Dead Ringer (Silent Partner Series Book 2) Read online

  Dead Ringer

  Book 2- Silent Partner Series

  Sheila Hudson

  Copyright 2017 Sheila Hudson

  Take Me Away Books, a division of Winged Publications

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the authors.

  Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version (NIV), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  1

  “Mollie McLachlan,” the professor’s voice sounded serious and jerked me out of my reverie.

  “Yes,” I answered. It was the voice of Dr. Winters the instructor for the hand bell choir. Callie, my best friend for years, had insisted that I needed a hobby and shoved the advertisement of the hand bell choir class in my face. She promised to come with me but instead fractured her ankle skiing. Anything to get out of a promise.

  Alas! I had already signed up and paid my money to the Community College. Besides I would be able to use my newfound skill in the upcoming Christmas Concert at church. That is if I passed the class which according to Dr. Winters’ current expression seemed doubtful.

  “Ms. McLachlan, please stay after class for a brief moment,” he said as more of a command than request. Maybe he’s going to kick me out of the class but if that happens, do I get a refund?

  Today’s class rang long. But even if it ran ten hours, I still wouldn’t know the difference terms of hand bell ringing like shelleying, knocking, or weaving. However, I could read music (somewhat) and I knew what an octave was – thank you high school choir.

  After class I sheepishly approached Dr. Winters who was buried in paperwork. He looked up and remembered his request.

  “Ah Mollie, as you can see I have to attend to something right now. Could you return for an appointment at 5 this evening?”

  I nodded and was off to torture myself the rest of the day. So I did what I always do. I returned home and took out a scrapbook that my late sister had kept current with all of our happenings. I decided to continue the practice after the excitement last summer.

  Mollie McLachlan was instrumental in bringing the murderers of

  Ms. Rosie Adams to justice. She is a newly hired features writer at

  the Northeast Georgia Beacon owned by the Anderson family.

  Ms. McLachlan is a graduate of the University of Georgia and an active member of First Community Church.

  Maggie would have been there with me to capture those who were responsible for Rosie Adams’ demise. If Maggie is looking on, I hope she advises me what to do if Doc Winters tells me to take a hike.

  I reread Lincoln Travers’ article about the arrest of the threesome responsible for the Adams’ murder. Six months had gone by and a lot had transpired. I had gotten a promotion at work and was gradually filling the role as features writer.

  The hand bell class was supposed to be a stress reliever but was proving to be a stress inducer. I think I was in the slow learner section as the bells ranged in weight from 7 ounces to 18 pounds. At least that’s what we learned in the preliminary classes that we were required to take before actually touching the bells. I was in the 7 ounce section.

  Then of course we were taught history, terminology, and etiquette when handling the bells. Dr. Winters would have a stroke if we touched a bell without wearing gloves.

  I did use some of this information gleaned in my holiday articles for the newspaper. Since the Rocking with Rosie incident, Phyl aka Ms. Phylomena Anderson, the wife of the Beacon’s owner, and I had become besties. As far as I was concerned Phyl was the epitome of a perfect wife and mother. She was almost as precious to me as Auntie Lee, who wasn’t really my aunt but the mother of a good friend.

  Phyl uncovered valuable background information, which led to the arrest of the crooked detective and three minions who plotted Rosie Adams’ death. Phyl’s influence in the community was not to be underestimated.

  If my life wasn’t complicated enough, I am in love (at least I think I am) with Phyl’s son, Finn, who is heir apparent to the newspaper empire that his father founded. I was a newbie on the staff when Ms. Adams ended up dead in the car I was driving. The incident brought Finn and I together plus his father even took a bullet when assisting Chief Harden in the arrest of Detective Olson.

  I used to refer to Finn’s father as the Curmudgeon but now since he put his life on the line, I switched to calling him as Mr. A.

  Added to all of that confusion, I have a twin sister whose death has never become a reality. By that I mean that Maggie, my twin, has continued to speak through her diaries, letters, journals, photographs and sketches. It’s not a ghost thing, but her words come to life for me when I face a dire situation which has become more common than I would like.

  Fall stretched her chilly fingers into my world. It was not welcome – fall always brought memories of those I have lost and not in a good way. In order to stem the memory tide, I tend to take on a bunch of activities to keep myself busy until the holidays. Once I reach Thanksgiving I’m good until the end of the year.

  That brings me to hand bell practice on this Saturday in September when most people are raking leaves or watching football. The class was another attempt to fill my fall calendar. So when I was dismissed I took down the scrapbook and tried not to watch the clock.

  Finally at 4:45 I drove to the Community College and hurried to Dr. Winters’s classroom. The door was closed, but I heard sounds coming from inside. He was obviously practicing some piece of music for us to perform. I waited for a pause or some evidence that it was safe to enter. Finally at precisely 5:10, I tapped on the door. It wasn’t like Dr. Winters to be late or forget a meeting. He was the definition of punctual.

