Page 16 of June's First Murder
And before this was going to be over, Sara Lee had a terrible feeling they were going to find out exactly what.
7
JUNE
Church felt surreal.
June sat in the familiar pew, Sara Lee beside her, listening to Pastor Pete's sermon about loss and community. His words were well-intentioned. Pete always meant well, but today, the sermon washed over her without truly landing. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the morning's discovery in vivid, unwelcome detail.
Raymond's body on the park bench. The unnatural stillness. Those half-open eyes staring at nothing. The silver flask on the ground beside him. The torn piece of newspaper peeking from his jacket pocket.
She glanced at Sara Lee and felt her heart constrict. Her granddaughter's hands were twisted together in her lap, knuckles white with tension. June reached over and covered those trembling hands with one of her own, squeezing gently. The touch seemed to anchor Sara Lee, bringing her back to the present moment.
June understood. Finding a body was traumatic inways that stayed with you. Now, with the sun streaming through stained glass windows, painting rainbow patches on the wooden pews, these familiar sensations would forever be linked in Sara Lee's mind with death and discovery.
Carl sat on Sara Lee's other side, with Ted next to June. The young veterinarian kept glancing at Sara Lee, his face creased with concern. June approved of his attentiveness, not caring about his lack of focus on the sermon. Considering she wasn't focusing either, she couldn’t judge.
Pastor Pete's voice wavered slightly when he spoke about compassion for those who struggle with demons. June's attention sharpened. Pete was a good man, but he had a tendency toward the abstract when concrete compassion was what people needed. Still, she supposed a sermon about finding grace for difficult people was appropriate, given the circumstances.
June noticed Helena sitting in the front pew, her spine rigid, hands clenched in her lap. The pastor's wife usually had a serene quality during services… a peaceful demeanor that came from genuine faith. But today she looked like she might shatter if someone touched her. Her shoulders were drawn up near her ears, and even from several rows back, June could see the tension radiating from her small frame.
Interesting, June thought, filing the observation away. Helena had been one of the people Raymond targeted at the festival with a nasty slur about her "cookbooks." June had no idea what he was referring to, but it clearly left a mark deeper than simple embarrassment.
When the service finally ended, people didn't disperse the way they usually did. Instead, they clustered in small groups on the church lawn, speaking in hushed tones that carried a particular buzz that came from scandal and speculation.
The discovery of Raymond's body spread through Meadowlark Creek like wildfire, which June expected. Small towns had their own communication networks, more efficient than any telephone tree. Someone had seen the ambulance, called a neighbor, who called another neighbor, and within hours, everyone knew that Raymond Melton had been found dead on a park bench.
June moved slowly down the church steps, Sara Lee beside her, both of them observing the scene unfolding around them.
"Heard he drank himself to death," one woman said to a group of ladies near the steps, her voice carrying that particular tone of someone who wanted to sound sympathetic but was actually enjoying the drama.
"Always knew that man would come to a bad end," someone else murmured.
"Poor Petunia..."
“Yes, but now she won’t be bedeviled by her brother-in-law anymore…”
June's jaw tightened slightly. People were already looking at Raymond's death as something less than a tragedy. Perhaps, June thought with a chill, it was something someone had done to Raymond. But then, he certainly brought about strong emotions.
Her gaze swept across the church lawn, catalogingreactions with the same methodical attention she'd once used to catalog library books. Every person was a volume, and if you knew how to read them, they told you their stories.
Jerry and Ivy stood apart from the others near the parking lot. Jerry's expression was unreadable as he spoke quietly to his wife. When one of the town’s most notorious gossips approached to offer condolences about the things Raymond used to say toward Jerry, the response was curt and loud enough for June to hear clearly.
"Can't say I'm sorry. The man was a poison."
Ivy touched his arm, clearly embarrassed by her husband's bluntness, but Jerry didn't soften. "What? Everyone's thinking it. I'm just honest enough to say it."
June watched the older woman retreat, uncomfortable with Jerry's candor. But Jerry was right, wasn't he? Many of the townspeople were thinking the same thing. Raymond had been toxic to those he encountered. His death removed that poison from their community.
The question was,had someone decided to help that removal along?
Lucy emerged from the church, Orville trailing behind her like a nervous shadow, his usual bluster gone. One of the ladies from the Garden Beautification Committee approached Lucy to offer sympathies about the incident at the festival. The lemonade throwing had apparently become common knowledge.
Lucy's chin lifted with particular defiance that came from someone who decided to own their actions rather than apologize for them. "That man deserved far worsethan cold lemonade. I have no regrets." Her voice carried across the lawn, bold and declarative, making several people turn to stare. Then she swiped at an errant tear that managed to slip past her defenses. “Who cares about the festival now? He’s dead,” Lucy said, her voice breaking. Orville took Lucy’s arm, and they hurried away, as she continued to dab at her tears.
June filed that away too. Lucy was proud of having humiliated Raymond. That suggested either remarkable confidence or remarkable desperation. Or both. But the tears and loud proclamation that he was dead didn’t seem to fit her behavior.
Bob stood with Bill near their truck, speaking in low, urgent tones. June was too far away to hear the words, but she could read the body language clearly. Bob's face was flushed with anger or stress, possibly both. When Bill tried to touch his father's shoulder in what looked like a gesture of comfort or restraint, the older man jerked.
