Murder at the Courthouse Read online

  “I won’t talk about it with anyone, Doug.”

  “Not even Callie?”

  MacKenzie fought to hide her cringe. Callie Marson had been a good friend since she was a little girl following a teenage MacKenzie around the neighborhood. Now, in the past month since MacKenzie had returned to Grace Pointe, they had reconnected, their relationship even stronger than it had been years ago. Still, though, what was there to tell? Didn’t everyone have difficulties with family from time to time? She didn’t want to enter the realm of gossip.

  “Right. Not even Callie.” And this time, she didn’t even have her fingers crossed behind her back.

  Chapter Three

  Thunder crashed as rain pelted the window to MacKenzie’s left. When she had suggested a committee to put together a proper church library, she had known it would take some effort. But she hadn’t counted on the extra effort to be heard over such a storm. She surveyed the six other people seated at the two long folding tables pushed together to make a square seating area and took a deep breath.

  “Good evening, everyone. Thanks for coming to this first meeting of our church library ministry team.”

  Despite the violence of the storm to her left, a fire crackled warmly in the gas fireplace to her right. The hickory wood floor seemed to glow in response, the amber-papered walls enveloping the group in a protective cocoon. A couple groupings of beige overstuffed sofas and chairs sat patiently to the side, waiting for cozy conversations. The kitchen at the rear of the area couldn’t contain the delicious aromas, and MacKenzie again pressed her hands to her stomach to quell another rumbling.

  She continued. “You know why you’re here. We want to put together a growing and vibrant church library, a place that will encourage and nurture our spiritual growth, provide a place to sit quietly and read, and also be an opportunity of outreach, not just to seekers who come to our church but also to our sister church in the city.” She paused to make sure everyone was nodding their agreement. How many times had she practiced that speech? But from the looks on everyone’s faces, it apparently hadn’t come off as a prepared monologue. Good.

  Now, just like in the church’s children’s rooms, it was snack time to soothe nerves frazzled by day’s end and smooth the committee’s discussions. “But we can’t come to church for any kind of gathering without food, right?”

  A chuckle waved across the committee.

  “Thank you all for contributing to our pitch-in. You can probably hear my stomach, so why don’t we pray and then eat before we dive into our agenda?” She turned to the woman with the salt-and-pepper hair and a bright yellow cardigan sitting to her right. “Nancy?”

  Nancy Baker nodded to her sister-in-law, a sweet smile lighting her face. Raising her voice over the thunder, she prayed briefly for the Lord to bless the food and their meeting. At the Amen, a murmur of conversation sprinkled through the room as the group rose and gravitated toward the kitchen.

  MacKenzie quickly washed her hands in the kitchen, avoiding the pursed-lips smile of her sister-in-law. Well, it was important to be clean, especially when handling food.

  The potluck stretched across the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the gathering room with bar lights cascading down on the dishes and making them sparkle. MacKenzie stood back and let the others go first as she soaked up the coziness and warmth. The sanctuary was awe-inspiring and reverent with its soaring ceiling, stained glass windows, and rich red carpet. It was wonderful for corporate worship. But although she would never confess it to anyone lest she sound blasphemous, she preferred the intimacy of the gathering room to the vastness of the sanctuary.

  MacKenzie’s sister-in-law peeled herself away from the line and took up her customary position in the kitchen, behind the counter and ready to serve. Her long denim skirt swished around her calves as she walked, her cardigan easily the brightest spot in the room. But that fit MacKenzie’s energetic and nurturing sister-in-law—always the sunny spot, doing and serving with the best interests of others at heart. MacKenzie snagged a carrot from a veggie tray and took a bite as she surveyed Nancy’s graying but well-styled coif and the bit of pink lip balm that tinged her lips.

  As Nancy dipped the large spoon into the pot of meatballs and served Mrs. Henderson her own dish, MacKenzie stepped forward in the line and grabbed a plate and a couple of napkins. “Nancy, this is serve-yourself. You don’t need to be in the kitchen. It’s just snacks.”