  The shades were pulled and made eerie shadows on the wall. I called to the professor but no answer. Perhaps he wasn’t in the room, but if he wasn’t there where did the music come from? I felt along the wall for the light switch. With a flick of my finger the room came alive, however Dr. Winters did not.

  2

  It was déjà vu all over again. There was a body in the room and I was the only one around. I don’t remember what happened next. I suppose that I screamed.

  When I regained consciousness another student was applying a cold compress to my forehead. The police were there taking notes and pictures of the dear departed Dr. Winters. Again I was the ‘person of interest’ with nothing to tell. I wanted to be anywhere else.

  I propped up on my elbow and thanked the girl who had been tending to me. Chief Harden was not amused that within a few months I was present at yet another murder scene. Just as before, I knew nothing and hardly knew the victim. At least Dr. Winters and I had a little history even if it was him saying I was the ‘worst bell ringer he’d ever encountered.’

  Callie swooped in if you can call hobbling in wearing one of those horrible boot casts ‘swooping.’

  “Oh darling Mollie, I’m so sorry. I feel like this is somehow my fault,” she whined.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Callie. No one could have predicted that you would break your ankle,” I tried to make her feel a little better but not a LOT better.

  Chief Harden got around to me after barking orders at the coroner, photographer, and crime scene crew.

  “So why are YOU here?” he said in a most demanding tone.

  “I am um. . . that is I w
as taking hand bell choir lessons from Dr. Winters. After class today, he asked me to come back at 5 p.m. He said he wanted to have a talk with me. I got here and heard music so I waited until a little after 5 o’clock so as not to interrupt. When I opened the door at ten past five, I found him like this,” I stopped and studied the chief’s expressions. I think he believed me but was stumped at what it all meant. So was I.

  Callie was fussing over me and in the process mentioned that her boyfriend, now fiancé, had a radio that picked up police messages. Added to that was Callie’s ESP when it came to tracking me. It was almost as if Maggie was guiding her here.

  “Can I take her home?” Callie asked the Chief.

  “Looks like someone should take YOU BOTH home,” Chief said as he stared at her boot cast.

  “That would be me,” Finn announced as he pushed through the police barrage at the door.

  “Is the community on high alert where YOU are concerned?” Chief Harden looked at me again and not with a smile.

  “Chief Harden,” Finn smiled and offered his hand. I knew that the Andersons and the Hardens had been friends for a long time. And if I remember correctly, Finn is actually Chief Harden’s godson.

  “Humph. Take her home, son,” the Chief said as he shook hands with Finn.

  I crumpled into Finn’s arms and cried all the way back to the Anderson’s mansion where Phyl greeted me with open arms, a fleece blanket, and a pot of tea.

  3

  The following Sunday afternoon, I was invited to the Andersons for brunch which most of us call lunch. I was enjoying myself immensely when Mr. A inquired, “Mollie, have you recovered from the . . . um incident concerning Dr.Winters?”

  I had a mouthful of mashed potatoes and chewed it up fast to answer my boss’ inquiry.

  “Yes Mr. A. I’m over the shock anyway. I just have to get over the feeling that I have a target on my back.” My job description had taken a giant leap from chauffeuring to feature writing. I was trying hard to live up to everyone’s expectations.

  “Today the senior minister alerted me that a new music minister will arrive this week. It is fortuitous that Dr. Bell is coming. She has been learning the ropes by shadowing Dr. Winters in his classes. She was to be Dr. Winters’ protégé, but now I suppose she is THE music minister. The secretary assured me that as soon as the new music minister arrives I will be immediately informed.”

  He forked in roast and potatoes and continued, “Of course we’ll do an interview at some point. But I wouldn’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable.”

  “I can do it, Dad,” Finn offered. “I don’t think Mollie wants to be around any bells just now.”

  “The newsletter announced a completely new line up this holiday season. I wonder if they’ll keep to it since . . . you know,” Phyl said as she passed the gravy to me.

  I nodded and focused on carefully passing the Wedgewood gravy boat which was worth more than my car.

  “Yes, I heard that too,” Finn said and took the gravy boat from my sweaty palms.

  Thank God that Mr. A was fully recovered and appeared to approve of my dating his firstborn. I had to admit he wasn’t the curmudgeon that I’d always thought. Now if we could just change the subject.

  “Yes,” Phyl continued. “The buzz is that our church choir will be combining with the hand bell class that Dr. Winters taught at the Community College. Anyone can volunteer. They must go through the training. What do you think of me joining, Phineas? Are you up to it Mollie? Oh dear. I’ve said the wrong thing again and brought up bad memories.”

  And there it was in front of God and everybody. The house became extremely quiet and all eyes were in my direction. I chewed longer than necessary and finally swallowed.

  “Umm. I don’t know. After the interview, I’ll know more details,” I said very quickly and stuffed my mouth with dressing.

  “Pshaw girl, there’s nothing to it. If children can do it, you know you can too,” Phyl insisted. “After your interview, you’ll change your tune,” Phyl said and laughed at her little joke.

  Finn eyed me. Mr. A stared at Phyl in an effort to shut her up which she purposefully ignored.

