Signs of Struggle (28 page)

“Pretty well sums it up,” Wendy said. “For what it’s worth, Larry said he’d have first dibs on Hugh’s land, but he wasn’t too excited about it. He didn’t need the money. Besides, he wouldn’t have been able to come up with the cash down payment. Too much money up his nose.”

The cloud cover broke up into little, individual puffs after the drizzle stopped, and moonlight worked its way through the breakup, flooding the countryside with soft light pouring through the brief, dark blue clouds scudding across its face.

Liv suddenly spoke up, breaking the heavy silence. “Wendy, why didn’t you just divorce Hugh, or simply walk away if you were so unhappy? God almighty, look what you’ve done!”

Wendy sneered at Liv. “You are so naïve I can’t believe it. We had a pre-nup. If I divorced Hugh, I would come into the staggering buyout of fifty thousand dollars. If I just walked away, I would get fifty thousand less than that. I know you teach English, but do the math.”

Olivia looked like someone had just dropped a baby squid down her front.

“Wendy Soderstrom, I am arresting you for the murders of Hugh and Larry Soderstrom,” Payne said, handcuffing Wendy, who put her hands behind her back when he began speaking. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began, and she cut him off.

“I know my rights, Barney, and I’ve waived them twice. Pay attention. Are we done now?”

“You are, young lady,” Payne said, and he motioned Doltch to take her, which he did, escorting her to his cruiser, opening the back door, and motioning her inside. He forgot to place his hand on her head as she got in, and Wendy banged herself hard, but did not react. Doltch thumbed off the tape recorder, slipped it inside his pocket, closed the door behind Wendy. Then he got in behind the wheel and waited for the Sheriff.

Payne climbed down the shoulder of the road to the Jaguar, reached in and turned off the headlights, took the keys, and slammed the door shut. He climbed back up the slippery embankment and approached Liv and me.

He said, “Since we have murder here, I’ll need to call the DCI and State lab people, then I’m going over to Larry’s place to secure the crime scene. After Lansberger comes out, I’m going to have a chat with Doctor VanderKellen.” Payne waved for Doltch to leave and he did, the big cruiser edging away into the night.

“Trouble is,” Payne said as the car’s taillights faded into the mist, “I don’t think we can prove anything beyond Wendy’s killing Larry. Everything else is just her testimony against Clontz, against VanderKellen. A good defense lawyer will laugh us out of the courtroom, and Jurgen and Doctor V will be on their way.”

Payne looked older suddenly, and I felt sorry for him. His quiet little picturesque town on the banks of the Whitetail River had gone sour, and it started with me. Payne looked around, up at the sky and across the deep black fields and then, finally, back at us. “It’s pretty out here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is very pretty,” I said.

The Sheriff looked at me and said, “Come on by in the morning so I can get your statement. You watch your butt in the meantime.” He turned to Olivia. “Good night, Liv. Sorry you had to be involved in all this.” He kissed her cheek and she pulled him to her and hugged him, then hugged him again. Payne ambled over to his cruiser, got in, executed a perfect reverse turn in the narrow road and eased away, quickly picking up speed.

Liv and I got in the truck and just sat there in the dark on the side of the lonely dirt road in the vast Iowa countryside in a night that was beginning to finally reveal a star or two after the mist and rain, all alone with our thoughts and the events that were consuming us.

I looked around at the emptiness, looked at Liv, leaned over and kissed her mouth. And had my sorrowful kiss returned. I turned my key in the ignition and executed the same turn Payne had performed, and drove away toward Rockbluff.

W
e drove in silence for a few miles, then Liv said, “Would you think less of me if I told you I’m afraid?”

“Of?”

Liv looked over at me as I drove, then back on the road stretching away in the headlights. We approached Rockbluff, passing farmhouses with darkened windows, yard lights standing sentry over sleeping people, in bed hours ago. It was past midnight, and as we entered Rockbluff, the little town seemed at peace.

“Evil,” she said, answering my question.

“We saw it tonight, didn’t we? And no, I don’t think less of you. I might if you were chipper, unaffected, wanting to go home and watch your old
American Idol
tapes.”

“I don’t watch
American Idol
, much less tape the damn thing.”

“You have just risen in my estimation.”

“Thank you for trying to maneuver me off the subject.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m still afraid,” she said.

