Travellin' Shoes Page 22

  “That’s good, Moe, because I don’t want anyone to get hurt. So why don’t you let the women go, and you and I can go inside and talk about this.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I don’t think that would be good.”

  I looked out of the corner of my eye. There was a black and white parked nearby, empty.

  Noticing the glance, Moe said, “Don’t worry. He’s okay.”

  I looked at Mama B. She still had her eyes closed. Her skin seemed pale, and her lips were moving. It took a split second for me to realize she was praying. I was almost afraid to look at Paris. But I did. She looked frightened but uninjured.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded and tried a half-hearted smile.

  My stomach flipped. The blood pumped so loudly in my ears, I could barely hear. I needed to remain calm. I had to try to figure out how to get between Moe Chapman and Mama B. I took some deep breaths to help steady my nerves.

  Moe said, “He’s tied up in the back bedroom.” I realized he was referring to the policeman who drove the black and white.

  “It’s Eugene King,” Mama B said. “He came to return my plate and use the bathroom.” She still had her eyes closed.

  “I just need that book,” Moe said. “I heard from Reverend Hamilton you found it. I just need the book, and then I’ll get outta here.”

  “Take my car. I’ll give you the keys.” I started to reach in my pocket, but Moe got nervous and shoved the gun into Mama B’s side.

  She gasped.

  I moved my hands back to where Moe could see them.

  “Don’t try to be a hero, RJ. I don’t want to shoot Sister Ella. But I will.” Moe sounded weary. “I’ve already killed twice, so I don’t think one or two or even three more will make much difference now.”

  “Why did you kill Tye Warren?” I needed to buy some time to think up a plan to get us all out alive.

  Moe sighed. “He figured out I had been taking money from the church when I started preaching and he took over the books. But he didn’t turn me in. No. He made me pay him. I had to pay him double what I had taken. That money was already gone. I tried to explain that to him but he just laughed. I had to get a part-time job and sell everything I could to try and come up with the money. Then he went after my girl.” Moe shook his head and tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

  “Mercedes is high maintenance, but a woman like that is an investment. When we walked into a room, heads turned.”

  Something made me look at Mama B. She was still, but she was smiling. Moe happened to look too. What made her smile? She was being held at gunpoint, but she seemed to be at peace. Then she started to hum. She had to be in shock. I needed to work quickly.

  Paris looked at Mama B and shrugged.

  The noise from the recreation center was louder than usual. Young men were descending on the center and a major game was about to go down. But I was focused on a different game—a game of life and death.

  “So, Warren was blackmailing you,” I said to keep Moe talking.

  “Yeah, but I heard her,” Moe cocked his head toward Paris, “arguing with him, and I knew I had some leverage. So, I went to his house Saturday after I took Mercedes home. He was there. His head was bleeding, and he was in a really bad mood. He wouldn’t even listen. He just kept threatening me. He said he’d turn me in to the police. He laughed and said he’d keep Mercedes busy until I got out. That’s when I snapped. I shot him before I even realized what I was doing.”

  I heard a noise and thought I saw something move around the side of the house. Moe must have heard it too. He started to move but changed his mind. He must have decided it was more important to keep his eyes on me.

  I tried to think of something else to keep him focused on me. “And Bryce Chandler?”

  “Warrendale had that book. I saw him writing in it. He called it his ‘hymn book.’ I looked for it when I searched his house, but I never found it. Reverend Hamilton said you found the book at the parsonage. I should have started there. But I thought maybe she had it.” Moe motioned toward Paris. “She kept talking about books when she was yelling at him at the church. I thought there might be notes in there about what I’d done with the money.”

  The sweat poured off Moe, and he struggled to keep his eyes on everyone at the same time. “That lady came to the church looking for his belongings. I thought I could get some money so Mercedes and I could get away. I called her. But she didn’t come. Some guy came.” Moe shook his head at the memory. “He didn’t have the money, and then he started threatening me too. But I’d had enough threats. So, I shot him.” He looked around like a trapped rat. “Now it’s time to go. Get up.”

  Moe started to stand but halted when Mama B started to sing.

  I will trust in the Lord

  I will trust in the Lord

  I will trust in the Lord until I die

  Paris looked at her for a moment and then started to sing quietly too.

  “Okay, that’s enough, Sister Ella,” Moe said. “Let’s go in the house.”

  But Mama B didn’t seem to be listening.

  I knew we stood a better chance of survival outside, and if Moe Chapman got his hands on that code book, he’d have no reason to leave us alive. I was going to have to make a lunge for Chapman and hope Mama B or Paris wouldn’t get hurt. Forcing that thought from my mind, I took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. I spoke to God for the first time in months.

  Paris and Mama B continued to sing. Moe pulled the gun out of his jacket. He pointed it at them. It was now or never. That’s when I heard a noise around the side of the house, but I refused to look. I kept my eyes focused on Moe Chapman. On the gun. I watched his hand. It was now or never. I started to leap toward Moe. From the corner of my eye, I saw two men leap over the back of the porch rail. Moe turned. I made my move. I pushed Mama B aside and hurled myself at Moe. The force of my body weight knocked him backward. He tried to steady himself. Over the rail came the two men. I recognized one as Tiny, the gang banger Mama B often fed. He was holding a switchblade to Moe’s throat while another man held a gun pointed at the back of his head. I reached behind my back, pulled out my gun, and placed it on Moe’s forehead.