  “The roast is delicious, Mom,” Finn said in an effort to change the subject. “Is this your doing or is it the new cook?”

  “No I prepared it. Maria made the side dishes,” Phyl answered and blotted her lips. She took a sip of wine and continued on the subject like a laser beam.

  “The hand bell choir will be fun. We get to wear gloves and gorgeous Christmas clothes. I must do some research into what is proper attire for a hand bell choir. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one,” Phyl rambled on in her own world and for the life of me I recalled Lovey from Gilligan’s Island.

  Everyone at the table knew that I couldn’t refuse Phyl - dead body or not. The dearly departed Dr. Winters’ passing had been ruled as a heart attack. Even thought it was mysterious that one moment he was playing music and the next minute conked out – I suppose that’s how heart attacks happen.

  We retired to the patio for coffee. The weather was gorgeous. Too beautiful to think of cold weather and the holidays. At least this year I would have someone to celebrate with. Natalie and Auntie Lee usually headed north to relatives while Callie and her new husband will still be on their honeymoon. I loved this patio and I would sit here, if I could, even if the snow was up to my chin.

  When we were settled, one of their domestics brought out coffee in a silver service set and poured four cups. I did love the Andersons and their hospitality, but the expensive dinnerware always made me nervous. The last thing I wanted to do is embarrass myself by breaking something. But the other side of me said, Phyl wouldn’t care if I did.

  Like an encyclopedia Phyl proceeded to expound the pros of taking the hand bell class. Finn grinned at me again. My fate was sealed.

  3

  Christmas was still a long way off. Perhaps I could have some sort of hand injury – not serious – just enough to knock me out of playing in the hand bell choir. I’ve always been the klutz and I wasn’t anxious to display it in front of the entire community – thank you very much.

  Ms. Peabody, the church secretary, phoned per Mr. A’s instruction to say that she would set up an appointment for the interview after Dr. Winters’ funeral. She added that Dr. Bell would be helping with the arrangements and an introduction could be made after the service.

  I hadn’t exactly planned to go to the service but an introduction to the new musical director would be worth it. Ms. Peabody mentioned that the new minister’s name was Dr. Merry Bell. I almost giggled into the phone. Did her parents have a premonition? I thanked the good secretary and organized myself by Googling questions to ask during the interview. I didn’t think the standard ones would do.

  Maggie’s voice whispered, Does she have a brother named Ding Dong? Or a sister named Holly? Stop that. Get serious!

  Fortunately for all involved, Dr. Winters’ family was small and the service was short. Dr. Bell amazed us all with her rendering of Amazing Grace on the church organ. Dr. Benson, the senior minister, made a few remarks and it was off to the committal at the graveside.

  I introduced myself to Dr. Bell. She wore a designer pants suit, dark glasses, with her blonde hair in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Strictly business – this one. We set a time for the interview and I hurried home to change clothes for a date.

  Finn and I decided to take in a movie and afterwards go to the only Chinese restaurant within 50 miles, Egg Foo Man Choo. Who names these things? They must have had a little more rice wine than they had rice.

  Finn and I hadn’t discussed anything serious but I wasn’t dating anyone else and to my knowledge neither was he. I hadn’t explained fully about the relationship I had with Maggie. No one really understood except maybe Auntie Lee. I loved my best friend, Callie. She tried her best to understand but she didn’t really.

  “Hey beautiful. Ready for a big night on the town?” Finn liked to joke about our small
town but I knew he really loved it. Why else would he consent to give up a lucrative position in NYC for his dad’s business? Love for his parents, of course, but I think it was more than that.

  “Yes I am,” I smiled and locked the door behind me. I dressed for comfort in a hot pink sweater set and patterned capris.

  “You smell divine,” Finn whispered as he opened the door to his new fire engine red Lexus. “What is that fragrance called?”

  “Lavender soap,” I answered. “And don’t try to butter me up so that I’ll share my dim sum with you.” I loved being with Finn. He wasn’t pushy or demanding but easy going and self-assured.

  The movie was Goodbye Christopher Robin. I had to borrow Finn’s handkerchief to get through it. I had always loved the Winnie-the Pooh stories and it was touching to see how they came about.

  Finn couldn’t resist Rhett Butler’s line from Gone with the Wind, “Here take my handkerchief. Never in any crisis of your life have I known you to have a handkerchief.”

  “Very funny. I think I saw a tear slide down your cheek at one point,” I said.

  “Not a chance,” Finn said as he drove us to our appointment with egg rolls and hot and sour soup.

  This was medicine to my soul. I hated all reminders of disease and death. Dr. Winters’ heart attack brought back bad memories that I wanted to escape.

  “Any chance your mother will forget about the hand bell choir and let me off the hook?” I asked as Finn delivered me back to my apartment.

  “Nope. She’s a bulldog. I’m ducking it myself. She wants me to sign up as well. I’m pleading with Dad to send me on an assignment so I can’t commit,” Finn smiled and walked me to the door.

  “Coward,” I countered and kissed him good night on the cheek.

  4