Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (5 page)

SIX

After the snooze alarm went off for the third time Sunday morning, I pushed back the comforter and draped my legs over the side of the bed. When guilt brewed inside my heart, church was the last place I wanted to spend time. The feeling always intensified and I felt worse. All the mistakes I’ve ever made played themselves in my head like a recording of a sports blunder on the evening news.

How could I stay home and feel sorry for myself when Marilyn was in jail? While my tumbling emotions kept me from sleeping, at least I had lain awake in my own bed rather than in a cot surrounded by bars.

I tuned the radio to the Christian music station and cranked it up. On Sunday, I felt guilty listening to anything other than gospel or contemporary Christian music. Before stepping into the shower, I adjusted the water to lukewarm. Hot steamy water would delay me even longer, but I couldn’t torture myself with a stream of ice water.

Ten minutes later, dressed in my church finest, I stood in front of the mirror and groaned. There was no way I’d pull the “I’m fine” look off today to my grandmothers. Four hours of fitful sleep didn’t leave a person refreshed. Good thing makeup was an option so I could cover up the dark circles. As I blotted on the light beige foundation beneath my eyes, and tried not to think about Marilyn, my mind went to the next logical musing. 

Who killed Michael? And why?

Marilyn did had the best reason, and the most evidence against her, but I knew she wouldn’t kill her husband. She loved her children too much to hurt them like that. She wasn’t a violent type of person. Then again, when reporters interviewed neighbors and friends, no one ever said, “Yep, I knew that one would go off the deep end and kill somebody one day.”

The phone rang and I welcomed the interruption.

“Did you see the paper this morning?” Sierra asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Not yet.” But I had a good idea the headline announced Marilyn’s arrest to all of Eden.

“Harold, do not dump the syrup on your brother. No, you can’t butter him either. Howard, I don’t care that you love butter and want him to.”

Conversations with Sierra always happened in this haphazard manner. It was a miracle either of us remembered the real topic. I went to my dresser and rummaged around for a pair of knee high socks to wear with my boots.

“No one in this house can be lathered in butter or syrup,” Sierra said, the exasperation growing in her voice. “I just can’t believe it.”

“That one of your boys decorated his sibling with breakfast condiments?”

“Concentrate, Faith. We’re talking about the newspaper.” She took in a deep breath. “Marilyn was arrested for murder.”

“Oh.” It was the safest response.

“The bail hearing is set for Tuesday. It looks like the prosecution will be asking for a huge bond.”

“What?” How would the Bennett’s come up with the money? I collapsed onto the mattress and the bed beckoned for me to stay home.

“That’s what the article says. I’ll talk to you about it after church. We should both be leaving soon as Marilyn’s parents will need all the support they can get.” 

I dragged through the rest of my primping routine. The last thing I wanted was to talk to Marilyn’s parents. How would they feel knowing I helped put their daughter into jail?

I trudged out to my car, unlocked the door, and got inside. After uttering a prayer for strength and good sense, I made my way to Eden Community Church. From down the road, I saw the white cross that topped the steeple of the one hundred and fifty year old church. The freshly painted white wooden building gleamed under the sunlight. Flowers readying to bloom bordered the walkway leading into the church.

“Give me courage,” I muttered, gathering up my purse and Bible then opened up the car door. I stepped outside into the air tinged with cold.

I made my way up the steps and tried sneaking inside, but the renovation on the outside hadn’t made its way inside. The swinging doors leading from the foyer into the sanctuary creaked. Heads turned. Heat flashed across my face and down my neck.

Eli and Gloria Bennett, Marilyn’s parents, settled their gaze on me. I attempted a supporting smile but my mouth froze in a grimace. Lowering my head, I quickly slid onto the nearest pew. The hair on the back neck prickled. I shifted in the seat but still felt the sensation of someone staring at me.

Opening my Bible, I rested it on my lap and acted like I was reading while I peered through my lashes at the people around me. No one seemed interested at all. I wasn’t quite sure if I should be offended or not.

