Short Stories from Wing's Authors.

The Jump Rope Murder

by

Karyn Lyndon

Sam Westin had been the sheriff of Carlton, Texas for over a month. He replaced Jud Rawlings after his stroke. Jud was respected in the town, so his shoes were going to be hard to fill.

Carlton was a quiet community for 1968. They still held holiday events and festivals in the town square. Mayor Jenkins gave rousing speeches from the white gazebo right in the middle. There was one school, one bank, one grocery store, one beauty parlor, one ice cream parlor, one pizza parlor and one dry cleaners. The only thing they didn’t have one of was a church. They had two of them: The Baptist Church and the Catholic Church. They faced each other on the square like opposing teams on a football field, the gazebo acting as referee.

What had been the gas station years ago was now Mother’s Kitchen, the only diner in town. It was owned by Mother, a woman made mean and hard by spending years in front of a deep fat fryer. Everyone called her Mother but it wasn’t meant in a maternal way.

It was 6 a.m. when Sam got the call from Mother to come at once. When he arrived, a small crowd had gathered around a new-looking white Chevy SUV in the parking lot. The priest from the Catholic Church, Father pendleton, was in the driver’s seat. His hands were gripping the steering wheel and his eyes were closed. Tied tightly around his neck and around the headrest was a child’s jump rope with red wooden handles on the ends.

Sam ran to his car to call Carlton Community Hospital for the coroner. Feeling the adrenalin from investigating a murder he thought, Finally, something to do other than round up a cow on the highway or ticket the new home builders for dumping trash.

He jogged back to check the body for any other visible marks. One thing out of the ordinary was Father pendleton’s bare feet. Also, a brightly colored parrot in an antique-looking cage sat in the passenger seat. As the sheriff approached, the bird flapped his wings frantically, spreading feathers and bird seed everywhere.

“Sister,” squawked the bird. “Sister! Sister!”

The crowd grew bigger and as they recognized who the victim was the cries grew louder. About that time the coroner Bob Bilkley pulled up. When Bob realized it was Father pendleton he wept openly. He removed the rope from around the priest’s neck and handed it to Sam.

“That’s my jump rope, Mister,” said a scrawny 6-year-old with blonde, stringy hair hanging in her face. “But I didn’t kill the Father.”

She looked up at Sam, her blue innocent eyes shining despite the smudges on her face. Hand extended, she waited for the sheriff to give her the rope.

“Of course you didn’t.” Sam squatted next to her and put his arm on her shoulder. “I’ll have to keep this, though. It’s what we call evidence. But I’ll take real good care of it. I promise.”

Sam realized the girl had make-up on--eye shadow, blush, lipstick. And she was wearing a grown-up’s fancy dress and plastic toy high-heels.

“Sissy! You get over here now,” shouted a man on the porch of the house next door.

The little girl clomped across the parking lot, holding her dress up to keep from tripping on it.

“I’m comin’, Daddy.”

“Sister,” screeched the parrot.

Sam searched the back seat carefully and came across a red stain just below the headrest.

“What do you make of this, Bob?”

“It looks like lipstick to me. Red lipstick.”

Bob went back to prying Father pendleton’s fingers off the steering wheel when Mother bullied her rotund-ness through the onlookers.

"Can we get this show on the road? You’re ruining the appetites of my breakfast crowd!”

The woman was disgusting to look at with a few wiry hairs growing out of her double chin. Her gray hair was filthy and her glasses were splattered with a week’s worth of grease.

“I’m sorry, Mrs…uh…”

“Just call me Mother. Everyone else does.

“Okay…uh…Mother,” Sam agreed impatiently. “Someone, it appears, has been murdered here. That makes this a crime scene, you know, with evidence, suspects and stuff like that?”

She started to interrupt but seemed to think better of it as his anger escalated.

“So, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you, but I’m afraid the answer is no. We can’t hurry.”

Mother turned around and stomped off in a huff.

“Don’t go far,” Sam yelled. “I still need to get a statement from you.”

As Mother pushed her way out of the crowd Mrs. Whittington, the bank president’s wife, excused her way politely but firmly through to the sheriff.

“Excuse me, Sheriff Westin, I need to talk to you.”

Behind them Bob was pulling the father’s body out. The car started to roll forward and Sam jumped in to put on the brakes. The car was still in drive. The Father’s body was solemnly placed into the Medical Examiner’s wagon.

Sam called, “Let me know about the autopsy,” as Bob pulled out of the parking lot.

“Now, Mrs. Whittington, you were saying?” Sam asked with irritation.