  “Well, the line always proceeds a little more smoothly when someone’s helping everyone along.” She gave MacKenzie a pointed look. “I’ve been feeding your brother and then a couple of sons for over twenty-three years now and helping with church potlucks for long before that. Don’t ask me to stop now.” She paused as she dug the spoon down into the pot. “You might as well ask your brother to stop pastoring everyone he meets.” Her eyes twinkled with the tease as she tucked a strand of her thick graying hair back into a bobby pin.

  Callie Marson stepped forward and accepted a spoonful of meatballs from MacKenzie’s sister-in-law. “Besides, everything tastes better when you serve it, Mrs. B.”

  As Nancy grinned, a delicate pink blush creeping up her cheeks, MacKenzie hip-bumped her friend. “Come on, Callie. You’re already a part of the family. You don’t need to flatter your way in.”

  Callie tossed her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder, bypassing some bread bites and placing a large helping of a salad of mixed greens and baby tomatoes on her plate. Despite the drop-dead gorgeous looks of her friend, MacKenzie never felt jealous, a fact she attributed to a miracle of the Lord. Callie was becoming like a little sister to her, especially with Callie’s own parents deceased a few years ago and MacKenzie’s return to Grace Pointe. MacKenzie’s parents had never produced a sister despite all of MacKenzie’s childhood begging, but she had unofficially adopted Callie over the years so MacKenzie counted herself blessed.

  Much to her continued frustration, a few extra pounds graced MacKenzie’s hips, but she still put a few of the neglected bread bites on her own plate. Perhaps those pounds were from turning forty and not from a love of carbohydrates? Well, a girl could dream.

  Watching Callie sprinkle just a touch of salt on her salad and ignore the dressing, MacKenzie asked, “You brought that salad, didn’t you, Callie?”

  “Of course. We had to have something healthy.”

  “I like salad just as much as you do, with the arugula and the tomatoes and the gorgonzola. But I like brownies as well.” She popped one onto her plate. “I’d feel a lot better about myself if you liked brownies a little more.”

  “I’m sorry, MacKenzie. I just don’t like sweets that much.” Callie smiled and gave her friend a careful hip-check so they didn’t spill their plates.

  “Oh, sure. That’s what all thin people say.” MacKenzie bumped shoulders with Callie.

  Kimberly appeared behind her and slid a brownie onto a dessert plate. MacKenzie gave her a wide smile and then tilted her head toward Callie. “See? We normal people like our desserts.”

  Callie grinned at the tease, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed for the table.

  Reaching for the waters, MacKenzie handed one to Kimberly and then took one for herself. She grinned at the woman, praying that the kindness she felt was radiating from her. “I hope you aren’t uncomfortable here, Kimberly, since you just started coming to the church. But I know how much you like to read, and I’m looking forward to your ideas for the library.”

  Kimberly’s eyes had always seemed to be lined with anxiety and sadness, except for when MacKenzie had asked her what she was reading. Then, the thirty-something woman who was normally reserved and cautious would become animated, discussing at length the characters and plot of the novel she was currently reading. MacKenzie’s brother believed it was important to help new attendees find their niche, their place to get involved, to help them feel as if they belonged to the church community. It had seemed that the library ministry team was the right fit for someone like Kimberly who
seemed to care as much about characters in books as she did for people in real life.

  Before Kimberly could respond, Mrs. Henderson’s voice carried across the room to MacKenzie’s sister-in-law. MacKenzie turned to see a frown on the sixty-year-old’s face, her reading glasses dangling on a beaded chain around her neck. “There was a time, Nancy, when you couldn’t come to a church potluck without there being several platters of deviled eggs. I’m sure you remember. Now, there aren’t any. Don’t the young people these days like hard-boiled eggs? Or are they too old-fashioned?”

  MacKenzie shared a look of amusement with Kimberly. Mrs. Henderson was a wonderful woman who meant well, but she certainly worried that the elderly were being pushed out of church leadership positions. To some extent, she was right, and MacKenzie determined that, next time, she would bring and eat hard-boiled eggs. She had invited Mrs. Henderson to the team meeting, in part, to quell her anxieties that she was becoming irrelevant. But her home library was just as big as what the church already owned, and she was sure to be a valued part of the team.

