8 A Wedding and a Killing Read online

  The police chief stopped when Thomas burst out into such hard laughter that he was forced to bend over at the waist. Glancing around, David was glad to see that no one could see the hysterics his question had prompted. “You have to admit it’s suspicious.”

  Thomas grasped David by the shoulder. “Obviously, you never met Eugene. You have no idea what type of man he was.”

  “No, I didn’t meet him.”

  “Eugene didn’t take money from the church,” Thomas said in a firm, serious tone, “he and Marilyn were the ones who kept it going—kept it opened. Over the last few years, Spencer Church lost some of our most generous donors. Some died. Some moved away. Others just plain got mad about something or other and left.”

  “Like Chip Van Dorn,” David said.

  “Perfect example. Look at how he ended up.” Thomas leaned over to whisper to David, “Bill Clark and his friends had been spreading vicious rumors to people moving into the area that didn’t help. Sour grapes about losing the case trying to close us down so that they could buy our property dirt cheap.”

  “I’m sure,” David said by way of agreement.

  “They figured that if they couldn’t close us up in the courts, that they would run us out of business by making people quit. It almost worked. Last year, donations were so low that we couldn’t pay our bills. The only way we could keep our doors open was to lay off our office manager, fire Ruth, and sell the guest cottage. The trustees left that meeting very upset.”

  Standing up tall, Thomas peered at David to hold his gaze. “Well, it was right after we had made this horribly painful decision that Eugene contacted the board to say that Marilyn insisted on paying Edna’s and Ruth’s salaries.”

  “Did he talk her into it?” David asked.

  “Now what are you implying?”

  “Could Eugene have been upset about Edna getting laid off due to personal reasons?”

  Thomas placed both hands on his hips. “What personal reason?”

  “Sources says Eugene Newton and Edna Parker were quite close.”

  “Yeah, they were,” Thomas said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Eugene was also close to Reverend Deborah. They had to be in order to work together as well as they did. We wouldn’t want a chief trustee who didn’t work closely with the pastor and the head of member services. That’s what we call Edna. Sort of an unofficial title. Eugene wouldn’t have been a good chief trustee if he didn’t give a darn about a couple of single mothers losing their jobs.”

  “I’m talking about rumors of Eugene having an extra-marital affair with Edna Parker.”

  Thomas’ face went momentarily blank while he digested what David had said. Gradually, his cheeks turned red. His thick gray eyebrows looked like storm clouds over his piercing eyes. “How dare you even think that about Eugene?” He waved one of his golf clubs as if he considered using it on David. “Edna, Deborah, and Ruth were like sisters to him … and he loved Marilyn more than anything!”

  Apologizing, David explained, “When it comes to a murder investigation, I have to investigate rumors, no matter how ludicrous friends and family of the victims may consider them. You’d be surprised how often they turn out to be true. I’m sure you’ve heard the line, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’”

  “Well, I know where this smoke started,” Thomas said. “Helga Thorpe. Which explains why you’re implying that Eugene embezzled funds from the church. Helga started that rumor, too.”

  The accountant continued waving the golf club. “Well, I assure you, it was quite the opposite. Not only did Marilyn cover the church’s bills when we were so far in the red that we couldn’t pay our bills, and cover Ruth’s and Edna’s pay—without any sordid hanky-panky required—“ he added with a growl, “but Marilyn paid their medical coverage, as well. They insisted that it was to be an anonymous donation. Edna and Ruth have no idea who is making those donations that kept them employed.”

  “But that was his wife’s money, not Eugene’s,” David said. “It sounds like they kept their money separate.”

  “Eugene was very sensitive about being a plumber and marrying a rich woman,” Thomas said. “He didn’t want anyone, in any way, thinking he was a gigolo.” He allowed a smile to cross his lips. “Not that he looked like one.” He stood up tall. “But there’s more.”

  “What is that?”

  “Even with that, the church has not always been able to make its bills with donations from members alone,” Thomas said. “Eugene insisted that when that happened, he increased his own donation above and beyond his regular tithe to make sure those bills were covered.” He added, “Does that sound like the actions of an embezzler to you?”

  “You have to admit its suspicious how he took eight million dollars and turned it into eighty million,” David said.

  Thomas laughed. “Completely straight up and above board.” He went back to lining up his next shot. “According to what his lawyer told me, Eugene could teach Warren Buffett a thing or two.”

  With another boisterous laugh, he swung at the ball. “Eugene? Embezzler? I can hear him laughing up at the Pearly Gates now.” Bending over, the elderly gentleman continued to laugh.

  While the accountant was having his hearty laugh, David considered the church’s standing. A year ago, they were on the verge of closing—until Eugene and Marilyn Newton had bailed them out. Now that Eugene was dead, the church was sitting pretty and able to pay all of its bills.

  Sounds like a motive.

  “Thomas,” David said, “did any of the trustees know about Eugene making the church a beneficiary in his will before his death?”

  “What do you mean?” Thomas said.

  “Who will manage Eugene’s money now that it’s going to the church?”