The choir started singing
All is Well With My Soul
. How I wished I could sing the song as the truth. But as I sung, the feeling of impending doom increased. I scanned the pews and spotted Elizabeth and Mark Kane, Marilyn’s teenaged children, glaring at me from the other side of the church. So that’s where the hatred originated.

Gloria frowned and twisted her neck. She met my gaze and then blanched. Facing forward, she elbowed her granddaughter and reached over and smacked her grandson on the leg with her bulletin.  

Tears burned my eyes. I jumped up and scurried out of the church, praying I didn’t draw any interest. The tears raced down my cheeks, blurring my vision. My heel slipped on the edge of the concrete step and I pitched forward.

My breath hitched in my throat as steady footing vanished. I flailed for the rail, relief rushing through me when my hand gripped it. I regained my balance and sat down on the stairs, knowing my shaking legs wouldn’t support my weight for one more step. Drawing up my knees, I rested my head on them.

I didn’t blame Marilyn’s children one bit for being mad at me. My words and actions helped build the police’s case against their mother. Why couldn’t I have found a way not to tell the police what she said?

Fabric draped around my shoulders. The smell of cinnamon and lilacs enveloped me. I tugged the ends of Grandma Hope’s shawl tighter around my body, twisting my fingers into the fringe of the hand-knitted garment.

“Faith, sweetie, please come back inside. It’s so cold out here.”

“I shouldn’t have come today,” I choked out, not looking up at her.

Hope settled beside me and gently squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you came. I’m proud of you.”

“For coming to church?” I wiped my cheeks with my palm before I looked at her. “Is it that much of a miracle?”

Hope shook her head and tapped me under the chin. “Is that anyway to talk to your grandmother?”

“I’m sorry.” I leaned closer to her.

She guided my head to her shoulder and wrapped her arms around me. “Sweetie, I knew it would be hard for you to come today. For some reason, since you came home from the Army, you see judgment from everyone. And I knew you’d expect it today.” She kissed the top of my head. “But there’s a difference between concern and criticism.”

“My being here is upsetting the Bennett family.”

“That’s nonsense. I talked with them this morning and they are just as upset with how the police treated you as they are how that Detective behaved toward Marilyn.”

“Marilyn’s children—”

“Are children. Their father was murdered. Their mother accused. Their world was flipped upside down and it’s hard for them to hang on. You shouldn’t take anything they do or say as the truth to your character. You’re not responsible for the predicament Marilyn is in.”

I wiped my eyes. Only Hope would refer to an arrest as a predicament. “I guess I’ll need to be an adult and just accept their glares.”

Grandma Hope squeezed me and stood up, holding out her hand to me. “I don’t think they were shooting daggers at you. That homicide detective was standing behind the last pew. That’s who they are angry with.”

SEVEN

I went back inside the church and settled between my grandmothers, and pretended to listen to the sermon. Though I did a lousy job at it as Grandma Cheryl kept giving me the wait-till-we-get outside look like I was an errant child. Of course to them, I’d always be a child no matter my age. A blessing or a curse depending on the situation.

When the pastor dismissed the congregation, I jumped up, maneuvered around my grandmothers, and headed for the great outdoors. I even beat the ushers offering the have-a-good-week sentiments to the door. I didn’t want to talk to the Bennetts, or Marilyn’s children, in case the evil eye was meant for me. I deserved it as much as the detective.

I came to a sudden stop in the parking lot. I wasn’t the first one out of the church. That distinction fell to Detective Roget who leaned against my car with that half-smile, half-sneer gracing his face. Why did he want to talk to me now? Hadn’t I helped him enough already? There had to be someone else in Eden with information he needed to further his investigation.

I stomped to my car and went around to the passenger door. I unlocked the door with a push of a button on my key ring. “What do you want?”

Opening the door, I tossed my purse into the front seat then gently placed my Bible beside it. The thought of throwing it left me with a vision of lightning bolts streaking from the sky and striking me and the car.

Hmmm
… was Roget still leaning against the car?

