Death in the Secret Garden by Richard; Forrest Page A

his fourth and last Big Buddy. We can’t keep anyone with the little bastard. And each time someone quits the case they quit being a Big Buddy. One visit with Edward and guys want all kids tried as adult offenders.’
    â€˜I’m the last?’
    â€˜We can’t fool with the little monster forever.’
    â€˜I’ll give it another shot,’ Lyon said reluctantly. ‘But just one more time to see if it gets better,’ he said to the silent phone after Larsen quickly severed their connection.
    Barbara Styles had been the secretary of Murphysville’s Saint James Episcopal Church for twenty-six years. She hated unbalanced accounting records, liturgical changes, and Romans. But not in that order. The Romans, or RCs as the Roman Catholics were called for short, were the worst of the lot. They were not only incorrect in apostolic succession and papal infallibility, but were poorly represented by Saint Anne’s directly across the street from Saint James.
    It was a known fact that Saint Anne’s was made up of the dregs of Murphysville society. Saint James had the highest proportion of professionals, wealth, and old families on its membership rolls. Saint Anne’s had parishioners like that horrible Rocco Herbert, who had recently humiliated her daddy over that driver’s license business. So, her daddy was a little forgetful these days, but that was no reason to trick him out of his license and then destroy it. Only a Roman would feel the need to humiliate a member of the bar and former probate judge in that manner.
    The Catholics had Father Magrusky, who still spoke with an accent, while Saint James had Canon Mead MacIntire. Oh, how she had preened when that cathedral in Scotland had made Mac a canon. Not that Mac was all that much. He really wasn’t much good for anything except looking beatific at the altar. He might be a canon, and he might look beatific as hell while the hymns were sung, but he kept the church too low for Barbara’s high desires.
    Mac might be a canon, but Barbara pretty well ran things. It was not unusual for the canon to ask her advice on what organization meetings to attend, or anything having to do with church finances or maintenance. The only matters she did not dip her fingers into were theological. She was content to let the canon handle the metaphysical matters while she took care of everything else, which included his marriage, children, and most day-to-day decisions.
    Barbara Styles was a no-nonsense sort of person who dressed the way she acted. She wore a comfortable middle-aged body that was well nourished, but still functional for her purposes.
    She looked up in annoyance when the door to her first-floor office opened. She did not like to be disturbed while reconciling the bank statement.
    â€˜What do you want?’ she asked crossly. She waited impatiently for an answer. ‘Well? You know what happened last time.’ When there was no reply she snapped her pencil in two. ‘Are you going to say anything or just stand there all day?’ She stood and took a step around the edge of the desk. ‘What’s that in your hand?’
    The pistol shot in the small office was not loud. The bullet’s impact was not sufficient to knock Barbara Styles from her feet. She gripped the edge of the desk with both hands until the outside door closed. She reached for the phone with one hand, knocked it from its cradle, and dialed 911.
    â€˜You won’t believe who just shot me,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait long. I am hurt.’
    Barbara Styles dropped the phone with the emergency operator still talking. She lurched through the door and down the four front steps. She stumbled past the church sign before she veered into the road. She collapsed midway across the street, halfway between the two churches.

Six
    The Murphysville Volunteer Fire Department was the first unit to arrive at the murder scene. A fireman covered the body in