Popped Off (22 page)
Authors: Jeffrey Allen
58
I spent the next two days putting the last pieces of my plan together. A couple of calls to Victor, a call to Myrtle Callaghan to let her know we were on track, a call to Moises and Elliott to assure them I hadn’t forgotten them, and clearing my Sunday morning.
“Do I need to set aside bail money for you?” Julianne asked once or twice.
“Nothing illegal and nothing that illicit,” I said. “I promise.”
“I don’t want Daddy to go to jail!” Carly yelled. “Who would make me breakfast?”
The love of a child.
The games went on as planned on Saturday. The Mighty, Fightin’, Tiny Mermaids came together and laid a 6–2 whupping on the Purple Ladybugs. Belinda waved at me during the game and seemed happy to be patrolling the fields once again.
On Sunday morning I got up early, showered, put on some dress slacks and a button-down shirt, kissed Julianne good-bye, and told her I’d be back in time for a late breakfast. She murmured something, rolled over, and fell back to sleep.
I guess I’d convinced her I wouldn’t be arrested anytime soon.
The traffic around New Spirit Fellowship Church was akin to a sporting event or a rock concert. Police officers directed traffic in the clogged streets leading to the massive parking lot, guiding us in and waving, happy to see us. Volunteers wearing bright orange vests smiled as they directed us into parking spots and welcomed us with loud shouts of “Good morning!”
I walked with the throngs toward the church. It was a balanced mix of families, seniors, and single people. The doors were held by more volunteers, all wearing shiny name tags, greeting us as we stepped through the doors.
I hadn’t stepped foot inside the church when I’d brought Carly to camp, so I had to stop for a second and take it all in when I walked inside.
It was the size of an arena. A massive stage at the front, two huge screens hanging above it, balcony seating overhead. I quickly estimated that it held close to six thousand people, and the seats were filling fast. It had all the intimacy of a college football game.
Haygood knew how to put on a show.
I settled into a seat on the lower level and waited for the show to start.
The floodlights above the stage flickered, and a ripple of excitement worked its way through the crowd. There was movement in the shadows of the stage, and then the floodlights above the stage flashed on and the band illuminated in the lights roared into a loud, raucous . . . hymn.
The congregation rose to their feet, clapping and raising their hands, rocking and swaying to the music. The band was young, hip, dressed in ripped-up jeans and T-shirts, hair spiked up, their arms covered in bracelets. They were indistinguishable from any young band you might see on YouTube.
The lyrics were tough to distinguish, but I had to admit, the band was good.
The song ended, and the congregation applauded and then went into a frenzy when Charles Haygood strode out onto the stage, waving like a newly elected president. He wore expensive-looking blue jeans and a long-sleeve button-down and a wireless mic that wrapped around his cheek.
He motioned for the crowd to settle down, and he opened with a blessing, invoking Jesus, God, and several other things that I missed because I was just confused that anyone would consider this a church service. It had been years since I’d been in a Sunday service, but this was a far cry from what I remembered.
The hour-long service moved quickly. Lots of songs and lots of Haygood telling us about honesty and how honesty wasn’t always easy, but it was the way to becoming closer to God.
Ironic.
There was also a fifteen-minute period where baskets were passed, and lots and lots and lots of money went from people’s pockets into the baskets.
I declined.
The service ended with another rip-roaring number from the band, and the excited congregation filed out, happy and smiling and ready to go be honest.
Haygood was already in the middle of the vestibule as people streamed out, receiving members of his congregation as they exited and kissed up to him. I let the line thin out before I walked toward him.
His radiant smile remained as he stuck his hand out in my direction. “Mr. Winters. So nice to see you on a Sunday morning. I guess your daughter convinced you this might be a fun place?”
“Not exactly,” I said, shaking his hand. “I was hoping I might be able to have a few minutes of your time.”
“As you can see, Sundays are pretty busy for me,” he said, chuckling.
“Yeah. Clearly. But it’s about what we spoke about before. The money?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you have news?”
“I do.”
“Give me a few minutes, and we’ll head up to my office.”
I stood to the side as he continued to schmooze his followers. Twenty minutes later, he motioned to me and we headed up to his massive office.
