Lethal Lineage (7 page)
The drive back to Western Kansas gave me time to think. I put in a classical CD, all instrumental, not wanting to be distracted by words from any wailing vocalist down on life. I was already filled with sorrow.
Facts and puzzles chased through my mind like leaping squirrels. Sam had stated flatly in his no-nonsense, no-argument tone of voice, that Mary Farnsworth had been poisoned. That was a fact. The KBI said so. The bureau had moved Mary’s body to the state headquarters in Topeka to do a sophisticated screening.
Fact two was there was no way in hell anyone could have murdered that woman. No way in or out of that door after she dropped the chalice. Besides, the anteroom was right off the sanctuary. Anyone coming or going would have been in full view of the congregation.
My OnStar phone rang in. Sam again.
“The KBI wants to process that chalice, Lottie, and when I told them about the carpet they want to look at that too. I just hope to hell you haven’t burned it yet.”
“I haven’t. And I haven’t actually washed the chalice. I’m supposed to wipe it with a special cloth. But the KBI is barking up the wrong tree.”
“Maybe so, but they want to cover all the bases.”
“OK, but believe me, no one could possibly have put anything in the wine during the service. I’ll explain this to you when I get back home.”
“Keith says he’s looked all over your house and nothing is there from the service.”
“It’s still in my car. The chalice, the linens, the carpet. Everything.”
“OK. Terrific. Turn around and take everything to Topeka. I’ll let them know you are coming.”
“But what about the chain of custody?”
“They’ll just state that they received it from you. None of us suspected any of that stuff might contain clues to a murder.”
“I’m on my way.” I hung up and turned around at the nearest gas station. Even though everyone apparently assumed that something happened during the service, I knew it wasn’t possible. Our church has a common chalice. The Bishop is the first person to partake of the Body and the Blood. The second person is the priest, and then the choir members and lay readers, followed by the congregation. Even though we had no choir and Mary had doubled as a lay reader, none of the communicants had keeled over. No one could do a bait and switch with everyone in the church looking on.
The stark fact was that Mary’s poisoning occurred after she fled from the sanctuary. I had been nearly back to my seat when I heard her scream. She was fine until some stranger played bloody hell with the service.
Edna had said the precise words were “I know who you are and I know what you’ve done.”
I knew who Mary Farnsworth was too, and I knew what she’d done. She was an unselfish brown wren of a woman who built nests and nourished little birds. She found homes for babies, the abused, orphans, or children who would be better off as orphans rather than remain with their parents.
There wasn’t a mean bone in her body and no signs of a double life. No reason on God’s green earth why anyone would want to kill her. I winked back tears. Keith worried about my job because he didn’t want me to come to any harm. He wanted to take care of me. I thought I loved my job because of the dose of real world existence. But today I hated it too. I hadn’t signed up for murders.
***
I went through layers of security before I could hand over the collection of items, and then I had to write out a formal statement. Despite exhaustion and coming down from a coffee high, it wasn’t hard to organize my thoughts.
I covered every detail I could think of. I included Edna’s account of the missing communicant and suggested someone question her. Perhaps someone skilled in hypnotic techniques would pull more information from her. As for myself, I had not been aware of this man as I was too upset by the vicious sermon.
The agent in charge, Frank Dimon read my entire statement. “If you don’t mind, Miss Albright, we have a few more questions. Especially about church procedure.”
“This wasn’t typical,” I said. “I don’t want you to think this was the way things are usually done.”
“What do you mean?”
I explained that an established church would have a formal Altar Guild who understood the importance of their work. “Yesterday, I found rules for Altar Guilds on-line. I was woefully ignorant of the proper procedures. There’s even a special way to launder the linen. Even the purificater used to wipe the chalice has to be rinsed before laundering and the water poured into a special sink called a piscina with a pipe draining directly into the earth.”
To the officer’s credit, he did not smile or indicate disrespect, but I thought it sounded crazy. Like we were some kind of fanatical cult instead of members of one of the first denominations on the American shores. Many of the founding fathers had been Church of England, and the Episcopal Church in America was still part of the Anglican Communion even if some faction was always raising hell.
Frankly I didn’t give a damn what Agent Dimon thought of our church. All I cared about was finding a Sleep Inn where there was good lighting the whole width of the bed so I could read a little before I went to sleep. Because I had no intention of driving back home until I got some rest.
I stood. “I’ll call back with my motel number. I’ll leave around eight tomorrow morning so let me know if you have more questions.”
***
I swung by Wal-Mart to pick up toothpaste, a toothbrush, a few cosmetics, deodorant, a nightshirt, and Loren Estleman’s latest mystery. At home everything was prepacked into a tote. I kept supplies of my favorite toiletries so I could go anywhere, anytime, at a moment’s notice. But today, I hadn’t planned to drive on in to Topeka. I had intended to talk with the bishop and go straight home.