  “Eugene’s lawyer is the executor,” Thomas said. “I guess as far as managing the money and paying the bills now that Eugene is gone, the trustees have been talking about giving that job to Edna Parker. She had always been part time before because that was all we could pay her. Now that we have so much money, we’re already talking about expanding the church’s programs, which means we need a full-time administrator.” He grinned. “We can now afford to give Edna Parker and Ruth Buchanan full benefits, too. Thanks to Eugene.”

  “Looks like Edna and Ruth really benefited from Eugene’s murder,” David said. “Did either of them know that Eugene had made the church his main beneficiary?”

  Thomas shrugged. “I really don’t know. They were all close. I guess it’s possible. Marilyn knew. Maybe she mentioned it.”

  Sheriff’s Deputy Guy Stacey looked like a beaten dog when he entered the interview room to find Mac Faraday sitting at the conference table with a case file resting in front of him.

  Mac rose from his seat and invited the deputy who had shot him with a stun gun only the night before to sit across from him. “Thank you so much for coming in.”

  “My supervisor made it sound like I didn’t have a choice,” the deputy said while taking his seat. “Look, if this is about my shooting you last night …”

  “No,” Mac replied, “I completely understand. I’ve been on your side. Last night, I had to make it look good in order to uncover the truth about what’s been happening here.”

  “It’s all over about Hawkins and Nichols,” Deputy Stacey said. “I’d suspected before, but had no definite proof. So if you asked me to come in for that, I wish I could help you, but I really don’t know anything, except how certain people in this county have had a free pass as far as the law’s been concerned.”

  “Actually, I want to talk to you about a different issue.” Mac’s eyes met those of the deputy’s. “The murder of Jason Fairbanks.”

  Mac paused while the sheriff’s deputy stared wordlessly across the table at him.

  “Portia Hagar alleged that Jason Fairbanks raped her,” Mac said. “According to the police records, y
ou were the first officer on the scene when she called the police. When Hawkins refused to press charges against Fairbanks, you made numerous calls to the sheriff and even Hawkins’ office about the lack of action.”

  When the deputy said nothing, Mac explained, “I’ve been there, Stacey. I’ve investigated cases and arrested violent suspects where I had everything I needed for the prosecutors to move forward but, because of some political maneuvering or deal making behind the scenes, nothing was done and the bad guy walked away.”

  Deputy Stacey asked, “What’s this about?”

  “I think when the system refused to stop Jason Fairbanks, you decided to do it yourself.”

  “I did not kill Fairbanks,” the deputy said.

  “I talked to Portia Hagar,” Mac said.

  His mouth drawn tight, Deputy Stacey gazed straight ahead.

  Mac lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to get you into trouble. I simply want to know what happened.”

  “I want to talk to my union rep,” Stacey said in a dead-pan voice.

  “Deputy, I assure you, this meeting is completely off the record,” Mac said. “I don’t think you killed Jason Fairbanks.”

  “I’m not a rookie, Faraday,” the deputy said. “I know how to manipulate suspects. So don’t you sit there—”

  “You threatened me this morning,” Mac reminded him. “You risked your career and criminal charges to avenge a rape victim when the system refused to give her justice. I don’t think you would purposely frame an innocent woman for murder. And I suspect that if you killed Fairbanks and accidentally framed her, that you would have found some way of clearing her name—maybe even confess to the murder yourself?”

  Deputy Stacey looked around to ensure that their conversation was not being recorded. “Let’s say, I did ambush Fairbanks the afternoon he got killed …”

  “Hypothetically?”

  “Hypothetically,” Deputy Stacey said.

  “Hypothetically, if you were to lure him into an ambush,” Mac said, “would you have done it alone?”

  “I would have had to have had help,” Deputy Stacey said. “But I would have no idea who.”

  “Of course not,” Mac replied. “Would any of your accomplices, if you had any, have wanted to go further to put an end to Fairbanks’ abuse?”

  “No,” Deputy Stacey said. “No one would have wanted to kill him. We didn’t think an animal like that deserved to live, but all we would have wanted to do was send a message to him that while his father may have owned the law in this town, he didn’t own every officer and we were going to take our vows to heart—we were going to protect every person in this town, even if we had to do it on our own—without the support of the sheriff and prosecutor.”

  Mac worded his question carefully. “If you and your fellow officers were to have done this, how would it have gone down?”

  “I imagine,” the deputy said, “Fairbanks would have had to have been lured to his mistress’s apartment. He would have been told to let himself in with a key that would have been hidden under a mat and come inside and get comfortable in bed. The shower would have been running to give him the impression that she was there. He would have been so anxious to get to her that he would have stripped down and gone in. That would have been when he would discover that it was not her in the shower, but a group of cops not on his daddy’s payroll.”

  “At which point he was drenched in water and shot repeatedly in the groin area with a stun gun,” Mac said.

  Careful to avoid a confession, the sheriff deputy said, “That would have been an effective payback for rape.”

  “What would have kept Fairbanks from identifying the vigilantes?”

  “He would have been immediately blindfolded and his hands tied around his back. He would have been restrained until it was over.”

  In deep thought, Mac peered across the table at him. “Would all of you have left together?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Fairbanks would have been alive.”