“I take it you found Mr. Huber?” he said, sliding into same chair he’d sat in before and offering the other one to me.
“I did.”
“And where was he?”
“In a bit of trouble,” I said, not interested in sharing details with him. “But he’s okay now.”
“Do the authorities have him in custody?”
“No.”
“Ah. I probably need to file a complaint for that to happen,” he said, nodding. “I will do that today.”
“I don’t think that would be a great idea.”
He looked at me, surprised. “No?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I guess I’m confused.”
“I was, too,” I said. “Until I talked with Moises.”
“Did he tell you more lies?” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“No. I don’t think he did.”
The room got quiet. He waited for me to say something else, but I was happy to wait him out.
“I’m not quite sure why you’re here, then,” he said. “Have you recovered the money that belonged to me?”
“I actually recovered something better,” I said. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a small folded envelope. I held it out to him.
He took it. “Is this a check?”
“Hardly.”
He hesitated, then opened the envelope. He pulled out the pictures, and his face went pale.
I smiled.
“What is this?” he said.
“You want me to explain it to you?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Okay, I will,” I said, shrugging. “That is a giant estate out near the lake.”
I’d purposely given him only a picture of the house, not any of the woman. I didn’t think the infidelity was any of my business. That was his problem. And I didn’t think I needed to mention her to get what I wanted from him.
His face reddened, and a snarl started to form on his mouth.
“He didn’t take the money,” I said. “You did. And you tried to blame him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Pretty sure I do. So, no. I don’t have your money. You still have it. But you’re going to give it to me.”
His face went purple. “Excuse me?”
“Actually, you’re right. It’s not your money. It’s the church’s money. And I don’t think the people in your flock would appreciate learning that their contributions went toward building your second home.”
Every inch of skin tightened on his face.
“So here’s what I’m going to suggest,” I said. “First, I need sixty thousand dollars in cash. Not for me, but to pay back some people. Think of it as a donation.”
I almost sensed relief in his face, and I knew that was because I wasn’t asking for the half million he’d told me had been stolen. He walked over to a cabinet, opened it, and popped open the door on a small safe inside. He reached in, did some counting, and then closed the safe and the cabinet.
He set a fat yellow envelope on the table. “There you go.”
“Great. Now let’s talk about doing some work for the community.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I want you to make a donation. Specifically, to something like, say, youth soccer. I’d suggest the Rose Petal Youth Soccer Association,” I said. “Do it publicly and take the credit. I really don’t care. And let me suggest an amount. Maybe half a million dollars? How does that sound?”
His face reddened. “Like hell I will.”
“We can say ‘hell’ in a church?”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
“Well, that’s certainly your choice,” I said. “Absolutely your choice. But I’m pretty sure your congregation would be frustrated to learn their money had gone anywhere other than the church.”
He looked away.
“Message boards can be brutal,” I said. “Who knows what people might start putting out there about you and your church? Because they’ll find out. People always do.”
He stared at his feet, quiet. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking about, but I didn’t want to interrupt his reverie or prayer or whatever it was.
“I’ll get the check to the soccer association by Friday,” he said.
“Excellent!”
“I want all the photos.”
I pulled out the flash drive Victor had given me. He had sat outside the farm for an hour two nights earlier and had got the photos we needed. Haygood was very predictable.
I tossed him the drive, and he caught it, clutching it to his chest.
“Don’t ever set foot in my church again,” he growled.
I stood. “That won’t be a problem.”
“And one day I’ll be coming for you,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “You will pay for this.”
I smiled at him as I walked to the door. I opened it and turned to him.
“I thought you’d feel better about this,” I said.
He looked perplexed. “What?”
“All this honesty,” I said. “I thought it would make you feel better.”
59
I walked outside, and Myrtle Callaghan was standing next to my car.
I handed her the envelope.
“That was easy,” she said.
“If you say so.”
“Hey, if you ever are looking for another job, I’m always looking for good investigators who can—”
“Not ever,” I said. “Not ever.”
60
I drove home, relieved. It was over.
