Murder in Greene

By John Rich Dorean

Welcome to Greene County where everything is peaceful and pastoral. Or is it? Surely there could not be a murder in Sheriff Earl Humphrey's territory, or a pastor in a wheelchair who notices the only lead for the case on his exercise route near Bell's Bridge? And what is to be done with the baby who is now orphaned? Murder in Greene begins the Mark Stewart triology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Rich Dorean
• Release date: Jun 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9780985199425

Book preview

Murder in Greene

John Rich Dorean

Published by John Rich Dorean at Smashwords

ISBN 978-0-9851994-2-5

Copyright 2013 John Rich Dorean

Second Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Introduction

Welcome to Greene County where everything is peaceful and pastoral. Or is it? Surely there could not be a murder in Sheriff Earl Humphrey's territory, or a pastor in a wheelchair who notices the only lead for the case on his exercise route near Bell's Bridge? And what is to be done with the baby who is now orphaned? Murder in Greene begins the Mark Stewart triology.

Chapter One

The house was just beyond the steepest part of the hill, three and a half miles into his usual five-mile training session. Surviving the hill and waiting for the pain in his lungs to subside through the flat stretch ahead was all that was on his mind. He hardly noticed the old Cavalier pulling out of the drive.

Probably nothing at all would have registered in the days that followed had not the fellow trumped the pedal just a bit too hard and spun pebbles flying. It was not a teenager's peeling out, but just enough to raise the awareness of a cautious athlete.

He tossed a quick glance at the beautiful new structure to his left. Its three striking windows set off the chapel-like look of the house. That glance was all he could afford before psyching himself for the last little knoll that marked the end of the uphill part of his course. The church-like effect had fascinated him through the months of construction. Occasionally he stopped to chat with the carpenters and masons and on one rainy afternoon even met the young Granville couple who were to take up residence. He had come to feel a kind of kinship with the place.

Passing a small herd of cattle on his right, he mooed to them, a part of the twice-weekly ritual that helped bring a smile despite the searing pain in his arm muscles. He had begun to feel that the herd anticipated his coming, that he was now as much a part of their day as the walk to the barn for feeding time.

Then, as it most often happened, just about the time his mind was telling his body that he could go no farther, the long gentle downhill slope appeared. He loosened his tight hold on the wheels and hunkered down in the sheer delight of coasting. When at last the chair began to slow, he once more pumped feverishly into a sprint. Entering town and finishing the last quarter mile, he felt the utter satisfaction of the athlete who has pushed himself to his limits.

He slowed to a jogger’s pace just two blocks shy of the parsonage, his home these last seven years. Then he took the customary cool down spin around the neighborhood that was both home and parish. He knew it was vain of him to think so, but Rev. Mark Stewart took some small pride in knowing that, despite confinement to a wheelchair these past fifteen years, he was still trim and fit in his late thirties.

Beautiful day for a spin, eh Pastor? Sam Thomas called out as he came off the porch and waved at the pastor better known in the community for his physical uniqueness than his less than stellar preaching.

Could hardly be nicer, responded Stewart. As he slowed to a walker’s pace he took up a position beside the church janitor who it appeared was on his way to the Post Office. Say Sammy, I thought the Granvilles had moved into their house some time ago.

Yep, they moved in more than two months ago at least, Pastor. Why do you ask?

Oh, no big deal. Just thought I saw a guy I figured was a worker pulling out as I was pushing past their place, that’s all.

Well, I know they moved in before everything was completed. You know how it can be to wait. Ninety percent of the work takes ten per cent of the labor and folks start getting antsy forgetting the second half of that old adage: the last ten percent of the work takes ninety percent of the effort. So it could have been one of the subs.

Yeah, that’s probably it. See you at the dart ball game tonight?

Haven’t missed a game in seven seasons and don’t reckon tonight is the night to break my string. We’re playing those guys from First Baptist, you know. First Baptist had won the annual Church Dart Ball Championship more times than anyone other than they themselves cared to remember. Unless you hear of the need to do my funeral real sudden like, you can count on seeing me there, Mark.

It would be the better part of two days before Mark Stewart would become aware of the significance of that fleeting glance and those flying pebbles at the Granville place. As he stripped his sweaty clothes and wheeled himself into the steaming shower in preparation for the Session meeting that immediately preceded the dart ball game, he could never have begun to anticipate the maelstrom that was about to descend on this little community.

***

"Belay on?

Belay is on.

Todd took a step towards the cliff face.

It’s getting late. Didn’t you say you had some place to go? Maybe I’ll just wait for another day.

