Four Reasons to Die Read online

  Four Reasons to Die

  A Pastor Matt Hayden Mystyer

  K.P. Gresham

  K.P. Gresham

  Copyright, 2021

  All Rights Reserved

  * * *

  Four Reasons to Die

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. The Governor’s Mansion

  2. The Inauguration

  3. A Good Ol’ Texas Barbecue

  4. Stayin’ Put in Austin

  5. Officially Missing

  6. Lambert Speaks His Mind

  7. After Hours

  8. The Tale of Two Breakfasts

  9. Lieutenant Gage

  10. Just the Facts, Ma’am

  11. It Smells Like Manure

  12. Mrs. Duff Arrives

  13. The Reverend David Duff

  14. Shelly Duff

  15. Hester Honeywell

  16. The Evidence Box

  17. Angie Arrives

  18. The Rumble in the Jungle

  19. Eating Crow

  20. Bishop Hamlin

  21. An Understanding Reached

  22. The Chase

  23. The Oak and Horn

  24. Fire!

  25. Plan B. Very Plan B

  26. The Hanging Man

  27. Gage Takes Charge

  28. Dessertus Interruptus

  29. Disaster Strikes

  30. The ICU

  31. A Corner Is Turned

  32. The Missing PowerPoint

  33. The Sign of Four

  34. Senator William J. Womack

  35. The Crime Board

  36. He’s No John Wayne

  37. The Wives Have Claws

  38. A Bishop’s Confession

  39. He Parked Where?

  40. Follow That Car!

  41. Mum Has Her Say

  42. Chief Aguilar

  43. You Shouldn’t’ve Done That

  44. Danny Lee Ashe

  45. Huntin’ for the Homestead

  46. The Rittenhouse Roadside Filling Station

  47. Finally

  48. Four Reasons to Die

  49. The Senator’s Son

  50. So Sayeth the Father

  About the Author

  Also by K.P. Gresham

  1

  The Governor’s Mansion

  The Governor’s Mansion

  Matt Hayden stood on the second-floor balcony of the Texas Governor’s Mansion, taking in the sunny day and the crowds beginning to gather beyond the gates. Leaning on the white wood railing to take the weight off his weak leg, he could barely make out the pink granite dome of the Texas Capitol peeking through the oak trees. A breeze rustled his light brown hair, and he tugged at the unfamiliar collar around his neck. He hadn’t worn it for months, but today’s events warranted his pastoral formal attire.

  “A beautiful day for an inauguration, don’t you think?” he asked the man standing beside him.

  “For now. Rain’s on its way,” came the doomsday reply.

  Matt suppressed an impatient grimace. Pastor Lambert, visually unremarkable with mousy brown hair, heavy-lidded eyes and a down-turned nose, looked as depressing as his attitude.

  “Not ’til sundown,” Matt offered, hoping to lighten the man’s dreary mood. “All the outdoor festivities’ll be over by then.”

  Lambert shrugged, refusing to be roused from his sad-sack demeanor. It crossed Matt’s mind that perhaps the man was not a supporter of the soon-to-be-sworn-in governor.

  Yes, Matt felt a surge of pride. His best friend’s son, Jimmy Novak, was about to become governor of the great state of Texas.

  The door behind Matt opened and Jimmy’s Chief of Staff, Jamal Keegan, hurried over to Lambert. “Pastor, we have to leave for the Capitol soon, and there’s still no sign of your boss.”

  That didn’t sound good, Matt thought. Lambert was the assistant to Reverend David Duff, the pastor of a large San Antonio church. Reverend Duff was to pronounce the benediction at the end of the swearing–in ceremony.

  Lambert sniffed. “Reverend Duff prefers solitary prayer before speaking publicly.”

  Jamal’s brow furrowed. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give him a call. In case he’s lost track of time.”

  “As you wish.” Lambert sighed as if he’d been asked to handwrite the Book of Genesis. “Excuse me.” He pulled out his cell phone and walked to the end of the balcony.

  Jamal growled in frustration, and Matt tried his earlier observation to lighten the mood. “It’s a beautiful day for an inauguration, don’t you think?”

  Jamal’s smile flashed. “You never know what you’re gonna get for weather in January. I think the good Lord’s happy we’re inauguratin’ Jimmy.” He looked up at the sky. “Sunny. A little breeze. Might have some rain tonight, but that’s nothin’.”

  “Don’t say that to Elsbeth,” Matt said, referring to Jimmy’s mother. “She’ll have a conniption if one hair on her head gets wet.”

  “With all the hairspray she uses, the water’ll roll right off.”

  The two shared a grin. Elsbeth Novak, Jimmy’s mother, was a bulldozer in heels. Now, with Jimmy still an unmarried man, the duties of First Lady of Texas fell to her. Matt wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry or spend the next four years in prayer for the great state’s survival.

  Lambert walked back to join them. “He didn’t answer.”

  Jamal breathed deeply. “Perhaps you could go and look for him?”

  “Me?” Lambert looked surprised. “I’ve just walked all the way over from the prayer breakfast.”

  “Maybe he’s still at Ms. Honeywell’s?” Jamal suggested.