I needed to make a few calls to let Victor know it was really done and to figure out what I was gonna have to do to make everything up to him. I needed to call Moises and Elliott to let them know they were in the clear so they could figure out how to start their lives again.
And I just needed some time at home with my girls.
I parked the van in the driveway and bounded into the house, ready for a Sunday with nothing but family.
“Anyone home?” I called to the empty living room.
“In here, Daddy!” Carly yelled.
She was parked on the sofa, eyes glued to an oversize picture book.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Upstairs. She was taking a shower.”
I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before bounding up the stairs.
I found Julianne in our bedroom, sitting on our bed, legs crossed Indian style.
“Are we having a powwow?” I asked, smiling.
Julianne smiled. “Not quite.”
“Are you sick?” Julianne never sat still. Ever.
She shook her head. There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she was smiling. “No.”
I was confused. “What? What is it?”
She held up her hand.
She was holding up what looked like a small Popsicle stick.
And there was a bright pink plus sign on it.
Keep reading for a special sneak peek at
Father Knows Death,
the next Stay at Home Dad Mystery
featuring Deuce Winters. . . .
Father Knows Death,
the next Stay at Home Dad Mystery
featuring Deuce Winters. . . .
1
George Spellman’s lifeless face gazed at me amid the packages of frozen bratwursts.
I stared at him for a moment and then closed the freezer door. Not because I was shocked or horrified at finding a dead body. I closed it because I realized I wasn’t fazed by finding a dead man stuffed inside a freezer. I wondered if I should just stop opening things.
It was late April, and I was working the grill at the Carriveau County Fair. Carly had joined our local 4-H chapter last year, and one of their big fund-raisers was working the food stand during the fair. Nothing quite like working an outdoor grill in a hundred-and-five-degree heat.
“I think we’re gonna need some more, Deuce,” Harlan Boodle said, wiping his brow with a red bandanna. “Lunch rush is gonna be any minute.”
The large grill was littered with thin hamburger patties, hot dogs, and a few bratwursts. They were probably seasoned with a bit of Harlan’s sweat.
“There’s a big freezer in the back,” he said, pointing toward the kitchen. “We use it for extra storage. Should be a bunch in there.”
“How many should I grab?” I asked.
“As many as you can carry,” he said, chuckling. “It’s gonna be a madhouse in about five minutes.”
We’d been working nonstop since our four-hour shift began, and I found it hard to believe it could get any busier. I could think of about fifty other things I would’ve rather been doing on a Saturday afternoon than basting myself over a dirty grill at our county fair. One thing you learn as a parent is that when your kid signs up for something, you’re signing up for something, too.
“All right,” I told Harlan. “Be back in a minute.”
“Grab us some drinks, too.” He flipped the already overdone patties again. “So we don’t die out here.”
I waved at him and stepped into the food stand kitchen, which was nothing more than a sauna-like shack that disguised itself as a fast-food restaurant for one week a year. There was a covered eating area for about a hundred people, front and back counters, a giant indoor grill, some sinks, and a bunch of refrigerators.
Oh, and about fifty people squeezed into the kitchen, trying to serve the fairgoers.
Voices screamed and yelled about cheese and drinks and burgers and buns as people who had no business serving and preparing food attempted to do just that.
A pink-faced Carly squeezed by me, carrying two bottles of water. “Hey, Daddy.”
“What’s up, kid?”
“I’m getting water,” she shouted. “For some people!”
Her oversize green shirt hung nearly to her knees, and her hair was hidden beneath a bright yellow bandanna.
“Good for you, kiddo.”
She scurried past me and snaked her way through the group of workers out to the front counter to deliver her water.
Julianne was perched on a tall stool, her hands submerged in a deep sink, washing trays.
I walked over and kissed her sweaty cheek. “You should probably be at home.”
She spun on the stool to look at me. Her green T-shirt was riding up over her enormous stomach.
“Why?” she asked, setting down a tray. “Because it’s seven hundred degrees in here and I’m, like, fourteen months pregnant?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I’m tough.”
I touched her very round belly. “I know that. I’m just hoping the new kid likes the heat.”
“They won’t have a choice. We live in Texas, Deuce.”
