Murder in the Church



  MURDER IN THE CHURCH

  By

  Robert Ladd

  www.robertladdbooks.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Robert Ladd

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise – without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to Sun Literary.

  Published by Sun Literary, 7922 Darnell Lane, Lenexa, KS, 66215

  [email protected]

  International Standard Book Number 978-1-4499494-3-3

  CHAPTER ONE

  The body lay just inside the church office, face-down, a flashlight in one hand, a set of car keys in the other.

  “I knew he was dead the second I saw him,” Stella-June said, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I can just tell things like that.”

  Police Chief Cal Brady nodded thoughtfully. “Seen a lot of dead bodies, have you Stella-June?” he asked in his slow, casual voice.

  “Course not,” she replied. “At least not this close up. TV mostly, but still, I knew he was dead as yesterday’s news.”

  Stella-June Wyatt ran a janitorial service called The Cleaning Ladies, which was a misnomer as she was the only employee. She was tall and thin as a rail, with short brown hair and nervous hands, which she waved in constant circles when talking. She was sixty-one years old.

  “It’s Charlie, isn’t it?” Stella-June said. “Charlie Young.”

  Brady kneeled next to the body. “Afraid so,” he said as he placed two fingers on the man’s neck. No pulse. The skin was also cool to the touch, telling him he’d been dead for several hours.

  “Lord, lord, lord,” Stella-June said. “Charlie’s been a member of the church here for as long as I can recall. For as long as anyone can recall. He must be over eighty. You think it was a heart attack? How’d he get into the office? Why’s he carrying a flashlight? What’s he doing here at night anyway?”

  Brady studied the body a moment longer then surveyed the office. Nothing seemed to be out of place. No sign of a struggle or break-in. Eighty-year-old man lying dead on the floor wasn’t out of the ordinary. He’d seen his share of natural deaths to think this one was no different. But the flashlight made him curious.

  “Can’t answer any of those questions, Stella-June,” he said. “Won’t either, until the Coroner gets a look at him.”

  Stella-June’s hands took flight again. “Lord, I hope it’s not long. I hate having a body just lying there. Gives me the willies, I tell you right now. But look at him, he looks so calm, like he’s sleeping almost. You think dying is like that, Chief? Just going to sleep and never waking up? I hope so. I hope when I die, it’s like that. One night I just say my prayers, lay down and the next day I’m gone.”

  Brady put on a pair of latex gloves and carefully searched the dead man’s pockets without moving the body. He found a wallet with credit cards (three), cash (eighty-five dollars), a half-stick of gum (Juicy Fruit), a tube of Chapstick (cherry-flavored), and an envelope. Written on the envelope in what appeared to be a woman’s handwriting were the words: pick up C’s book HCC from Rainy Day. The envelope contained a black and white photo of Charlie crossing a street. He seemed unaware that the snapshot was being taken. Brady flipped the photo over and discovered these words: Hear it not, Charlie; for it is a knell. That summons thee, to heaven or hell.

  Stella-June peered over Brady’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  Brady placed the photo back into the envelope and dropped the contents into a plastic evidence bag. “Sorry, Stella-June, I’m not at liberty to share this. Not yet anyways.”

  “Pick up C’s book HCC from Rainy Day,” Stella-June said, reading the envelope through the clear baggie.

  Brady quickly stuck the baggie under his arm.

  “Why, that’s Rainy Day Books,” Stella-June declared. “That’s my cousin Dani’s bookstore. I wonder what HCC stand for? That doesn’t look like Charlie’s hand-writing. I wonder who wrote it? It couldn’t be his wife. Charlie’s been a widower for years.”

  Brady wore a weary but patient expression. “Stella-June, do me a favor and call Pastor James. Let him know what we got here.”

  “I already called him,” Stella-June replied. “Right after I called you He’s on his way over now. He couldn’t believe it when I told him. He sounded awfully surprised. I guess he should have though. Surprised that is. I mean, what with a dead man lying on the carpet outside his study. Not every day that happens, thank the Lord. Least ways in Holly Springs. Now in Jackson or Memphis, it probably happens all the time, but not around here. Around here folks are more considerate.”

  Brady pulled out a small notebook, and scribbled in it. “Ten to one it’s his heart.”

  Stella-June nodded approvingly. “That what I was thinking. Or maybe a stroke. Could have been an aneurism though. My cousin Bobbi died of an aneurism. That’s a blood clot on the brain. Doctor said she’d probably had it for years, and then one day, it just broke loose and no-more-Bobbi.”

