Murder Comes by Mail

© 2016 by Ann H. Gabhart

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-0423-0

Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency.

Praise for
Murder at the Courthouse

“The people of Hidden Springs are warm and caring, if a little gossipy, but secrets lurk beneath that friendly surface—dangerous secrets that turn deadly when a body shows up on the courthouse steps. This intriguing new mystery had me reading late into the night.”

—
Lorena McCourtney
, author of the Ivy Malone Mysteries and the Cate Kinkaid Files

“Gabhart’s tiny town of wacky characters is a delightfully fun read. Needless to say, the mystery is only part of this memorable story written by one of today’s bestselling authors.”

—
CBA Retailers + Resources

“A. H. Gabhart has created a bevy of quirky characters who are not as simple as they appear on the surface.
Murder at the Courthouse
will keep you engrossed and entertained.”

—
Killer Nashville

“A comfortable, enjoyable read.”

—
New York Journal of Books

“The plot will keep readers anxious for another story set in Hidden Springs.”

—
RT Book Reviews

To my sisters,
Jane and Rosalie.
Sisters share lifetime memories
and make the very best friends.

 Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Endorsements

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

Sneak Peek of the Next Book

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Books by Ann Gabhart

Back Ads

Back Cover

1

When he was a little boy, his mother told him a drunk jumped off this bridge and survived. Jack watched the swirling brown eddies in the river far below him while his toes curled inside his shoes trying to grip the narrow strip of roadway on the air side of the railing. He didn’t see how anyone could walk away from this jump, but his mother, who didn’t believe in idle gossip or idle anything for that matter, never told stories unless they were true. She said Jack’s father knew one of the men who went out in a boat to fish the drunk out of the river below. The man hadn’t even broken a bone, or maybe he’d broken all his bones. Jack couldn’t remember now which she’d said.

Jack stared down at the muddy water until there didn’t seem to be anything but the water and him and wondered if that could happen to him. He supposed not. For one thing, he wasn’t drunk, although he’d have bought a bottle of something as he came through Eagleton if he’d had the money. Money. He was tired of thinking about money. Maybe he should say tired of thinking about not having money. Tired of doing things he shouldn’t because of money. Better to simply end it all. Fling himself out into the air and let the river swallow him.

A tremble started in his legs, and he ordered his hands to let go of the railing to get it over with. But his mind no longer seemed to have any real connection with his body.

His eyes locked onto the water again. It was mud-puddle brown. Not the nice bluish green he’d visualized on the way here. Even when he was a little kid and lived here in Kentucky close to the river, he’d never gone swimming in water this nasty. A person could get sick swimming in the river during the dog days of summer. At least that was what his mother used to tell him.

He shut his eyes for a second. He had to quit thinking about his mother.

Besides, he wasn’t going swimming. Everybody said the fall killed you when you hit the water. He’d be dead before he swallowed any of the filthy water, and what would it matter if he did? Dead people didn’t have to worry about germs. About anything.

His knees practically rattled inside his skin as the trembling spread through him until even his scalp shivered under his hair. Only his hands weren’t trembling as they kept a paralyzing grip on the railing behind him.

All he had to do was turn loose and it would all be over.

2

How did he get into these things? Michael Keane wrestled with the steering wheel of the old bus to keep it rolling on a fairly straight course down the road. The bus could have gotten an antique vehicle tag when the First Baptist Church of Hidden Springs had acquired it for church outings ten years ago. Since then the only thing that held it together was Pastor Bob Simpson’s constant entreaties to the Lord.

Michael told Pastor Bob he needed to pray for donations for a new one, but the preacher smiled and said God had supplied this old bus. It would surely make one more trip. So far it always had. Of course that was with the pastor behind the wheel tuned in to his direct line to the Man upstairs. As Michael fought the old bus around the curves down toward the river, he was pretty sure the words stringing silently through his head might not be the exact same ones the reverend used to keep the wheels rolling.

Behind him, nineteen members of the Senior Adult Ladies Sunday School Class chattered and fanned themselves furiously with folded church bulletins they must have stuffed into their purses for just this occasion. Nobody suggested putting the bus windows down. They were going to a play in Eagleton, and a few beads of sweat were a small price to pay to keep their beauty-shop curls intact. Aunt Lindy was the one exception. She had sensibly lowered her window as soon as she boarded the bus and thus turned her seat into an island of wind all the other women avoided.

