Pastor's Assignment

by Kim O'Brien

  “I know what you mean,” Laney said.

  Laney walked past her into the restored Victorian that served both as home and business. Angel trotted happily inside, checking out the sights and smells.

  June and Terry lived on the second floor. The first floor had been converted into a full-service beauty salon.

  “I hope you know,” June continued as Laney settled herself onto the couch, “that I’m here for you. You can call me anytime.”

  Here for her? Laney frowned. She was supposed to be here for June. Not that June appeared to need help. Her friend looked wonderful. The new color and short, choppy cut framed her round face perfectly.

  Gazing into the mirror on the wall, she saw that she, on the other hand, had dark circles beneath her eyes and cheeks as pale as the moon. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, which was the truth.

  “When I saw you in church,” Laney said, “I knew we had to talk.”

  “Is it about Rock?” June fingered a spike of hair around her ear and sighed in a sympathetic sort of way. “Nobody tells you how stressful an engagement can be.” She took Laney’s cold hands in her own.

  Laney had the sudden urge to confess the real reason for her visit. Before she could say anything, however, the ceiling rumbled with the force of running feet, excited shouts, and giggles.

  “If you want to talk stress, though, try dealing with five-year-old twin boys. Some days I think I’m going crazy.” She shook her head. “Plus we’ve been without a washing machine for two weeks. Talk about wanting to cry!”

  “What happened to it?” Laney asked, her mind jumping back to the reference to a washing machine in the note she’d found.

  June shrugged. “I’m about ready to take a sledge hammer to it.” She sighed. “It flooded our laundry room, and now it’s sitting by the garbage cans. Terry thinks he can fix it.” She shook her head. “You should see the list I have of things that need fixing—everything from the doorbell to the toaster oven.”

  Laney leaned forward. “I want to know all that’s going on with you.”

  June chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “You know what? We’ll give each other a complete beauty treatment. I’m talking facials, deep-conditioning shampoo, even a body wrap. Then we’ll head up to the guest room where no one will bother us, and we’ll stay up all night talking like we used to. How’s that?”

  Angel barked in excitement. June patted his soft nose and ran her hands over his large, winged-looking ears. “We’ll do you, too, Angel. Put bows on you.”

  Angel grinned. Laney knew he liked nothing more than being in the center of the action. “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

  “I’m closing the shop,” June declared. “Terry has the kids. The evening is ours. Let’s start with our hair and work down.” She eyed Laney professionally. “How do you feel about blond highlights?”

  Laney sighed and prepared for the worst.

  Hours later, with her hair in multiple tinfoil spikes, her face plastered with a green cream that hardened into a glue-like cast over her face, and her nails painted hot pink, Laney still hadn’t learned a thing about her friend or her washing machine.

  “Go put your bathing suit on.” June pointed to the bathroom. “We’ll do a seaweed wrap next.”

  When Laney returned minutes later, June stood in front of a bathtub filled with thick green mud. “You go first,” June urged. “This is so good for your skin. Believe me. You’ll get that radiant look everyone expects brides to have.”

  Laney looked at the tub doubtfully. Even Angel, after peering over the rim, retreated. But she couldn’t disappoint her friend, so she eased into the depths of what she thought of as a dark lagoon.

  The seaweed smelled surprisingly of eucalyptus, and Laney leaned further back, letting the scent work through her body. Muscles she hadn’t known were tense slowly unknotted in the warm, silky mud.

  “Put this on your eyes,” June said, handing Laney a black gel mask. “It’ll take away those circles.”

  Laney tied the ends of the mask. She felt like a combination of the Lone Ranger and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Not so much, however, that she forgot the purpose of her visit. “So marriage is good then,” she said.

  June perched on the edge of the tub. “Wow! You are having doubts about marrying Rock.”

  “Mom!” Two boyish voices rang clearly through the house. June looked at Laney with a combination of pleasure and impatience.

  “I have to tuck them in,” she said, smiling. “They won’t go to sleep otherwise.” She stood. “Be right back.”

