Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 17 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

chapter sixteen: Against her better judgment, Mrs. Hazeltson helps Conner escape.

photo by ldyck

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Seventeen

Easter Sunday dawns sunny and bright. Fingers of golden yellow sunlight gently touch even the darkest corners. Good will always win over evil. There will always be a happy ending. Songbirds fill the world with music. Thanks to the rain, everything glows and smells fresh. I breathe in deep before climbing into the car. I flick on the radio.

“A malfunctioning pacemaker caused the death of the yet unnamed man.” Officer Boyd is on the news.

“And there’s been a further development on this case.” The female voice bubbles over with joy. “We’ve received what we believe to be the murder weapon. It arrived with a note that began with ‘I’m sorry’ and concluded by explaining how the device worked. We’ve tested it, in a controlled experiment, taking all necessary precautions, and it does turn off pacemakers.”

I turn the radio off. Bowing my head and folding my hands in prayer, I speak to Him who will never fail me. “You know Conner is a good boy, Lord. Please, God, protect him.”

I pull my car into one of the last remaining parking spots and follow a long line of people into the church. The purple-haired woman holds a wicker basket. Seeing me, she cheers, “Good morning, Mrs…. Mrs….”

“Mrs. Hazelton,” I supply.

“Ah, that’s right, Mrs. Hazelton.” She pretends that it was simply a temporary problem with her memory. Instead of the truth, that we don’t know each other, at all. “Good morning, Mrs. Hazelton,” she sings, too loudly.

It looks like she’s swooping in for a hug. I step back just in time.

She reaches into the basket and pulls out a white elastic bracelet that is adorned with tiny bells.

“Thank you but...hmm, ah...no thank—.”

She slips the bracelet onto my wrist. “Make a joyful noise onto the Lord,” She tells me. She grabs my hand and our bells chime as one.

A few minutes later, Ms. Matthews slams the vestry’s door. She says some things. I start listening when she says, “Ring your bells each time we say or sing Hallelujah.” She tests us.

“Hallelujah.” We all ring our bells. This continues several times throughout the service. The whole thing is rather silly, but it’s Easter so I play along.

Her sermons are showing some improvement, I guess. Well, to be truthful they are the same coddling nonsense but I'm getting used to them. She concludes by saying, “We’ll all miss Reverend Paulson.” At least she’s no longer pretending that the Reverend will eventually return to us. “But, I’m sure, he would be very proud of how well we’ve all come together. Even us, ah, Mrs. Hazelton?” She smiles at me.

Everyone is staring at me. Waiting. I know what they expect. So I force a smile.

I join the long line of those waiting to shake Ms. Matthews hand. She hasn’t won me over. I simply need to know why she tried to hide the murder. “Ms. Matthews, concerning Rev—?”

“Everything I do I do for the church,” she tells me and moves me along by shaking the hand of the person behind me. And I know that will be the only answer that I ever get.

My Sweet Lord by George Harrison

Thank you for reading Is the Reverend Dead?

Next Sunday, April 24

Book Review: The Maid (cozy mystery) by Nita Prose

One more story...

When I moved to Mayne Island, I looked around for a church. All I

Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 16 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter fifteen: Mrs. Hazelton tries to take Conner and Paisley to the police station so they can confess--but they escape.

photo by ldyck

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Sixteen

Arthur puts the key in the slot but doesn’t start the car. “Let me get this straight. You’re intending to take Conner to the police station.”

“It’s not like we have a choice. He told me he killed the R—.”

“How?”

“They made a device that remotely turns off pacemakers. They tested it the day the Revered fell. They killed—.”

“Helen stop saying that. You’re making a pronouncement that isn’t based on any proof.”

“They told me that they—.”

“I can’t believe that you want our grandson to confess to committing this murder.”

“He didn’t mean to. Knowing that, understanding that, the police will go easy on him. It was all that Paisley’s fault. And science. Science is evil.”

“The police may, but what about the other people on this island? If Conner walks into the police station… If he confesses to this… They’ll judge him. And that judgment will last for the rest of his life. To them, he’ll always be a murderer. If he wants any peace at all, he’ll have to leave. He’ll be ostracized for something he may not have done.”

