Silver Anniversary Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “I’m not interested in consciences. Heck, I’ve got a guilty conscience. I forgot to send my mom a Mother’s Day card. I forgot my nephew’s allergic to peanuts and bought him a Reese’s. We’ve all got guilty consciences if you ask me.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “My nephew? Sure, he’s fine. He didn’t eat it, but he made me buy him Swedish Fish.”

  “Oh, good.” Lucy tapped the note, which was lying on the table between them. “Couldn’t you just check it for fingerprints? See who turns up?”

  “No. I am not going to waste taxpayer’s money on foolishness.” He stood up and slid the note back across the table. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “I have something else to tell you,” said Lucy. “I spoke to a Times reporter who wrote about Jeremy Blake and she told me that Beth was preparing to testify against him in a big fraud case.”

  McGuire’s bristly eyebrows shot up and he leaned across the table, bringing his face close to hers. “Don’t tell me you’ve been conducting a little investigation of your own. Are you crazy or something? Don’t you realize that if, and this a very big if, somebody did kill Beth Blake, that person wouldn’t like you poking around and might decide to get rid of you. And I gotta say, I wouldn’t blame him. Or her. We’re equal opportunity around here.” He paused. “Get out of here, and go back to Podunk, Maine, or wherever you’re from. Got it?”

  Lucy picked up the little plastic bag containing the scrap of paper and placed it carefully in her purse, then stood up and walked out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster. Who did he think he was, talking to her like that?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam was right on time, and Lucy buzzed her into the building at a quarter to seven. She took a quick look around the studio while Lucy grabbed her purse and sweater, pronouncing it “absolutely adorable.” They continued discussing the owner’s decorative choices while walking the eight or nine blocks to the Guardians of the Faith chapel. Lucy was glad for the distraction, still fretting over Detective McGuire’s warning.

  “You know, I’m thinking of putting shutters in my bedroom, like the ones in your place. I thought they looked awfully nice,” said Sam, as they stopped on a corner and waited for the light to change.

  Lucy nodded. “They can be tricky to install, especially in an older place like yours, where things have settled a bit and aren’t absolutely true.” The light changed and they both stepped off the curb into the crosswalk, where Sam was nearly hit by a turning motorist. Lucy yanked her out of the way and glared at the driver, who continued to bully his way through the crosswalk.

  “Oh, my! Good thing you saw him, Lucy, or I’d be roadkill.”

  Lucy kept her arm around her friend as they finally got a chance to cross the street, watching the blinking numbers counting down the seconds until the light changed. It hit zero just as they reached the safety of the opposite curb, and they stood for a moment, waiting to catch their breath.

  “That driver was irresponsibile. There was a woman with a baby stroller there, and some old people,” said Lucy, properly indignant.

  “It happens all the time,” said Sam. “I should’ve been more careful. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “It wasn’t your fault—we had the walk signal.” They were strolling along, and Lucy impulsively squeezed Sam’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re coming with me tonight. I don’t know if I’d have the courage to go alone.”

  “Why not? It’s a church, after all, filled with people of faith. What harm could come to you there?”

  “Well, you hear things about some of these sects. . . .”

  “We have to be open-minded and tolerant of other faiths, Lucy.”

  Lucy had noticed that the neighborhood was changing, and this block was somewhat shabbier than the one on the other side of the avenue. It was closer to the river and efforts at gentrification hadn’t taken hold yet, though there were signs that change was on the way. A couple of storefronts had been remodeled and new businesses had opened, including a coffee shop, nail salon, and even a hardware store, clearly hoping to cater to urban homesteaders.

  The Guardians of the Faith storefront chapel had made a few efforts in that direction, too, decided Lucy, as they paused and looked it over. A simple brass cross hung in front of thick white curtains in each of the plate glass windows, and a neat sign over the door bore the sect’s name in gold letters on a blue background. The door this evening had been left open, and music could be heard, inviting people to come in.