  Nancy looked over the counter full of offerings. “I don’t see any tonight, but it’s just a snack. I’ll make sure we have some at our next proper pitch-in.”

  “Well, I should hope so.” She forked half of one of her own meatballs and chewed with vigor, making her yellowy-golden blonde hair wave around her face. MacKenzie had heard that Mrs. Henderson maintained a weekly salon appointment to have her hair done, coloring the gray away and emerging with a style that resembled a mane. Paired with her pushed-in nose, she always made MacKenzie think of a grumpy Persian cat, tracking its prey, ready to pounce. Sure, she would have something to contribute to the meeting, but MacKenzie was fully aware that she needed to stay vigilant around Mrs. Henderson.

  MacKenzie skirted the long way around the woman, returning to the tables just as John Trace, a tall and thin middle-aged accountant who MacKenzie had never seen in anything other than a shirt and tie, approached the other end. He carefully put down his paper plate that was filled with a second helping of nearly everything. As he leaned over the table to pull his chair in, his tie dipped down into the sauce of the meatballs. With a fierce frown, he grabbed his napkin and vigorously rubbed at the tie, eventually giving up. As he stabbed a meatball and brought it to his mouth, MacKenzie saw another drip of grease join the first spot on his tie. With three rambunctious children at home, though, Mrs. Trace would probably know how to treat it to get the stain out. He pushed his frameless glasses back up his nose absentmindedly, the slightly sour look of someone who seemed half-distressed all the time flitting across his features.

  The last of their team was a retired lawyer and church board member, Harry Stewart. He would be an important liaison between the team and the board when they would ask for funds to stock the library. As Mr. Stewart pushed his emptied plate away, MacKenzie’s sister-in-law stood and turned to him. “Harry, can I get you anything more?”

  He looked toward the breakfast bar, surveying the offerings again. “Just a couple more meatballs, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Mr. Stewart handed his plate to her, and as Nancy fetched the food, he adjusted the position of his wheelchair at the table. When his wife was with him, she would get his food, or one of his children. MacKenzie had also seen him serve himself and balance a plate on his legs plenty of times. But her sister-in-law had such a servant’s heart that she just couldn’t sit still if someone needed something. Maybe it was all her years as a pastor’s wife. Maybe it was an uncanny sixth sense. Maybe it was the gift of service.

  With one more swipe at her mouth with her napkin and a scrub of her hands to get all the food residue off, MacKenzie laid down her plastic fork, trying to make eye contact with each. “Everyone, can we talk and nibble at the same time?”

  When the murmuring had ceased and everyone seemed to be paying some attention, she addressed the group. “Thank you for giving up your time to come to our first team meeting. I appreciate it, and I hope, soon, the entire congregation will appreciate it.” Her sister-in-law’s bright yellow cardigan caught her eye, and she glanced that way in time to see Nancy’s encouraging nod. “As you know, our church owns lots of books, thanks in large part to some very generous donations recently. But we only have a few bookcases stuck in a Sunday school room right now. I’ve talked with–” MacKenzie swallowed hard and forced herself to appear at least somewhat professional “—Pastor Baker, and he supports my desire to have a proper church library, with a dedicated space, a check-out system, and maybe even funding to buy more materials.”

  With pursed lips, Mrs. Henderson barely waited for MacKenzie to finish. “Are you sure we should even have a library? What’s the point any longer? When I was a girl, everybody loved to read. You were an odd duck in my circles if you didn’t love to read. But now, who reads anymore, unless it’s something on their phone?”

  MacKenzie could only blink and exchange a glance with Callie before her sister-in-law interceded. “You are right, Mrs. Henderson, that reading has changed. Attention spans have become shorter, and technology has invaded our everyday lives to an extent that astounds me. But I believe there is still a need for a church library, to encourage reading, to serve as the primary distributor of Bible study books, to provide teaching and Christian entertainment options for families, and even as a central location to post information about getting involved in ministry opportunities. I think it would quickly become the hub of church communication.”