“He knows he’s guilty. Why else would he have run?”

“Feeling guilty and actually being guilty are two separate things.”

“And you think we should let him run. What do you think will happen when Officer Boyd solves this murder? When he finds out what happened, he’ll come looking for Conner. If he catches Conner running, then he’ll think that Conner is guilty. But if, on the other hand, Conner co-operates from the start, things will be so much better for him.”

“I think we should leave Conner…. Leave this all alone and let Officer Boyd find the real murderer. If there even is one.”

“What do you mean by that? I told you what I saw. How can you—?”

Arthur pushes open the car door.

“Where are you going?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t turn around, he just heads in the direction of the house.

I crawl out of the passenger seat, walk around the front of the car and climb into the driver’s seat. Someone has to do what’s right.

My bad hip makes it impossible for me to twist my body to look out the back window. So I don’t back out of the driveway. I drive out. I pass the house. Arthur bangs on the window and points at me. He still thinks he can make me change my mind. I just keep driving. He waves two hands, points with two fingers. I pay him no heed.

Most roads on Plumper Island eventually lead to the ferry. The road from our house is one of the shortest routes. The ferry isn’t due to dock for a while yet. I’ll find my grandson.

I pass a truck. The driver honks. I pass a youngish woman walking her dog. She waves. I had no idea I was this popular.

The ferry terminal parking lot is full. So I park along the side of the road. I climb out of the car and Paisley rolls right past me on her roller skates—down the hill to the ticket booth. She couldn’t have been that far behind me. I wonder why I didn’t see her on the road.

“Granny.” That’s Conner’s voice. “Granny, you have to help me. Granny, please.”

Where is he? I walk in the direction of his voice; I walk to the back of the car. There he is struggling to undo the clasp that attaches him to the car. That’s why I didn’t see Paisley on the road. I was pulling them.

I don’t lift a finger to help him. “I thought you wanted to talk to Officer Boyd.”

“I did.” He tugs harder on the clasp. “But Paisley said that he wouldn’t understand. She said all he wants to do is solve the case and throw someone in jail.” He sniffs like he’s near tears. “She said he won’t care if we rot in there, for all the trouble we’ve caused him—not just with the Reverend but also with breaking and entering and… I mean with the houses we’ve been visiting. And… And… And she said that this was a good way for him to get rid of us. He’d just lock us up and walk away. We’d be in jail for the rest of our lives. Granny. Granny, please. I can’t go to jail. I can’t...” He looks so scared. He’s trembling. My dear, darling grandson. I can’t… I just can’t…

I undo the clasp.

“Thanks, Gran.” He rolls away.

The hill is too steep; he’s going too fast.

“Be careful, Conner.” I cringe.

Paisley’s waiting for him at the ticket booth. He wraps his arms around her waist and she giggles like the floozy she is. Conner is a good boy. This whole mess is her fault.

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Chapter Seventeen

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Is the Reverend Dead? by Leanne Dyck (a mystery inspired by remote island life) Ch 15

 chapter fourteen: Conner, Mrs. Hazelton's grandson, confesses to accidentally murdering Reverend Paulson.

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Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Fifteen

“Arthur!” Honestly, sometimes that man. He just doesn’t listen. I storm up to the TV and turn it off. Finally, he looks at me. “We have to go to the police station.”

“Okay, say ‘hi’ to Officer Boyd for me.”

“No, Arthur, you’re not hearing me. We have to go. You have to come with us.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Arthur, our grandson killed the Reverend!”

“What? Who killed….?”

“We don’t have time. I’ll explain in the car.”

Arthur hoists himself out of his easy chair and goes off to search for the car keys.

As quickly as my old lady legs can carry me, I make my way from the living room to the spare room. No voices leak into the hall. I knock; there’s no answer. I push the door open. The room is empty—no Conner, no Paisley. The window is open. They must have—. “Arthur! They’re gone.”

“They couldn’t have gotten far on foot.”

I glance at the alarm clock by the bed. “The ferry. If Conner catches it, he’ll be a fugitive. When they catch him they’ll throw him in jail. His future will be making license plates.”