Get a grip, will you. And I don’t mean on the rope. Though she loved training rock climbers, Lisa had a real issue with young studs who paraded their bulging biceps and cocky attitudes before the world and then choked like the wusses they really were on that first step over the edge.

Just hike your butt out over the edge and sit back. You won’t go anywhere. With this ATC locked in you pretty much couldn’t go anywhere if you tried.

This particular stud pretender looked up at her like she had told him to free-fall without a chute. He thought she was trying to get even for the pass he had made at her when they had hauled all the climbing gear up to this overlook at Coopers Rock. She had expressed in no uncertain terms her lack of interest in him and his tasteless effrontery. Not even the fact that though she was at least fifteen years his senior he still found her attractive had assuaged her anger.

He did as she said till his legs were nearly perpendicular to the rock face.

"Now how’s that feel?

OK, I guess.

Good. Then with your right hand let the rope slide through the figure eight descender just like I showed you and start working yourself down.

No, I’m thinking I’m gonna stick with football. Pull me back up, will you?

Those high school girls all did it. Fact is they are down there looking up at you right now, big boy. You don’t want to give them the impression that you can’t handle a little walk down the cliff face, do you? Now what are you supposed to say?

Rappelling.

Rappell on.

Ever so slowly he released his death grip on the rope passing through the descender and began his descent.

That’s it. You see, it’s not so bad. As long as you’ve got that rope clamped, I couldn’t drop you if I wanted to – which frankly I’ve been tempted to at different points today.

Yeah, OK, you’ve made your point.

The point is to learn to trust the equipment and your belayer. Every minute you are on belay you will grow in confidence in both. Once you get that confidence, you will be able to lower yourself at whatever speed you desire. Just don’t hotdog it too much or you’ll burn those hands so bad you won’t be able to carry the rope bag back to the van for me.

A little more than a minute later he was on the ground, strutting his stuff to the young high schoolers. I had to show the queen instructor lady what it means to really trust the rope. She’s so uptight that she can’t relax and feel the peace of the cliff face.

Lisa leaned over from up top and yelled, Ladies, I told your parents I’d have you back before dark so if you can convince Studman to pack up his ego how about you all hike your tails up here and help me pack all this equipment back to the parking lot.

***

Josh had never meant to do it. Oh sure, he had planned the robbery with what he thought was the clever skill of an expert. But not the other. He had never meant to harm anyone. Why did they have to come in when they did? They were supposed to have been shopping for carpet and drapes thirty miles away in Morgantown. As he sat on the bar stool of the lounge, which had become a frequent watering hole these past months, he shook with fear over what now lay ahead. Not just for him, but for his precious family as well.

He was not one who easily cursed his fate or railed against God for the way things had worked out. Life had been spiraling steadily downward for some time now. That could not be denied. How or when or why it had started coming unglued was not something Josh spent much time considering.

Things had been getting tough for more than a year, he supposed. What with Junior breaking off three front teeth in a game of street hockey, and then the baby's four days in the neonatal intensive care unit, the bills had started piling up. He had been scheduled to get on full-time at his job as a janitor at the college, with regular hours and full benefits, just after the New Year. That was of no consolation now.

The part-time hours often added up to more than full-time, but were never a standard shift. The fluctuating work schedule necessitated irregular sleep patterns, to which he was unable to adjust. Fatigue grew daily and the bills seemed to have no end. His relationship with Ellen had become more than a little strained.

Riding home late one night with a fellow part-timer, he paid his first visit to the Golden Eagle. One drink became two the next night. And though he never developed a drinking problem, alcohol was the capstone to his fall. He had certainly not been expecting the call to his cell phone from the college maintenance supervisor, Frank Stiger.

Josh, this snow is gettin’ ahead of us. Can you come in a few hours early and run the Deere with the plow over these sidewalks? It’s Finals Week startin’ tomorrow, you know, and we don’t want to give these little punks any reason for delaying their rendezvous with responsibility.

Got you covered, Boss. Josh was always eager for a few more hours, and popped in a breath mint to cover any signs of his visit to the Golden Eagle.

He had not been on campus plowing more than thirty minutes when the tee-totaling President of the college stopped to thank him for the extra hours.

Sure appreciate the effort you and the rest of the staff are making here tonight.

Not a problem, sir. But there was all of a sudden quite a problem. The breath mints effects did not last as effectively as the lingering smell of that last beer and the college was most intolerant of its staff abusing clear prohibitions on the use of alcohol. Needless to say, Josh never got full-time.