  Sam and Lucy looked at each other, as if silently deciding whether or not to continue, and came to a mutual agreement. They went inside, finding themselves in a tastefully carpeted and wallpapered hallway that reminded Lucy of McHoul’s Funeral Home in Tinker’s Cove. As at McHoul’s, they were warmly greeted, though not by the somberly suited McHoul brothers. The greeters here were two smiling women dressed in traditional white cassocks with rope belts around their waists. They were each given a name tag and invited to go on into the chapel, which was just through a set of open double doors.

  This chapel was a far cry from Gabe Thomas’s first place, which had featured secondhand folding metal chairs, worn linoleum, and windows covered with butcher’s paper. Here, there was red carpet, real pews, and freshly painted cream walls. The space had no real windows, but a skilled muralist had painted trompe l’oeil stained glass windows on the side walls that depicted pleasant scenes from the Bible like the raising of Lazarus, the feast of the loaves and fishes, and the wedding at Cana. Jesus, Lucy noticed, looked an awful lot like Elvis Presley. In the front of the chapel, instead of an altar, there was a stage with drawn curtains. Soft recorded organ music was playing and Lucy guessed it was a New Age reworking of something by Bach, with fragments of familiar tunes here and there.

  The service had attracted quite a few attendees, who were scattered about in the pews. They seemed to be mostly women, but there were a few men, too. They were the sort of people you saw riding the subway, people of various races and occupations who worked hard for a living. Lucy and Sam chose a pew in the middle, seating themselves behind an overweight woman who was deeply absorbed in prayer, her head bowed. She was praying aloud, mumbling in a soft voice in a language neither Lucy nor Sam recognized.

  Lucy was wishing she’d been given an order of service, which would give her an idea of what to expect, when the lights suddenly went black and there was a collective gasp from the congregation. They sat there, in the dark, as the organ music became more intense. When it reached a crescendo, the curtains on the stage opened, revealing a large video screen containing a depiction of the Pentecost, the occasion upon which the disciples received the Holy Spirit in the form of dancing flames. The music grew even louder, the flames on the screen began to flicker, and the disciples began speaking in tongues, at which time Gabe Thomas made his entrance in a spotlight, wearing a backward collar and robed in scarlet. The video image grew fainter, the spotlight grew brighter, and Gabe Thomas stretched his arms out in the sign of the cross.

  Lucy studied him, taking in the carefully coiffed, probably dyed hair and aging but well moisturized skin. His teeth, which Lucy remembered as stained and crooked, were now perfect and very, very white. She spotted beneath the robe a pair of expensive, well-polished tassel loafers on his feet.

  “Let us pray,” he said, inviting everyone to stand. “Almighty One, God of the Universe, God of All, you have opened the way to eternal life for poor, miserable sinners like ourselves.” A guitarist in the background provided a beat, and bluish spotlights colored the chapel.

  The woman in front of them shouted “amen” and began to shake and wave her arms above her head. Lucy and Sam shared a glance, equally surprised by this behavior, which they soon discovered was shared by others in the congregation.

  “Let us be grateful for this gift, available to all people, whoever or wherever they may be, and obtainable to all who are contrite and repent of their sins. So let us say together: Dear God, have mercy on u
s, who are burdened by sin and guilt and deserve nothing. Let your bountiful grace and mercy deliver us from evil through our Lord Jesus Christ, who bought our forgiveness with his precious blood. Shower us with forgiveness, grant us weak sinners your amazing grace, purify us, and embrace us in your glory. Keep us in your holy light, now and forever. Amen.” The lights began to strobe in various colors, and the guitarist was joined by a keyboardist and a drummer. The music surged as the congregation began joining in, singing along as the words to these rock ’n’ roll hymns were cast on the wall above the stage.

  The service continued in much the same manner, as rock song prayers were punctuated by readings of fiery Bible passages. And there was not one collection of offerings but the plate was passed three times. Each time, Father Gabe’s exhortation, or extortion as Lucy thought of it, became more fervent as he encouraged larger and larger donations. “Lord Jesus himself told his disciples they must give up earthly possessions and follow him. He told them it is easier for a camel, which you know is a rather large animal, to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the gates of heaven, so give and give generously, for your soul’s sake.”

