contact the father and let him know he had a son.”
“She didn’t put him up for adoption?”
“No. She wasn’t unselfish enough to never see the baby
again,” she explained. “She made the father promise to adopt the child, or she
would tell his wife about the affair. And because his wife had the purse
strings, he felt it was an equitable trade. Besides, he and his wife had never
been able to have children of their own, so it was perfect solution for
everyone.”
Mary thought about it for a moment.
“Perfect
for everyone except the sad young woman who had to give up her baby.”
Faye smiled sadly. “Well, she grew up to be a cold,
demanding bitch; so it turned out well for everyone.”
She turned to Mary. “How’s that for drama and tragedy?” she
asked, and then faded away.
Hezekiah entered the back of the chapel. He was pleased; the
turnout for his funeral was quite large. The casket sat at the front of the
room, a lovely flower arrangement on top of it. The choir entered from a side
door and made their way up to the altar. The organist began playing and the
choir and congregation sang a moving rendition of “Amazing Grace.”
Hezekiah sang along, enjoying the timbre of his deep bass
voice. He had always felt he had the best voice in the congregation and it was
a pity he couldn’t both preach the sermon and sing a solo for the choir. But,
he reasoned, he had to let others have a chance to serve.
The eulogy was given by one of the senior members of the
congregation. He slowly walked down the aisle of the church and pulled himself
up the rail to the speaker’s stand. He was wearing a slightly worn suit, but it
had been cleaned and pressed for the occasion. Hezekiah glanced around, looking
at the younger men with their expensive suits and their positions of prestige
and power in the community. He would have chosen one of them, because they were
better suited to speak about him. But, well, there was nothing he could do
about it now.
elderly man began.
Hezekiah shook his head with distaste
–
he hated his middle name.
What was his mother thinking?
“Hezekiah Aloysius Johnson,” the man
repeated, “was born on a beautiful September morning forty-two years ago. His
parents were Hezekiah Joshua Johnson and Rachael Francine Miller Johnson. He
was their only child. He was named after his father, Hezekiah, and his
grandfather, Aloysius. Both of these men were great ministers of God.”
Hezekiah shrugged.
They were good, but they weren’t great. They
didn’t get out of
the their
small towns. In a couple
of years I would have been out of this town and moving to greater places. I
would have had a television show. I would have had national exposure. I would
have been great.
“They were great preachers,” the man
continued, “not because of the size of their congregation or the brilliance of
their sermons. They were great preachers because they walked with God every day
of their lives.”
A chorus of “Amen” erupted throughout
the congregation.
“They didn’t seek for the glories of
men. They only sought the approval of their God. They were humble, they were
hard working, and they loved the people they served. They understood that the
job of a minister did not mean you wore a crown on your head, but instead you
carried a shovel in your hands. You were a servant of the people and just as
Jesus Christ served his followers, they lived to serve their congregation.”
Hezekiah remembered all those
afternoons as a teenaged boy going out with his dad and his grandfather and
performing those menial tasks for the congregation.
Spending
hours weeding the gardens of the widows or patching a roof for an elderly man.
He remembered bringing food to a family that was sick and cleaning up their
house. It was demeaning. It was below their stature. They paid people minimum
wage to do jobs like this.
“Some might think service like that
wasn’t something a minister should do,” the man said. “But they would be
forgetting the second greatest commandment, ‘To love your neighbor as
yourself.’ And you know you can’t love someone until you serve them.”
Another refrain of “Amen” filled the
room.
“Now our Hezekiah followed in their
footsteps. He went to the finest schools and was taught by the best teachers.
He learned to study the scriptures, he learned to speak with the trump of
angels and he learned to present the Word of God as something to be desired. And
when he stood and spoke from this pulpit, you could feel the power of the Word.
He might not have known your name or guided you through your individual hardships.
But you knew if you came to church on Sunday, you would hear a sermon that
would stay with you for the rest of the week.”
Hezekiah looked around the room. He
realized that he didn’t know the names of many of the people sitting in the
pews. His father and grandfather knew every name and which child belonged to
which family and who their people were.
“And then we can’t forget the greatest
gift Hezekiah brought to our congregation,” the man said.
Yes,
here it is
,
thought
Hezekiah,
here
is where they sing my praises.
“His lovely family.
His wife, Lucinda, who has served our
congregation tirelessly and exemplified Christ-like service in everything she
does, and his wonderful children who take the time to show love to the members
of this church.”
What
the hell?
Hezekiah thought, without regard to being in the church.
What is wrong with you people? I was the minister. I brought the people
here to listen to my sermons. I grew this congregation to what it is today.