Though he didn't need to, the President had given Josh two weeks' severance pay, which carried the family through the holidays. He waited till his last day to break the news to his family. And even then he was not desperate. The idea of the break-in had already begun to stir his imagination, and it seemed not just possible, but even easy to pull off. Murder had never been a part of his plans.

***

It had been a long time coming. They had married in their early twenties while she was still in grad school at U. of Penn and he was clerking for a Philadelphia judge. Jim and Sarah Granville had gone through some tough years. While they both knew that some day they would be more than comfortable financially, money was a frequent source of tension and conflict. When their first baby was stillborn, the marriage almost came unglued. Jim was shaken and saddened and willing to be caring. But he never could grasp the devastation that the child's death wreaked on his usually calm and levelheaded wife.

Things were looking pretty bleak until a Christian acquaintance encouraged their participation in a marriage retreat. Their analytical minds and doubtful spirits were initially cynical. But with little left to lose, they gave the weekend a try. It hadn't changed things overnight, but it did succeed in breathing a fresh wind into their relationship. That had been the beginning of this wonderful new life.

A few weeks after the retreat, Sarah was offered a job at a college in the rural western end of the state. Jim was tired of his work plea bargaining for spoiled rich kids from the burbs of Philly and hardened inner city drug dealers. He was all too ready to take a stab at setting up his own practice, and doing the work of real estate closures and handling estates that is more the routine of a small town lawyer.

So, two years ago they had taken the plunge and moved into a third floor apartment on the north side of Waynesburg. Soon things were coming together as they had both dreamed they might in the early days of their courtship. The move had freed Sarah from the haunting depression and rekindled the fires of love and lust for each other.

It was not long before young Brett Granville, two weeks early and raring to have at it, was gracing the small apartment with his midnight till two wailing sessions. Class sometimes seemed longer the next day for mom. And naps over the writing of a will became almost routine for dad. But they were as happy as ever a young family could be.

The house in the country had been her idea; the arched windows his. The church-like effect noted by the wheeling Mark Stewart was in fact Jim's effort to reproduce the windows of the law library where they had first met. Eager to move in, they insisted on doing so before much of the final work was completed. For the most part, the contractor had been cooperative. Both of them were off to work early each morning, dropping young Brett off with the sitter. So the remaining bits of woodwork trim, electrical cover plates and carpet installation were progressing nicely.

The day before, the plumber had installed the long back ordered faucets in the circular whirlpool bath in the master bedroom. It was the vision of his wife in his arms amidst the steam of that bath that had Jim thinking about things other than carpet and curtains for their son’s bedroom.

Can’t we find that stuff online? he asked as they nibbled on turkey sandwiches at Panera.

It was your idea for us both to take all afternoon off to get this done, she reminded him. You said it’s always better to see the real color than guess at it from a magazine photo. Remember?

Yeah sure, I remember. But my back is killing me. Too many hours sitting in the county law library doing title searches for Greene County Habitat. I’m thinking I could use some time in that whirlpool.

What about the movie you promised me? And what am I supposed to do while you are soothing your aching back? Choose curtains from some online vendor?

Actually I was thinking maybe you could play masseuse.

Oh you did, did you? I think I see where this is headed.

And?

And, last one to the car has to fill the tub.

***

Frustration mixed with disappointment as they pulled into the drive of their country haven and saw the Cavalier. They assumed it belonged to yet one last worker.

I thought Lucien said none of his guys was coming back till Monday, Jim seethed. Realizing that his longings were thwarted, Jim stormed into the house and through its interiors in search of the man whose presence robbed him of this much anticipated moment.

Pushing open the hand crafted door of the master bedroom, he stood in shocked bewilderment at the scene before him. Dresser drawers lay open, their contents strewn across the room. And crouching beside his night stand, a hand groping wildly for the gun inside meant to protect its owner from just such a moment, was Josh.

Even then tragedy might have been averted. But with a mad rush and a frenzied What the hell do you think you're doing, Jim charged the frightened intruder. The whiskey that had been intended to steel Josh for the theft dulled his senses just enough and he fired twice. The sight of Jim falling dead at his feet was only half as unnerving as looking up to see the horrified expression on Sarah's face as she rushed into the room. Maybe it was her instinctive movement to flee, maybe it was the sheer terror of what he had done. Or maybe it was too many nights watching Stallone and Arnold S. But with the crazed reasoning of a terrified man, Josh lifted the pistol once more, and with a single shot to the head, sent Sarah to join her husband in death.

The shootings occurred about an hour before sundown, 5:00 P.M. on Friday, the 27th of February. It would be more than eight hours before the police were