Murder in the Second Pew Read online

  A shadow crossed her face and she looked up to see who her new customer was.

  It seemed only fitting that the man she hated most in this world was standing in front of her. “What the hell do you want?” Angie said to Zach Gibbons.

  Owen Seegler stood at Zach’s side. “I know you kicked him out the other night, Angie, but we just finished puttin’ the last coat of paint on the new bandstand and could sure use somethin’ cold to drink.”

  Angie glared. It probably was time to relent if she didn’t want Zach messing around with Dorothy Jo’s trailer. “He can be out back,” she said to Owen. “But I don’t want his filthy butt sittin’ on anything in here.”

  Nodding his appreciation, Owen shoved Zach toward the back porch. “Thanks, Angie.”

  “Yeah, well, Owen, you’re the only reason I’m lettin’ him in here,” she called after them. “You hear that, Gibbons?” With a jerk to the broom, Angie began sweeping up the shards of glass.

  ***

  Owen steered Zach to the immediate left corner of the porch where it backed up to the fence separating kitchen deliveries and restaurant seating. Placement was important. Their table needed to be secluded enough for a private conversation, and close enough to a porch edge for Owen to pour out most of the beer he’d be ordering for himself tonight. Thankfully, the cooling effects of the mister directly overhead coupled with the shade of the nearby oak made the table selection one with which Zach would not argue.

  Owen patted Zach on the back as they sat down on the white plastic furniture. “See, I told you she’d let you back in. No reason to drive all the way Dannerton to have a drink.”

  Zach Gibbons merely nodded, his mind on only one thing after a sweltering day of work. “Where’s my beer?”

  Owen looked around for someone to take their order, somewhat pleased with himself for how his plan had worked out.

  After a sleepless night, Owen had decided to talk with Zach about what had happened the night Melinda and Diane disappeared. Knowing he had to manage Zach just right, getting Zach drunk would be crucial to the process.

  When Owen arrived at the pavilion this morning, he’d been disappointed to find that Zach had again sent his son to do the day’s work. Without stopping the truck, Owen made a bee-line for Dannerton’s Pit Stop Bar. Sure enough, Zach was there. Owen coaxed Zach into coming to work. If they finished the pavilion today, they wouldn’t have to work on Friday. Nobody wanted to work on a Friday, right? With a promise of starting the weekend early and Owen paying the bar tab, Zach had downed the last of his morning beer and agreed to come to work.

  Zach had always been a sucker for a free beer.

  So, at the end of the workday, there they were. Chelsea came around the door and spotted the two at the table. “So, you’re back,” Chelsea said, coming up to take their order.

  Zach offered her his best leer. “Wearin’ more clothes, I see. Too bad.”

  “You wanna drink or write a fashion column in the paper?”

  “We’ll have two Fireman’s Four. Draft,” Owen ordered.

  “And two Fireballs,” Zach added.

  Owen knew this was going to be an expensive night, but he had to know what had happened with Melinda and Diane. Besides, he had a plan coming on about how he would get his finances back in order.

  “What have you done to your hair?” Zach asked Chelsea.

  “What I wanted,” Chelsea said cheekily and turned to go fill their order.

  Owen was sure no woman moved her hips like that naturally.

  She returned with their drinks, and Owen held the shot glass up to Zach in a toast. “Here’s to a damn good workin’ partnership.”

  Zach smiled like he’d won the lottery, then downed his shot. He reached for the beer and gave it a good chug. “Don’t be a stranger, little girl,” he said as Chelsea walked off.

  So began what Owen was sure was going to be a long, long night.

  ***

  Matt’s cell phone rang just as he approached the town of Sealy on I-10. “Pastor Hayden, here.”

  “Hi, Pastor.” It was Ann Fullenweider, the church secretary. “Sorry to bother you on your day off.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  “There’s a brush fire out east of town. They’ve been fightin’ it all day.”

  “Yeah, James W. said something about it when I talked with him this morning.”

  “The wind’s been pickin’ up some, feedin’ the fire pretty bad. Apparently, it turned about a half hour ago and the flames came back on the firefighters.”