He followed me with his gaze, his body not moving one inch from its current position. “You made a hasty escape.”

“So did you. Sermon getting to you?” I shut the door and stepped toward the hood of the car. Better for me to peer at him, as I couldn’t see over the car roof very well.

“I asked my question first.”

“No, that was a statement. Didn’t you learn anything in English class?” I finished my question with a superior smile.

“Are you always such a smart aleck?”

I widened my eyes and gasped. “It’s a good thing my grandmothers’ aren’t out here to hear a public servant partaking in such childish name calling. Tsk-tsk.”

He grinned and nodded. “Beg my pardon, young lady. I wasn’t aware your sensibilities were so delicate.”

I rolled my wrist and bestowed onto him a regal smile. “Since forgiveness is divine, and we’re standing in the church’s parking lot, I’ll forgive you.”

Voices drifted from the church as people slowly filled the parking lot. Now everyone would see me talking with the detective and think I was ratting on Marilyn. Or being questioned as an accomplice.

“I have plans for lunch.” I walked the long way around the car. “Can you just get on with your interrogation?”

“Interesting choice of words you use, Miss Hunter.” He watched my every move.

A fluttering motion filled my stomach and worked its way to my limbs. Something in the way his green eyes sparked with a glint of humor unnerved me.

Sighing, I leaned against the car and flipped the keys dangling from the ring out of palm and then back into it. “Seriously, I need to get going. Why are you here?”

“As I said, curious on why you tore out of church.”

“Is that really any of your business?”

His eyebrows rose and he grinned. “Are you kidding me? You’re questioning my need to know basis?”

“Yep.”

“Why are you harassing my granddaughter?” Grandma Cheryl shouted across the parking lot.

I recreated my mean-person-hurt-my-feelings expression from yesteryears and faced my grandmother. Her complexion reddened and she picked up her pace, stalking toward the detective.

This would be good. And served him right.

Roget held up his hands. “Listen, Mrs. Greyfield, I’m not harassing Faith. I just had a few questions for her.”

“On a Sunday? The Lord’s day. I’ve never heard of such disrespect.” With a flip of her wrist, Cheryl snapped open her cell phone. “What’s your name, young man?”

Roget pulled out a leather case and opened it. “Detective Roget. I’m with the homicide department. If you’re planning on calling the Chief, I believe he’s at church right now.”

“I’ll talk to him later.” Cheryl poised a finger above the touch screen. “Right now, I’m calling your mother.”

Roget gaped at her. “You have got to be kidding.”

“I’m serious, young man. Now what’s her last name? I’m not familiar with any Roget’s in these parts.”

“I don’t think he’s from around here, Grandma.” I linked my arm through hers and steered her toward her car.

Roget crossed his arms, his mouth twitching. “Actually, she’s on a cruise. I doubt you can reach her.”

Cheryl shook her high-tech cell at him. “Don’t you underestimate me, young man.”

“I see where she gets it,” Roget muttered. Before I could respond, Hope glided into the scene and stood beside her best friend.

“Cheryl, he’s only doing his job.” Hope linked her arm through Cheryl’s. “I promised the pastor and his lovely new wife a home-cooked lunch at our house.”

“He doesn’t have to do his job in the church’s parking lot.”

Cheryl refused to budge and Roget had the good sense to back away from her.

“I’ll wait around, keep an eye on things,” Steve said and joined our little entourage.

I pushed down the moan bubbling in my throat and out my mouth. Fury churned in my gut at Roget. This was his fault.

“Well, if Steve’s going to be here.” Cheryl touched his arm and her mannerisms went from fierce defender to sweet old woman. “You’ll make sure this detective doesn’t harass Faith anymore?”

Steve met Cheryl’s imploring gaze and nodded. “I promise.”

She patted his cheek and allowed Hope to lead her away to their car. Great. Now I was stuck with Steve managing my conversation with the detective. Or was it the detective’s conversation with me? Either way, I didn’t want Steve involved in my business. Unless he persuaded Roget of Marilyn’s innocence.