  Matt looked up sharply. “Hester Honeywell?”

  Lambert slanted a slight frown at Matt. “You know her?”

  “I’ve met her.” And the lady had made quite an impression. Though well into her seventies, she had a knack for quick observation and a sharp wit. A mover and shaker in the state’s upper political echelon, she’d been a valuable supporter of Jimmy’s gubernatorial campaign.

  Lambert sniffed. “She invited Reverend Duff and me to stay at her home last night. Unfortunately, hotel rooms were hard to come by.”

  Lambert’s tone was stiff with disapproval, Matt noted. Probably because of Ms. Honeywell’s ownership of the Midnight Cowgirl several decades back. Well, the bikini-clad barrel racers had drawn a crowd.

  “You were at the prayer breakfast, but the Reverend…?” Jamal let the question hang.

  “He went to St. Gregory’s Episcopal for some quiet meditation,” Lambert supplied.

  Jamal’s clap on Lambert’s back was none too gentle. “Then I guess you know where to start looking.”

  The three men walked back into the mansion, around the boxes that held the exiting governor’s possessions and down the grand staircase. Matt took the steps slowly, having forgone his cane for the day. By the time he reached the bottom, Jamal had pointed Lambert toward the service door behind the stairs.

  “You doin’ all right, Preacher?” Jamal asked.

  “Physical therapist said no cane was okay.” Matt wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “But perhaps it wasn’t the best choice for today.”

  “We’ll sit you down in the library.” Jamal motioned down the mansion’s main hallway.

  When Matt entered the high-ceilinged room, his face brightened. “James W.,” he said to the tall, chunky man standing at the window. “How’s the proud father?”

  Sheriff James W. Novak turned. “Ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels.” Matt noted the soon-to-be-governor’s father was wearing his black funeral suit—the only formal clothing he’d allowed Elsbeth to purchase for him. James W. preferred wearing his khaki Wilks County Sheriff’s uniform when he was out i
n public. He crossed the room in four strides, shook Matt’s hand and then peered more closely at Matt’s face. “You lookin’ a little peaked there, Preacher. Best have a sit.” He motioned to the pair of pink-and-green upholstered chairs flanking the library’s white fireplace.

  Matt pursed his lips. “Those look pretty fancy.”

  “Everything in this place looks pretty fancy.” James W. grinned. “But it’s gonna be Jimmy’s fancy for the next four years.”

  Matt sat down gingerly, grateful for the respite. “Where is the soon-to-be governor?”

  “Over at the Capitol having a transition meeting with Governor Huff. Official handoff, I guess.”

  Matt nodded. The soon-to-be-former Governor Huff had taken Jimmy under his wing years ago and mentored him through the hairpin turns of Texas politics. Jimmy was his chosen successor.

  A familiar woman’s bellowing voice in the hallway broke into his thoughts. “The grand stairway is original to the home’s 1855 construction.” Elsbeth, the Novak family matriarch, was giving a tour of the Governor’s Mansion. “Note the marks on the banister? Those were caused by nails that Governor James Hogg pounded in to keep his children from sliding down.” A murmur of chuckles followed.

  Matt couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like she’s lived here all of her life,” he said, his voice low.

  James W.’s nod was one of pride. “She’s as happy as a hog in mud.”

  Matt, a native Floridian, sometimes found James W.’s repertoire of Texanisms confusing, but that’s how his friend expressed his thoughts. In this case, James W. was not calling his wife a pig, but simply saying she was in her element.

  James W. sat down in the low back couch nearest Matt and surveyed the library. “Haven’t been here since I was a kid.”

  “A school trip?” Matt asked.

  “Naw,” James W. said, stretching his legs. “My daddy was a mover and a shaker in Texas politics. We came here for special occasions back in the day.”

  “That’s right,” Matt nodded, remembering. “Cash Novak.”

  “Probably one reason Jimmy went so high, so fast,” James W. admitted. “The Novak name goes pretty far in some circles.”

  Elsbeth, cinched into a barn red suit and matching pumps, appeared in the archway. “And here we have the library—” Elsbeth shot James W. a glare. “Centered in the room is the Pease American Empire sofa gifted by the mansion’s first residents, Governor Pease and his wife, Lucadia.”

  James W. jumped to his feet, looking like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “And the mantel”—now her frown focused on Matt—“is flanked by a pair of bergère gentleman’s armchairs acquired by First Lady Joe Betsy Allred.”

  Matt felt the heat rise in his face, and he pulled himself as fast as he could out of the chair.

  James W. took him by the elbow to steady him. “They’re serving Tex-Mex in the conservatory,” he whispered.

  The two headed out of the room and down the hall. Winded, Matt paused at the entrance to the state dining room to catch his breath. An oval mahogany dining table took up most of the room, a six-branch brass chandelier overhead. “I’ll bet every item in this room has a story,” he said. He kept his voice low, as two men were deep in conversation by the nearby sideboard.

  “And if you give her a chance, Elsbeth’ll tell you every one of ’em,” James W. whispered. “She’s spent the last two months studying everything she could lay her hands on about this place.”

