Murder at the Courthouse Read online

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Murder at the Courthouse

  A Grace Pointe Cozy Mystery

  Meghan Carver

  Copyright © 2019 Meghan Carver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, resold, or reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is from Holy Bible: The New King James Version. 1982. Nashville: Thomas Nelson.

  All characters, names, places, and events in this book are fictional, created wholly in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to living people is purely coincidental.

  Visit the author’s website for new releases or to sign up for the reader newsletter: www.MeghanCarver.com.

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  Courtney Richards just wants the perfect Christmas for her family and friends. What’s wrong with that? Every decoration needs to be just right, every cookie made from scratch, and every part in the church Christmas drama performed perfectly. But when she argues with her husband over the cost of perfection and then her two energetic boys wreak havoc in her perfectly-ordered house, a long winter’s nap seems to be in order. When she wakes, she isn’t sure if she dreamed or if her imagination went into overdrive. Could it be that her desperate attempts at perfection aren’t what make her acceptable to God after all?

  Sprinkled with humor and truth, The Christmas Catastrophe is a quick read that will warm your heart and spirit this holiday season.

  Get a free copy of the novella

  The Christmas Catastrophe.

  www.MeghanCarver.com

  Dedication

  To my family ~

  I am undeserving of your love, grace, and encouragement.

  I thank God for you all everyday.

  Chapter One

  It was a dark and stormy night.

  MacKenzie Baker glanced back in at the gentle lamplight in her upstairs apartment, consisting simply of a couple rooms with a kitchenette nestled above her brother’s expansive garage, then stepped out onto the landing and into the lashing rain.

  The line from the Victorian melodramatic style of writing had become infamous, but it still popped into her mind on nights like this one. She hadn’t read the book, although she wanted to. As one of only a handful of librarians in the tiny library of Grace Pointe, Indiana, she felt it was her duty to be familiar with the more famous works of literature. She could read for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the rest of her life, though, and still not read all the books that had been written. It could bring a tear to her eye if she thought for too long about all the reading she could not fit into her day. But a patron of the library had mentioned that famous first line just a few days ago, and it seemed the cliché had been on repeat in her brain ever since.

  Well, it definitely applied this April night. Her brother’s house sat on the other side of the driveway from the garage and her apartment, inviting her with warmth and coziness, but there wasn’t time to stop in. She visually checked the interior of her apartment one more time. The oven was off, the cat dish sloshed with water, her curtains were closed, and the cheery yellow daffodils she had purchased at the grocery store just the other day waved their goodbye from the mason jar on her tiny kitchen table. She closed the door and raised her umbrella, summoning every bit of mental strength she could muster for her dash down the stairs.

  How much did she really have to attend the meeting? Was it worth the effort of running through the rain? Of course, she had to go. She was the church library ministry team leader. At least, she was the head of a group of people she was trying to pull together to create a church library. Whether they would actually form a team was yet to be determined. The church had a few bookshelves tucked away in a Sunday school room, but the librarian in her wanted the church to have a collection of books and materials that seemed a little more intentional—purposeful—and not so much like an afterthought.

  At the bottom of the stairs, MacKenzie skirted around the house and headed down the lane toward the church building, picking up her pace and fighting to control the umbrella against what felt like gale-force winds. She had toyed with the idea of driving, but the parsonage was so close to the church that it had seemed superfluous. What kind of pastor’s sister drove to a church that was nearly next door?

  Now, though? She let loose of the umbrella with one hand to smooth her hair and tug down her ponytail, but she quickly grasped the handle again to fight against a gust of wind. Just how much did she care about the appearance of her hair, anyway? Especially at age forty? It was an ongoing internal debate. The umbrella was, at least, keeping her from getting drenched, but there was still something about the moisture from all that rain that would seep through her protective gear and do wild things to her hair. She ran through a mental checklist of who she had invited to the meeting. No handsome single men, so she was probably okay.

  She jogged on the sidewalk toward the church, step after step splashing in puddles until her feet were soaked. Maybe she could bum a ride from her brother for the return home. He had mentioned something earlier about visiting a couple people around town before he stopped by the church that evening. That meant he would have a car in the parking lot, an acceptable scenario to the parishioners, as long as he had been in town on church business. A minute later, she hurried through the parking lot and toward the lights of the church. Under the drop-off canopy, she shook out her umbrella then stepped inside the double glass doors and into the cloakroom of Grace Pointe Community Church.

  Leaning her umbrella in a corner, she caught the sound of a door opening. Was it her brother’s? The pastor’s office sat very near the front door, and the squeak seemed familiar. Her brother had mentioned a couple weeks ago that the hinges needed some WD-40, but he must have forgotten. Short-term memory loss seemed to be an occupational hazard for a pastor with many parishioners who needed his shepherding. MacKenzie pulled out her phone, wiped off the screen with the hem of her shirt, and opened her email app to send herself a reminder to remind her brother.