  The sermon was more of the same, but with additional warnings of the dreadful, fiery fate that awaited unbelievers. Lucy and Sam recognized it as the same message he had been promoting decades earlier, when he was married to Beth, but the delivery was a lot jazzier and more theatrical. Light and music were used to great effect, emphasizing the message that the only true way to salvation and eternal life was by joining the Guardians of the Faith. If one couldn’t manage to join the sect, donating generously was the next best thing.

  That message seemed to resonate with the congregation, who not only sang the hymns enthusiastically and prayed ardently, sometimes trembling and speaking in tongues, but dutifully opened their purses again and again, donating bills in ever larger denominations. Those who found their purses empty shook their heads sadly as the white-robed greeters passed the plates; some scrabbled pathetically in purses and pockets for stray coins. Lucy and Sam repeatedly offered up single dollar bills, earning disparaging looks from the ushers.

  At last, the lights and music reached a crescendo and everyone was on their feet, waving arms and singing mightily, begging God to come down among them as a holy and purifying flame. Then a crushing silence as the lights were dimmed, and a spotlit Father Gabe offered the final benediction, reminding them that God was with them always, nothing could be hidden from the judge who saw all, and He was the only one who could save them from the eternal fires of hell. It ended with a great clap, as of thunder, and Gabe Thomas disappeared in an explosion of smoke and flame.

  The curtains were drawn, the lights went on, and people began to leave, passing through the hallway where those two white-robed ushers gave them a final opportunity to make a last, soul-saving donation.

  “Well, what did you think?” demanded Sam, when they stepped outside. It was somewhat surprising to see that the sun hadn’t yet set. It was still light, and there were parked cars, plenty of pedestrians, and all the trappings of everyday life. It was hard to tell, but none of the passersby seemed to be worried about the state of their souls.

  “He’s turned into quite a showman, what with the dental work and new hairdo, but it was pretty much the same old gig,” said Lucy, as they walked along. “He really ought to be ashamed of himself, shaking down those people who don’t seem to have much to begin with.”

  “They seemed to get something from him, though,” said Sam. “Those people seemed to be genuine believers, like that lady in front of us. She was really into it.”

  “There must be quite an operation behind the scenes,” said Lucy. “That was a pretty slick production, complete with lights and music.”

  “I agree,” said Sam. “I suppose he’s got a bunch of followers who’ve turned everything over to him and work for nothing, hoping to save their souls. That’s the usual modus, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Lucy was thoughtful, noticing the sky had turned a lovely shade of violet and the streetlights were coming on. “He puts on quite a show, but he seems kind of weirdly sincere about the whole thing. I have to admit I really was kind of moved, despite my doubts. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I’m conflicted, too. I don’t think he’s a complete hypocrite. I think he really believes in the snake oil he’s selling. And like I said, it does seem to help some people.”

  “Helps them right into the poor house,” said Lucy.

  “Or into the sect, I guess.”

  Lucy nodded. “I doubt very much that he’s given a thought to Beth in years.”

  “I wonder what he’s really like, beneath the robes and hair and in the clear light of day.”

  “Me too,” said Lucy, as they passed a frozen yogurt shop. “Are you hungry?”

  “I didn’t have time to eat,” confessed Sam.

  “I just had some salad. Shall we?”

  The two went inside and chose mixed berry sundaes, eating them at a counter in the front window and watching the darkening sky and the passing parade. As she licked her spoon, Lucy thought about what Sam said about not seeing the real man. The Father Gabe they saw tonight was a lot more polished and controlled than the fervent young evangelist Beth had married, caught up in his magnetic, blazing passion and religious fervor. People mellowed as they got older, of course, but Lucy wondered if he’d really changed that much. She remembered how shaken and fragile Beth had seemed after leaving him. Frightened, too.

  “I wish we’d had a chance to talk to him,” said Lucy, stirring her yogurt.

  “I suppose you could call and ask to see him,” said Sam.

  “But it’s a cult,” protested Lucy.