“Why don’t you come home with me?”

She looked at me for a long time, looked away. We came to the point in Rockbluff where we had to go left to cross the bridge to get to her house, or go right and head south toward mine. I stopped.

“Hang a left, kind sir,” she said.

She was crying. I reached over and brushed my hand against her hair, her cheek, wiping away her tears with my thumb. She looked beautiful in the faint light of street lamps. I turned left, crossed over the bridge. No other cars.

At her place, I turned off the headlights and the ignition, got out, and skirted around the front of the truck. Liv had her door open. She took my hand, sliding gracefully from the tall truck, pistol-packed purse in her other hand. I pushed the door shut and escorted her up to the deep shadows around her front door. She had forgotten to turn her porch light on when we left earlier in the evening.

There, I embraced her, holding her to me, hunching down, my hands dropping to the hem of her simple black dress, inching it up until it was at her hips.

I smoothed my hands inside the back of her bikini panties and spread my fingers on her warm skin. She moaned, murmured, “I thought I’d be too exhausted.”

“Me, too, but sometimes I surprise myself. You just look so drop dead gorgeous, sexy, edible. And you feel luscious.” I caressed the well-rounded flesh of her fabulous butt, wishing my hands were bigger.

“I am so tired. I just want to sleep. With you. That would be enough tonight.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I said. She chuckled.

“Maybe we could wait until the morning; I have a hunch we’ll both feel frisky then.”

“Good reason to get up in the morning.”

“I love it when you talk dirty,” she said, bumping her forehead into my chest.

“Oh, you English teachers,” I laughed. “Just remember, joy comes in the morning.”

“Lots of sex in the Bible.”

“I’m just trying to boost flesh up onto a spiritual plane,” I said.

We kissed again, and then she either trembled or suffered a petit mal seizure. I’m pretty sure it was a tremble. I leaned down and kissed her throat, her collarbone. Her perfume was making me dizzy. She leaned back a little and pushed my head down to where my lips brushed her breasts.

That’s when her cell phone rang. God, I hate cell phones.

“I have to answer it or it’ll wake up all the neighbors.”

“I thought my breathing was doing that.”

She retrieved her phone, flipped it open, touched a button smaller than a flea’s navel, said “This better be damn good.” She listened, handed me the phone. “It’s for you.”

“Show me how to work it.”

She rolled her eyes, indicating I should simply hold it to my ear and speak. I took the phone and said to the caller, “This better be damn good.”

It wasn’t. The voice was Harmon Payne’s. He said, “Thomas, I hate to call you at such an obviously inopportune time.”

“You have no idea.”

“Yes, I do, but there’s a situation you need to know about.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m at Christ the King Church. Come down here as quickly as you can,” he said, his voice tired but alert. There was an edge I had not heard before. An urgency. Like he was pleading with me. “And make sure you bring your weapon,” he added.

“Why? What is it?”

“It looks like Doctor VanderKellen has committed suicide.”

“Oh.”

“Just come on down as soon as you can. We’ll be here.”

“We?”

“Me, Doltch, and Aldrich. Ruth. Carl and Molly Heisler. And Thomas, don’t bring Liv with you. She’s seen enough for one night. One lifetime, really.”

“I’m on my way.” I snapped the phone shut and handed it back to Liv.

“What’s up?” she asked, scooching her dress back down.

“I’m going to church.”

“Thomas.”

“Harmon wants me down at Christ the King, and he told me you absolutely could not come with me. It’s a Men’s Fellowship meeting.”

“If you try that, you don’t know me. I’ll just hop into my car and follow you.”

“You’ve had more than enough for one night. I’m telling you to stay here. I’ll touch base with you in the morning.”

“You’re telling me? That’s bullshit. I’m going with you. I’m a big girl, Thomas.”

“Liv, you need to go inside, lock your doors, and go to bed. I know you’re a big girl. I will keep you posted if I can. Do not go with me. Do not follow me. I am dead serious. This is not some movie.”

“I said I’m going. Who the hell do you think you are, Thomas? This isn’t your town; it’s my town. I’ve come this far in this whole stinking mess, and I intend to see it through. And smart guy, I’m fully aware we’re not in some damn movie. Don’t patronize me.”