  Before she could finish her message and hit Send, low voices reached her.

  “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Doug.”

  MacKenzie stood still as she recognized the voice of Judge Gregory Canter, a family friend to her brother and his wife and father to Ian Canter, basketball coach and college professor to her two nephews. Judge Canter’s wife had died a few years ago, according to her brother, and the Bakers had taken in both the Judge and his son as family. He now was talking to MacKenzie’s brother, Douglas Baker, but who was us?

  The sour odor of wet carpet tickled her nose, and she wiggled her nose back and forth to ward off a sneeze. Great. She had probably picked up a horde of germs from the heavily-used cloakroom and now she would catch
a cold.

  “I’m always available, Greg. No worries. I just hope our time together was helpful.” At the sound of her brother’s voice, MacKenzie pictured him as she had seen him countless times before—standing outside his office, a navy cardigan sporting brown suede elbow patches pulled over his white button-down shirt, his graying hair trimmed so short it didn’t want to keep a side part, his eyes crinkling with kindness. “We’ll get through this together, Antony.”

  Antony? Who was Antony? MacKenzie silenced her phone, hit Send on her email, and slid the phone back into her bag without a sound.

  “Thanks.” The one-syllable word emerged as more of a grunt. MacKenzie didn’t recognize the rough voice.

  “You’ve taken the first step.” It was her brother’s voice again. “You’re here, seeking counseling. Surely, your wife will appreciate that and not file the papers yet.”

  “I hope so. I’m a judge in a small town. I can’t have my family fall apart in front of the population.” It was the grouchy voice of the man called Antony again. “And this is all confidential?”

  “You would understand the pastor-parishioner privilege as much as I would, Judge.” A smile tinged the pastor’s voice. It would be just like her brother to attempt to lighten the mood at the end of a somber counseling session.

  “And what about my daughter? I don’t know how she turned out to be such a wild one.”

  “We’ll talk more about that next time, Judge Vail. For now, we pray.” From MacKenzie’s position in the cloakroom, it sounded as if her brother clapped the man on the back.

  “I’ll be praying as well, Antony.” Judge Canter’s voice sounded closer this time, as if the two had moved closer to the door.

  MacKenzie clutched her bag to her body and glanced at her watch again, her heartbeat picking up its tempo to a fervent thump. The meeting was supposed to start soon, but she didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping again. It was time to cover her tracks. Whatever was going on, they meant it to be a secret between the three men—her brother, her brother’s friend Judge Canter, and whoever this Judge Antony Vail was. Her foot had begun tapping, apparently on its own, and she quickly silenced it as she stepped toward the exterior door. Pulling firmly on the handle, she opened it half-way and then let it close again with a clang. She cleared her throat loudly, unable to think of any other noise to make to signal her arrival.

  Chapter Two

  Returning her bag to her shoulder and hitching it up nearly to her neck as she rounded the corner, keeping her eyes focused on the carpet, she came nearly nose-to-nose with the three men, all staring silently at her. She delayed making eye contact with her brother—he seemed to know all since he seemed to see all, and it had been that way since childhood—and glanced first at Judge Canter. His expression was friendly and open as he said hello and murmured a friendly question asking after her well-being.

  As she replied, she looked at the other judge, Antony Vail. He scowled slightly, just as she had imagined based on the grouchy tone in his voice. But from what she had overheard, it seemed that he was facing a difficult situation, and an ache of empathy welled up inside her at the thought of being estranged from family. Knowing Judge Canter and his friendly desire to be helpful, he had probably brought his colleague, the other judge, to see the pastor for help with his personal situation.

  Finally, she allowed her gaze to meet her brother’s. He pierced her with a look of concern, his lips tight. There was no harshness. There never had been in all their years as siblings, and gratitude welled up in her for that. But did he know she had been eavesdropping? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d caught her. He had often admonished her that she was too curious for her own good. She’d always had the impression that he wanted to use the word nosy but had kept it to himself.

  She felt a sheepish smile break out on her face, and she couldn’t keep from shrugging her shoulders at her brother. Could she help it if they had been talking in the vestibule just as she had entered the church? Whatever needed to be kept confidential should have been discussed behind closed doors. There, that was exactly it. It was their fault she had overheard. That was her story, and she would stick with it.

  The anxiety flashed away from her brother’s face, replaced by what she thought of as his official pastor’s expression. He stepped forward and pulled her into their group with a hand on her elbow, turning her toward the man she didn’t know. “Judge Vail, I’d like you to meet my sister MacKenzie Baker. MacKenzie, this is Judge Antony Vail.”

