A Dash of Murder by Teresa Trent

gentlemen,” she said to the council, “and we look to your leadership to rid u s of these Satanic influences.”
    Howard bolted up in the back of the room. It seemed he had finally scrounged up enough courage to confront Miss Boyle. His eyes bugged out as the anger rose t o his face. “That is not true!”
    Tom Schuller pounded his gavel. “ Miss Boyle has the floor, sir.”
    I felt Maggie jump up beside me. “She sure does, because I wouldn’t step on the garbage she’s throwin’ out. We are not affiliated with anything Satanic. I’m sitting in the pew same as you each week. I just don’t lord it ove r others as you are apt to do.”
    Tom Schuller b anged the gavel again. “Order!”
    Miss Boyle’s mouth soured. “As you can see, members of the council, these are the kinds of people we are forced t o deal with in this situation.”
    “And what kind of people is that, you … you …”
    Tom Schuller interrupted before my aunt could fill in the blank. “If you would like to speak, Mrs. Schaeffer, then stand behind Miss Boyle at the podium and wait your turn.”
    Maggie left the seating area, heaved an indignant sigh and stood behind Miss Boyle. The two of them were a contrast in height standing next to each other. My aunt’s head was right about at Miss Boyle’s bony shoulder blades. Miss Boyle turned slightly, looked down her nose directly at her and continued.
    “I would like to move that all access to the hospital be prohibited to the Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society on Ha lloween or any other day.”
    Miss Boyle gathered herself and glowered at my aunt as she left the podium.
    Maggie reached up to adjust the microphone but could not quite get her fingertips on the top. Howard hastened to the front to help her out with the mic. After making the adjustment, he continued to stand up there with her. It was the bravest thing I had seen h im do in our short association.
    “Gentlemen,” she started quietly. It was a distinct contrast to the near-yelling she had focused on Miss Boyle a few moments earlier. Aunt Maggie was pulling on every ounce of reserve she had to follow the decorum of the town council. “The Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society is not an agent of the devil. We are people who are curious, that’s all. We’re curious about the possibility of an existence on another plane. I lost my husband, Jeeter, a few years back, and for a while there I didn’t think I could go on. One of the comforts I have found is in my faith, that’s true. But until I get there and meet him on that celestial cloud, I would just love to know where he is and if he’s all right. Sounds crazy, I know. And I know I’m not going to find him floatin’ aro und out there at the hospital.”
    “What about the argument that the site is unsafe?” asked Don Schuller.
    Howard lowered his head to speak into the microphone. “Sir, we have done a preliminary safety check of the property and have found t he structure still very solid.”
    Arvin Wilson, Chief of Police, stood up in the back of the room. He had on the same navy blue uniform my dad wore with a few extra pieces of brass affixed. He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger, and he stepped forward. “If I may add, Don. My men have checked through the site, and there has been an officer posted there at the crime scene ever since the discovery of Mr. Canfield. We want to find who killed Mr. Canfield and need to protect our investigating area. Lieutenant Kelsey has spoken in depth with the members of the paranormal group and made sure they know what they can and cannot do. With all of these conditions in place, I think the coexistence of the police and ghost hunters will be fine.” He stepped back and tipped his Stetson, making me think of a knight stepping away from a king.
    Leo Fitzpatrick, who had been listening quietly, rose from his chair and raised his hand.
    “Yes, sir,” said Tom Schuller. “If you have something to present to the council, please come to