  Tiny said, “Make one move and I’ll slit your throat, mother—”

  “Tiny,” Mama B yelled, “watch your mouth.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tiny said, although he didn’t move his blade.

  Needless to say, Moe remained perfectly still.

  I relieved him of his weapon, but kept mine pointed at his head.

  Paris helped Mama B back into her chair.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Mama B nodded and said, “Tiny, I told you about using language like that.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Tiny apologized.

  “Yo Yo, Five O. You want us to take care of this?” the other thug said, meaning Moe Chapman, and for the first time I saw genuine fear in Moe’s eyes.

  I hesitated a split second. “No, I got this.”

  Tiny and his friend nodded and put their weapons away.

  I was too thankful for their help to ask questions about their weapons—maybe another time, but not today. I rolled Moe onto his stomach. With my knee in his back, I cuffed him.

  “I got some lemonade and a pound cake in the kitchen. Ya’ll go on in and help yourselves,” Mama B told her two rescuers. She looked peaky and her voice was understandably shaky.

  “You okay?” With Moe immobilized, I took a good long look at her to make sure she hadn’t been injured in the commotion.

  “Yes, praise the Lord. I’m okay, but my legs are a bit wobbly. I’m just going to sit here for a while,” Mama B said.

  I had pulled out my cellphone to call the station when I heard a voice from inside.

  “Yo, Five O, you want us to untie your friend?”

  I had forgotten about Eugene King the patrolman tied up in the back. “Yeah. Untie him.”

  Once Moe Chapman was cuffed, he hung his head and cried lik
e a baby. I had an overwhelming desire to kick him, but refrained. Mama B wouldn’t have approved.

  Paris stood up and said, “Hold me.”

  And that’s what I did.

  To say Moe Chapman sang like a bird would be a serious understatement. Once Reverend Hamilton arrived, he cried, confessed, cried, and then cried some more.

  Harley, Chief Mike, and I briefed the mayor. He had his nerds working on cracking Warrendale’s Hymn Book. I suggested they use a Baptist hymnal to help with the cipher. The numbers in Warrendale’s hymn book represented the letters from various hymns. Once they had that key, they made progress. I hoped one day Paris and the church would get some of their money back, but it could take years to sort through everything, especially with off-shore banks. I also doubted we would find anything in the hymn book that would convict Mrs. Hartford-Graham of anything unless it was tax evasion. Maybe with the evidence from Carl Hastings Senior, the account information from Warrendale, and testimony from Mrs. Warren … but even if we did get the evidence, it was unlikely she’d ever stand trial. Lawyers would drag this out until she was dead and buried. Perhaps Mrs. Hartford-Graham would one day face justice for money laundering—if not in this lifetime, maybe in the next.

  At least the people of St. Joe could rest easier knowing the murder of Thomas Warrendale had been solved. And the people of Cleveland could rest easier knowing Bryce Chandler wouldn’t be laundering or embezzling money anymore. All in all, it was a good day.

  After the briefing, we spent several hours filling out paperwork. Paperwork was still my least favorite part of being a cop. However, this case hit pretty close to home for me and involved a lot of people I knew and cared about. So, I took extra care to make sure it was perfect.

  It was dark when I got back to Mama B’s. She was in her chair. I knew Paris would be there along with Reverend Hamilton. Mama B refused to go to the hospital to get checked out. I was worried the strain had affected her blood pressure. But Paris promised to keep an eye on her. I noticed Tiny and a few of his friends were sitting on the hood of the car in the rec center parking lot. Mama B was definitely well looked after.

  The color was back in Mama B’s skin and the sparkle was almost back in her eyes. By tomorrow, she’d have a full house of busybodies all wanting to hear the story.

  “Is everything wrapped up?” Reverend Hamilton asked.

  I flopped down on the sofa. “Pretty much. He confessed to the killings, so it should be a quick job. We’ve got him on suicide watch.”

  Reverend Hamilton shook his head and then added, “I hope he will accept the forgiveness of God. He has always looked at God as a vengeful being to be feared rather than an understanding parent full of love and forgiveness. If he can change his outlook, he can still serve God.”

  “Are you kidding me? He killed two men, assaulted a police officer, and held three people hostage. What kind of work can he do?”

  “The Bible is clear, RJ. ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ ” Reverend Hamilton was quoting I John 1: 9. I didn’t know a lot of scriptures by heart but I remembered that one. That had been one of my mom’s favorite verses.

  “Amen, Reverend,” Mama B said.

  “God doesn’t view one sin as greater than another. If we can confess and turn from our wicked ways, He will forgive.” Reverend Hamilton spoke patiently, and he seemed to be looking through me. At that moment, I knew he wasn’t talking about Moe Chapman anymore. The person who needed forgiveness was me. I needed to forgive God and I needed to forgive myself for not saving that little girl in the accident.