  With a mischievous wink at MacKenzie, Callie jumped into the fray. “You know, Mrs. Henderson, many people read on their phones. I have an app I use to read books on the go. So sometimes I look like I’m on the phone,” Callie made quotation marks in the air, “but I’m really reading a book.” Callie’s expression shifted, and she turned to MacKenzie with a glow in her eyes. “Maybe the church library could have e-books to loan. Is that possible?”

  Mrs. Henderson opened her mouth to speak, her golden mane shaking fiercely. But the purpose of the meeting was quickly getting squashed, and MacKenzie couldn’t let the revolt continue or she would never get the library. “Callie, that’s an interesting idea, but I think it’s a little much for our team to consider right now. Let’s think about that another time, maybe after we’re up and running with print books.”

  Callie tossed her a smile of conspiracy. She knew Mrs. Henderson as well as MacKenzie did, and her friend’s strategy to introduce the extreme topic of the changes technology had made to reading and the increasing availability of e-books in order to make the subject of a library more palatable had worked.

  With a sip of water and a deep breath, MacKenzie glanced at her notes and then addressed the group again. “I think the first item of business is our location. Where we place the library will determine foot traffic, how it is used, and how much space we will have for future materials. At this point, we have a couple of different options.”

  John Trace spoke up for the first time that evening. “Our main hallway is plenty wide enough to accommodate bookshelves on either side in addition to the regular traffic on Sundays. It would be easily accessible, and you couldn’t help but know it’s there.”

  “We have a lot of back-and-forth, though, in between Sunday school and the service.” Mrs. Henderson stabbed a meatball with vigor. “What if someone is standing there to look at the books? They’d be in the way.” She popped the meatball in her mouth and chewed with irritation.

  MacKenzie looked to Kimberly to ask her input, but the reclusive woman seemed entranced with the language on the label of her water bottle. Before MacKenzie could call on her, John Trace, with a glare at Mrs. Henderson, retorted, “Fine. What about that big empty room near the front doors? It’s a high traffic area.”

  “I like that idea,” MacKenzie’s sister-in-law inserted.

  “We’d just need to be sure to keep the aisles wide enough to be accessible.” John Trace continued his brainstorming with a nod to Mr. Stewart and his wheelchai
r.

  Mr. Stewart smiled. “I appreciate that.”

  “We all know what a big reader you are.” Nancy gathered the paper plates nearest her and stacked them. “How many books are on your bedside table right now?”

  With his fingers steepled as he thought about it, Mr. Stewart just chuckled and shook his head as if he had no idea of the number.

  Like a cat after a toy on a string, Mrs. Henderson chased a couple of peas from the salad around her plate. “The benefit to the separate room is that we could lock it.” Victorious, she slid the fork into her mouth.

  Under the table, MacKenzie picked at a fingernail. It seemed that Mrs. Henderson was always finding a way to keep people out. “Well, we don’t want it locked too much. The church members should be able to access it.”

  “But when we rent out the church, like we do for weddings or funerals on occasion, we don’t want all those strange people rifling through our stuff, spilling punch and what-not on our books.”

  MacKenzie felt a touch on her knee under the table and instantly stopped picking at her nail. Her sister-in-law cut her eyes toward her, a gentle admonition in her glance to calm down and stop worrying. Mrs. Henderson had a point, of course, although MacKenzie wouldn’t have said it aloud quite like that. Murmuring began anew. Apparently, the others didn’t care what they said aloud.

  She ran a hand over her ponytail and summoned the strength to corral the group again, raising her hand like a schoolteacher to get everyone’s attention. “All right, everyone. This isn’t a dictatorship, not even a benevolent one. So, we will put it to a vote. No one seems to be afraid of sharing their opinion, so we’ll just vote by a show of hands. Who wants the separate room?”

  Hands shot up around the tables, except for one.

  “Who wants the hallway?”

  One hand tentatively rose. “John Trace, your no vote is duly noted.” MacKenzie wished she had a gavel to rap on the table, but she made do with a single clap of her hands. “Okay, now on to the issue of bookshelves. What we have now have been donated, and they’re functional. But I think it would be particularly inviting and attractive to have them all look the same, coordinated and decorated.”