Chapter Five

Antioch Church

Sheriff John Sanders proved to be as straight up as Allan Roberts had told Woody. "I can't believe anything like poisoned heroin could be found in Coldstream…but who knows? Stranger things have happened," he said. "Just let me know how I can help."

"Could you let us examine any of your case files that deal with drugs, possession, or sale of drugs would be great," Woody replied.

Six hours later, Woody and Jordan had determined that the most exciting thing that had happened in Coldstream was a stream of tickets that been issued when a new traffic signal was installed. Jordan sighed in disgust and despair. "This is worse than Mayberry," she said. "At least Barney had someone in lock up on the weekends, even it was just Otis sleeping off a drunk."

Woody chuckled, but knew she was right. "Yeah, I know…looks like we're going to have to dig a little deeper."

Jordan pushed back the files and stretched. "I've had it," she admitted. "I'm ready for dinner, a shower, and bed. Then I'll feel like hitting it hard and fresh tomorrow."

Woody nodded. "Sounds good."

"Where did you make reservations?"

"Reservations?"

"For the hotel rooms…" Jordan trailed off…"You did make reservations, didn't you Woody?"

Frantically Woody went through his "to-do-before-I-leave" list in his mind. He could have sworn he told the secretary in his department to make reservations for himself and Jordan….but he had no confirmation numbers or hotel names in his paper work. "Ah… mmm…the department didn't give me anything…"

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You left for Kentucky …. Coldstream, Kentucky … with no hotel reservations?" Her voice rose with each syllable for emphasis on his stupidity.

"I'm sure we can find something somewhere, Jordan…"

Jordan gazed at him, marveling at the man's ignorance. "Woody…this is Coldstream. Population 956. I haven't seen a Holiday Inn, a Red Roof Inn, or Aunt Bee's Bed and Breakfast…"

"But surely….there's somewhere…"

Sighing, Jordan offered one suggestion. "Talk to John. Maybe he knows of somewhere…All I know is that I'm not sleeping in a tent or the car."

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"Well, I guess you could always check with Judge Thomas," Sheriff Sanders said, slowly rubbing his chin, appearing in deep thought. When Woody had asked John about hotels in the area, his initial response had been, "You are kidding, right?" When he saw that the detective was serious, he had put more thought into his next answer.

"Judge Thomas?" Jordan asked. "Does he run a boarding house or something?"

"No…but he does have a spare cabin that sets back in the woods a ways. He rents it out to hunters in the area."

"Any idea how we can get in touch with the judge and see about the cabin?" Woody asked.

John rubbed his chin again. He was by nature, a planner…he knew what Woody and Jordan would be facing with the old man…who was a curmudgeon without any stretch of the imagination. Lowell Thomas had been the judge for the county for more years than anyone could remember. In fact, no one, other than Lowell's wife, Ruth, could ever remember him being anything other than the judge as well as the local minister -- two hats that the judge often wore at the same time and with great enthusiasm…a little too much enthusiasm in John's opinion. "This time of week and time of day, he's probably at his office at Antioch Church," John replied.

"His office is at the church?" Jordan questioned. "Didn't he hear the part in the Constitution about separation between church and state?"

John laughed at her. "No..no..Judge Thomas is also the pastor at Antioch. He's down there getting ready for Sunday services."

"Oh," Jordan replied, nodding, as if that made perfect sense to her.

"Yeah. But I need to let you two know something up front. Judge Thomas is an old-fashioned man…kinda set in his ways. Like most of the people in Coldstream, he's just a little suspicious of strangers, even if they're the 'good guys'," John continued, smiling.

"Thanks, we'll keep that in mind," Woody replied. He just wanted to get to the church, find Judge Thomas, secure the cabin, and go stretch out somewhere. Between the cramped quarters of their third class flight, the ride from Louisville to Coldstream in a compact car, and then sifting through case files all day, his back injury was killing him. He longed for a hot shower and thirty minutes stretched out on a bed somewhere with his muscle relaxers.

"I mean he's really…somethin'. Set in his ways, Woody."

Woody nodded. If the old man gives me a hard time, I'll simply flash my Boston PD badge and have Jordan show her ME credentials. Surely as a man of the law, he would understand those…he thought. "So how do I get to Antioch?"

"Take a right when you pull out of the parking lot. Go three blocks and take another right. The church is at the end of the road, set back on a little hill."

"Thanks….see you tomorrow," Woody answered, absent-mindedly putting a hand on Jordan's back to steer her towards the car.

He didn't hear John chuckle as they walked off.

They found the church in just a few minutes time. Woody walked into the vestibule and Jordan trailed along a few feet behind. "Judge Thomas?" Woody called out.

"Who wants to know?" responded a voice from behind a closed door.

"Woody Hoyt…Boston PD."

The door opened a crack. "Boston, huh? Heard you folks were down here snooping around … something about drugs."

"Yes, sir."

"Then what do you need me for, Hoyt? I haven't processed a drug case in Coldstream in ….well, come to think of it, I never have presided over a drug case in Coldstream."