  Matt was immediately concerned. “Anybody hurt?”

  “Yeah. Russ and Babe Vranek’s son, Jeff. He moved out of town a coupla years back, but he’s in the county’s volunteer fire department. I guess he’s been burned pretty bad.”

  “Where are Russ and Babe?”

  “That’s why I’m callin’ you. They’re not at home, so James W. sent Richard Dube to find them. Meanwhile, their son is bein’ life-flighted to Memorial Hermann’s burn unit in the Houston Medical Center.”

  Matt pulled off the road and searched in his glove compartment for pen and paper. “Give me the details. I’ll turn around right now.”

  ***

  By nine p.m. the trivia league was finished, though a few had stayed around to chat. For the most part, the Fire and Ice House clientele was down to the hard drinkers. Chelsea finally had a moment to go out back and have a smoke.

  It had been a long night. Every time she turned around, Angie was on her back. “This drink’s been sittin’ here for fifteen minutes.” It hadn’t. “You gonna bus that table or wait for the cockroaches to do it for you?” The customers were still walking out the door. “Make sure you’re puttin’ your tips in your jar, missy. I’ve gotta have the right count for taxes.” Thief.

  Frustrated, Chelsea tapped a cigarette out of its box and lit it. She didn’t care if Angie liked her or not. Chelsea was good at what she did, and the customers knew it. What chilled Chelsea’s butt was how ungrateful the newly returned owner was for all the business Chelsea had brought in.

  Laughter from the other side of the fence caught her attention, and she sat down on the empty keg closest to the wood. Zach Gibbons and Owen Seegler had been sitting directly on the other side the whole night, looking like they were the best of friends. She personally couldn’t figure how Owen could stand being in the same company as that pig Zach. Oh well, alcohol made for strange couplings.

  She overheard Owen talking.

  “Zach, the sheriff’s been over at the house askin’ about that night.”

  “What about it?”

  “I just wanted to make sure my story backed yours up, is all. I was pretty drunk.”

  Zach laughed. “You were talkin’ to the devil and dead men. When you passed out, you got a gravel rash.”

  “So you threw me in the back of the truck.”

  Chelsea was taking another puff on her cigarette when she noticed liquid streaming from beneath the fence. Lord. Tell me one of them is not taking a piss. Disgusted, she tossed her cigarette into the puddle and stood. She’d better check and see if those two were getting too drunk to stay.

  When she got to their table, Zach’s face was worn with alcohol, but unfortunately, he wasn’t causing any problems. Owen still looked pretty spry. Figuring the farmer must have simply spilt his beer at the fence line, she asked, “Another one?”

  Owen nodded. “For both of us.”

  “I can’t stack drinks. He’s not done with his.” She nodded toward Zach’s still-full glass.

  “Don’t you worry, little girl,” Zach said. “I’ll catch up.” He began a chug she didn’t like watching. Most of it spilled down his chin.

  She returned moments later with the Fireman’s Four, then went back to her break. She’d just lit up another cigarette when she noted a trickle of liquid escaping again under the fence. This time she studied the liquid a little more closely.

  It was fresh beer.

  This was getting
interesting. She sat back down on the empty keg and put an ear to the fence.

  Owen was talking. “You said Diane slipped gettin’ in the truck?”

  “Knocked her cold. I put her in the back with you in case you woke up. You could both have some fun.” Zach snickered.

  “So Melinda finally let you do her?”

  “Headed out of town, wasn’t she? Needed to know what she’d been missin’.” Zach paused, and Chelsea assumed he was drinking his beer. “But I didn’t tell the cops anything about that. I’m a…a…” He belched, then finished, “a gentleman.”

  “Course you are,” Owen agreed. “That don’t mean you can’t tell me the good stuff.”

  Zach laughed and lowered his voice.

  Chelsea edged closer to the fence to listen when Angie’s voice interrupted her snooping. “You smokin’ the whole pack? You got a table wantin’ their check.”

  Chelsea took a last puff on her half-finished cigarette and threw it at Angie’s feet as she passed by.

