She wasn’t being a chicken. She was being prudent. Big difference.
As they ate, she kept the conversation light and told him some of the things he could do while he was vacationing there. But because it was Hamilton Falls and not somewhere like Sun Valley or Puget Sound, it didn’t take long to get to the end of the list.
“So, do you enjoy working at the station so far?” he asked.
She embraced the change of topic with both arms. Figuratively speaking. “It’s a huge job. Toby Henzig—that’s the guy who does the stock reports—is going to get me some software tonight so I can try to make some sense of the debits and credits.”
“Nobody was keeping records before?” He helped himself to more pizza.
“In a small way, yes, Toby was. But I have a feeling Luke’s plans are going to get really big. I need to get things set up fast to handle it.”
“Big in what way?”
He was turning out to be easier to talk to than she’d first thought. “In all ways, I guess. Luke’s ministry seems to be bringing people out of the woodwork—for the book club, for call-ins. And you should see the donations I counted today. Whew!”
“Bad or good?”
“Good. To the tune of a little over two thousand dollars.”
An apologetic glance over his pizza. “I don’t know anything about the radio business. That sounds like a lot to me.”
“It is a lot. That’s just what I mean. From what I could tell of Toby’s spreadsheet, that would keep the station operating for a whole quarter, and Luke’s only been there a few weeks.”
Ray, it appeared, was a crust man. Some people left them, littering their plates like logs on a beach. But Mama Rosa made good dough. It was nice to see a man who didn’t waste it.
“Where’s it coming from?” Ray sounded so amazed she had to laugh.
“All over. Luke says the station has a five-county range. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but the envelopes were from everywhere. Prayer requests, offers of support, donations to missions care of him, you name it.”
“Sounds like a thriving Christian community.”
That stopped her. “I—I don’t really know. We—the Elect don’t really, um, mix.”
“Why not?”
Because all other forms of Christianity except ours are deceived and going to hell.
No, she couldn’t say that. That sounded awful, even if it was what the Elect believed. Had believed. She wished the leadership would come to some sort of firm conclusion about opening the borders of their faith so that a person could give a reasonable answer.
“Claire?”
“Well, for the last hundred years or so we’ve been going by that verse that says ‘Come out from among them and be ye separate.’ But since Phinehas was arrested, things have been a little . . . up in the air.”
The frown she’d noticed before formed between his eyebrows. “What difference would Phinehas make to what you believe? Does he set the policy or something?”
“Well, no, the Bible does that.” Phineas might not have set it, but he certainly made sure everyone lived up to it. And because he did, the Shepherds under him did, the Elders under them did, the parents did, and the young people did. One great big trickle-down continuum that had worked for a hundred years. But now there was no Phinehas and no one stepping up to the plate to replace him except themselves. The thing she couldn’t figure out was, would those changes be approved by God or inspired by worldly influences? And how would a person know, so that they could have confidence in their salvation?
“It’s a little difficult to explain.” What a cop-out. Claire hated it when people asked about her beliefs. She ought to be able to impart the Spirit in such a way that people would see the light and come flocking to Gathering. But that never happened. Mostly they were like Ray, giving her a puzzled look while she sifted through the heap of do’s and don’ts embedded in her brain and tried to find an answer.
“Julia’s told me some of it. Mind if I get a glass of water?”
“Oh, no, I’ll do that.” She jumped up, glad to have something to do, and filled their glasses at the sink.
After taking a drink, he said, “There’s a lot of traditions, right, stemming from Victorian times? Things to do with dress and the black and the hair.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so I don’t get what that all has to do with worship. But I guess that since I’m not in your religion, I don’t have to get it. What does Luke say?”
She seized on actual facts with relief. “He thinks we should modernize things like our appearance, and open ourselves up to new ways of thinking.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“Yes, well, the problem is it’s never been done. Never even been thought of.” Except in private. And people certainly didn’t share their seditious thoughts with one another and risk them getting back to a Shepherd. You could be Silenced for that. But if things changed, what would happen to the people who had been Silenced or had gone Outside? Would that mean Julia, Dinah, and Tamara would be welcomed back in Gathering again? Could things be dead wrong in one generation and then switched over to be right in the next? Didn’t the Bible say “yesterday, today, and forever”?
Yes, but that was Jesus. He’s the Way. And He gave us the way to worship and that way isn’t supposed to change.
Maybe the way and Jesus weren’t the same thing, as the Shepherds had always told them. If the Elect’s way was changing, it couldn’t be Jesus, could it? Or was she just looking for excuses to do what she wanted to do, which was cut her hair and never wear black again as long as she lived?
Ray finished the last of his crust, and she was thankful he couldn’t hear what was going on in her mind. The guy was the next thing to an atheist, wasn’t he? And if he could hear her doubts, that would cast doubt on the Kingdom of God, and there would be no hope for him then. That guilt at the loss of his soul would be on her head forever.
“I guess you’re getting to know Luke pretty well.” He leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked as if it wasn’t used to bearing such a burden. Which it wasn’t. There hadn’t been any men around the place since Derrick Wilkinson had helped her move in.