  As soon as June disappeared, Laney climbed out of the bathtub and toweled off. Okay, Lord, she thought. I hope You’re enjoying this. She slipped into her sweat suit and headed out the back door to check the state of the broken washing machine.

  The back door closed with an ominous click, and even before Laney put her hand on the knob, she knew it had locked behind her. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Laney stared at the locked door. She wanted to bang her head against it. Why did it always seem as if Murphy’s Law had been written just for her?

  Trying not to worry about how she would get back into the house, Laney put this setback behind her and followed the concrete stepping-stones to the back of the house. She stubbed her toe and would have gotten a nasty scratch on a protruding branch if not for the thick facial mask.

  Near the back fence an oversized garbage can sat next to a forlorn-looking washing machine. Laney stepped closer. As far as she could tell, it didn’t have a scratch. When she opened the lid, the insides looked like those of any other washing machine.

  Frowning, Laney closed the lid. June had been exaggerating. No one had smashed the washing machine during a grief-stricken rampage. She could cross June and Terry off her list. Now the problem remained. How could she get back into the house?

  She remembered the doorbell didn’t work. At the risk of summoning the neighbors, Laney didn’t want to pound on the door or shout. The twenty-four-hour gas station and convenience store seemed a reasonable solution. She could telephone June from a pay phone.

  She was thankful plenty of loose change had found its way to the floor of her minivan. She was also glad she’d left it unlocked. She retrieved enough money to call and headed toward the gas station. She drew the hood of her sweatshirt over her head so the aluminum foil wouldn’t reflect the streetlights. The seaweed wrap had begun to dry and itched horribly. Her stubbed toe stung, and she wondered what color her hair was turning under the foil.

  Please don’t let anyone see me, Laney prayed. She walked more quickly. When she reached the gas station, she peered through a corner of the window to make sure no one was inside.

  Satisfied with the emptiness of the convenience store, she swung the door open and walked in. Her bare feet slapped on the cold, polished floor as she crossed to the pay phone. She’d nearly reached her destination when the clerk turned and saw her.

  For a moment they both froze. They locked gazes, each mirroring the same horrified expression. The clerk, a heavyset man with a ruddy complexion, recovered first. “Take whatever you want—just please, don’t hurt me.”

  “I’m not robbing your store,” Laney said. “Look,” she said. “No gun.” She held out her arms, which trailed particles of the green seaweed wrap.

  “Angel of death,” the frightened clerk gasped as he hit the silent alarm and then fainted.

  Fourteen

  Ty Steele drew his pistol and threw open the door to the Eat and Go. He spotted the suspect immediately, a cloaked dark figure crouching over the prone body of the clerk.

  “Police!” he yelled, scanning the store for other perpetrators and gripping his pistol with both hands. “Freeze,” he ordered. “Drop your weapon and move away from the man.”

  The suspect eased backward. Ty couldn’t tell if he had a weapon under the black hooded sweat suit or not. “Put your hands up,” Ty said, moving closer, simultaneously assessing danger and injury to the prone cle
rk.

  “Okay,” he told the suspect. “Turn around slowly with your hands in the air.”

  With one hand steady on his gun, Ty reached for his handcuffs. His fingers froze as the suspect’s face became visible. His eyes widened then narrowed. It had to be some sort of mistake. The suspect had green skin. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it looked like Laney Varner. It couldn’t be, could it? “Is that you, Laney?”

  The suspect nodded and slowly pulled the hood off her head. Ty felt his jaw drop. “You’re green.”

  “I know it,” Laney said.

  “And you’re wearing tinfoil in your hair.”

  “It’s a beauty treatment,” Laney snapped. “Don’t stand there. You have to do something. I can’t get Mr. Zoowalsky to open his eyes.”

  Beauty treatment? Only if she were a Martian. Ty knelt beside the clerk and put his fingers on the man’s wrist. He felt a strong, steady pulse and watched the even rise and fall of the man’s chest. He checked for other injuries and found none.