  The two men—one white-haired, Santa-Claus-round and wearing a banded clergy shirt and the other broad-shouldered, square-jawed and immaculately groomed—apparently were so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t realize they were no longer alone.

  “You have to be at the Board of Director’s meeting.” The rotund clergyman sounded adamant. “That weaponry course of study is vital, but the Bambi lovers are puttin’ up a stink.”

  The square-jawed man shook his head. “Gotta be in D.C. for a Senate vote—” He stopped talking when he saw Matt and James W. standing in the doorway. “Can I help you?”

  “Just takin’ a gander,” James W. answered, backing out of the dining room.

  Matt followed him down the hall to the conservatory, which had once been the mansion’s back porch. The wide expanse of windows made the more informal room light and airy. A buffet table overflowing with food spanned the wall across from the windows.

  James W., his eyes wide with delight, headed straight for it. “C’mon, boy,” he said. “Let’s get some grub.”

  Matt got in line behind his friend.

  “Pastor Hayden. It’s so good to see you.”

  Matt turned to find the elegant Hester Honeywell standing behind him. Shoulder-length silver hair was pushed back stylishly behind her ears, allowing her well-defined cheekbones and chin to take center stage. She was exquisite. “Ms. Honeywell. This is a pleasure.”

  “I’ve been following your recovery through Jimmy.”

  A line started to form behind them, so Matt picked up a plate.

  “First the bullet you took in the head last August, and then the stroke at Thanksgiving?” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Thank you.” Not wanting to discuss the details of his recovery—or lack thereof—he turned back to the table. “Quite a spread, don’t you think?”

  “Fonda San Miguel is catering.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Best Mexican brunch in Texas.”

  His brows rose in mock horror. “Them’s fightin’ words, Ms. Honeywell. You best be careful.”

  “Careful about what?” The Santa-sized clergyman from the dining room now stood in line behind Hester, his eyes steeled with animosity.

  Hester’s azure-blue eyes narrowed. “Hello, Robert.”

  The man reached a chubby hand toward Matt. “Reverend Robert Meade,” he said, eyeing Matt’s clerical collar. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Matt Hayden.” Matt shook the man’s hand.

  “And where’s your church?” Robert Meade’s question sounded more like a challenge than a polite inquiry.

  Hester interceded. “Matt’s the pastor at Jimmy’s home church in Wilks.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, Matt thought. He hadn’t been able to resume his pastoral duties at Grace Lutheran since being shot. Considering the tension between these two, however, he decided not to correct her.

  “Quite a spread here,” Matt said instead. He turned to fill his plate but was interrupted once more, this time by Jamal.

  “Sorry to bother you, Pastor Hayden,” he said, out of breath. “But we can’t find Reverend Duff. And it’s time for the inaugural speakers to head to the Capitol.”

  Matt stepped back so Hester could get her food. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “We need someone to give the inaugural benediction.”

  Matt almost laughed. “There’s plenty of other pastors here you can ask.” He nodded toward Reverend Meade, who was obviously listening in on the conversation. “Ask him.”

  “Can’t,” Jamal said. “He’s giving the invocation.”

  “I don’t have anything prepared,” Matt protested. “Weren’t there a bunch of preachers at the prayer breakfast earlier?”

  Jamal huffed in frustration. “You don’t understand how political these things can get. The speakers, even the clergy, have to be vetted. Political views. Background checks. You can’t ask just anyone.”

  Matt lifted his chin. “You’re asking me.”

  “Because you’re his home pastor.” Jason spread his hands. “Nobody could object to that.”

  Matt felt his head begin to whirl. This was exactly the type of commotion his doctor had said to avoid. “How about Pastor Lambert?” he suggested. “The man you sent looking for Reverend Duff.”

  Meade sniffed. “He doesn’t preach. He’s a bean counter. ‘Administrative Pastor’ I believe is the term.”

  The man was officious, to say the least. “
I didn’t catch what church you’re with, Reverend Meade,” Matt said.

  Meade’s eyes widened, as if insulted that Matt didn’t already know. “The Christian House of Love here in Austin.”

  Jamal cleared his throat. “He and Reverend Duff lead the two largest nondenominational churches in Texas.”

  “Nonetheless, I’m sure you can put together a prayer better than anything Duff would come up with.” Meade narrowed his gaze at Matt. “You’re not afraid to speak to the Lord, are you?”

  “I speak to the Lord all the time,” Matt answered evenly. “Thankfully, he’s pretty forgiving when I don’t say things right.”

  The two men’s eyes met. Assessing. Deciding.

  Meade spoke. “It doesn’t need to be long. A few Scripture-inspired blessings.” Meade’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re familiar with the Scriptures, of course.”

  “I am,” Matt replied.

  “Great,” Jamal said. “Let’s find a quiet space where you can write something up.”

  Reluctantly, Matt allowed himself to be led from the room.

  “God go with you,” Meade called after him.

  Matt looked heavenward. “I hope so.”

  2

  The Inauguration

  Matt stood in the Capitol’s rotunda, anxiously looking at his watch. Color Guard members, inaugural officiants and reporters swarmed around him. So much confusion. His vertigo switched into high gear as he searched for a quiet place to review his hastily written benediction. None presented itself.