“Well, we’ll just have to find him before he gets to the ferry.” Arthur jiggles the car keys.

photo by ldyck

Chapter Sixteen

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Last week was a challenge. The power went out at least twice--was it three times. Days

Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 14 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter thirteen: Conner, Mrs. Hazelton's grandson, seems very upset to discover that Reverend Paulson is dead.

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Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter fourteen

“How was I supposed to know that he would die? I just wanted to make sure it worked.” A girl’s voice is coming from the spare room. “It’s not my fault that he’s dead.”

Conner is a good boy. He wouldn’t be alone with a girl in his room. It must be the radio. Yes, it’s the radio or his computer or...something.

“But he’s dead, and it’s because of what you made.” Conner is so starved for company that he’s talking to...it.

“What we made. It’s your fault too.” It’s talking back...or?

I push the door open. A blonde floozy is sitting on my grandson’s bed. Her leg is touching his. Arthur must have let her in.

“Granny, this is Paisley and we’re in—.”

“No, don’t tell her,” the floozy says.

“A lot of trouble.”

It takes him a while to tell me the whole story, but eventually, the truth comes out. “It’s hard to go to high school on the big island. They think we’re freaks just because we live on Plumper. They think we’re stupid just because our island is so small. We had to prove them wrong. We had to come up with something big for the Science Fair. And when Paisley said she had a killer idea, I didn’t think she meant murder.”

“Hey, don’t shove this all on me. I didn’t want to kill anyone. I wanted to show them the risk. I wanted to show them what bad people could do. I wanted to show them that they needed to do something about the problem. And...and...besides you helped make it too.”

“What did you make?” I ask.

“It’s just a device for opening garage doors.” His voice falls to a whisper. “That, unfortunately, shuts off pacemakers. I didn’t think it would work, if I had I wouldn’t have tested it.”

“Or made it,” I say.

“Yeah, that too,” he agrees. “But we did test it at the church. We figured there’d be lots of old people with pacemakers there. And that the signal would be too weak to do any real damage. I mean, it was coming through a thick wall. Nobody would get hurt. They’d just feel a little faint or something like that. We never thought there’d be any danger. But the Reverend d… We didn’t mean to. Please, you have to believe me.”

All I can see is my kind, thoughtful, loving, lovable grandson. It wasn’t his fault. It was… It was… Science is evil. “Where is the...thing?” I ask.

“I threw it away,” Conner tells me.

“No, you didn’t.” Paisley drags her backpack out from under the bed. She pulls out a black metal box about the size of a paperback. Really, the thing looks as dangerous as a TV remote controller.

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Chapter Fifteen

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Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 13 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter twelve: Mrs. Hazelton brings the evidence she has collected to the police station. Officer Boyd tells Mrs. Hazelton that she's under suspicion of murder and orders her not to leave the island.

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Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Thirteen

Hot water and dishwashing soap mix together forming a foam of bubbles in the sink. I add the lunch dishes, beginning with the cutlery--knives, forks, and soup spoons.

My radio show will be on in a few minutes. I flip the switch and catch the tail end of the news: “The trailer is sky blue, with a flap you flip up to sell food. It’s old—from the 1960s or 70s. There’s moss growing on the roof and walls. It hasn’t been used for years. My idea was to do an article on it for my blog. Plumper Island’s entertaining past—that kinda thing.”

Plumper Island? Someone from our island is on the news. That’s a once-in-a-decade event.

“I’m a blogger. I have a blog. Did I tell you that? Pumped on Plumper. You know like gas. Only this is island events and history and—all that stuff. Cool name, eh?”

Did he say that he was a blodder? What’s a blodder?

“So that’s what I was doing—checking things out. I tried the door. It was hard to open. I thought it might be locked. But one good shove and I was in. Oh, it stuck so bad, worse than old socks. But someone had cut a trail through the slim. I followed the footprints to a new, blue trap. It covered something lumpy. I picked up a corner and found a body, a guy—some of his body parts were missing.”

A heart? A finger? An eye? It had to be the Reverend’s body.

“Could you tell what he’d been doing there?” The interviewer asks.

“What he was doing? Who? The body? Not much, he was dead.”

“Were there signs of a struggle?”

Conner comes into the kitchen. He’s too young to hear all that so I turn the radio off.

