7
Only a handful of cars sat in the church parking lot. I idled there, not quite sure I was ready for this. The whole reason I was going to this thing was to see if I could learn more about Brendon Lawyer and his wife, but it felt somehow wrong. I was new in town. I shouldn’t be prying.
But I couldn’t let it go. There’d always been a part of me that was interested in this sort of thing. I think it had more to do with my dad’s stories than any sort of macabre fascination with mysteries and murder. I just
had
to know.
And maybe a little part of me wanted to be able to go to Dad and tell him what I’d done. I wasn’t even sure I was actually dealing with a murder, but the pieces all seemed to point that way—to me at least. If I could figure out what actually happened to Brendon Lawyer, I wouldn’t just bring justice to the dead man, I’d impress my dad.
I shut off the engine to my Focus and got out of the car.
The church was magnificent from the outside. It was probably the largest building in Pine Hills. Large stained-glass windows were set in ruby red stones that looked to have been regularly cleaned. Whoever took care of the church took pride in his work. Well-tended hedges lined the property and flowers decorated the edge of the sidewalk. It was like walking into Heaven itself.
The door to the church was wooden and looked heavy. On the door was a handwritten sign:
Writers’s group upstairs.
I cringed at the misspelling and opened the door. This was going to be an adventure.
The inside of the church wasn’t quite as magnificent as the outside, but it was still a spectacle. The walls just inside were painted with scenes from the Bible. The stairs had verses written upon them, though most of the words had been worn away by years of footfalls. The stairs themselves creaked as I headed up to the second floor, where I could just make out voices coming from the first room to my right.
“It’s absolutely astonishing,” someone said. “I mean, who would have thought it possible in a town like this?” I could almost visualize the shudder that followed.
I reached the landing and the wooden floor groaned so loudly, the voices abruptly ceased. I’d hoped to wait out in the hall and eavesdrop for a few minutes, especially if they were talking about Brendon’s death. Since my cover was blown, I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered the room.
Five faces turned toward me.
“Uh, hi,” I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. This wasn’t just a bad idea—it was a horrible one!
“Oh, my!” Rita stood and waved her hands frantically in front of her face as if she was about to hyperventilate. “You came! You really came!” She hurried across the room and grabbed my hand. She all but dragged me inside.
“Everyone,” she said, “this is Kristina Hancock. She’s James Hancock’s daughter.”
There were murmurs of greeting that ranged from indifferent to, well, indifferent. Clearly, Rita was the only one who thought of me as some sort of minor celebrity. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I felt a faint twinge of disappointment. Sue me.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Krissy, really.”
Rita beamed at me and led me to a rickety-looking chair. I sat down and it creaked and listed alarmingly. I shifted so I was sitting on the very edge of the seat. That way, if the thing collapsed, I might make it to my feet before I went down with it.
Rita took a recliner next to me. Her chair looked almost new. “Now,” she said, “I suppose we should have a round of introductions.” She smiled at me. “I’ll go first.”
Rita introduced herself, which was kind of pointless, since everyone there had already met her. It wasn’t much of a surprise to learn she wrote mysteries.
“Next,” she said when she was done.
The woman to her right smiled at me. She had white hair fluffed up around her head like a curly cloud. She wore reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. A delicate chain ran from them to around her neck. She was sitting in a rocking chair and looked like someone’s grandma. The only things missing were a ball of yarn in her lap and knitting needles in her hands.
“I’m Georgina McCully,” she said. “I write romantic fiction based in the Appalachian Valley.”
And around we went.
The woman beside her wasn’t quite as old, but her hair was a steely gray and fine lines spiderwebbed out from her eyes. She didn’t quite smile at me when she introduced herself as Andi Caldwell. She apparently wrote literary fiction—whatever that meant.
Next to her was a middle-aged man who looked as if he’d slept through the rest of the introductions. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes when he mumbled his name as Adam something-or-other and that he wrote poetry. His head drooped and I think he went back to sleep.