Hezekiah stormed out of the chapel
before the intermediate hymn and glided downstairs to the fellowship hall. The
tables had already been set up for the funeral luncheon and several ladies from
the congregation were in the kitchen making final preparations. He knew if you
really wanted to find out what was going on in a church’s congregation, you ask
the ladies in the kitchen.
“Don’t you want to be upstairs to
listen?” one of the women asked.
“Child, I’ve heard enough hot air from
that pulpit to last me a lifetime,” another answered with a chuckle.
“It wasn’t that bad,” the first said,
and then laughed. “Okay, yes, it was. It was that bad.”
“I don’t mean to speak poorly of the dead,
but that man had no idea what it was to serve God,” a third added, as she
scooped potato salad into serving bowls. “He was all about showing his
congregation how great and smart he was. That man had an ego that was larger
than the whole building.”
“I don’t know how Lucinda could stand
being married to the man,” the first one offered. “She did all the work and he
took all the credit. He actually told me once that the growth of the church was
due to his inspiring Sunday sermons.”
“No.
Really?
He didn’t say that,” the second one said, as she wrapped silverware with
napkins. “You are making that up.”
“No, he stood right in front of me and
told me it was so,” she said. “Couldn’t have been more than three months ago. I
had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that it was his wife who people
were coming for.”
“Do you think she’ll remarry?” the
third one asked. “She’s still young and beautiful. And she deserves a husband
who loves her.”
“I love Lucinda,” he shouted.
“I don’t think she ever will,” the
first one said. “Once I caught her alone in the chapel after choir practice. She’d
been at Mrs. Walker’s all day, helping her harvest things from her garden and
then bottle them up. Then she hurried home, showered and came over to direct
the choir for two hours. Once choir had finished, Hezekiah cornered her in the
chapel and told her he was disappointed to find that the only thing she had
prepared for their supper was sandwiches and soups and that a man of his
stature deserved a little better supper than that.”
“No, he didn’t say that!”
“She didn’t tell me, I overheard it
myself. Then he walked out. She just leaned her head against the pew and
cried,” she said. “I went in there and hugged her. And in a moment of weakness,
she told me that no matter how hard she tried, she had never been a good enough
wife for Hezekiah.”
Hezekiah remembered the situation very
clearly. He hadn’t known she had been busy helping others all day. He just
remembered coming out of his study and being disappointed he didn’t have a hot
meal waiting for him.
“He was a pompous ass,” one of the
ladies said.
And Hezekiah finally agreed with what
they were saying.
The walk to Nine East Café was short, but cold. Mary entered
the small restaurant and was instantly assailed by the scent of hot coffee,
fresh pastries and cinnamon cookies.
“Hi Mary,” Brenda, the owner, said. “Bradley’s already in
the back. What can I bring you?”
“Hot chocolate,” Mary said.
“Whipped cream?” Brenda asked.
Mary lifted her eyebrows and Brenda laughed. “Yeah, why do I
even ask,” she said.
“Whipped cream and dark chocolate
shavings, coming up.
I just pulled some cranberry muffins out of the
oven, are you interested?”
“You know, you are a dangerous woman,” Mary replied. “And,
yes, I am very interested.”
“Okay, you get settled in and I’ll bring you your order in a
few minutes.”
Bradley stood up when he saw Mary coming. “So, how was your
meeting with Faye?” he asked.
“Well, much more enlightening than I thought it would be,”
she said, putting her briefcase on the table and slipping off her coat.
She and Bradley sat at the table. Mary glanced around to ensure
they could speak confidentially without anyone hearing them and said, “Did you
know that Faye had a child when she was younger?”
Bradley shook his head. “No, there’s no record of it.”
“Nope, the faithful family retainer took care of that,” she
said, “And blackmailed the father of the child, who happened to be happily
married to someone else, to adopt him.”
“Hmmm, I wonder how long Benjamin Middlebury has been the
attorney for the family,” Bradley mused. “I think I’ll pay the illustrious
attorney a visit tomorrow and see what I can dig up.”
“I felt so sorry for her,” she said. “I can see why an
experience like that could make you bitter.”
“Or it could make you stronger,” he said. “You get to choose
your attitude. She chose anger.”
Mary shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can’t judge her. I don’t know
what I’d do if I was in that circumstance.”
Brenda came over with her order. “Do you need anything else
for now?” she asked.
Mary shook her head. “No, this looks great, thanks.”
“Chief, you need a refill?” she asked, looking at Bradley’s
empty diet soda glass.
He shook his head. “No, I won’t sleep tonight if I drink
anymore caffeine, but thanks.”
Mary took a sip of the hot chocolate and felt the warmth
seep through her body. “This is just what I needed.”
