Four Reasons to Die Page 3

  Matt kept a smile on his face, trying to find the words to decline the offer. His doctor would be very unhappy if Matt took a drink of alcohol.

  Apparently, Hester saw his hesitation. “No tab, Pastor. The head table’s beers are on me. Shiner Bock was my sponsor when I was on the rodeo circuit, and I like to see folks have a good time.”

  Matt heard bottle tops popping behind him, and a beer appeared in front of him. Hester clinked her bottle to his. “Let the show begin.” Knowing he shouldn’t but not wanting to insult the elegant lady either, he took a swallow of the cold brew.

  Doggone, that tasted good.

  An elderly man moved up to a microphone at the side of the table and raised his hands to quiet the crowd.

  “Who’s that?” Matt whispered to Hester.

  “The chaplain for the Texas Congress.”

  Matt bowed his head as the man said grace, all the while wondering why Jamal hadn’t asked this chaplain to step in and give the inaugural benediction for the AWOL pastor. Which reminded him. Was there any news about the missing Duff?

  The celebration began. Platters filled with briskets and sausages and chicken appeared from the chuckwagons circling the gathering. Gallons of potato salad and coleslaw arrived like magic on the red-checkered tablecloths. Rivers of barbecue sauce flowed, sopped up by a couple of thousand loaves of plain white bread. Hoots and hollers and George Strait and laughter echoed off the surrounding business towers. The smell of onions and garlic and hot sauce mingled with the macabre sight of sauce-lined lips, orange-stained shirts and greasy licked fingers.

  And true to Hester’s word, everyone was served in less than forty-five minutes.

  Matt wiped away the last bit of sauce from his chin, sated with some of the best barbecue he’d ever had. When he put down his napkin, he realized Hester was staring at him expectantly. Grinning, he inclined his head. “I stand corrected. That Eddie Deen fella pulled it off.”

  Hester nodded her approval. “I always appreciate a man who can admit when he’s wrong.”

  Matt felt a motion at his side and looked up to see Jamal leaning over James W.’s shoulder.

  “Time for your interview with the Dallas Daily News.” Jamal slapped a large hand on James W.’s shoulder. “Ready for your close-up, Sheriff Novak?”

  James W.’s scowl was good-natured. “Not particularly.”

  Hester winked. “You’ll get used to it, James W.”

  “Elsbeth would be better at this than me.” James W. shoved out of his chair.

  Jamal paled. “Yeah. Not so much.”

  The two men walked away, and Hester gestured to the waiter for another round.

  “Not for me,” Matt said. “One’s enough.” Then, maybe because he’d had a beer, he summoned the courage to ask her the question that had been on his mind since sitting down at the table. “I’m honored, but a little surprised you asked Jamal to seat us together. Why?”

  “You made quite an impression on me last year. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is thoughtfully apolitical.” She sipped her beer. “I loved your answer when we asked if you were Republican or Democrat.”

  “I don’t recall—”

  Hester nodded. “’I do. You said that ‘Republicans get babies born, and Democrats get babies fed.’ Or something like that.”

  Matt didn’t remember the conversation exactly, but that sounded like something he would say.

  “Plus, Jimmy’s been singing your praises. Says you saved him a couple of times when folks tried to pin him down about evolution versus the Bible.”

  Matt remembered the talks he’d had with Jimmy. “I’m only saying that God can create anything any way he wants.”

  Hester patted his hand. “And that’s why I wanted to sit with you. You’re an interesting man, Pastor Hayden.”

  “Not everyone agrees with you.” Matt cast an eye down the table at Reverend Meade. He looked to be in deep conversation with the strong-jawed, strong-shouldered man he’d been talking with in the State Dining Room back at the mansion.

  Hester followed his gaze. “You’re talking about Meade.”

  “Apparently, he didn’t like my benediction much.”

  “Take it as a compliment,” she said. “Besides, I can assure you he would’ve disliked Reverend Duff’s prayer even more. David Duff is”—her blue eyes twinkled—“shall we say, less circumspect than you are.”