“What’s a blod?” I ask him. “Pumped on Plumper was on the radio.” It’s a catchy name.

He grabs three cookies. I taught him that when he was little—one cookie for each hand and one for your mouth. “Oh, yeah, I know that blog. A blog is a bunch of articles you can read online.” He suppresses a chuckle, when he says, “And no, not a clothing line. The Internet.”

“I know about the world wide web, Sonny,” I say in an old lady voice that makes him laugh.

“Pumped on Plumper is all about what we’re doing on island and sometimes what we shouldn’t be doing. What was he talking about?”

I wonder if this blogger boy can help me. Maybe he saw Ms. Matthews acting suspiciously. Mind full, I say, “He found the Reverend’s—.”

“I didn’t know that the Reverend was lost.”

“Bod—.” I bite down on the word.

“His body? Is the Reverend dead?”

I’ve scared him. I have to… “No, of course not.” I can’t lie to him. “Except that maybe he is. He collapsed in the church, 40 days ago. It was the first day of Lent. He was sermonizing. He could make sinners weep. He could call out the devil and spit in his eye. He could—.”

“40 days ago?”

“He fell right in front of—.”

“Granny, did the Reverend have a pacemaker?”

“Yes, he had heart surgery a couple of years ago. We were all really worried about h—.”

Conner runs down the hall and slams shut his bedroom door.

He's so upset. And I didn’t even realize that he knew-- had known Reverend Paulson.

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Chapter Fourteen

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Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 12 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

 chapter eleven: Ms. Matthews invites the women to attend church and introduces them to the congregation. 

photo by ldyck

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter Twelve

Officer Boyd offers me a chair across from a desk that’s piled high with papers. I resist the urge to tidy. He opens the jewelry box.

“Reverend Paulson’s heart, finger, and eye,” I tell him. And that changes everything. He’s finally taking me seriously. I count the clues off on my fingers. “Ms. Matthews put the poison in the glass. She tried to hide the murder. She hid the body.”

“That’s what you say, but Ms. Matthews has been straightforward and helpful.” He lets that sink in. “But you, you’ve been playing us from the start. The body’s over here. No. Wait. The body’s gone. Ha. Ha. Fooled you.”

“I brought you the Reverend’s body parts.”

“And only one person could have access to those body parts—the murderer.”

“Hmm, pardon me? You can’t possibly think… I told you how I found them.”

He flips through his notebook. “A cat coughed up the finger. A witch gave you the heart. Ms. Matthews was sitting on the eyeball.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“No, Mrs. Hazelton, that’s not right. Cats cough up hairballs. Witches are in fairy tales, like Snow White. I had a Grandmother. She told me bedtime stories. I’ve outgrown them. I don’t need to hear anymore.”

“I reported the murder. Why would the murderer report the murder?”

“Don’t leave the island, Mrs. Hazelton.”

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Chapter Thirteen

On this blog in April

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I'm excited to share the rest of Is the Reverend Dead? with you. Sundays and Wednesdays in April. I'll publish the last chapter on Easter Sunday--Sunday, April 17

Then... then...

Be Gentle

Author Reading

Wednesday, April 20

And...

The Maid (cozy mystery)

Nita Prose

Book Review

Sunday, April 24

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Is the Reverend Dead? Ch 11(a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

chapter ten: Arriving at church early, Mrs. Hazelton walks in on a group of women. None of them attended church--except Ms. Matthews.

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Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter eleven

Ms. Matthews addresses her par... us from her spot in front of the communion table. “Today is one of those days when I just want to sing at the top of my lungs, ‘Thank God I’m alive!’” She descends the stairs that separate the shepherd from the flock. She can’t do that. Someone needs to tell her to stay where she bel— beside the communion table. “I met with my spiritual group this morning, in the backroom. We meet every morning before church. You’re all most welcome to join us. That could have something to do with my great mood. They always leave me feeling supercharged. And I’m pleased to see that some of them have joined us.”

The newcomers—interlopers—are in my old pew, by the door. The woman with purple hair hasn’t even changed out of her pyjamas.