  Judge Vail seemed to look her up and down before saying, “It’s a pleasure.”

  As much as she respected his proper manners, MacKenzie stifled the urge to curtsey to the man’s stiff demeanor and simply said, “Good to meet you, Your Honor.”

  “I was here to seek the advice of your brother. He’s an astute man, and I hope you appreciate him properly.” Despite the wisdom of his words, the Judge’s gruff voice felt like sandpaper over her spirit.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, Antony,” her brother began, “you don’t have to say–”

  Judge Vail put out a hand to stop her brother while keeping his eyes on MacKenzie. “It’s fine, Doug. Young lady, I’m here because of a difficult family situation. Maybe I’ve had something to do with it. I don’t know. Probably. But I’m sure your brother will help me figure it out. Your parents seem to have done well with both of you. If only my daughter were pointed in the right direction like you seem to be.”

  Her brother put his hand on Judge Vail’s shoulder. “We’ll work through it together. There is always hope.”

  “Hope?” The judge chuckled, but it lacked mirth. “I’ve been on the bench for a decade now, and hope has always been quite elusive. Canter here seemed to think you were the man to talk to, but I have my doubts that anything will change.”

  The aroma of something delicious in a crock-pot wafted down the hall just as MacKenzie’s stomach rumbled. It smelled as if Mrs. Henderson had brought her famous meatballs. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, and she clutched her mid-section as if that would stop the embarrassing noise. Would now be a good time to make her getaway, or would she offend Judge Vail? She did have a meeting to run, and her brother’s initial expression seemed to indicate that her appearance had been intrusive.

  A slam of the door behind her prevented any further thought, and Kimberly Rainer, a newcomer to the church, emerged from the cloakroom clutching a bag of potato chips and a container of dip. MacKenzie tried not to let her shoulders show the relief of Kimberly’s appearance. Here was her out.

  “Welcome, Kimberly.” MacKenzie forced brightness into her voice. “You’re just in time… for the meeting.”

  “Hi, MacKenzie. Thanks for inviting–” She stopped short when she saw the three men. Her gaze lingered on Judge Vail, a white pallor flashing onto her face. The five stood in limbo for a moment, as if stuck in a time-space continuum, and then Kimberly murmured to MacKenzie, “I’ll see you in there.”

  Kimberly hurried down the hall and out of sight before MacKenzie could respond. MacKenzie quickly scanned the faces of the two judges, but neither showed a sign of any response to Kimberly. It seemed as if they didn’t even know her. Whatever that hiccup had been, MacKenzie pushed it to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on the church library.

  With a handshake and a “See you next time,” Pastor Baker ushered the two judges out the door. With her brother turned away, MacKenzie hitched her bag further on her shoulder and stepped quietly toward the appealing aromas down the hall, but her brother called her name before she could get too far away. She rotated back to him as he crossed to a beverage station in the outer lobby area. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks, Doug. Remember, I have that church library team meeting? We’re having a bit of a pitch-in for our first meeting. Can you smell Mrs. Henderson’s meatballs?”

  Her brother pulled a mug from the cabinet and measured out creamer. “Now that you mention it, yes. Smells wonderful.” He patted his rounded
middle. “One benefit of being a pastor. I need to sample all the potluck dishes so I can pass on some encouragement to the cooks.”

  “Sure, Doug.” He was also the default chili cook-off judge, the cookie bake-off judge, and the pie contest judge, but she wouldn’t mention all that.

  “Well, I’ll pop in in a bit.” He leaned close and lowered his voice with a grin. “Think you might need a referee?”

  “I think we’ll be fine. You do remember you stuck your own wife on the committee, right? Nancy can be our mediator. And Harry Stewart will be there also. You know what a peacemaker he is.”

  He didn’t respond but took a long drink of his coffee. The look in his eyes told MacKenzie that she wasn’t excused yet. He had more to say. Serious words. Just like a big brother, he thought God had given him the task of sharing his wisdom on all things, relevant and irrelevant, with his younger sister.

  With both hands around the mug, he gazed at her for a moment. “I will not ask how much of our conversation you heard while you were in the cloakroom. But I’m guessing you got the gist of why Judge Vail was here.”

  Her throat suddenly dry, MacKenzie could only nod. It was a difficult situation for the Judge, and she had no idea how she would have advised him.

  “He’s having some serious problems with his wife and daughter. I guess I can tell you that much. The Judge doesn’t seem to think it’s common knowledge, but I think he doesn’t want to acknowledge the gravity of his situation. Just search any social media account and you’ll see how his daughter seems to be messing up her life and flaunting it. Her boyfriend apparently even boasted about his telling-off of a judge.” Her brother held up his hands before she could ask her meddlesome question. “I don’t know the details of that.”