“Doesn’t mean you need to boil them in your stomach.”
“I’m hoping it will encourage it to get the hell out of my body,” she said.
She was a week past her due date and looked ready to pop. Because I enjoyed my health, I didn’t say that out loud. But she’d been carrying around a baby for ten months now, and she was ready to bond with it in person. We all were.
“I’m going to get sausages,” I said.
“Oh, great. I’ll just stay here and wash trays and be enormous.”
“And beautiful.”
“Ha. Good one, sausage boy.”
I kissed her again. “I love you.”
“And I want this kid out of me, and I swear to God, I’ll have it right in this disgusting kitchen if I need to,” she said, spinning back on the stool. “Oh, and I love you, too.”
Pregnant women are funny.
I wound my way through the back of the kitchen, my thoughts focused on babies instead of sausages. I was excited that the baby was going to be there any day. Carly was, too. We were all ready to meet the newest member of the Winters family. We had no idea whether it was a boy or a girl. Julianne had insisted on not knowing. I had protested greatly. And it didn’t matter even a little.
“Babies should be a surprise,” she said. “Like presents on Christmas. Plus, it’s in my stomach, so I get to decide.”
Which was a hard point to argue with.
I liked seeing her pregnant. Not miserable, though, and with the summer heat, I knew she was pretty uncomfortable. But I did have this fear that her water was going to break right in the middle of the dinner rush, and that would be some sort of health code violation.
And so I was thinking about babies and rushing to the hospital when I opened the freezer and saw George Spellman’s dead face among the bratwursts.
And after thinking that I needed to stop opening things, my next thought was that a dead body in the freezer was probably a far worse health code violation than having a baby in the kitchen.
2
“Well, this isn’t good,” Matilda Biggs said, shaking her head.
The technicians were loading the body into the back of the ambulance, and the police had formed a barricade around the back of the food stand. Matilda, a member of the fair board, was concerned.
“This is really going to reflect poorly on the fair,” she said. “Could drive down revenue.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, less concerned about revenue than I was for George’s family.
“I mean, Iron Horse plays tomorrow night,” she said, staring at me. “We’re expecting a big crowd. Huge. It wouldn’t be good if we had to cancel that.”
I didn’t know Matilda well, but I knew of her. She was hard not to know of because she was hard to miss.
She was nearly four hundred pounds.
And that wasn’t one of those exaggerated statements about someone carrying a few extra pounds. She was one of the biggest women I’d ever seen. She was just short of six feet and seemingly almost as wide, with rolls of fat billowing from every part of her body. I’d only ever seen her wearing black sweats and some sort of stretched-out T-shirt, as I assumed she wasn’t able to find anything else to fit her enormous body. Her stringy black hair was thinning on top and stuck to the sides of her head with sweat. She was never more than a few feet away from her golf cart, as that was the only way she was able to make it around the fairgrounds.
She pulled a walkie-talkie from her hip and punched a button. “Mama, this is Matilda. You copy? Over.”
Five seconds later, the walkie-talkie crackled.
“This is Mama. Roger that, I copy. Over.”
Mama was not code for some motherly figure in Matilda’s life. Mama was Mama. Her mother. Who worked right alongside her on the fair board. I didn’t know the specifics, but I was pretty sure everyone on the entire fair board was somehow related to one another.
“We’re gonna need a new freezer,” Matilda said. “The police are telling me we can’t use this one, on account of Deuce Winters finding George Spellman in it. Over.”
The Rose Petal Police had, in fact, cordoned off the large freezer with yellow crime-scene tape.
“Roger. I’m already on it,” Mama said through the walkie-talkie. “I’ve got another one on the way. Should be there in about fifteen minutes. Over.”
Matilda nodded. “Ten-four.” She stuck the walkie-talkie back on her hip. “I gotta make some calls. Make sure we got more sausages coming.”
She waddled over to the golf cart, dropped in behind the steering wheel, and took off, spraying dirt and weeds behind her.
Carly and Julianne made their way around the food stand building to me. Carly surveyed the scene, trying to take everything in. I resisted the urge to pull the bandanna from her hair to her eyes.
