Maid of Murder

Bobby and Bree sat in the row behind the Blockens, shoulders touching. Bobby glanced over his right shoulder every few seconds, scanning the crowd. I slunk low in my seat.

The minister rose from his seat behind the pulpit. Rev. William Myer had been the senior pastor at St. Jude Lutheran Church since before I was born. For the last year he had been on the verge of retirement but had yet to make any formal announcement. He would be sorely missed by his congregation when he did decide to trade in his prayer book for a garden trowel. Many of the Lutherans feared their synod would send a fresh-faced seminarian to their majestic grounds to promote church growth and attract young people. Rev. Myer hadn’t bothered with either of those pursuits in decades.

My mother and Rev. Myer traded wedding or funeral gigs when one or the other was out of town, which usually consisted of my mother on an idealistic crusade or Myer fishing in Canada.

The funeral bulletin contained a short biography of Olivia and a copy of her obituary, which I hadn’t read. I didn’t read it then either. The service would be short with a brief sermon from Rev. Myer and a few hymns. No eulogies or Bible readings from family or friends. The simplicity of Olivia’s funeral stood in stark contrast to the extravagance of her wedding.

Rev. Myer motioned for the assembly to rise. The organist caressed the chords of In the Garden.

When the final note of the hymn ceased, Rev. Myer spoke in his somber baritone. “We are not here to mourn, but to celebrate the vibrant life of Olivia Blocken. When the young are taken from us, the pain is that much greater. But we have hope in the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

The more I strained to listen, the less I heard. Only snippets of phrases broke through my barrier: “loving,” “excellent student,” “community involvement,” “Olivia.” I bit the inside of my lip, shoulders tense with barely managed emotion. For the last few days, my brain had known Olivia died, but my heart hadn’t accepted that fact. I was an expert at diversion, and I distracted my heart with work, my parents, the Blockens, and Mark. But now, my heart slammed into a sharp learning curve.

A kernel of fear crept into my mind like the haunting note of a hymn. If I had never befriended Olivia, if I had never allowed Mark to run around with us, maybe Olivia would never have been on Martin’s campus that day. She’d still be alive with a different bridesmaid number three, one that’s more attentive, one that’s more caring, one like Bree. I shivered.

The ushers cum pall bearers marched up the aisle two-by-two. Rev. Myer turned his back to the assembly and placed his hand on the sealed casket in silent prayer, smothering a lily. The Blocken family, including Kirk and Bree, rose and shuffled out of the sanctuary to the melancholy chorus of the pipe organ. Rev. Myer followed them in his black robe. The procession ended with the coffin and pallbearers.

Another pair of ushers dismissed the mourners row-by-row. From my row, I noted who attended the service and who did not. The mayor and his wife were among the first to leave, followed by some Martin dignitaries, including Lepcheck and the president. Cowardly, I pretended to read Olivia’s bio when Lepcheck passed my shoulder. Even after I knew he was gone, I continued to stare at Olivia’s bio. Three brief paragraphs. Again, I couldn’t read it.

Someone pinched my arm. Bobby smiled down at me. I smiled back. The reception line had stalled. The Martin professor leaned over me. “Bobby, it’s so good to see you. Are you a friend of the family?”

Bobby glanced past me. “Good afternoon, Adele. A friend of a friend.”

“Oh, it’s so nice that you would sacrifice your afternoon for a friend of a friend.”

Bobby grimaced. I looked away, afraid that I would laugh.

“I know this isn’t the best time, Bobby, but I was wondering how the library plans to increase its materials budget for the philosophy department. If Martin wants to add such a prestigious major, they need to have the right resources for those students,” Adele droned.

“You’re absolutely right, Adele.”

She beamed at him.

“The line’s moving.” He gave my arm another pat and moved on.

Adele settled back into her seat in a huff. An academic scorned. I kept my mouth shut about the materials budget for the philosophy department. Lasha had mocked the proposal when it had crossed her desk.

A pimply faced usher fidgeted next to my seat. I led my row into the reception line.

The narrow narthex and doors of the church made it impossible for me to escape the line. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my skirt as I shuffled closer to the Blocken contingent.

Bree shook my hand first. “So good of you to come.”

I nodded. I tilted away from the Blockens, who were greeting the stream of mourners.

Bree, clinging to my hand, yanked me toward her. I stumbled. “I see an opening after the woman in that god-awful bird hat. You can sneak through the door,” she whispered in my ear.

I glanced at the woman in the hat, which was truly hideous, a wide black mesh number with a small starling clinging to the brim. A small opening revealing summer sunlight twinkled behind her, enough for a small man or an aggressive woman to slip through. I whispered a thank-you to Bree.

Safely on the sidewalk, I rotated my tense shoulders under my thin suit jacket. The square was congested with mourners, hearse, and caravan. A Stripling police officer stepped out of his cruiser to direct the gridlock. I wove through a tangle of autos to the relative safety of the square’s center green, a tiny park with ancient sycamores, park benches, and a gazebo for weddings. I hurried through it and another tangle of vehicles to the Presbyterian lot.

The steering wheel burnt my hands. As I rolled down both windows and leaned back on the scorching vinyl headrest, I clenched my eyelids.

A loud metallic pop like an exploding aluminum soda can startled me. A featureless face leaned into the car. I screamed, giving any B movie heroine a run for her money.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Relax,” A voice broke through my hysteria. “India?”

I gulped down the last cry on my lips. Psycho killers don’t usually know your name. Unless they’re stalkers, my brain added. I took a breath to scream again.

“It’s Rick.”

Rick? Rick who? Mains. Oh. Does he want me to call him Rick? I’m not calling him Rick, I thought.

I peered through the open window. Mains’s face loomed white as Santa’s beard. Served him right.

I braced my hands on my chest and thrust my heart back behind my sternum. He backed up from the car door.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack. I could sue the city for this. Terrorizing law-abiding citizens,” I said.

“Whoa there,” he said as if I were a testy gelding. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you overreacted.”

“Overreacted? Overreacted.” I struggled out of my car and the heavy door pinched my left calf on the way out. After freeing myself from the metal beast, I slammed the door shut. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m a little on edge.”

Mains threw his hands up like one of his perps. “I said I was sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” I couldn’t think of anything to end the sentence. I leaned on the hood of the car to mask my confusion.

I noticed how the sunshine reflected off Mains’s dark hair. Carmen had been right: he did have great hair. No, no, no, no. I will not do this. He’s not cute, I told myself. I can’t think that. I tried to focus on Mark freezing to death in the Justice Center jail cell. Leave, my brain begged. Leave now.

Mains interrupted my inner debate. “Who was that guy you were chatting up at the funeral?”

“You were at the funeral? I never saw you.”

“I sat directly behind you. You never looked back.”

He must mean Bobby, I thought. I took a breath. “Why do you care who that guy was? Is he wanted for something?”