After taking a long shower and washing my hair, I thought questions would still be banging around in my brain. But when I settled down to read, I was a goner. I woke up about two to use the bathroom and saw that I hadn’t even managed to turn off the lights. Since I hadn’t asked for a wake-up call, I slept until nine and then I felt like I’d been beaten.
No room service here. There was a café across the street and I was starving. I threw everything into the Wal-Mart shopping bag and slid the heavy brocade drapes open to let in sunlight before I called the KBI to see if they needed anything before I headed back.
“As a matter of fact, we do have some issues,” Agent Dimon said. “It’s about the service at your church.”
Inside, I groaned, but I wanted them to have some respect for the Western third of the state and I couldn’t expect that if I acted like some wimpy woman who crème-puffed out over having to work a few extra hours.
“Certainly, I’ll swing by as soon as I’ve had breakfast.”
***
Agent Dimon gestured to a chair directly opposite him. At least we had some privacy even though his office was sparse, almost monk-like.
He did not waste time on small talk, and reminded me of the serious, bleak man who played Hotch on
Criminal Minds.
“Would you please go through every step of what occurs with the wine and the wafers.”
“I’ll be glad to but you’re looking for clues in the wrong place. Probably because it’s been done so often on TV and in books, where someone slips poison into the communion wine.”
Again, I explained why this was not a possibility because the Bishop sipped first, then Reverend Mary, then the remainder of the congregation.
“It’s sort of like the dog that didn’t bark,” he said.
“Exactly.” I was relieved he understood. “Only in this case, there’s all the people who were not poisoned. That’s my point exactly. It would be impossible for the suspect to poison one person without poisoning them all.”
He took extensive notes and his eyebrows rose over the locked anteroom. “We’ll know more when we’re sure what poison was used. In the meantime, we’re going to find out where Mary Farnsworth came from and needless to say we need to know more about that mysterious bishop. And we want to interrogate the woman who heard the man say words that apparently set this whole episode off.”
“Edna Mavery? I wish she didn’t have to be involved. She was extremely upset.”
“Has to be done. You know that.”
“Of course. Just go easy. Don’t badger her.” We didn’t need another death in Carlton County and Edna looked like a heavy breeze would blow her into Kingdom Come.
On the way home, I replayed everything, sure of only a few things. The KBI would soon know the chalice had not been tainted, the carpet just contained cheap wine, and none of the gathered linens had absorbed even a trace of poison.
Then my mind rebelled against the next confusing fact. Mary had been poisoned. The KBI said so, and the most likely suspect was a man who got had gotten away. A man no one remembered except a very timid little old lady. If only the bishop…
I was a hundred miles from home when Sam called.
“Just thought you might like to know right away, Lottie, the test on the carpet, the chalice, and the linens were all negative. Just plain old cheap wine there.”
“I knew that, but at least now they know that, too. So we’ve made some progress.”
“Not really. Doesn’t account for the poison. We still have over a hundred witnesses that no one went into that windowless room.”
“Oh, it’s worse than that, Sam. Bishop Rice says he can’t find Mary Farnsworth in any records and no information at all about Bishop Talesbury.”
He said nothing.
“I can see how Reverend Mary might have slipped under the radar, but not Talesbury. Any new developments on Deal’s recall election?”
He snorted. “Are you kidding? It’s the talk of Northwest Kansas. You wouldn’t believe the folks coming forward. There’s no question but that he’s out the door. The no-good son-of-a-bitch will be lucky if he doesn’t end up in jail.”
“Goody.”
“He’s gearing up to make trouble, Lottie. Just feel like you need a heads up. Deal is related to nearly a third of Copeland County and those inbred cretins are tight. They look out for each other. Circle the wagons right off the bat. And you are still an outsider.”
I sighed. I had lived in Western Kansas going on eight years this fall, but would be considered an interloper until the day I died.
“Heard from your sister yet?”
“No, but she’s coming out here over Spring Break. She didn’t take well to being arrested and fingerprinted.”
***
I swung up our lane late afternoon. Keith’s Suburban wasn’t there, which was just as well. I couldn’t stand the thought of answering any more questions or having to reassure him that I was fine. Perfectly fine.
He’d left a note on the counter explaining that the Holder’s cattle had gotten out and one had been struck by a passing pickup. He was going to see if the steer was just bruised or had to be slaughtered. “Love you,” he’d added. “Don’t wait supper. Be home as soon as I can.”
Exhausted, I headed for the deep leather chair and ottoman that was my home turf. I read and dozed there, and did my best thinking. I managed to think all of three minutes before I fell sound asleep again. The night in the Copeland County jail and the drive across Kansas had worn me down. A single night’s sleep in a motel certainly wasn’t enough to restore my energy.