Michael met her steady blue eyes in the mirror. She was the reason he had given up his day off to ferry the women to Eagleton for the matinee performance in place of Pastor Bob, who had been called to do a funeral this afternoon.

“You’ll enjoy it.” Aunt Lindy all but commanded him that morning when she called.

“Can’t you find another driver?” Michael had looked out the window of his log house at the perfect blue of the lake where he planned to spend the day out in his rowboat drowning worms. “How about Hal Blevins?”

“You know Hal hasn’t been the same since his bypass surgery last year. What if our bus breaks down?” Aunt Lindy paused to give Michael time to imagine Hal having heart failure by the side of the road while a busload of little blue-haired ladies watched. “Besides, Clara’s first husband’s niece is in the play. You remember Julie Lynne. The two of you dated when you were in high school, didn’t you?”

“One date.” In those days Julie Lynne Hoskins had been too tall, with a frizzy brown mop of hair that she continually hacked at with a brush to fight it back from her face.

Aunt Lindy had pushed him to ask Julie Lynne to the homecoming dance. She said Julie Lynne needed a date and they’d have fun together. They didn’t. At the dance, the two of them sat in a pool of awkward silence amid the thumping music. He tried to get her to dance a couple of times, but she just shook her head without raising her eyes from her clenched hands in her lap. That was the last time he’d listened to his Aunt Lindy’s advice about girls.

Shortly after that, Julie Lynne’s family had moved away from Hidden Springs, and he’d lost track of her until their tenth high school reunion. She hadn’t come, but one of the girls reported spotting her in a store catalog, modeling underwear.

That was amazing enough, but now here she was onstage in a play that some of the ladies on the bus behind him weren’t too sure was proper. He was kind of looking forward to seeing how Julie Lynne had changed.

He wasn’t so sure he was as interested in her seeing how he had changed, or maybe how he hadn’t changed. After all, here he was still in Hidden Springs, not having done much of anything yet, just passing the days being a deputy sheriff in a place that hardly ever needed a deputy for anything but directing traffic and collecting property taxes.

But that was fine with Michael. Arresting people wasn’t on his list of favorite things to do anyway. He liked having plenty of time to fish and read about the War Between the States and keep Aunt Lindy happy. She wasn’t looking very happy at the moment as she glared at Edith Crossfield across the aisle from her.

Edith had been talking nonstop since they’d met at the church thirty minutes ago. Michael tuned her out after the first mile, but now he tuned in again to see what had Aunt Lindy riled.

“There are simply some things you shouldn’t do as a church,” Edith was saying. “I mean, we have to have standards.”

A couple of seats back, Clara James flushed red and muttered something to her seatmate, but Clara wasn’t about to take on Edith head-to-head.

Aunt Lindy had no such reservations. “If you’re that worried about your sensibilities being insulted, Edith, you could always get off the bus and go back home.”

Michael slowed the bus a little to add emphasis to Aunt Lindy’s words.

“Get off the bus?!” Edith swung around to face her attacker. “And what would I do out here two miles from town, Malinda?”

“Michael can call Lester to come pick you up and take you home.”

“In his patrol car?!” Edith sputtered. “And lose my ticket money? I think not.”

“Then hush and enjoy the trip.” Aunt Lindy turned her face back to the front as if the exchange were over.

“Well, I never, Malinda.” Edith flapped her makeshift fan double-quick. “I’m not one of your high school students. I’ve got a right to say what I think, and I think we should have been more selective about which play we’re seeing. Even if Julie Lynne is Clara’s niece and all, that doesn’t mean we have to support something indecent with our attendance. But seeing as how the Sunday school class was going, I thought it my bounden duty to come along. I always support the doings of the church. You know I do, Malinda. Better than you most of the time, I might add. Not that I’m keeping count or anything, but . . .”

She was still droning on as Michael wrestled the bus around the final curve to the bridge spanning Eagle River. On the other side of the river the road straightened out a bit, and if the bus could make it up the hill, they might actually get the rest of the way to Eagleton without incident. That is, unless Aunt Lindy tired of Edith’s harping. Who knew what might happen then?