  Brady pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Doc. Chief Brady. Can you get over to Grace Methodist Church? I got a body for you.” Brady listened a moment then said, “Charles Young.” A half-beat later. “No, appears to be natural causes.” Brady hung up then asked, “Stella-June, what time was it you found the body?”

  Stella-June cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Six o’clock in the A.M., give or take. Might have been a few minutes earlier on account I sometimes stop by the donut shop, Claire’s over on Elm Street, and get coffee, but not this morning. For some reason coffee just didn’t sound good. Must be the heat. Supposed to be 100 today. Whew, I’ll be glad when fall gets here.”

  Brady was patient with his questions. “You just opened the door and there he was.”

  “No,” Stella-June said as she walked into the hallway in order to re-enact her discovery. “The door was already open. I saw Paul lying there, just like he is right now.”

  “And you didn’t touch him or anything else?”

  Her eyes went wide. “What, touch a man laying face-down where he shouldn’t be laying at all? No, sir. Not me. Not in a million years.”

  Brady examined the office door. “Would this have been locked at night?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Stella-June said. “They never leave the door to the office open. Pastor James would never allow it. He’s very careful about letting people in and out of the church. Me, I think a church should be open 24-hours-a-day. I mean, isn’t that what the church is for? Having folks come in when they need to, not just when they can? Of course, I know these days you can’t just go around leaving the doors open, but – “

  Brady interrupted. “Did Charlie have a set of keys to the office?”

  Stella-June thought for a moment, twisting her mouth side to side. “I doubt it. Pastor James hardly allowed me to have a key, and I’m here three, four times a week. Can’t imagine that anybody had a key other than him, me and Bernie.”

  “Bernie?”

  “Bernice Atwater. Church Secretary.”

  “What time does she come in?”

  Stella-June shook her head. “Hard to say. Sometimes about nine. Maybe a little earlier if she’s folding bulletins for Sunday Worship. She’s not here yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Brady looked back to the corpse. “Any idea how he got in then?”

  “No. Can’t say that I do.”

  Brady glanced down the hallway and saw a pear-shaped man hurrying toward him. Pastor C.T. James had arrived. He shook hands with Brady. “Oh, d
ear, Lord,” James said without looking at the body. “I can’t believe this. I simply can’t believe this has happened. In of all places, the Church! Who could have done this?”

  Brady continued making notes in his notebook. “What makes you think something was done?”

  James hesitated. He looked to Stella-June then back to Brady. “Well, a man is lying…lying in the office…and he’s…well, he’s dead…I just assumed…”

  Brady nodded. “Probably a heart attack. Any idea what Paul was doing here last night?”

  James ran a white handkerchief across his forehead. “No. None. He wasn’t here when I left.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “Midnight. I was working on my sermon for this weekend.”

  Brady made a few notes in his notebook. “Did you see Charlie at all yesterday?”

  “No,” James said without hesitation.

  Pastor James was short, heavily-jowled with a pasty-white complexion. Even though it was seventy degrees in the church office, he was sweating profusely.

  “Morning, gentlemen” came a voice from the doorway. “I believe this is where I take over.” It was Coroner Dr. Lisbeth Groves.

  “That was quick,” Brady said.

  Grove slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “You caught me on my way to work. So what do we have here?”

  Brady said, “Stella-June found the body about an hour ago. She called me and I called you. That’s about all I know for sure.”

  Groves got down on her hands and knees to examine first the deceased hands then the sides of the face. “Give me a hand, would you, Chief?” she said. “Let’s turn him over.”

  Brady grabbed one arm, the Coroner the other, and together they gently moved the body onto its back.

  “Funny how things like this happen,” Stella-June offered matter-of-factly, “Take my Great-Aunt Siney for instance. A year ago, she went to her grandson’s baseball game and got hit in the head by a foul ball. Well, she seemed all right until the next day at the Baptist pot-luck she keeled over in her three-bean-salad. Dead-as-a doorknob. Now, that got the ladies talking, let me tell you.”

  It didn’t surprise Stella-June that no one in the room was listening to her. That happened quite often. What did surprise her however was why they weren’t listening. Everyone was too occupied with the body of Charlie Young, or rather staring mutely at the bloody knife wound centered directly over his heart.

  Stella-June followed their gaze. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she spoke.

  Chief Brady moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Then again maybe it wasn’t his heart, huh, Doc.”