Ms. Matthews continues, “Mr. and Mrs. Blue and Mrs. Hazelton and our talented organist, Mrs. Clarence, I’d like you to join me in welcoming...” The purple head is the first to stand, encouraging the others. I guess Ms. Matthews introduces them by name. What a shame that I didn’t catch any of them. “For too long we’ve allowed unimportant details to prevent us from worshiping together. Well, it’s time we look past these details. It’s time we realize that we are all faith-based people. It’s time for all of us to build bridges.” 

Well, isn’t that grand? I’m so glad she shared what she thinks.

The Reverend’s eye rides home in my pocket. I’ve taken the earrings, necklaces, and rings out of my jewelry box and that’s where I’m keeping the Reverend’s heart and pinkie finger. I add his eye. Monday morning I take the box to Officer Boyd.

photo by ldyck

Chapter Twelve

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Is the Reverend Dead? Ch. 10 (a mystery inspired by remote island life) by Leanne Dyck

chapter nine: A mysterious black cat leads Mrs. Hazelton to a witch. The witch claims responsibility for Reverend Paulson's murder.

photo by ldyck

Is the Reverend Dead?

Chapter ten

One day follows the next—lost in wonder and worry. Did I meet a witch? Did she murder Reverend Paulson or…? How will I—.

Bz-z-z-z. The sound makes me jump, but it’s only the timer. I pull cookies out of the oven and set them on the rack to cool. As I remove the last cookie from the baking sheet, I hear… Footsteps? Up the stairs, stopping at the porch. The door opens without a knock.

“Hi, Granny.” It’s my grandson, Conner. Through a mouthful of cookies, he explains, “Mom and Dad are wigging out again. They never want me to go anywhere with anyone. I never can have any fun. It’s spring break. I’m suppos’da be on holidays and they put me in jail. Can I stay with you guys?”

He’s at least a head taller than me, but all I see is my fragile angel. All I can say is, “We’ll be happy to have you stay, dear.” Should I have checked with Arthur or my son or my son’s wife first? Maybe but…

“Thanks, Granny.” Conner carries his things down the hall to the spare room.

And it’s too late to check with anyone, he’s all moved in.

***

Sunday morning, I drive through the sleepy island and turn onto the church’s winding, gravel driveway. I’m so early I’ll even beat—. Young Ms. Matthews’ white Mini Cooper has taken the spot reserved for the Reverend. Some nerve. And other cars… I've seen them parked in front of the grocery store, bakery, library, everywhere, but never at the church. They have no business being here. Of course, she’d do something like this. I can’t wait to confront her—see her guilty face. Like a silently approaching storm, I leave my car and enter the church. The lights are off and the pews are empty. A woman’s voice drifts in from the vestry. To guide my way, I slide my hand from the top of one pew to the other.

The lights are on in the vestry. With folded legs, Ms. Matthews sits with the other woman in a circle on the floor. Their eyes are closed; their hands are cupped. Are they about to receive something? Maybe they’re playing a game of button-button who’s got the button.

A youngish woman with purple hair and in pyjamas says, “Send your love out and out and out.”

She says other mumbo-jumbo too and strikes a small gong. On cue, eyes open and hands fold as if in prayer.

“Name Day,” they chant, bowing deeply at the waist. Their heads almost touching the floor.

Bizarre? Certainly. Evil? Potentially.

“Thank you all for coming,” the purple-haired woman says. “Next Sunday we’ll meet at, in… Any ideas?”

“We could meet here again,” Ms. Matthews tells them. “And everyone is welcome to stay for church.” Well, I never! She thinks she can invite these pagans to worship with us.

Ms. Matthews picks up the blanket she’s been sitting on and a round marble rolls out and keeps rolling. Hand on the wall for support, I scoop the marble off the floor before they notice it or me. In my hand, I realize that it’s not a marble. It feels more like a balloon or like a...an eye. Reverend Paulson’s eye. Fighting for my balance, I groan and that draws their attention.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hazelton.” Ms. Matthews doesn’t even have the common sense to look guilty. “You should have come earlier, you could have joined us.” She smiles.

The women leave and Ms. Matthews goes into the main church. I can hear her practising her sermon.

To drown her out, I recite the 27^th Psalm, “The Lord is my light, and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked advance against me to devour me, it is my enemies and my foes who will stumble and fall.” 

photo by ldyck

Chapter Eleven

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