Who Killed Mr. Johnson

A crowd of people stared at the chalked outline where the body had been found last night. For city folk, this was an everyday occurrence but for the people of Minersville, this was big news. The body found belonged to Mr. Johnson, the town's minister. Rumor had it someone had beaten him badly and he was killed by a blow to the head.

This is a small town, the total population is only about five hundred and fifty and like most small towns nothing happens in it without at least three other people knowing about it. It had become a tradition of sorts that if trouble struck, the town folk would converge to the local diner and discuss what they knew.

It had seemed several theories had begun to develop since last night and I was interested in hearing them all. I took a seat in the back. The rest of the diner's occupants were either too absorbed in thought or too eager to tell their version to pay me much mind. So I settled in and watched as the scene played out.

"Well if you ask me, I don't see why they don't just arrest her. It's obvious who done it," Marge the local hairdresser said while filing a nail.

"You know who killed Mr. Johnson, Marge?" Harold the local mailman asked.

"Of course," she said. There was a dramatic pause before she told them, "It was Mrs. Johnson."

She had said the name as if it were common knowledge the widow killed her husband. The crowd that gathered at the end of the diner gasped as she revealed the murderer. "I know for a fact that she threatened him with a frying pan just the other day. Caught him sleeping with Sheila, my shampoo girl from the salon." It looked as if the crowd had their doubts. "Gretta, she was there." Marge had quickly volunteered, "She can tell you."

All eyes turned to the quiet librarian sitting in the corner with her nose in a book. Gretta sighed. She knew she was expected to participate but she was incredibly shy. "That's right," she said in a small voice, "it happened yesterday just like Marge said. I was havin' tea with Ms. Johnson when it happened. Ms. Johnson and the Minister got in an awful fight. She must have been real mad to create such a scene with my sittin' right there but she was wavin' her fryin' pan around and swearin' things I couldn't possibly repeat."

"Bull feathers!" Mr. Gordon said. He and his wife were the Johnson's neighbors. "She might have been mad and rightly so, but she ain't no killer."

"How do you know?" asked Marge. You could tell she didn't take kindly to being doubted. She was the town's lead gossip and her information was seldom false.

"Simple," Mr. Gordon began, "Mrs. Johnson came over to talk to my Alice later that afternoon. She said she gave Mr. Johnson an ultimatum, to either dump the girl or she was leaving him. Mr. Johnson had told her he loved her and he was going to end it with Sheila that very night. If they should be asking anyone questions, it should be your shampoo girl," he said to Marge with a note of disgust. "Nothin' worse then a woman scorned. Isn't that right, Alice?"

"God's honest," his wife agreed before taking a sip of her coffee.

"It wasn't Sheila!" Ted Johnson said a little too forcefully as he put down his newspaper. Ted owned the local food market and many of the faces around the diner seemed surprised to see him there. As soon as the words were spoken it was obvious Ted regretted saying them. He had the town's full attention.

Shaking her head Alice said, "I would think you of all people would want no stone unturned. After all, he was your brother."

"You're right. I do, but I'm tellin' ya it wasn't Sheila," Ted said again.

"What makes you so sure?" Marge inquired. She was intrigued.

Ted stared down at the newspaper smoothing it out with his hand. He had the look of a man caught in a trap of his own making. Finally, he spoke. "My brother did break it off with Sheila. I know because she had told me about it. She was so upset she ended up at my house last night in tears and well... she spent the night with me."

Shock registered across all of their faces, but whether or not it was over Ted's news that he was sleeping with his deceased brother's ex-lover or the fact that they still had no idea who committed the crime was hard to tell. So, the question remained who killed Mr. Johnson?

"Well if not Mrs. Johnson and not Sheila," Marge said with a smug smile at Mr. Gordon, "then who?"

"I heard Tommy Sr. was furious over Mr. Johnson cuttin' Tommy Jr. from little league. Everyone at the park heard him threaten to crack him one with a baseball bat," Harold the mailman told them. "Isn't that right, Delores?"

The tired middle-aged waitress paused a moment from giving refills on the coffee. "Absolute," she said. "I was there. My Jimmy is part of the team."

I had heard enough. The inner workings of a small town always fascinated me, but it was time to draw the curtain and end this fiasco of a play. It was time I set the record straight. As I left my secluded corner booth a hush descended over the crowd. "Howdy Sheriff," Mr. Gordon said to me.

Tipping my hat I acknowledged them all. "It wasn't Tommy that killed Mr. Johnson," I said with my usual quiet calm.

"Who done it?" was the chorus I had heard. They all wanted to know and started whispering among themselves comparing notes. "If you'll quiet down I'll tell you," I said. All sound ceased. Even the hum of the refrigerated bakery case seemed muted.

Nodding to Marge I stated, "Mrs. Johnson did threaten her husband." I took pity on poor Gretta and added, "She swore she'd leave him if he didn't end it with Miss Sheila, and when he hesitated she threaten him with bodily harm if he didn't do it that very night."

Looking at Mr. Gordon, I continued. "Mr. Johnson did keep his promise to his wife and broke it off with the gal. Sheila made a huge scene. Several people heard her say she wish he'd drop dead before she stormed off. Now I know to where," I said winking at Ted who at least had the decency to look uncomfortable as he squirmed in his seat.

"Mr. Johnson decided to drown his sorrows at Lucky's Bar. While he was there Tommy Sr. dropped in," I told them glancing over at Harold. "Words were exchanged and fists flew. It took Lucky and a few other men to break it up. Mr. Johnson, I was informed, had instigated the whole affair, if you'll pardon my choice of words. He threw the first punch and so Lucky threw him out."

"Beaten up and slobbering drunk, Mr. Johnson knew he had best sober up before heading home and that's when it happened."

"What happened?" they asked riveted to my tale. "He was heading to this very diner to get a cup of Joe when he tripped, hit his head on the curb, and was killed instantly," I replied leaning back against the counter giving them time to absorb the information.

Ted was the first to respond. "So, he killed himself by accident?"

"'It would seem so," I answered.

"What happens now?" Marge asked, slightly dejected by the news.

"I'm sure the widow will be needin' to find someone to hold services after that, things should be back to normal."

"Well, thanks for fillin' us in Sheriff. It's good to finally know the truth," Ted had said to me.

"Just doin' my job," I told him.

"I sure am glad we don't have problems like them big city folk," Alice remarked looking to her husband.

"From your lips to God's ears, Alice dear," Mr. Gordon replied giving his wife's hand a pat.

I took my coffee to go. God, I love this town.