  “Madder than mad,” the deputy said, “but he would have been alive.”

  “What would have kept him from taking out his anger on Portia Hager?” Mac asked.

  “It would have been made very clear to him that if he ever contacted her or if so much as a hair on her head got a split end,” the deputy said, “that we would be back and it would be worse than this time around.”

  “And then hours later, he ended up dead,” Mac said. “When the call came in that Fairbanks had been shot, did—would, the thought have crossed your mind that one of your—”

  Deputy Stacey was shaking his head. “Yes, the thought would have crossed my mind and—if I and my fellow officers were to have avenged Portia Hager’s rape, then we would have gotten together and checked into it ourselves. I can assure you—no one on this police department killed Jason Fairbanks.”

  “You’re positive about that?” Mac asked.

  “Positive.” The deputy shrugged. “You know, when the legal system breaks down—or like in our case, refuses to work at all—it can get very frustrating—”

  “I know,” Mac said.

  “A person can only take so much before they decide to take the law into their own hands and do something about it. Ironic, ain’t it, that so many people all on the same day decided to put an end to Jason Fairbanks.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How do I look?” Jenny Fairbanks asked while checking her reflection in the mirror of her compact.

  “I’m sure Ruth and Natalie will think you look wonderful,” Bogie turned around in the passenger seat of David’s cruiser to tell the older woman who was sitting in the back seat.

  “Even if I didn’t, they wouldn’t tell me.” She put the compact away in her handbag. “How they must hate me for never having the nerve to stand up to Reese and Jason to protect them.”

  As if to comfort her, Gnarly whined and laid his head in her lap. She stroked the top of his head and ears.

  Casting a suspicious glance in Bogie’s direction, David said, “I’m sure they understand.”

  He noted that two empty Spencer police cruisers were in the church parking lot. With a grin, he assumed Fletcher was inside getting lunch made up from the food leftover from the night before, while Brewster was spending time with Edna, the church office manager with the “bedroom eyes.” Ed Willingham’s rented car was parked near the main entrance.

  “Are we ready?” David asked their passenger in the rear seat.

  Jenny sucked in a deep breath. “As ready as I ever will be.”

  Bogie slid from the passenger seat and opened the rear door. Unlike what he did for Mac, Gnarly was polite enough to wait for Jenny to climb out before jumping out of the cruiser and galloping up to the door.

  Ruth and Natalie were waiting in the foyer for her. Upon seeing her grandmother, the teenaged girl burst into tears and ran into her arms. The first tear shed caused a waterfall of emotion that climaxed into a group hug.

  Fearing the tears were contagious, which seemed to be evidenced by Edna and Deborah yanking tissues from a box to dab their eyes, David and Bogie moved to the other side of the fellowship hall where they spotted Ed Willingham eating a piece of chocolate cake.

  “Any word from Mac?” David asked with a note of hope.

  “As a matter of fact, he called a few minutes ago,” Ed said between bites of the cake. “I told him I’d call back when you got here with Jason Fairbanks’ mother. He had a few questions for her since she found the body.”

  “Hey, Chief,” Fletcher called from the kitchen doorway. “You need to try some of this refrigerator salad.”

  “Later,” David said.

  “I just had the vegetable soup,” Ed said. “It has squash in it. That, and the fresh loaf of Italian bread, make me want to convert. My parish doesn’t feed its parishioners like this.”


  “Where does Mac’s investigation stand now?” David asked. “Those cops from New York aren’t going to wait around forever.”

  “As long as Mac is putting them up in his suite at the Spencer Inn, they’ll wait,” Ed said before taking the last bite of his cake.

  “Even if they’re willing to wait, Ruth can’t live inside this church building indefinitely,” Bogie pointed out.

  “Then let’s get this show on the road.” Ed took his cell phone from his pocket. “Deborah said we can meet in her office.”

  The lawyer led David and Bogie across the fellowship hall, where they discovered that the church pastor had already ushered Ruth, Natalie, and Jenny into her office located at the end of the business wing.

  As expected, through the glass door, they saw Officer Brewster leaning on the counter in front of Edna’s desk while making chit chat.

  Unable to resist, David threw open the door. “Everything okay, Brewster?”

  The officer jumped to his feet. “Fine, sir!”

  “You do know you were assigned to keep an eye on Ruth?” David fought to keep the stern tone in his voice.

  Blushing, Edna said, “I’m sorry, Chief, I called him in to help me …” Standing up, she searched her office. “… to get a catalogue that fell behind this file cabinet. It’s way back there and I can’t reach it. I think someone is going to have to move the cabinet to get it and I really need that catalogue to order office supplies.”

  “And I was about to do it when you walked in, Chief.” Brewster went over and grabbed the heavy file cabinet with both hands.

  “Do you need help?” David asked.

  “No,” Brewster and Edna said in unison.

  With a laugh, David turned around to collide into Sirrus Thorpe, who had come through the door at the same time that he was going out.

  The old man’s weathered face was screwed up. “What’s going on here?” he demanded to know.

  “I’ve just about got it,” Edna called out from where she was kneeling to reach behind the cabinet. “Pull it out just a little bit more, Nate.”