  She went to the table where what was left of tonight’s trivia players were finishing off their beers. “Separate checks?”

  Norm Krall held up his hand. He was a squatty-looking fellow, but he had more money than God, Chelsea knew. “I’ll take the check, little lady,” he said. “We won again tonight. Want to treat the team.”

  “Norm, you don’t have to do that.” This from Mandy Culver. Chelsea hoped Norm would win the argument. He was the best tipper in town.

  “I insist,” Norm said, and Chelsea smiled inwardly.

  “Then we’ll leave the tip,” Warren Yeck said, and immediately Chelsea’s hopes were dashed. She’d gone from the best tipper to the worst.

  She walked to the computer screen and worked up the bill, printed it and took it back to the table. Norm signaled for the check.

  “Hey, girlie!” Zach’s raspy voice called across the porch. “My friend’s drink here is dry!”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and smiled at Norm, then went to the bar and ordered up two more Fireman’s Fours.

  “That tab’s gettin’ mighty steep,” Angie said. “You ain’t overservin’ that sonuvabitch, are you?”

  Chelsea shrugged. “Owen still looks sober.”

  “It ain’t Owen I’m worried about. I don’t want any trouble here tonight.”

  Without responding, Chelsea picked up the drinks and took them to Zach and Owen’s table.

  “—any luggage?” Owen was asking.

  “Yeah. Each girl had a suitcase. One was red, the other blue. Don’t remember which one—”

  Owen shot out of his chair as if he’d sat on a tack. In the process, he bumped into Chelsea knocking the tray from her hands. The two beers doused Zach.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” Zach spit out, jumping to his feet as the cold beer spilled down his shirt and onto his pants. “You bitch!” he screamed and slapped her hard across the face, sending her crashing against the porch fence and onto the ground.

  Stunned, Chelsea sputtered, “You hit me!” She felt dizzy as she got up, and found she had to use the railing to steady herself.

  Meanwhile, Zach was having his own balance problems, swaying dramatically and grabbing the table to steady himself. Norm Krall was beside him in an instant, making sure Zach didn’t take another swing at anybody.

  Chelsea put her hand to her mouth and pulled it away. It was bloodied. “He hit me.” She was more stunned than hurt. She looked imploringly to Owen, but he stood there as white as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Angie’s voice was brittle with anger as she rounded the corner. Her face, if it was possible, was redder than Zach Gibbons’.

  “Owen stood up and I spilled—” Chelsea stammered.

  “The bitch did it on purpose!”

  Furious, Zach let out a few more obscenities and Norm tightened his hold. “Shut up, Gibbons.”

  “Her fault,” Zach muttered, his eyes glazing.

  Angie turned on Chelsea. “I told you I didn’t want any trouble tonight.”

  Chelsea couldn’t hold back the tears. “It wasn’t my fault! Owen! Tell her!”

  Owen looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  Zach chose that particular moment to pass out over the table.

  “I’ve had it with you, Chelsea. You’re—”

  “Miss O’Day,” a woman’s voice came from behind, and they turned to see Mandy Culver hurrying up to them. “I saw the whole thing. Owen did make her spill the drinks. It was an accident. And Zach hit her. Hard.”

  “I appreciate your tryin’ to be nice, church lady,” Angie allowed, “but I told her not to overserve them.”

  “I’ll drive Zach home,” Norm Krall offered. “Warren here will take Owen home. No need to fire the girl. She’s been through enough.”

  Angie looked at the two, completely flustered. Since when did church people stick up for bartenders?

  “Chelsea, stop your cryin’ now,” Mandy said, putting an arm around the girl. “Tell you what. Let’s all just call it a night. Chelsea, you come home with me and we can talk things over at my place. And Miss O’Day, you have a sleep on it tonight. Chelsea’s good at what she does here. Let’s not do anything rash.”

  “My shift’s not over,” Chelsea protested.

  “It sure as hell is,” Angie said.

  “Now, everybody, let’s calm down,” Norm Krall said. “What’s their bill, Angie?”