Julianne just raised her eyebrows. “Well, this is interesting. You already talk to the police?”
“Yeah. Took all of five minutes. I didn’t do anything other than open the freezer door.”
“Maybe this time you won’t be a suspect.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Very funny.”
She shrugged. “You sort of have away of falling into these things.”
It was hard to deny that, as much as I might’ve liked to. My part-time private-investigating gig existed only because I kept finding myself embroiled in the criminal activity in Rose Petal. Julianne had made several subtle suggestions that, with a new baby on the way, maybe I might want to curtail my activity in that arena. I didn’t disagree.
But it seemed that trouble was still finding me, no matter how much I tried to avoid it.
As I contemplated that, Susan Blamunski hustled our way.
“Oh, good Lord,” Julianne whispered. “Red alert. Crazy woman dead ahead.”
Susan’s face was a mask of concern.
And heavy eye make-up.
“Deuce,” she said, grabbing me by the elbow. “What is going
on?
”
on?
”
I tried to casually shake free from the grasp of our local 4-H leader but failed. “I’m not completely sure.”
“I heard they found a dead body,” she said. She glanced at Julianne and, for the first time, seemed to notice she was there. “Oh, hello, Julianne. So nice to see you. We rarely get the opportunity to see you at four-H events.”
The corners of Julianne’s mouth twitched. “Hello, Susan.”
“So nice that your entire family could work the fair,” she said to me. “Finally.”
“We worked it last year,” Julianne said through gritted teeth.
“Did you?” Susan asked, pursing her lips. “I don’t recall. Seems like we see you so . . . infrequently.”
If Julianne had access to a hammer, I was pretty sure she would’ve used it on Susan’s skull at that moment. The fact that Julianne was in the process of establishing her own law practice after leaving her firm earlier in the year meant she was having to put in some serious hours before the baby was born.
But Susan’s digs about our family were nothing we hadn’t heard before. Our nontraditional family was still a novelty in Rose Petal. People couldn’t seem to get used to the role reversal we’d chosen in our home. It worked just fine for us, but there was no doubt that we were the topic of much conversation throughout town.
Julianne took Carly’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go check out the bunnies. Before they have another dead body to deal with.”
If Susan picked up on the fact that she was the potential other body, she didn’t show it.
“When is she due?” she asked.
“Supposed to be a week ago,” I said. “Any day now.”
“That explains her size,” she murmured. She tugged on her own green shirt, smoothing it over her modest stomach.
She refocused on the activity around us. “So, I heard they found some man in the freezer?”
“Yeah, George Spellman.”
“And you found him?”
“Yeah.”
She squeezed my elbow. “How terrible! Why was he in there?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I just found him.”
Her concern now outweighed her make-up. “This isn’t going to be good. Did they say anything about the food stand?”
“Not yet.”
“We get nearly all of our funding from this week,” she said. “Without it, we won’t have any money for activities. For anything.”
That was the truth. The food stand was the major fund-raiser each year for our local 4-H. Nothing else brought in money even comparable.
“I’m sure the police will be done soon.” I wasn’t sure at all, but it seemed like a good way to placate her.
Susan looked around the area. “And didn’t I see Matilda over here earlier?”
“Yeah, she was here,” I said. “But I think she went to go find out about the new freezer or something.”
Susan’s lips tied together. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“What? That she went to find a new freezer?”
“No, no,” Susan said, lowering her voice. She looked up at me like she was about to share the most earth-shattering secret in the world with me. “I heard something . . . interesting.”
“You keep using that word.”
She glanced around me before settling her eyes on mine. “I heard that she was having an affair with the dead man.”
Other books
The Boxer and the Spy by Robert B. Parker
Bosun by V. Vaughn
Wizard's Sword (The Battle Wizard Saga, No.2) by Lance, C.M.
Inked Stepbrother: New Adult Stepbrother Romance by Brother, Stephanie
Blowback by Christopher Simpson
Borders of the Heart by Chris Fabry
Agent Provocateur by Faith Bleasdale
The Runestone Incident (The Incident Series, #2) by Maslakovic, Neve
The Traitor by Grace Burrowes
Snowed Under by Celeste Rupert