Claire pushed that depressing thought away. “There isn’t really much time for talking,” she replied, “unless you can do it in three-minute increments while the songs are playing.”
“So, you don’t know where he’s from or anything?”
“He mentioned he was an assistant pastor at a church somewhere in L.A. But I can’t remember the name of it.” Names of worldly churches meant nothing to her. The important part was that he was Elect now. “And, of course, he’s pretty well-known in the radio world. He was on one of the national programs.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
Luke hadn’t been specific, and it was out of her sphere of knowledge, anyway, since up until recently, listening to the radio had been a sin.
She shrugged. “Why do you want to know?”
“Oh, no reason. Just storing up things to tell Ross and Julia. They’re sure to have me over as soon as I get back.”
Of course, he was. Mentally, she shook her head at herself. Deep down, had she really been thinking he was trying to get the drop on the competition? There was no competition because there was no contest. She couldn’t date either of them. Ray because he was an Outsider and Luke because he . . . because . . . well, why couldn’t she date Luke?
Because he’s not interested, for starters. Hiring you and taking you to lunch during your first week is not dating behavior.
Margot had done that much when she’d started at the bank. Claire needed to remember the first row in Gathering. She didn’t have a chance with all the widows lining up. Maggie Bell’s husband had been gone for three years and she was only thirty-six. Not to mention blonde.
On the other hand, Claire worked with Luke. Not that he’d ever look at her twice. He was a nationally known evangelist, and who was she? A small-town nobody who disguised
it by shopping from big-city catalogs. A lonely woman masquerading behind a career. Someone who didn’t have the spine to protest about not being allowed to move to the city because at least here she had some measure of respect and the Shepherds thought she was a fine example to the young people.
She didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she glanced at the clock. “Oh my, it’s ten after eight!”
Ray looked a little alarmed. “Sorry. I’ve hung around too long.” He stood and brushed pizza crumbs off his jeans. “See you tomorrow?”
“No, no, you don’t have to go. It’s just that Luke is launching a new program tonight and I promised I’d call in with a prayer request.”
She got up and turned on the small radio and CD-player combination she’d picked up at the drugstore, having justified it to herself because after all, she listened to the radio in the car and all day long at the station. What could be wrong with having such a small thing in her home?
“What do you mean?” Ray wanted to know.
“You ask Luke to pray for you on the air.”
“And presumably you then send in money?”
“That’s the idea. It’s a fundraiser for our various giving campaigns.”
The song that had been playing came to an end and Luke’s voice replaced it. “That was Sarah Kelly, one of our favorites here at KGHM. And now, folks, I’d like to invite you to join me in a new program for the glory of God. Do you feel the need for someone to pray for you? Do you have a need that you feel called to share with other listeners? If you do, call in here at 555-KGHM and I’ll take your requests. We can all pray together over the air and just watch the Spirit do its work! All the lines are open—just dial 555-KGHM.”
With Ray still standing uneasily in the kitchen, that wrinkle back between his brows, Claire grabbed the phone and dialed.
Busy.
“Wow,” she said over her shoulder. “I know his console has six lines. Every one of them must be jammed. I’m going to keep trying.”
She dialed again and again. “Maybe I’d better go down and write him a note and stick it on his window,” she joked. But when she looked around to see if Ray shared her humor, the only thing that moved was the kitchen door.
Which was just closing behind him.
* * *
RAY FOUND IT necessary to remind himself that his visit to Claire had been an interrogation, not a dinner date. He’d wanted to see if he could get information out of her, and he had. Which didn’t really explain why he felt so angry about her attention switching so quickly from him to Luke. He’d gone there with nothing but a pizza and the intent to deceive, so he had no excuse.
Or choice. She obviously thought Luke Fisher walked on water, and until Ray had some hard evidence to prove otherwise, he was just going to have to suck it up and accept that the woman had terrible taste in men.
The guy was just too smooth. And as far as Ray was concerned, it was a pretty handy coincidence that Brandon Boanerges—if that’s who he was—had landed in Hamilton Falls just when the Elect’s need for a strong leader was so acute. How had he found out about the fall of Phinehas? The papers? Had he just waltzed into town, seen a weakness, and settled in to exploit it?
Because Ray knew in his gut the guy was going to exploit it. He was a sociopathic charmer. He’d preyed on those women who were desperate for love and now he’d moved on to a whole town full of idealistic people desperate for a leader.
Ray headed back to the motel. At least he’d come away with one snippet of useful information. Fisher had been an assistant pastor at a church in L.A. That was something he could check out. Not that he was about to call every church in the L.A. basin. No, he could start right here.
At the motel, he stripped and took a shower, then sat on the bed and turned the radio on.
“—now here’s our next caller with a prayer request. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Claire.” Her voice stroked down Ray’s spine like a finger on velvet. “I’ve been trying to get through for fifteen minutes. This is great.”
“Thanks for your persistence, Claire. What prayer request would you like to share?”
