chapter five: Mrs. Hazelton visits the manse and sees a man Ms. Matthews identifies as Reverend Paulson.
Is the Reverend Dead?
Chapter Six
Arthur reaches for the teapot in the centre of the table and removes the cozy. He pours us each a cup and then passes me the plate of freshly baked Icebox cookies.
It doesn’t take him long to pick up on my mood. “What’s the matter? Is the Reverend dead—again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re...not sure?”
“Ms. Matthews wanted me to believe that the man in the bed was the Reverend—and that he was alive, breathing, with his head still attached to his body.” I add two cubes of sugar to my tea. “But she didn’t let me wake him. She wanted me to trust her, but how can I?” I look out the window. Large raindrops slide down the windowpane.”If the Reverend really is alive, he’ll give a sermon. If he’s dead, church will be cancelled. I’m going to pray and wait for Sunday.”
Arthur puts his half-eaten cookie on his saucer and leaves the table. He returns with our beat-up old Scrabble game box. It’s part of our daily routine. Our attempt to keep Alzheimer’s at bay. Arthur picks an ‘A’ out of the bag. Lucky man.
I choose a ‘D’. I keep picking letters and end up with an impossible mess—too few vowels and too many consonants. How can I spell anything?
Arthur strings his letters together to form ‘LAND’. I build down from the ‘D’, adding an ‘I’ and an ‘E’.
“Get your mind off the Rev’s accident.”
“Accident? It was murder.” I pull two ‘L’s out of the bag.
“Or you’ve been reading too many Louise Penny mysteries.” He uses my ‘E’ to make ‘KITE’.
Working down from the ‘K’, I get rid of another ‘I’ and both ‘L’s. “It has to be Ms. Matthews. She had opportunity and motive.”
Arthur foolishly wastes an ‘S’ and makes ‘LANDS’. “Do you really think a member of the congregation could have committed murder?”
“She told me herself that she was responsible for the Reverend’s glass. She could easily have put the poison in the glass and washed it out, afterwards.”
“Thou shalt not kill. Remember that. Ms. Matthews is a God-fearing woman.”
“She didn’t drink from the glass. And why? Because she knew it held poison. That’s why. And she had motive. From the time she set foot on this island, she’s wanted to take over the church. She’s the head of the Woman’s Auxiliary and the altar guild and...and… But that wasn’t enough for her. Oh, no, she wanted to be the Reverend. And now nothing stands in her way. Nothing but...but...me.”
“Helen, you have to get a hold of yourself.” Arthur places his hand on my wrist. “The Reverend had a weak heart. He had a pacemaker. It wasn’t murder. He had a heart attack.”
Of course, I didn’t like thinking of Ms. Matthews as power-hungry, as a murderer. But…
What are the signs of a heart attack? Was the Reverend clutching his chest when he fell? Had he been perspiring?
There hadn’t been a murder. There was no murderer. God had called his son home, I tell myself. I try to convince myself.
But Ms. Matthews had reached for the Reverend’s glass. Reached for but not drunk from it. Why? Why had she told everyone that the Reverend was alive when he was dead? Why was she hiding the body? Why!
Because she murdered the Reverend. There’s no other explanation.
“I’m the only one standing in the way of Ms. Matthews taking over the church.” I gulp. “What if she tries to kill again—the Blues, the organist or me? It’s up to me to stop her. Is the Reverend dead? I have to learn the truth before it’s too late. And there’s only one way to do that. I have to get into the manse.”
“Oh, Helen, leave it be.” That’s easy for him to say. He isn’t responsible for solving this mystery. That’s my cross to bear.
***
On Friday, my oldest son, Jeff, and his family join us for supper. I’m pleased to see them but prepare for my daughter-in-law’s nagging.
Oh, no, we can’t have that. Does that have water in it? We can’t have water. It contains gluten. She’s so silly. No one has died at my dining room table yet.
Marne hands me a plastic container. “Almond cookies for dessert. No eggs, no flour, no gluten.”
Are they made of cardboard? Have eggs joined sugar, meat, and gluten on her list of killers?
Cookies littering crumbs, my granddaughters scamper off to the playroom. My fifteen-year-old grandson Conner teeters back on his chair eyes glued to a fist-sized black box.
Conservation lulls, Arthur fills the silence with, “Granny’s had an interesting week.”
“Oh, really?” Jeff is quick—as always—to pick up his father’s lead. “What’s happened, Mom?”
Arthur begins to tell them, “The Rev—.”
I jump in with the magic word. “Yes, the church.”
And it works its magic. Jeff says, “You’re not the only one who’s living an action-packed life.” He nods at his son.
“He’s just mixing with the wrong crowd.” Marne speaks over Jeff. She can be so rude.
“Breaking and entering.” Jeff squeezes the words in.
“I can’t believe my grandson broke into a house.” I put the proper amount of dismay in my voice but can’t help thinking how helpful Conner’s new skill could be.
“Oh, you better believe it. Thankfully Officer Boyd let him off with a warning.” Jeff adds, “I told Conner he was lucky he was being raised by us and not you guys.”
I can’t recall being especially hard on him and he wasn’t an angel—mysterious dents in the car, cut classes, and more. But I don’t remind him of his tainted past.
Marne follows the men into the living room, leaving me behind with a table full of dirty dishes.
Conner brings the chair’s legs back to the floor and stuffs his black box into his pocket. “Granny, I can dry the dishes.” He has always been Granny’s little kitchen helper. He finds a tea towel. “You know, Granny, we didn’t really do anything wrong. It was this big summerhouse. Nobody ever goes there. We just wanted to see inside. That’s all.”
“We?”
“Paisley and me.”
“Paisley?”
“Just someone I hang around with, sometimes," he's quick to tell me. "Boyd showed up before we could even get inside. He caught me hanging from a window ledge like some kinda monkey.”
We share a laugh.
I see him sliding open a window and slipping into the manse. It’ll be so easy, for him. Just in and out, just like that. It’ll be fun, for him. Something for us to do together. I’ll keep watch and he’ll peep in at Reverend Paulson. Simple. Afterwards, I could take him to the bakery for a treat. “I guess you learned your lesson.”
“Yes, Granny,” he says in a sing-song voice.
“Just to say, you’ve learned from your first try. You’ll be more successful next time.”
“Huh?” He just stands there, tea towel in hand, staring at me.
“Granny is just joking,” Arthur says walking into the kitchen. “Right, Granny?”
I force a laugh. “Oh, yes, of course.” And kiss that plan goodbye.
Are you following me?