“Shouldn’t we go down to the station?” She whispered, “I need to talk to you privately.”

“I need to finish up here, first. I’ll meet you at my office around 2.”

As she walked away Sam made a mental note of her bright red lipstick.

“Okay,” Sam called out. “You can all go home, now. If you have any information about Father pendleton’s death, contact me at the station.”

After everyone left, Sam surveyed the parking lot for any other evidence. Then he stepped inside Mother’s for a cup of coffee while he waited on the tow truck. Sam stirred his coffee as Mother rubbed mechanically on the counter with a rag.

“What time did you get here this morning?”

“5:45—same as every day.”

“But you didn’t call me until 6?”

“I know. I walked across the alley from my house and come in the back. I didn’t notice his car till I seen him through the front window while I was fillin’ shakers. At first I thought he was waitin’ for me to open, but when I unlocked around 6 he didn’t come in.” Mother tugged on the sides of her bra and wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand. “Finally I waved at him from the front door. Imagine! Me waving at a corpse! Boy, did I feel stupid. When he didn’t move I went to his car. I could see he was dead.

“How could you be sure?”

“I know dead when I see it! I seen my husband Harry stretched out on the bed, cold and gray-lookin’ and stiff as a day-old waffle.”

“Did you check the Father’s pulse?”

“I ain’t ig-no-rant! I watch TV! You ain’t supposed to touch nothing at the scene!”

~ * ~

Sam jogged into his office just in time to answer the phone. “police Station.”

“This is Sister Mary Ellen from the school.” She sounded like she’d been crying. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sheriff, but I’m told you have the school’s mascot.”

“Yes, Sister, I do.” Sam thought this must be the “sister” the bird kept squawking about.

“I’d like to come and get him if that’s okay.”

“I’m afraid we have to keep the bird--evidence, you understand.”

“Oh.” The sister sounded disappointed.

“But, I would like to see you,” Sam added.

“About what? I can’t come till after the last bell.”

“That’ll be fine. I just need to ask some routine questions.”

~ * ~

At 2 p.m. sharp Mrs. Whitington entered the station, her purse held tightly against her body, as though Sam might snatch it away from her.

“I’ll just take a few notes. “ Sam settled into his imitation leather desk chair and motioned Mrs. Whitington to sit in the guest chair.

“Well, the Catholic Church--that’s my church--and the Baptists were holding their fall bazaars during the same weekend. Mrs. Feeney at City Hall forgot to write down our reservation for the square. So you can imagine everyone’s surprise when we both started to set up our booths yesterday afternoon. Father pendleton was already at the podium to begin the opening prayer when Reverend Burns of First Baptist went up the steps to talk to the Father.

Mrs. Whitington tugged on her skirt, which was already well below her knees, and continued.

“At first you couldn’t hear what they were saying. But you could tell by the way their arms were flying, they were very angry--especially Brother Burns. Then they started shouting. Brother Burns said that he was tired of the Catholics always trying to out-do the Baptists and that God knew where the Father’s heart really was. He said God would see he got what was coming to him.”

Sam stopped his note-taking and looked up. Mrs. Whitington appeared indignant.

“So you’re saying God killed the Father?”

“Well, of course not! I’m saying Brother Burns killed him.”

“Oh, now, Mrs. Whittington…”

“You don’t understand, Sheriff, this a vicious rivalry that goes way back. Yesterday afternoon was just the--the last straw!”

Sam closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitington.”

“Well, aren’t you going to haul him in? I don’t think you should go easy on him just because he’s a man of the cloth. After all, we’re talking about murder.”

The phone rang. The coroner’s preliminary report stated the cause of death as strangulation by jump rope around 11 p.m. Sunday. No other marks were found.

Mrs. Whitington got up to leave and Sam stopped her. “Where were you at 11 p.m.?”

“I was at the church.” Her voice seemed unsteady. “I wanted to talk to Father pendleton.”

“And did you find him?”

“No, he wasn’t in his room.”

“Why so late?”

“I wanted to talk to him before Sister Mary Ellen did.” Her voice cracked. “She was going to tell him I forgot to reserve the Gazebo and that’s simply not true!”

“Did you see anything,” Sam hesitated, “out of the ordinary?”

“No. I did think it was strange he wasn’t there.”

“Okay, you can go now,” said Sam. “Oh wait! Can I have the tube of lipstick you’re wearing?”

“Why?” Her question rang with fear. She rummaged for it in her purse and handed it to him. “You don’t think I killed the Father, do you?

“At this point everyone’s a suspect.”