  Unable to resist, he shot Laney a sideways glance. “What happened?” he asked. “Did your spaceship run out of gas?”

  Laney groaned. “I got locked out of my friend’s house. I just wanted to use the pay phone.” She pointed to the wall behind them. “When the clerk saw me, he fainted.”

  Ty bent over the inert man. “Open your eyes, Mr. Zoowalsky. You’re okay.”

  “He thinks I’m an angel of death,” Laney said. Ty heard the misery in her voice and fought the urge to smile.

  “He’s going to be fine. You just scared him a bit—that’s all.” Ty paused. “We’ll get him checked out, but my guess is that he’s playing possum.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Zoowalsky,” Laney said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Please open your eyes.”

  Mr. Zoowalsky shook his head.

  Ty’s eyes twinkled as his gaze swept over Laney’s face. “You want to tell me how you happened to get locked out of your friend’s house?”

  “I was checking out a lead,” Laney admitted. “I haven’t given up looking for the person who left that note behind in church.”

  He stroked his chin. “You’d better find that writer fast before you kill off half the town.”

  Laney glared at him. “Very funny.”

  Ty smiled. He couldn’t help himself. She looked cute in the funny makeup. No real harm had been caused, and he would do his best to help put things right for her. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up?”

  Laney sighed and fingered the tinfoil in her hair, managing despite the Martian appearance to seem very human and vulnerable.

  Ty reached over and squeezed her hand. “You should go,” he urged. “Go back to your friend’s house and get cleaned up. I’ll handle this. My backup will be here soon.”

  Laney nodded and slipped out of the store. As soon as it shut behind her, Mr. Zoowalsky stirred and sat up. “Is she gone?”

  Ty nodded. “Are you in pain? Did you hit your head?”

  The clerk shook his head. “When she walked in, I thought I was a goner.”

  Yeah, I can relate to that, Ty thought. Something happened to him whenever he was around Laney, and he wasn’t talking about fishing snakes out of drains or getting the contents of a watering can dumped over him.

  She made something want to come to life within him. Something he had thought was pretty much dead. Her presence recharged and restored an essential part of him that had been absent for years, maybe a lifetime. She made him laugh and frustrated and baffled him. Above all, she made him aware that he cared for her.

  At the same time, he was too much of a realist to believe that lasting happiness waited around the corner for him and Laney. She was engaged. Besides, he had vowed never to let himself become vulnerable to another woman, and he wasn’t about to change his mind now.

  She had to learn for herself that knowing how to make Rock’s coffee or iron his shirts would not guarantee her a happy marriage, either, or even provide an unbreakable foundation for a great relationship. In truth, he didn’t know how people stayed together.

  The deepest kind of loneliness, he thought, was being in a relationship with the wrong person. He remembered all too well how he would pick up Anna Mae for a date in his car. She would sit beside him but look out the window. No matter how hard he tried, it always seemed as if her thoughts were a million miles away. Of course he couldn’t tell Laney any of these things. He had no business interfering with her life.

  It was the last thing he needed.

  Fifteen

  Later that night, G. C. Varner called an emergency meeting at his house.

  “Drink your tea,” he ordered Laney. “You look green.”

  “I am green,” Laney said. “My facial mask got left on too long.” She stirred her tea slowly. “I’m so sorry, Dad, about what happened.”

  Thomas, Laney’s youngest brother, passed the sugar bowl toward her. “The clerk is going to be fine. The heart monitor he’s on is just a precaution.”

  Beside her, as close as the table leg would allow, Rock nudged her in a reassuring manner and caused her to jiggle the teacup and spill some of its contents. As she mopped the stain, her father cleared his throat.

  “I don’t have to tell you we have a situation on our hands.”

  Laney looked down. “I just wanted to use the pay phone.”

  “Even if tonight had never happened, we would still be having this meeting,” he said. “Attempted robbery is nothing compared to conspiracy to murder.”

  Laney shot Rock a sideways glance. “What are you talking about?”