I actually had met the girl next to him, which was something of a relief. She smiled at me in a way that told me she recognized me as well. She had a fresh scrape on her elbow and a black eye. Her skateboard lay beneath her chair.
“Lena Allison,” she said. “YA.”
Then it was my turn.
“Krissy Hancock, as you know.” I gave a nervous laugh. I felt like an idiot. “I don’t write.”
There was a shocked gasp from Andi, and Georgina gave me a look that said she was quite disappointed in me. I think Adam’s head moved a little at my proclamation. It was either that or he was finding a more comfortable position for his nap.
“Of course, you do, dear,” Rita said. “You just haven’t found your muse yet.”
There was a murmur of agreement.
I was saved from any more comments on my lack of writing when someone else came through the door. She was short but fit, despite her age. I’d put her around fifty, though the years didn’t sit too well on her face. It looked like she spent quite a lot of time frowning. She walked purposefully to an empty chair between Adam and Georgina. She sat down in a way that told me she was used to being in charge. Her eyes fell on me and I immediately felt uncomfortable.
“Glad you could make it, Patricia,” Rita said. “We’d just gone through introductions with Krissy here.”
Patricia nodded. “I see.” She leaned back into her chair with an exhausted sigh.
“Any new developments?” Georgina asked her, sitting forward. Rita and Andi did likewise, while Lena simply rolled her eyes and looked away. Adam remained motionless.
Patricia scowled at the room in general. “You know I don’t like discussing my job.”
This was met with laughter and another eye roll from Lena.
“I still think it’s awful,” Georgina said. “I mean, that man might have been a terrible person, but no one deserves to die like that. He had to have suffered.”
My ears perked up. Were they talking about Brendon Lawyer again? I sat forward, which earned me a frown from Lena. I guess I lost a few points in her book due to my interest in the case.
“There’s really been no new developments,” Patricia said. “While we currently are running under the assumption that it was an unfortunate accident, we’re not ruling out foul play.”
Andi gasped. Georgina only nodded.
Rita leaned toward me. “Patricia is the police chief here in Pine Hills,” she told me needlessly. I could have figured that out myself.
“From what we can tell, his coffee was the main source of the contamination.”
“Wait,” I said, startled. “What?”
Patricia studied me a moment before speaking. “His coffee was full of the dust. There was some in his food, but not enough to cause such a lethal attack.”
My mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish. The coffee had been the real cause of his death? Why hadn’t Paul Dalton told me?
“There’s no way,” I said. “I checked all of the labels. There’s absolutely no way his coffee was contaminated at Death by Coffee.”
Patricia’s eyes narrowed as if she suspected I was lying. I felt myself flush and started breathing in and out so fast, I felt near hyperventilating when she suddenly burst out laughing.
“You’re fine,” Patricia said. “I’m pretty sure it was an accident. I was just messing with you.” She paused, face going suddenly serious again. “Although I will be doing a background check on you, just in case.”
I wasn’t so sure she was joking.
“Could someone else have put the dust in his food?” I asked, just wanting the focus off me.
“Could have,” Patricia said. “His wife prepared his lunches for him. She might have contaminated his food, but that doesn’t explain why there was so much inside the coffee. I’m guessing he made a mistake somehow, perhaps found some peanut dust packets and thought it was sugar.”
I gave her a flat look. “You really believe that?” She shrugged. “Not sure there is much else we can go on.” A mischievous smile crossed her face. “Now, you were one of the last people to see Brendon Lawyer alive, were you not?”
“I was,” I said. “I already talked to the police about this.” I hesitated and then said something I regretted the moment it was out of my mouth. “I didn’t kill him, if that is what you’re thinking.”
Andi gasped and Adam’s eyes actually fluttered open. I guess he wasn’t asleep, after all.
“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort,” Patricia said. “I just wanted to make sure I’ve got my facts straight.”