A sound woke me up and I started awake to see Keith tip-toeing across the floor. “I’m awake,” I mumbled.
“No you’re not,” He crossed over to my chair, scooped me up, and sat back down cradling me in his lap. I lay quietly against his big chest.
“Just hold me,” If we were in bed, I’d be asking him to cover me all up, without any part of me sticking out from under his body, so no one could find me or get me.
A fine brave mindset indeed for an undersheriff. He laughed, recognizing my intentions as I snuggled closer and closer.
***
We’re both early risers, but I was up first the next morning and called up the stairs when breakfast was ready. I fixed a western omelet and ladled hash browns out of the skillet, then poured orange juice, and buttered toast before placing the slices on one of our cheery Fiestaware plates. He bounded down the stairs, kissed me good morning, then ate like a professional wrestler as usual.
A deceptive morning. A normal morning. An all’s right with the world morning. There should be a law against such a morning. A law against such a belief in sanitized security that allows us to believe that if we are good people and do our best and try to love our neighbors then everything will be fine. Absolutely fine.
But that’s the kind of people we were. Me, because Josie and I were to the manor born, with the kind of bright optimism that comes with wealth. And Keith, because he had risen up from sheer force of will. He could, by God, simply make things go his way.
So we spoke of normal things. Spring things. Gaily joking about it being the time of year when the tumbleweeds come and beat my tulips to death. His eyes shone at the prospect of lambing time for some of our neighbors. Our stubborn buffalo grass would soon be greening up.
“I’m going into the courthouse today. I didn’t see yesterday’s mail?” A question, not a statement.
“Damn. I forgot. I’ll get it right now.” He headed out the door. Our mailbox at the end of our lane was assembled from yard art and featured a cowboy with a rifle slung over his shoulder cradling the mailbox under one arm.
I went back upstairs to make the bed and put on make-up. “Lottie!” Keith bellowed at the bottom of the stairs. “You need to read this. Right now.”
I bounded down the stairs.
“What?”
Silently, he handed me a folded piece of paper. It did not have a stamp or postmark. Someone had put it directly into the box. It had been printed off a computer onto the kind of white paper nearly everyone bought from Wal-Mart. I read the blunt message.
“You have no business trying to get rid of Sheriff Deal. He’s a fine man. He has a family. Cease and desist or you’ll be sorry. P.S. We mean business.”
I looked up. “Deal’s relation, no doubt.”
“Those people can be nasty, Lottie. Just because they’re dumb, doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous.” He slapped a rolled magazine against his thigh. He brushed a lock of his hair from his forehead and reread the letter. “Can’t tell if this is intended for you, me, or both of us.”
I shrugged. “I’m not going to let it bother me.” I turned and started back up the stairs.
“Wait a minute. We need to talk.”
I came back down.
He waved the letter. “This is the last straw.”
“Keith, it’s not that big a deal.”
“I’ve been mulling things over ever since Irwin threw you and Josie in jail. We always end up making fun of the bastard and leaving it at that. That was one of the reasons I was so upset over the YouTube video. It diminished him to some kind of harmless buffoon. He’s not.”
The morning sun streamed through the window, highlighting his light brown hair.
“I thought you were mad simply because we did it.”
“I was. Still am. But mainly because you didn’t seem to understand that it’s a mistake to cross that family.”
“Listen! He crossed me first.”
He held up his palm gesturing me to stop. “I don’t want to get into an argument about that video.”
“Good.”
“It’s time we started taking that man seriously. I’m going to put an end to this.”
“How? This isn’t the Wild West, you know.”
“I’m going to help Josie and get behind the recall election one hundred percent. We’re going to put that whole ignorant clan in their place.”
“OK.” This was clearly a pronouncement. A decision he’d come to before the “last straw” letter came. He had no intention of talking it over with me. I smiled at the image of Keith and Josie working together. Superman and Wonder Woman on the High Plains.
The phone rang. I sighed and went into the kitchen to answer it. Sam again. I listened as Keith watched my face.
“Trouble?” he asked when I hung up.
“You could call it that, but it might be a blessing. Troy called in sick again today, and I think Sam is getting ready to fire him. He’s simply not working out. He wanted the job, or at least the badge. Just the badge probably. Without all the piss-ant duties that go with it.”
Keith smiled.
“Now I’ll have to sheriff again this afternoon and I wanted to spend the whole day at the historical society. I have a whole stack of family histories piled up, and we have to get new pages to the printer by Friday.”
On the drive into town I went over all the events of the past two days. Absolutely nothing made sense. Not Mary Farnsworth’s death, nor the appearance of the mystery bishop, if he really was a bishop. In fact, the only thing that seemed comprehensible was the letter. It was a good old fashioned real world petty threat.
I could handle that.