  “It didn’t seem very cultish to me. Even mainstream churches have changed a lot in recent years, you know. My own church has adopted new, more modern liturgy. They even got rid of the pews and they sometimes have electric guitar instead of organ music, all to attract younger people. Of course, we only pass the collection plate once.” Sam dug into her frozen yogurt. “I didn’t see any evidence of cult stuff tonight, just a gathering of sad and probably lonely people looking for comfort.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Want to come with me to talk to Gabe? Maybe tomorrow?”

  Sam swallowed her mouthful of yogurt. “I wish I could, but I’ve got a jam-packed schedule tomorrow and for the rest of the week.” She looked at her watch and stood up. “I better get going. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

  “I’ll go with you to the subway,” said Lucy, picking up her cup of frozen yogurt to take along and eat as they walked. At the entrance to the subway they hugged.

  “If I don’t see you before you leave for Tinker’s Cove, have a safe trip home,” said Sam. “And give my love to Bill and the kids.”

  “Will do,” replied Lucy, watching her friend descend the grimy, littered stairs that led down to the station. She then headed back to her apartment, finishing up the last of the frozen yogurt as she went.

  Next morning, however, Lucy doubted the wisdom of Sam’s suggestion that she arrange a meeting with Father Gabe. Maybe his storefront church had seemed pretty mainstream to Sam, but Lucy suspected it was all gloss and wondered if this former tiger had really changed his stripes. Still in her pajamas, she dug the crumpled flyer Terry had given her out of her purse and read the mission statement on the back.

  The Guardians of the Faith invite all to join them in worship and fellowship. Father Gabe is always available for counseling and confession. Call 212-543-6257 for an appointment, or drop by at the chapel. You are welcome!

  It all seemed so innocuous that it made her feel ashamed of being so suspicious and distrustful. Time was running out; the week was almost over and she had nothing to show for it. Here it was Thursday and she wasn’t any closer to understanding what had happened to Beth than she was when she arrived last Saturday.

  So far she’d learned that Jeremy Blake was a shady character, but
that was hardly a surprise and certainly didn’t mean he was a murderer. As for Tito Wilkins, despite the violent imagery in his art, he’d struck her as a genuinely caring and kind person. Dr. Colin, on the other hand, hadn’t struck her as either caring or kind, despite his credentials as a healer, but she didn’t see him as a killer, either. The one thing all three exes had in common, she decided, was the way they had all moved on after divorcing Beth. Or maybe in the case of Jeremy Blake, it was the way he claimed to have moved on. She still thought he was the most likely to have killed Beth, since she was willing to testify against him in the fraud case, but Lucy had come to doubt he was overly concerned about it. He was far too arrogant to believe that Beth, or anyone for that matter, could bring him down.

  So that left Father Gabe, and she couldn’t leave New York and go back to Tinker’s Cove without being sure about him, too. In her heart she felt that if she’d only been a better friend to Beth, she might have somehow saved her. She owed it to Beth to find out what had really happened, and maybe Father Gabe could give her some insight.

  After she’d eaten breakfast and dressed, she headed back to the mission. The front door was closed, unlike the night before, but had a welcoming sign inviting any and all to enter. She took a deep breath and stepped into the carpeted hall, which was empty. There must have been some sort of alert system, however, as a sweet-faced woman appeared almost immediately and greeted her.

  “Welcome,” she said. “How may we help you?”

  Lucy noticed that the woman was wearing a name tag that identified her as Megan, but that was the only clue that she was one of the Guardians of the Faith. She was dressed simply in a striped cotton knit shirt and navy slacks, and her curly hair was cropped short in a flattering style.

  “I’d like to see Father Gabe. We’re old acquaintances and a dear friend of mine has passed. . . .”

  “Say no more,” replied the woman, in a gentle voice. She took Lucy’s hands in hers, her eyes oozing sympathy. “I’m sure Father Gabe will want to see you.” She gave Lucy’s hands a reassuring little squeeze before dropping them and hurrying down the hallway, disappearing around a bend. Moments later she returned and invited Lucy to follow her.