Bradley sat back and just watched Mary for a moment. He
missed their closeness.
Missed holding her.
Could he
have been wrong?
She broke off a piece of muffin and popped it into her mouth.
She looked up at Bradley, who was staring at her. She stopped chewing. “What?
Do I have whipped cream on my nose?”
He chuckled. “No, sorry, I was just thinking.”
She nodded and pulled a file from her briefcase and opened
it. “Okay, this is all I have so far about Jeannine,” she said. “When I went to
your old house, I met one of your former neighbors,
Brian
Keller. Do you remember him?”
“Yeah, as I recall, he was a bit of a
jerk,” he said.
Mary laughed. “The term I preferred was
ass, but jerk will do. Anyway, I pretended I was an old high school friend
looking for you and Jeannine. He told me about the break-in and how he didn’t
know where either of you were anymore. But he did fill me in on something
interesting. He said all of the neighbors thought Jeannine was having an
affair, so they didn’t share a lot of information with you.”
“What?” his mouth dropped open.
“Jeannine wasn’t having an affair!” he
exclaimed.
“Well, of course she wasn’t,” she
replied, shushing him. “That’s ridiculous. But, that was the perception of the
neighbors, which is why you never got good information from them.”
“But why would they think she was
cheating?”
“Well, did some of the other cops drop
by to check on her for you?” she suggested. “Dad used to have his buddies check
on us when he was working weird hours.”
Bradley shook his head. “You know, I
really can’t remember, but we had a lot of friends who stopped by,” he said.
“But an affair...”
Mary reached over and placed her hand
over his. “Bradley, I already asked Jeannine, she never had an affair,” she
said. “She was in love with you and only you.”
He turned his hand over and clasped her
hand. “Thank you,” he said.
Mary felt the jolt of electricity from
the contact. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and busied it by breaking off
another piece of muffin. But this time the delicious treat tasted like sawdust in
her mouth.
“So, what have you been looking at?”
she asked, injecting cheerfulness into her voice.
Bradley pulled out his file. “I’ve been
looking through some of the old photos, trying to find something I missed the
first time through.”
He opened the file and Mary looked at
the photos of the home in Sycamore. Furniture was overturned, pictures on the
walls were askew,
books
were ripped from bookcases,
photo albums...
She paused and looked down at the photo
albums. “Do you have any close ups on the photo albums?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, picking up
the file and flipping through the photos.
Finally, he stopped. “Here, these are
all the close shots taken of the crime scene.”
Mary slowly examined each photo,
nodding to herself. Then she laid them out on the table in front of Bradley.
“Look at the pictures in the albums,” she said.
He looked at them and shrugged.
“They’re all ripped,” he said. “Someone destroyed all the photos.”
She shook her head. “No, look again,”
she said. “And this time, notice whose face is in all of the photos.”
He was a little confused, but did what
she suggested. Each photo, either on the floor or in the album only had his
picture left. The part of the photo that had held Jeannine’s image had been
torn away.
“Jeannine’s missing,” he said, finally
seeing it for the first time. “Every photo is missing Jeannine’s image.”
Mary nodded. “And I would venture a
guess those pieces of photos were never recovered,” she said. “That you never
found the other half of your photos.”
He shook his head. “There were no other
pieces of photos in the house,” he said. “They were only in this room.”
“So, someone wanted to rip you and
Jeannine apart,” she said.
“And he wanted to keep Jeannine to
himself,” he said, as the idea coalesced in his mind. “This was a kidnapping
that was meant to look like a break in.”
“This was a murder that started with
kidnapping,” she reminded him.
He looked up at her. “Thank you. This
sheds a whole new light on the investigation.”
Mary sat back in her chair, not quite
trusting where the conversation might be heading. “And now?” she asked.
He ran his hand through his hair.
“Mary, I’ve studied these photos for eight years,” he said, his voice strained.
“And you look at them and see something I never even considered. I know I’m
asking for a lot, but would you be willing...?”
“I told you that Jeannine is now my
client,” she said, interrupting him. She didn’t want her work on this
investigation to be considered a favor or anything that could be construed as return
to their former relationship. “You are not asking me for anything. It makes
sense to work together. I’m glad a fresh pair of eyes can add new insight.”
Taken a little aback by her business
approach to the investigation, he gave himself a mental shake. He had been so
delighted with her assessment, he had wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss
her. Obviously their new relationship didn’t allow that kind of behavior. “Well,
it will be great getting your professional insight,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, scooting her
chair back. “It’s late, I’d better get going.”
“Mary, you walked here,” he said. “Let
me give you a ride. Professional courtesy, that’s all.”
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”