Perhaps another gh—emissary might benefit from consulta-tion. I would redouble my efforts to remain unnoticed.
In the hallway, I gave a sigh of sheer delight. I might have been transported as an eight-year-old to my Grandmother Shaw’s stately home in Fort Worth. Since my time the rectory had been restored to
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its Victorian glory. An ornately carved walnut Renaissance Revival etagere held a collection of Bristol glass, three vases, a mortar and pestle, and a fan holder. A pink porcelain clock on a center shelf was gilded with bronze. The hallway was papered in Delft blue with a golden medallion pattern.
The flooring was now custom redwood, the entryway runner a fine Oriental in pale shades of rose and gold. One of the church patrons must have made possible the restoration of the rectory to Victorian glory. Clearly Kathleen and Father Bill wouldn’t have the funds.
I heard the chirp of women’s voices in the living room. I lingered by the etagere. I picked up one of the fans, flared it open. It reminded me of stories I’d heard from the era when my grandparents were young. Ah, those romantic days when a young woman might flick a wrist, flutter a fan, and send a seductive sidelong glance to a side-burned gentleman tipping a white straw hat.
I was caught up in my fancies when the front door rattled with a brusque knock. Quickly, mindful of Kathleen’s concerns in the kitchen, I replaced the fan and slipped to one side of the etagere as a patrician woman stepped through the archway from the living room into the hall. Short-cut silver hair glistened in the shower of light from the chandelier. She was tall and slender, with a confident carriage.
The kitchen door swung out. Elise held it open as Kathleen entered with a serving tray.
“I’ll get the door, Kathleen.” The newcomer spoke with a brisk assumption of authority. The directress of the Altar Guild no doubt.
As to the manor born, she strode to the door, flicked on the porch light, and opened the door. “Hello, Sam.” There was the faintest edge of surprise in her voice.
The police chief squinted in the sudden glare. He straightened the baggy coat of his suit and cleared his throat. “H’lo, Rose. The reverend here?”
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“Father Abbott isn’t here.” Rose emphasized the title.
It was the old chasm between the evangelical brethren and the Episcopal congregation. The police chief, likely a stalwart Baptist, wasn’t about to call any man Father.
“Come on in, Sam. We’re just finishing our Thursday-night Bible study.” Rose held the door and turned toward Kathleen. “Chief Cobb is looking for Father Bill.”
The chief stepped inside, looking exceedingly masculine and large.
His leathery complexion reflected years of too much sun. Another fisherman, I decided. Bobby Mac would have liked him. Cobb’s gaze was steady. His broad mouth looked like it could curl into a big grin as well as straighten into toughness.
Fortunately, my gaze also encompassed Kathleen. I reached her just as the tray began to tip. I steadied it. This time I tried to keep my whisper gentle, but to the point. “Look lively. No one knows. Find out what he wants. Act normal.”
Elise’s head swiveled back and forth, seeking the source of the soft murmur.
Kathleen thrust the tray toward Elise, walked to the door as if facing the guillotine. What was I going to do with her! I flowed alongside and breathed in her ear. “Relax. Smile.” Kathleen looked up at the police chief. She managed a tight smile.
“Bill’s not here right now. He’s at the hospital. I can give you his cell number.”
The chief’s big head bent forward. He looked uncomfortable.
“You can help me, Mrs. Abbott, same as him. Thing is, we’ve had a crime in the cemetery. The body of Daryl Murdoch—” Shocked cries rose.
“—was discovered near the Pritchard mausoleum.” Rose stepped forward. “Sam, what happened?” The chief was brisk. “He was found dead with a bullet wound.
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We’ve been attempting to contact family members but haven’t had any success.”
Rose looked at Elise. “Do you have Judith Murdoch’s cell number?”
Elise pointed toward the living room. “I’ll get my purse, check my address book.”
I perched on the hideously uncomfortable red plush chair next to the etagere.
I heard a click and looked down. Spoofer moved purposefully across the floor toward me. Some insist that cats’ claws always retract and can’t click on a hard surface. That is not true of all cats and Spoofer proved my point. He looked up at me, flowed through the air, and settled on my lap. I gave him a swift hug. Heaven knows that cats are God’s most elegant creatures.
Chief Cobb nodded. “That would be helpful. However, I’m here because we got an anonymous call that a weapon was hidden on the back porch of the rectory. I know it’s Halloween and crank calls can happen, but this one sure came fast. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to—”
I came to my feet. Spoofer twisted in surprise, but landed on his feet. He gave me a reproachful glance, but I wasn’t there.
Once on the porch, I turned on the brilliant overhead light.
Kathleen might be puzzled, but that didn’t matter. I doubted I had much time and I must be able to see. The anonymous call proved how fast word travels in a small town. The murderer had heard that Daryl was found in the cemetery and knew immediately that the body had been moved. That must have caused consternation, but the