  The mention of the missing pastor focused Matt back on the man’s mysterious disappearance. He decided to leave the table in hopes of finding James W. If anyone would know if Reverend Duff had surfaced, it would be him. Besides, Matt didn’t want to talk politics or hear another word about Reverend Meade. “This has been fun,” he said, rising. “Thanks for the Shiner, Ms. Honeywell.”

  “Any time, Pastor Hayden.”

  He stood for a moment, surprised by the slight tilt of the world. He’d only had one beer, for Pete’s sake.

  Finding his balance, he headed up the sidewalk and into the Capitol. James W. was probably up at the governor’s office. He headed across the crowded rotunda to the elevators. As he waited for the doors to open, he felt a poke and heard a flash go off behind him. He turned to find four reporters, their cell phones thrust toward him. What in the world?

  “Pastor Hayden,” a tall man said. “What was your agenda when you wrote today’s benediction?”

  A red-haired woman jammed her cell phone closer. “Word is that some in the clergy consider your views a call to socialism.”

  Matt felt like he’d been gut-punched and fought hard to keep his breath even.

  A cameraman stood beside a man in heavy makeup. Matt could feel the lens zoom in on him as a microphone was thrust into his face. “You used the term, ‘stand in solidarity with the poor.’ Does that mean you intend to counsel Governor Novak that he should raise taxes?”

  His head began to reel, and it felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. The doctor had warned Matt that the worst thing he could do was get upset. Sweating now, Matt looked beyond the reporters to see if James W. or Jamal or someone was around who could save him.

  Then he spied Reverend Robert Meade against a far wall, standing with the square-jawed, broad-shouldered man. Meade’s arms were crossed over his chest, a malevolent smile on his face.

  To Matt, it was the smile of Satan.

  The world tilted wildly. Matt hadn’t realized he was leaning against the elevator doors to steady himself until they suddenly opened behind him.

  Oh, no.

  He was already far down the dark tunnel to unconsciousness when his shoulder hit the floor.

  4

  Stayin’ Put in Austin

  Matt woke to the sensation of a blood pressure cuff tightening around his arm. Next, he heard the blip, blip, blip of a heart monitor above and behind his head. He was semi-reclined in a bed, covered in sheets that were somewhat stiff.

  Aw, heck, he thought. He was back in a hospital.

  He remembered flashes of consciousness. A quiet argument taking place between James W. and Elsbeth. Being hoisted into an ambulance. The prick of needles in his arms.

  The blood pressure cuff let out a gasp and relaxed its grip. He opened his eyes to find himself not in an actual hospital room, but in a glassed-in exam chamber. The nursing station beyond was bustling with staff and…

  Oh, cripes. Dr. Ryan was staring straight at him from behind the desk.

  She came around the counter, pushed a strand of dirty-blond hair around her ear and headed straight for him.

  “Pastor Hayden,” she said after she closed the door behind her. “You ignored my orders. I have half a mind to hand you your walking papers. You ignored my orders.”

  Matt knew she didn’t mean it, but he also knew she was seriously upset with him.

  “Did I not say don’t let yourself get excited?” She settled her fists at her waist. “Did I not say you were not to over-exert yourself? Did I not say to avoid situations that would increase your blood pressure—”
r />   “I know,” he said. “But I didn’t have a choice.”

  “I told you,” she barreled on, “excitement boosts the flow of adrenaline. This allows the amygdala to send signals to the frontal lobe of the brain, which increases heart and blood pressure and…”

  Matt felt like a schoolboy being chastised by the principal.

  She held up his chart. “Then I got the blood work back.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been drinking.”

  He quelled under her fit-to-be-tied gaze. “I didn’t want to insult—”

  She held up a hand to stop his explanation. “We’ll talk of this later when we’re both calmer.” She pulled up a stool. “The only reason I haven’t admitted you is that the EMTs treated you with a clot buster on scene, and your vitals have been within range since you got here.”

  “You’re not admitting me? I can go home?”