“Please, just keep your distance for a little while. Stay here. I’m going. And if you decide to follow me, I’m sure Harmon will be more than happy to have one of his deputies keep you away.”

“You’re serious,” she said, incredulity in her voice. “Even after tonight!”

“I am not messing with you by any definition. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No, you won’t. You need to just stay away from me, Thomas. This is just wrong, and I thought
Clontz
was the sexist.”

Liv was steamed, but I knew she would get over it. She could be mad at me all she wanted, even if it was Harmon’s idea to keep her behind. I respected his advice.

I said, “Good night,” turned, and hurried back down to my car.

Liv said, “Up yours, O’Shea.” I heard her open the door, go inside, and slam the door shut. Feisty.
Up yours?

A few minutes later, ignoring Payne’s advice to get Chief Justice, I pulled into the parking lot of Christ the King Church, alongside other cars and an ambulance. A few lights on in the church, windows outlined in the dark, made the big stone church look like some kind of deranged jack o’ lantern.

I went straight to VanderKellen’s office. The good Reverend Doctor slumped back in his chair, head to one side, mouth slightly open, tiny trail of inglorious spittle slipping down into his trim beard. He was pale. Dead. Room temp.

Ruth VanderKellen, or at least the woman I assumed was she, sat on a loveseat to one side, with Molly Heisler next to her. Carl Heisler and Harmon stood between the pastor’s wife and the dead pastor. Deputy Doltch helped Chuck Aldrich move the body onto a gurney at the far side of the large, luxurious office.

“Thanks for coming,” Harmon said. “I think you know everyone here.”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Molly, this is Thomas O’Shea,” Carl said. “Thomas, my wife Molly.” We nodded.

“I haven’t met Mrs. VanderKellen,” I said, and Carl introduced us. When Ruth VanderKellen looked at me, hot tears stabbed my eyes when I saw the pain in hers, tangible there in the middle of the night. “Mrs. VanderKellen, I am so sorry,” I said.

She smiled forlornly. “Thank you.”

Ruth VanderKellen was a fine looking woman. Early fifties, black hair with streaks of silver, strong features, half glasses, light blue eyes, and dressed in matching dark blue slacks and top. No makeup. No tears, either.

“What happened?” I asked, turning to Payne.

“Looks like a mega dose of pills washed down with booze,” Aldrich said before Payne could answer. An empty pint bottle of Canadian Club sat in the middle of the immense desk. Empty brown-orange plastic prescription containers with it, white caps scattered.

Harmon took me to the side and said, “Ruth woke up an hour ago and realized Doctor VanderKellen wasn’t home. From the manse, she saw the light on in his office. Checked it out, found him like this, called me.”

Aldrich and Doltch lifted the body onto the gurney. VanderKellen was wearing a summer weight light blue suit, white shirt, and floral pattern tie. His shoes were shined and he wore navy blue socks, these things I noticed as the two men wheeled the body out of the office.
All dressed up and no place to go
, I thought.
At least not in this world, unless you count the graveyard.

I didn’t like VanderKellen, but I didn’t want him dead. Prison, yes; dead, nope. “Why did you call me here, and ask me to bring my weapon?”

“Because you need to read this,” Payne said, moving around behind the desk and pushing a piece of paper toward me with his pen. “Pick it up at the edges, please.”

I could not fathom what was on the handwritten note that I needed to see. Probably a suicide note, but why did I need to read it? I went ahead, every eye on me.

It is the night of July 19th, the end of the last full day I shall live on this earth. Wendy Soderstrom just called me with a message that forces this act. She has murdered Larry Soderstrom and she has been caught. She is going to tell all. I will not live with the ignominy of her disclosures; further, I know now that what I have done is so terrible I cannot be forgiven by anyone. To make a clean breast of it
(
speaking of Wendy
)
, my sins are these:

• I had an affair with Wendy Soderstrom.

• She was pregnant by me, and I convinced her to abort the child.

• I persuaded her to seduce Larry Soderstrom, kill him, and make it look like a suicide.
(
What irony in that!
)

• I had an agreement with Jurgen Clontz to let him know what the bids would be on the Soderstrom Farms property; in return, he would provide me with a gratuity of $4,000,000 which I was going to split with Wendy.

• I have been embezzling small sums from the church for years because my salary was inadequate and I hated the house that was provided.