  “Forgiveness is a gift,” Reverend Hamilton said. “In order to receive this gift, you have to be willing to accept it in return. Only then will you be open to all the other gifts and benefits God has for us … like love.”

  I might have been mistaken but I would have sworn Reverend Hamilton looked at Paris.

  She blushed.

  I knew forgiving myself would take time and I would never forget the tragedy of that accident, but I was ready to travel the path to forgiveness and peace.

  Mama B hummed and rocked in her chair. I settled back on the sofa and couldn’t help smiling. I’d caught a killer. The streets were safer. As Robert Browning wrote in “Pippa’s Song,” “God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.”

  * * *

  Death went out to the sinner’s house,

  Come and go with me

  Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go,

  Ain’t got no travellin’ shoes.

  Got no travellin’ shoes, got no travellin’ shoes

  Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go

  I ain’t got no travellin’ shoes

  Death went out to the gambler’s house,

  Come and go with me

  The gambler cried out, I’m not ready to go,

  Ain’t got no travellin’ shoes.

  Got no travellin’ shoes, got no travellin’ shoes

  Sinner cried out, I’m not ready to go

  I ain’t got no travellin’ shoes

  Death went out to the preacher’s house,

  Come and go with me

  The preacher cried out, I’m ready to go,

  I’ve got my travellin’ shoes

  Got my travellin’ shoes, got my travellin’ shoes

  Preacher cried out, I’m ready to go

  I’ve got my travellin’ shoes

  * * *

  Chapter 18: RJ’s Favorite Meals

  BJ Magley’s Pork Chops

  Serves 4

  4½ to 4¾-inch-thick center-cut pork chops

  Lawry’s® Seasoned Salt

  Pepper

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  ½ cups vegetable oil

  ½ cups milk

  1 egg

  1. Sprinkle Lawry’s® Seasoned Salt and pepper on both sides of the pork chops.

  2. Beat the egg and milk in a shallow bowl.

  3. Heat the vegetable oil in a cast-iron skillet on medium heat for approximately 10 minutes.

  4. Drip the pork chops in the egg and milk batter.

  5. Dredge in flour on both sides.

  6. Fry on medium high until gently brown.

  * * *

  BJ’s Quick and Easy Peach Cobbler

  2 29-oz cans of sliced peaches in heavy syrup

  1½ cups sugar

  ¾ cups butter plus 2 tablespoons

  ¼ cups lemon juice

  1 teaspoon cinnamon

  2 boxes of Pillsbury™ Refrigerated Pie Crust

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

  2. Pour peaches into shallow 10x13-inch glass pan and then pour lemon juice over the peaches. Add sugar and mix well.

  3. Sprinkle cinnamon over the top of the mixture.

  4. Slice ¾ cups of butter into approximately 10 slices and place them in dots over the top of the mixture.

  5. Unfold the pie crust and place over the top of the peach mixture. Using a fork, poke holes across the top of the crust.

  6. Melt remaining butter and pour over the top of the crust.

  7. Bake until golden brown, approximately 45 minutes.

  * * *

  Sweet Potato Pie

  Makes 2 pies

  2 9-inch pie shells

  2 cups cooked sweet potatoes

  8 tablespoons butter

  1¾ cups sugar

  1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

  1½ teaspoon vanilla extract

  2 eggs

  1 cup (8 oz) evaporated milk

  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

  2. Place sweet potatoes in a five-quart sauce pan and cover the potatoes with water.

  3. Boil over medium heat until the sweet potatoes are soft when poked with a fork (approximately 30 minutes).

  4. Drain potatoes and remove skin and beat with an electric mixer until smooth.

  5. Cream butter and sugar together and add to sweet potato mixture and beat well. />
  6. Add nutmeg, vanilla, eggs, and evaporated milk.

  7. Mix ingredients thoroughly and pour into unbaked pie shells. Bake until the pies are set in the center (approximately 35 to 40 minutes).

  * * *

  Elvira Burns’ Fried Corn

  Serves 4-5

  12 ears of sweet corn

  ½ cup of water

  ¼ tsp pepper

  2 tbsp all-purpose flour

  3-4 tbsp. bacon drippings or olive oil

  ½ tsp salt

  2 tbsp sugar (optional)

  1. Using a sharp knife, scrape the cob downward into a large bowl.

  2. Heat a heavy skillet and add the bacon or olive oil.

  3. When hot, add corn and cook for 15 to 20 minutes, stirring constantly to prevent sticking.

  4. Add water to flour mixture and stir, and then stir into corn to thicken.

  5. Add salt and pepper to taste. If desired, add sugar to sweeten.

  6. Reduce heat and cover tightly, cooking for 20 to 30 more minutes until done.

  * * *

  Photo by Sophia Muckerson

  V.M. Burns was born and raised in the Midwestern United States. She holds a bachelor’s degree from Northwestern University (Evanston, IL) and master’s degrees from the University of Notre Dame (Notre Dame, IN) and Seton Hill University (Greensburg, PA). She is currently thawing out in Eastern Tennessee.

  V.M. Burns is a member of Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime. She is the author of the Mystery Bookshop Mystery series and the Dog Club Mystery series.