  “Yes and no. I’m not admitting you, but I’m not letting you get in a car for an hour to ride back to Wilks, either.” She folded her arms and glared at him sternly. “Not for at least a few days. You and I both know a small-town clinic is no place for you if another one of these episodes happens.”

  Matt did understand, but he didn’t know where he could stay in Austin. “I’m not sure I can bunk with James W. The Governor’s Mansion is—”

  She shook her head. “James W. arranged for you to stay at Hester Honeywell’s home. Her place is only a few blocks from the mansion, plus she has plenty of spare rooms and a staff that can keep their eyes on you.”

  “Hester Honeywell?”

  “I want you to rest. The Governor’s Mansion is no place for you right now. James W. agreed, and you’re going to Ms. Honeywell’s.” She stood. “I’m putting together your orders and prescriptions. I’ll observe you for a few more hours here, then let Ms. Honeywell know she can have her driver come and pick you up.”

  She shook her head at him one more time, then headed for the door.

  “Dr. Ryan?” he called.

  She turned.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Your lips to God’s ears, Pastor Hayden.” She flashed a rueful smile, then left.

  Two hours later, Matt was loaded into a spotless, shiny, totally loaded black Suburban and driven away by a short, bald twenty-something with biceps the size of melons.

  “Thanks for your trouble,” Matt said from the back seat. He would’ve preferred sitting next to the driver, but the man had insisted it would be easier for Matt to get in and out of the back seat.

  Matt turned his attention to Austin’s descent into night. They passed the Capitol; the tables and chuckwagons and people were mostly gone. Neon signs lit up bars and restaurants, competing music pouring out onto the streets. The still-exuberant crowds swarmed down the sidewalks, debating where to start their night of carousing.

  “Do you work for Ms. Honeywell full time?” Matt asked the driver.

  The man, his face as clean-shaven as his scalp, looked at Matt in the rearview mirror. “I’m a grad student at UT. I help her out around the house, and she gives me free board in exchange.”

  “Smart,” Matt commented. “What are you studying?”

  “Law,” he answered. “How about you, Pastor? Where’s your church?”

  Technically, Matt was still on medical leave and didn’t have a church, but he gave the easy answer. “Wilks, Texas. A small town about an hour southeast of here. My name’s Matt, by the way.”

  “I’m Connor. Connor Evans.”

  “Good to meet you,” Matt said. “I appreciate the ride.”

  Connor’s head bobbed. “You need anything while you’re at the house, need to go somewhere, let me know.”

  They passed the Governor’s Mansion, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. Matt figured everyone inside was gearing up for the inaugural balls later. Three in all, James W. had said. The Governor’s Ball, the Republicans for Texas Ball and the UT Alumni Ball. Elsbeth had been delighted, trying on at least forty dresses in anticipation of the evening. James W. fussed that he had to wear a tuxedo.

  Four blocks and a few turns later, Connor pulled up in front of a moss green Victorian mansion. A cream-colored porch stretched the width of the house’s front, rounded a circular tower, and came to a stop halfway down the south wall. A steep roof featured three front-facing gables, their detailed millwork in pristine condition.

  “Well, heck. I told him to park behind the garage,” Connor said as he drew up behind a blue car.

  “Excuse me?” Matt asked.

  “Pastor Lambert. We must park the cars in the garage at night. Downtown neighborhood and all.” Connor hopped out to help Matt descend from the tall Suburban

  then guided him up the sidewalk to the house.

  “Quite a place,” Matt said, a little out of breath.

  “Wait ’til you see the inside.” Connor’s strong arm went around Matt’s waist as they approached the stairs. “We’ll get you settled in the parlor and let you rest a bit.”

  Connor opened the leaded glass front door, then ushered Matt through the foyer into a high-ceilinged yet cozy parlor. The walls were Wedgwood blue with polished oak crown molding and window casings. At the parlor’s far end stood a stone fireplace, its heavy wood mantel supported by short, masculine corbels. Two upholstered Queen Anne chairs bookended the hearth. The room reminded Matt of a Victorian-era gentleman’s smoking room.

  Connor settled Matt on the embroidered blue settee. “I’ve got one more errand to run for Hester. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Is Miss Honeywell home?” Matt asked.