~ * ~

Mrs. Whitington and Sister Mary Ellen passed each other in the station foyer.

“Sister, please take a seat.”

“Oh, Sheriff, can you believe this horrible tragedy?”

Sam didn’t answer. “I’m just going to ask you a couple of questions and take a few notes. Did you hear the discussion between the Father and Reverend Burns on Sunday?”

“No, but I’ve never seen Father pendleton so upset.”

“Did he say anything to you after the bazaar?”

“Yes. He told me to pray for the Baptists.”

“Where were you around 11 p.m. Sunday night?”

“I’m in bed by ten every night.”

“Is there any reason why the Father would have the parrot in the car?”

“On warm nights he kept him there, otherwise St. petey’s squawking would keep him awake.”

“And one final question. Do you know anyone who would want to kill Father pendleton?”

“Other than Brother Burns and the Baptists, he was beloved by everyone.”

The parrot began to screech from the supply room, “Sister! Sister!”

~ * ~

Later that afternoon the sheriff knocked at the parsonage door and the portly Reverend Burns opened the screen.

“Evenin’, Sheriff. Come right on in.”

The Reverend, holding a big glass of iced tea in one hand, ushered Sam into the parlor.

“Still hot, even in September,” the Reverend chatted.

“Yes, this is strange weather. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat.”

“Where’re you from?”

Sam sat in a velvet side chair. The Reverend sat across on a gaudy floral sofa.

“I’ve lived all over, but mostly Colorado Springs.”

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“Well, as you probably know, I’m investigating Father pendleton’s murder.”

“So, it was murder, eh?”

“Strangled with a jump rope.”

The Reverend took a gulp of his drink. “Would you like some tea? Sister,” he called toward the kitchen. “Sister, get the sheriff an ice tea.”

“Who’s Sister?”

“Oh, my sister Margaret lives with me. I’ve called her sister since childhood.”

Margaret, a plump, gray-haired woman with the scent of baby powder shuffled in and handed the sheriff a cold glass. Then she shuffled dutifully out.

“Anyway, as I’ve asked questions around town, the subject keeps coming up about your argument in the square on Sunday.”

“Well, Sheriff, I wouldn’t call it an argument, exactly--just a friendly rivalry.”

“I heard you told Father pendleton God would take care of him, or something like that.”

The Reverend’s normally ruddy face went pale. Finally, he spoke.

“Well, Sheriff. I guess I’ll eventually have to let you in on our little secret so I’ll go ahead and tell you now. When I first came to this church the paltry congregation was the most apathetic group of so-called Christians I’d ever seen. St. Michael’s was the same way. Father pendleton and I got to talking one day during a town council meeting and decided we needed to spice up this community. So we devised a plan to pit the Catholic Church against mine in a sort of competition. We formed baseball teams, conflicting membership drives, simultaneous socials, etcetera. It worked like a charm. Soon everyone in town and the neighboring counties were going to either one church or the other. When membership would start to lag, the Father and I would cook up another little competition.”

Sam asked with exasperation, “You mean the fiasco Sunday afternoon was a set up?!?”

The reverend slowly nodded. “But, you don’t have to tell everybody, do you? If anybody finds out it’ll mean my job!”

“The Catholics think you killed him!”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“Where were you at 11 p.m. on Sunday?”

“In bed asleep like I am every night at 11 p.m. Sister can vouch for that.”

“Do you know anyone who would want Father pendleton dead?”

“If I were you, I’d look for the owner of that rope.”

~ * ~

After stopping by the Five & Dime around dusk, Sam walked up to the house next door to Mother’s Diner. The door on the dark, screened-in porch gave an eerie squeak then banged shut behind him. He could hear loud TV noises coming from inside, and he could smell supper cooking.

After he knocked, a tall, thin man with a scowl on his face came to the door. He was bare-chested with baggy work-style pants and stood in sock feet.

The little girl’s daddy snarled, “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you and your daughter about Father pendleton’s death.”

The man stared at the sheriff for a while then pushed back the door to let him in. “Sister…get in here.”

“This morning you called her Sissy.”

“Sister…Sissy. What’s it to ya?”

The little blonde peeked around a doorway and looked like she was in trouble.

“The sheriff wants to ask us some question, Sissy. You just answer honest.”

The little girl looked at her Daddy as though trying to read what he really meant. “Okay,” she said almost inaudibly.

Sam patted the green divan for her to come sit by him. She obliged and he pulled the new jump rope out of his jacket.

“Here, I bought this for you.”