  “We understand you’re under a lot of pressure,” her father said slowly, “but you can’t go around threatening people.”

  “Threatening people?” Laney’s head shot up. “I haven’t threatened anyone.”

  Her father gestured to Rock, who was smiling as if the expression were held in place by clothespins. “Tell her,” he said.

  “Mother has it in her head that you don’t like her.” Rock’s smile dimmed a bit. “She thinks you might want to off her.”

  “Off her?” Laney blinked.

  “You know.” Rock shifted uncomfortably and drew his finger in a line across his throat.

  “I can’t believe she would think that about me,” Laney cried, unexpectedly hurt.

  “You can’t argue with the facts, honey,” Rock argued smoothly. “First there was the gerbil food incident.”

  Laney crossed her arms. “I didn’t ask her to eat it, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “You didn’t stop her, either,” Rock reminded her.

  “It would be easier to flag down a 747 than stop your mother.”

  Thomas laughed, but Rock’s expression remained neutral. “What about the way you tore up that bridesmaid’s dress?”

  “I wasn’t threatening her,” Laney protested.

  “She wants a restraining order,” Rock said. “Of course that was over the top, and I talked her out of it. I did, however, promise you’d get help.”

  “Help?” Laney repeated. The room had become warm despite the air-conditioning. She fanned herself. “She’s the one who needs help if she thinks I was trying to off her.” She stared at Rock in disbelief. “Don’t you see what she’s doing?”

  Rock sighed wearily. “What is she doing?”

  “She’s trying to make you think I’m crazy so you won’t marry me. She’s never thought I was good enough for you.”

  The color in Rock’s face deepened. “Maybe we should discuss this privately.”

  “You brought it up,” Laney replied stubbornly.

  Rock fiddled with his moustache, and then his fingers progressed to check the alignment of the hairs in his light brown eyebrows. “All right then. I think you were out of line with my mother.”

  Laney drew in her breath. “You’re siding with your mother?”

  “Not exactly. I don’t think you’re dangerous, just temporarily agitated.” He smiled the donut smile Laney knew preceded a compl
iment. “You’re high-strung. All women of good breeding are. You’ll calm down after the first child.”

  Calm down? Well-bred? Laney glared at him. She wasn’t a horse and, if she were temporarily agitated, he was the one causing it.

  “Now, kids,” her father broke in. “We’ve got damage control to do here.”

  Thomas leaned forward. “Laney, we know all this is premarital jitters.”

  “But,” Rock broke in smoothly, “a man is in the hospital, and Mother is worried. She’s even written her attorney a letter to be opened in the event of her death.” He shrugged. “Laney had better hope Mother doesn’t slip in the bathtub.”

  “I’m only five points behind Steele in the polls,” Laney’s father said. “Thomas’s family values campaign is working. I can win if we can get past your premarital jitters.”

  Laney looked at the deep grooves that curved across his brow. She saw the yearning in his eyes to win the election and felt the old stirring in her to please him. At the same time, her pride was wounded by the way they treated her.

  “I don’t have premarital jitters,” Laney stated. She drew her hand through her hair then turned to her father. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

  He snorted and pushed his chair back an inch from the table. “I’m not taking anyone’s side,” he said. “I’m just trying to mediate a solution.”

  “You want to drug me.”

  “Mediate,” Thomas said, “not medicate.”

  “I know the difference,” Laney snapped.

  “Of course you do.” Thomas laughed without humor. “We just want to make sure you’re not going to come apart at Dad’s municipal building dedication.” He paused. “You won’t, will you?”

  “Of course I won’t!” Laney cried.

  Thomas looked at her steadily. “We all have a lot riding on this election,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen to my PR firm if Dad loses.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” Laney asked. She looked down at her folded hands, knowing her father didn’t have the answer she sought. So what do You want me to do? she repeated silently. I’ve messed up again, big time. Please tell me what it is You want. I thought I knew Your will for me, but I don’t. I don’t even know the man I’m going to marry as well as I thought.