“Her father is a mystery writer,” Rita broke in, saving me from further humiliation. “I bet he could solve the case. I wonder if it would be possible to bring him in as a consultant.”
I wanted to slap her. “He’s not a detective.”
Patricia grunted a laugh. “No need,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, it was an accident. The only other explanation would be that his wife did it somehow, but I just don’t see it. That woman couldn’t have hurt a fly swimming in her soup. She’d probably eat around the thing before giving it a little fly bath and setting it free.”
“What about her mother?” I asked.
The room fell silent. Andi had her hand over her mouth as if stifling yet another gasp.
Patricia’s face went impassive and she leaned forward. There was no playful gleam to her eye this time. “Do you have any sort of evidence that Regina Harper could possibly be involved in her son-in-law’s death?”
“Well, no,” I said, feeling ashamed. Just because I had suspicions of my own, it didn’t mean I needed to throw a woman, whom I hardly knew, under the bus. “I was just adding to the conversation.”
And maybe deflecting things away from me a bit, of course.
Patricia grunted and sat back. “If she’d done it, I wouldn’t blame her. The guy was a no-good cheat. If I’d been married to him, I would have killed him myself.”
No one seemed shocked by that. I was definitely getting the picture that Brendon Lawyer wasn’t popular around town. If he was as bad as everyone said, how did he ever get married in the first place?
I thought back to my own failed relationship and took the question back. We all make mistakes.
Thankfully, from there talk moved on to everyone’s writing. Rita and Andi both read from their latest works in progress. I smiled throughout each, though my ears tried to crawl into my head as they leapt from one cliché to the next. Georgina and Patricia passed. Adam mumbled something totally unintelligible before Lena read from something she’d written earlier that day. It was the only decent thing I’d heard all night.
And then all eyes turned to me.
“Sorry,” I said. “I have nothing.”
Rita closed the meeting by thanking everyone for coming and then she turned to me with a hopeful smile.
“Do you think he’d come if we asked?”
“Who?”
“Your dad.”
I bit my lip. “Doubt it,” I said. “He’s pretty busy right now.”
Rita only nodded before grasping my hand. “I do hope you come again,” she said. “And please bring something to read next time. I’d love to hear what kind of story you might come up with.”
What I really wanted to do was run far, far away; instead, I gave her a smile and said, “I will.” She let go of my hand and went to talk to Georgina and Andi.
Adam and Lena had already escaped by then and I was about to make my own way out when Patricia stopped me with a firm hand on my elbow.
“I want to speak with you a moment,” she whispered harshly into my ear before walking off.
Oh, crap,
I thought. Could she actually think I had anything to do with Brendon’s death? Was I about to be interrogated, all because my coffee was involved? Or could it be because I’d brought up Regina Harper when I really shouldn’t have?
I followed Patricia reluctantly down the hall, into a smaller room than the one we’d just left. A long table was surrounded by short-backed computer chairs. They were the only things in the tiny space. Obviously, it was some sort of conference room.
She waited for me to enter and then closed the door behind me. She turned and looked me up and down, inspecting me like I imagined a highly trained policewoman would do when trying to determine whether or not someone could be a suspect. It went on for so long, I started to fear she was reaching all of the wrong conclusions. Hadn’t I read something about how cops would use silence to make criminals speak on their own, often letting something slip in their nervousness?
Well, I wasn’t going to do that. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I didn’t kill Brendon Lawyer and I didn’t know who did.
I crossed my arms and just stood there, bearing her inspection as stoically as I could manage.
“You might do,” she said.
“Excuse me?” That wasn’t what I’d expected her to say.
“Are you married?”
“Um, no . . . ?”
“Seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Is there anyone special in your life at all that would interfere with you having a relationship?”
“What are you asking me?”
Patricia smiled. “My son,” she said. “He’s currently available.”
“Oh.” My head was spinning. “I see.”
“You might very well do.”