  “She’s upstairs changing for the Governor’s Ball.” Connor pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll let her know you’re here.” He finished the text, then headed out the front door.

  Matt barely had a chance to lean back into the couch’s soft padding when he heard heavy footsteps rushing down a stairway beyond the parlor’s archway. A giant of a man, at least six-foot-six, with a stomach heading toward paunch and oil-slicked, ash brown hair, came barreling around the corner.

  “Pastor Hayden, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.” The man closed in, then bent, putting his hands on his knees so that he could study Matt’s face. “Hmm, yes. You look like you could use some refreshment. Would you care for a brandy?”

  Matt shook his head. After the scolding he got from Dr. Ryan earlier, liquor was the last thing he wanted. “Water, please.”

  “Of course.” The tall man straightened and headed for the archway, then turned. “I’m Lyle, by the way.”

  Matt heard a door open above him. “Lyle!” Hester Honeywell’s voice called down the stairs. “I need you to zip me up.”

  “Be right there,” Lyle called back. “Make yourself to home, Pastor. Look around. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

  Matt stared at the archway, wondering exactly who Lyle was. An assistant, perhaps? The man had to weigh at least two hundred and seventy pounds, but he moved like a gazelle. That is, if a gazelle existed that wore a size fourteen shoe.

  The doorbell rang. Matt looked around to see if anyone was coming to answer it. When no one came, he stood and went to the door to see who was there.

  When he saw the familiar form of James W. on the other side of the leaded glass, he opened the door.

  James W.’s face immediately lit up. “Son, you’re a sight for sore eyes. How you feelin’?”

  “I’m doing a lot better.” Matt stepped aside to let James W. in. “Looks like I’m going to be in town for a few days. I have a follow-up appointment with Dr. Ryan tomorrow morning at nine.” He led the way into the parlor.

  “Matt, I’m sorry as can be that I made you stay on for the barbecue. I wanted to share the moment, that’s all.” James W. plopped a bag and cane on the floor as he sat down in the large wingback.

  Matt returned to the settee. “No need to apologize. I’m a big boy. I should’ve insisted.”

  “And Jimmy feels lower than a gopher hole
for guiltin’ you into saying that prayer.”

  “Jamal’s the one who asked me.”

  “Cuz Jimmy told him to.” James W. looked around at the intricate woodwork, the leaded glass windows and the antique furniture, then let out a low whistle. “Makes the Governor’s Mansion look like a mashed potato sandwich.” He got a glint in his eye. “Let’s look around.”

  Matt shrugged. Lyle had said it was okay to make himself at home. “I’m in.”

  James W. eyed him carefully as he stood up. “You’re looking a whole lot steadier on your feet. You doin’ okay, then?”

  “Dr. Ryan wouldn’t’ve let me out if I wasn’t doin’ okay.” Matt’s lips quirked in a smile. “And to make sure, she’s got me coming in every day this week. I won’t be going back to Wilks until at least Friday. Earliest.”

  “Oh!” James W. picked up the bag he’d carried into the house. “Here’s some clothes for you. I figured you were pretty much Jimmy’s size. And one of Jimmy’s aides got you some skivvies and toiletries. Hope that’s all right.”

  “Thanks.” Matt nodded. “Leave ’em there. I’m not sure which room I’m stayin’ in.”

  “And I grabbed this for you.” James W. held out the cane he’d brought. “Doctor’s orders.”

  Matt glared, but took it.

  The two men walked through the archway, into the spacious dining room. A glass cabinet on the far wall was filled with china serving dishes and delicately etched crystal. A bay window on the right allowed the last hints of sun to shine on the polished ten-seater dining room table. On the left wall, a wide staircase with a plush blue and silver Oriental runner begged for thick pine garlands with red berries to adorn its banister at Christmas.

  Matt heard a familiar droning voice coming from a doorway tucked behind the staircase. He peeked in and realized the door led to a study, where Pastor Lambert, the dismal aide to the missing Reverend David Duff, sat behind an ornate desk, talking on his cell.