"It's not about drugs," chimed in Jordan. "It's about that spare hunting cabin you have…"

The door opened completely then and a slightly rotund, balding, tall man filled the doorway. "My hunting cabin. What about it?"

"We were wondering, sir, if we could rent it for a couple of weeks while we're in Coldstream?" Woody asked, backing up just a half a step. The judge was taller than he was.

"Both of you in that cabin?"

"Yes…yes sir."

"Is she a detective, too?" Judge Thomas asked, pointing at Jordan.

Well, almost… Woody thought. "No..no. This is Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh…she's a medical examiner for the state of Massachusetts."

"An ME? What's an ME doing on a drug case?"

"It was her office that pinned the heroin down…and the poison that was used. I need her for the investigation," Woody responded, not sure where this odd conversation was going.

"Is she going to stay with you in my hunting cabin?" The judge asked, looking over the top of his glasses at Jordan, making her feel like she was one of Bug's insect examples on display.

"Yes…." replied Woody.

"I'm sure I can handle a hunting cabin," Jordan added. "I've stayed in rougher places." She was imagining a true hunting cabin…limited indoor plumbing, no heat…just the basic necessities. She could understand an older man's hesitancy about putting a woman in a cabin that had such primitive conditions.

"Oh, it's not the cabin that is bothering me," replied the judge with an amused look on his face. "It's a nice cabin…Even has a hot tub. I fixed it up nice in order to rent out to men during the hunting season. The nicer the cabin, the more money you make. But you must know that I am also more than just the judge in this town….I am also the pastor of this church. And as the pastor of Antioch Church, I feel I have certain standards that I have to uphold with that church office. So I need to ask you two, are you married?"

"Married?" choked out Jordan.

"You mean to each other?" Woody asked, his voice taking on a pre-pubescence tone.

The judge nodded

You're joking, right? Jordan thought, catching a glimpse of Woody's face and discovered he was thinking the same thing.

But one look at Lowell Thomas's face proved he wasn't joking. "No…I asked you a question. I expect an answer. An honest answer."

"No….no, we're not married…to each other or anyone else," Woody answered slowly. "Is that a problem?"

Judge Thomas nodded. "In Boston, maybe not. Boston's a big city…a lot can go unnoticed, or a lot of people just don't care. But Coldwater's different. It's a small town…conservative. And I'm the pastor as well as the judge here. If I say one thing and do another, it's going to be noticed. And I've always preached against cohabitation before marriage. So if I let you two unmarried folk rent my cabin…"

"But we're not cohabitating….or anything else," Jordan interrupted, disbelief in her voice. She though these attitudes died out with the demise of the Moral Majority sometime in the eighties…along with really big hair bands.

"Doesn't matter. It would appear that way to some of these folks…"

Jordan glanced over at Woody, hoping she could see the same frustration in his eyes that she knew was in hers. But the he had on his detective face…completely neutral. "So you won't rent the cabin to us?" Woody asked.

"I'll rent to you," the judge said, motioning to Woody. "And she can stay with me and Ruth at the farm house."

"The farm house?" Jordan parroted back. "That's it…get in the car, Woody. We're going to go into Louisville and find a hotel… I can't believe these backwoods…"

"Jordan," Woody broke in sharply. He knew his back couldn't handle even the short ride to Louisville without serious repercussions. His legs and lower spine were telling him in no uncertain terms to call it a day. Woody gave the judge a knowing look. "What would it take for you to rent us the cabin? Both of us. For two weeks."

"You'd have to be married."

"Woody…." Jordan said again…trying to get his attention. There was no way Woody was going to foist her off on some back hill demented judge and his probably equally disturbed wife. The house was probably haunted and she could just imagine spending the night in a room that was straight from the movie "Psycho."

"Jordan," Woody answered, his voice still sharp and forced. "Can I see you for a moment…outside? And Judge you stay right there for just a moment?" The judge nodded again and Woody led Jordan out the door and down the steps of the church, out of earshot of Lowell Thomas.

"There's no way I'm spending the night in the farmhouse from hell," Jordan began on him, her voice loud and forceful.

Woody held up his hands as if in surrender, hoping not only to quiet her down, but calm her down. "I'm not going to ask you to," he said.

"Good. Then let's get in the car and head over to Louisville and find a room."

Woody sighed and stifled a grimace of pain that wanted to work its way across his face. "I can't, Jo."

"Can't? Why not? What are we supposed to do? Sleep in the car?"

"No…I simply can't go much farther. Between the cramped seating during the long flight…then the cramped car….and sitting and looking over all those files this afternoon, my back is killing me. My legs are hurting…I just don't feel good."

Jordan looked at him in alarm. Despite the fact she had little contact with him during his stint in narcotics, she had assumed that all of his back surgeries and physical therapy had left him pain-free. But the white line around his mouth and the grimace he was trying to hide was telling her a different story. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and brushed his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said in a softly, compassion filling her voice. "I didn't know. You should have said something before now…we would have stopped earlier…"

"It's okay…I try not to let my injuries slow me down or hinder what I do…but I'm in pain, Jo."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jordan asked. At this point, it was obvious he was hurting.

"Let Judge Thomas marry us….then we can share the cabin and get a divorce when we get back to Boston…"