  “I’m payin’ for this tab.” This came from Owen Seegler. He stepped forward and pulled out his wallet. The look in his eye was one of hard steel, wiping the thought away from anyone’s mind that he was drunk. “Sorry for the trouble, Chelsea. I ran right into you.” He threw some bills down on the table. “I think Zach’ll need your offer to drive him home, though, Norm.” Without waiting for the change, Owen walked through the group and out of the bar.

  “He didn’t look overserved to me,” Norm said quietly.

  Chelsea could see Angie wavering, and then her boss gave her a stiff nod to go with Mandy Culver, saying, “I’ll talk with you in the mornin’.”

  Sniffling, Chelsea agreed, sending a grateful smile Mandy’s way.

  “You say he hit her?” Angie asked Norm Krall.

  “Nasty slap, right across the face. You could see her lip’s bleedin’.” He took hold of Zach’s shoulders to lift him off the table.

  “Never mind taking him home,” Angie said. “He’s gonna spend the night in jail. I’m callin’ James W.” She turned on her heel and stomped back into the bar.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Open Mouth, Insert Foot

  Matt spent most of Thursday evening in Houston’s Memorial Hermann Hospital emergency room lounge waiting for the parents of the injured firefighter to make the drive in from Wilks. The Vraneks finally arrived just before midnight, and he decided to stay until they heard an update on their son’s condition.

  When the doctors said they needed to go into surgery, Russ and Babe asked Matt to stay with them for the duration. Matt agreed.

  The surgery ended a little before noon. Jeff Vranek barely made it.

  Matt stayed with the Vraneks until their son was out of recovery, then finally headed back to I-10 to drive the two hours back to Wilks. The trip home was blessedly uneventful—except for the consternation he felt when he drove through Dannerton and saw that Owen’s truck was parked again at the Pit Stop.

  Three o’clock in the afternoon, and Owen was already drinking. Matt shook his head. This was dangerous territory for a pastor. Charge in and find out what was bothering Owen, and Matt would be the accuser. Let things play out without saying a word, and he would be the enabler.

  By the time he got back to Wilks, he realized that he not only was exhausted—the hospital waiting room had provided no opportunity for sleep—but he was hungry. When was the last time he’d eaten? Yesterday?

  Matt parked at the parsonage, but like a moth drawn to a flame, he found himself bypassing
the front door and taking the sidewalk around to Mason Street and Angie’s Fire and Ice House.

  ***

  Angie wiped down the bar. Again. She wasn’t sure why she bothered. No one had been there to dirty it since noon, when James W. had phoned and asked her to announce that he could use some help with fighting the fire.

  Even Bo had left. She could see in his eyes that it was important for him to participate in this community effort. He never had much cared for being thought of as “that murdering ex-con” as he’d heard again and again.

  Lord, she was tired. She’d been back four days now, and it seemed more like four years. More than once she’d almost nodded off. Since Fridays were Dorothy Jo’s day off, she didn’t have anyone to talk to. Chelsea came in at five thirty. Though there would probably be little business tonight, Angie wasn’t sure she wanted to trust the unguarded cash register to the little tramp.

  The front door squeaked open, and Angie’s day changed in an instant. Matt stood there, his preacher collar removed and his shirt open, his hair mussed. His face was lined with exhaustion.

  He was beautiful.

  “Well, Preacher, what brings you in? It’s not Happy Hour yet.”

  “I’m here for the chow, Angie.” He smiled. “And a beer.”

  Lord, when he looked at her like that she went downright squishy inside. “Why aren’t you fightin’ the fire?”

  “Is that where everyone is?” He looked around. “I thought the place looked a little slow for a Friday.”

  “James W. put out the word they needed extra hands for a brush fire up north. Fireman’s Four?”

  He nodded, then sat on a stool. His smile widened as Shadow, Angie’s dog, padded up to him from his spot by the kitchen entrance.

  “Shadow!” He flopped the big dog’s long ears. Shadow had the body of a German shepherd but the face of a bloodhound. That bloodhound instinct had come in handy last January when Angie’s mother disappeared.

  “James W. brought Shadow with him when he came by. Said he didn’t want me to be alone at the bar with everybody gone.”