“Can you pray for forgiveness? I had a—a friend at the house tonight and h—they went away angry. I think.”
“I can certainly do that. Folks, pray with me—except for those of you driving right now. You need to keep your eyes open and your passengers safe.” He laughed. “Father God, I lift up Claire’s friend to you, who may have let Satan in through a crack in the door and that way caused anger in his or her heart. May they be reconciled, Father, and may you protect the heart of our sister so she would not be discour—”
Ray turned the radio off in disgust. So, yeah, he had been a little miffed when he’d let himself out of her apartment. But wouldn’t a reasonable woman bring it up the next time she saw him? Did she have to make his behavior public and get everyone all sympathetic about the angry man who’d let Satan in?
What a bunch of horse puckey. He needed to get to work.
He dug his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and pressed auto dial with his thumb as if he were squashing a bug.
“Malcolm,” his partner answered crisply after one ring.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Not a thing. I’m sitting in an alley behind a fish market, waiting for an informant to show. What are you doing?”
“I need a favor of the undercover kind.”
“Shoot.”
Ray gave him the station’s call-in number and told him what he needed.
“That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“Yep. And can we do it on a three-way? That way you don’t need to relay it all back to me.”
“As long as you don’t have any background noise. Wouldn’t want your target identifying you.”
“Nope, I’m in my motel room and not expecting company.” Unfortunately. “And if he asks you if you have a prayer request, say no, okay?”
Ross laughed. “Expect a call in about ten minutes.”
Accordingly, about ten minutes later, Ray’s cell phone rang and, once he had his partner on the line, Ross called the station.
“KGHM, this is Luke Fisher, rockin’ for Jesus!”
“Cool!” Ross said in a voice at least ten years younger than his natural one. Ray, who had known him for nearly five years, could have sworn the guy was leaning on a surfboard, brushing blond hair out of his face. “Great show, man. Totally dig the prayer requests.”
“Thanks! Can I do one for you?”
“Thanks, man, but I’ve got a different gig going here. I’m going to be going to L.A. for, like, the very first time and I want to hook up with my brothers and sisters in the Lord when I’m there. Can you tell me what church you were with?”
“My friend, you can go to any church in L.A. and they’ll welcome a brother.”
“But dude, if I go to your old church I can tell them you’re doing great and their prayers are, like, totally working. You know, and carry any messages you have.”
Luke laughed. “How, like, totally considerate of you. Well, you’d have your choice. I was with Lakefield Central in Downey, Good Shepherd in Newport Beach, Holy Spirit in L.A. proper, and Second Congregational in Hollywood Hills.”
“Man,” Ross’s voice was confused, “can you say that a little slower? And let me get a pen?”
“Sorry, dude, ministry calls. But hey, let me play a song for you. How about ‘Safe Journey Home’?”
“Yeah, that’d be great, but . . . did you say Congregational Hollywood Strip?”
“Bye, man. Safe trip!”
Luke disconnected and a few seconds later, on Ray’s radio in the motel room, some guy began singing about his life’s long journey being like walking in the dark until he met Jesus.
Ray thought that was pretty lame. People made their own way in life. He didn’t need anyone to pray for him, thanks.
“Sorry about that,” Ross’s voice said in his ear. “The guy talks like a machine gun. Di
d you get any of that?”
“Totally, dude.” Ray grinned. “That’s why I wanted to listen. It’s on a tape in my head. Lakefield Central in Downey, Good Shepherd in Newport Beach, Holy Spirit in L.A., and Second Congregational in Hollywood Hills.”
“How do you do that?”
“It’s a gift. In college, I had to hire girls to read the textbooks to me. If I read them, I couldn’t retain a thing.”
“Cheap way to get dates, Harper.”
“At least I don’t have to arrest them.”
“I never arrested Julia. She came willingly.”
“Thanks for the help, bud. Give her my love.”
“I’ll do that. Looks like my guy isn’t gonna show and this place stinks of fish guts. I’m heading home.”
Ray hung up and wrote the names of the churches in his notebook, then fired up the laptop and began to research each one.
Lakefield Central in Downey. No record of either Luke or Brandon being on the staff, and their archives went back as far as 1998.
Good Shepherd in Newport Beach. Didn’t exist, at least on the Web. He pulled the phone book out of the nightstand and called Information, only to find out there was no church of any kind in Newport bearing the name of Good Shepherd.
Okay.
Holy Spirit in L.A., when typed into his search engine, brought up half a dozen churches with that phrase in it, along with a number of New-Age places. Ray searched each one, and when he found no record of Luke or Brandon, he called Information for that area code. That yielded three more. But he wouldn’t call them tonight—he’d just get answering machines. No, he’d start again in the morning.
He was beginning to see a pattern, even with limited research, and he had a feeling the calls would net him exactly what he was getting now—a big bunch of nothing.
The next morning, after jogging downtown for a latte and a bagel, he found that Second Congregational in Hollywood Hills not only existed, it was open at eight A.M., even on Saturdays.
“Second Congregational,” a woman’s voice said. “How can I help you?”
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