Her eyes lit with excitement. “Thanks, Mister!”

“I need to know if you knew the man in the station wagon.”

“That was Father pendleton. He was my priest.” Sissy pushed her hair out of her face and the Sheriff could see her make-up was an attempt to cover a black eye. “I gave my first confession to him on Sunday.”

“You did what?” yelled her Daddy. “We ain’t even Catholic!”

“Well, maybe you aren’t, but I can be Catholic if I wanna.” The six year old seemed brave, probably because the Sheriff was there to protect her. “Besides, they have the best socials. And that’s what Mama was—before she went with the angels.” Her voice trailed.

Her Daddy shot her a you’re gonna get it later look.

“Did you see what happened to Father pendleton?”

“No,” she said defensively. “I would never hurt the Father. He was my friend.” Tears started to roll down her face.

“Now, don’t go and cry. I know you wouldn’t hurt anybody. Why don’t you go outside and play. Let me talk to your Daddy.”

The girl’s mood lightened and she ran out the front to try the new rope.

Alone, the sheriff and the girl’s father sat facing each other.

Finally Sam spoke. “What if I told you Father pendleton came to my office Sunday afternoon and said your little girl confessed that you were physically abusing her?”

The girl’s Daddy said nothing.

The Sheriff continued. “That would give you a motive to kill the Father, wouldn’t it?”

“I didn’t kill that priest!”

“But it sure looks like it, doesn’t it? Especially with the bruises on her and the murder weapon from your house!”

The man stood up and so did Sam.

“Now, I’m not saying I would, but I could pin this murder on you.”

“What are you getting at?”

The sheriff thought for a moment. “Let me take your daughter away from your abuse. Sister Mary Ellen can help find her a good family--one who deserves a sweet angel like her.”

“Now, why would I let you do that?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll go to jail for murder. And I don’t imagine they go too lightly on someone who’s killed a priest.”

The girl’s daddy was speechless. Finally he said, “Take her. She’s just a sassy little bitch, anyway—more ’an I can handle.”

~ * ~

The Sheriff walked outside to explain to the girl he was taking her to stay with the Sister.

They drove through the town square in silence.

She finally spoke. “Are you ‘resting me ’cause it’s my rope?”

“No, silly, I know you didn’t kill him.”

“I really didn’t,” she explained. “He was already dead. The horn woke me up and I went over to the diner to see what it was. But every time I let go of his head it would press on the horn and honk really loud. I was afraid it would wake up Daddy. So I tied his head up with my rope. That was okay, wasn’t it?”

This case just kept surprising Sam. “Of course it was. But, Sissy, do me a favor and don’t tell anyone else. Other people might not think it was a proper thing to do.”

That night after Sissy was tucked in safely at Sister Mary Ellen’s, Sheriff Westin lay in bed trying to sort out the day.

“Nothing like a good murder to flush out the new town’s troublemakers,” he thought. “To solve a murder is a quick way to get in good graces with the townsfolk, too.”

Now he had to decide who to pin this one on. He had his choice of anyone named Sister. He chuckled at the thought of that stupid parrot on the witness stand.

He wouldn’t mind putting away that manipulative Brother Burns and exposing the tricks he and the Father played on the town. Or he could rid them of that horrible eyesore, Mother.

He laughed again as he imagined headlines in the local newspaper: SISTER KILLS FATHER, or BROTHER KILLS FATHER, or MOTHER KILLS FATHER.

But no, the real pest in town was that snooty Mrs. Whittington. She was the one who called incessantly about trivial things like the cow on the highway and the builders dumping trash. Without her his job would be a lot easier.

He’d smudge some of her lipstick on the headrest tomorrow. And maybe smear some on the jump rope, too. Coming up with a motive, though, was tough. But he always enjoyed a challenge.

Then he thought of the night before when he’d slipped quietly into the Father’s bedroom. He could vividly picture the priest passed out across his bed, the strong smell of liquor expelling into the room with each snore.

“A religious figure who drinks is not a good example for the rest of the town,” he thought. Then he pictured jabbing the needle into the crease between his toes. His hypodermic filled with bee sting serum always did the trick.

When the priest realized he couldn’t breathe he must have jumped in the car for help. After he passed out, he coasted into Mother’s parking lot and fell on the horn. Sissy’s jump rope was something Sam hadn’t planned on, though.

“What a stroke of luck—saving her from that monster she calls Daddy.”

He wondered if the Father had died from the deadly injection or if an innocent child and her jump rope had actually finished him off. He would probably never know.

“Sister,” squawked the parrot.

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