by Dave Balcom
In the truck, I started to speak, but Jan put a restraining hand on mine. I saw Norma, framed in the storm door, waving, a pained smile on her face as I started the engine, then she just disappeared from view.
We were coming over the final ridge where you find yourself seeing all of Pendleton spread out below you. It’s a sight that breathes “welcome home” no matter how often you’ve seen it, and Jan chose that moment to break the silence of the trip.
“Jim, I know you don’t understand, but I think the reality of Art’s death failed to live up to Norma’s dread of it. She knew him for the monster he had become, but she was terrified at being the last Truman left. Then, all of a sudden, she’s forced to confront the reality and it isn’t nearly as difficult as living with the knowledge of what he might be doing... So she served coffee and cake. What else could she do?”
“Let’s stop in and see Elmo and Grace.”
“Perfect idea,” she said softly as she lifted the console out of the way, and scooched over to sit next to me with her head on my shoulder.
Elmo and Grace were sitting at the counter when we entered the Table. Elmo was counting the day’s contributions; Grace was working on a shopping list.
“Jim, Jan!” Grace greeted us. “Come on in!”
“Saves me a trip,” Elmo said, as he stuffed the bills and change into a bank bag. “I was planning on visiting you two today.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“We’ve talked it over, and we have to ask a favor of you,” Grace interjected.
“Asking for something?” Jan said with raised eyebrows in her voice.
“We have an offer to buy the Table,” Elmo said with obvious disdain. “Some lawyer representing some unknown buyer has told us to name our price. ‘No reasonable amount will be rejected,’ he told us.”
“You looking to retire, or what?”
“Jim, we’ve been buying and selling our whole lives; it’s been part of our belief system that the ‘world of things – possessions’ have no meaning to us. If we sell here, we’ll buy somewhere else and start over.”
“So what’s the favor?”
Grace joined in, “We want you to check out the offer for us, you know, investigate who is really making this offer, and perhaps why?”
Jan couldn’t wait any longer, “You’re asking for something?”
A look of shame flashed across Grace’s face, and her eyes went to the floor as she answered, “I know; it’s a complete loss of faith, but, yes.”
We waited as if we’d planned it.
“I know, I know,” Grace finally continued, “but what else can we do? We prayed for guidance, but the only answer we heard was ... we know how this sounds to you, Jan, but...”
“What?”
“We both were praying, and we both heard the same message... Jim Stanton.”
Jan’s agnostic mind went directly to the humor of the situation, “Jim Stanton, God’s mighty, swift sword? That’s too funny.”
Elmo was stern, “We know you for the generous, thoughtful woman you are, Janis Stanton; you hide behind a shield of indifference and disbelief, but your character and actions are an every-day confirmation of the good news whether you know it or not. It’s uncharacteristic for you to mock us.”
“It’s uncharacteristic to hear my husband compared to Biblical heroes, called by God to prove God’s place in the lives of mortals. I’m sorry if I sound as if I’m mocking you; I don’t intend to mock your faith or your need, but what if Jim...” She faltered as she read my expression, I took her in my arms to comfort her.
She gazed over my shoulder at our friends, “I’m sorry, folks; I spoke out of turn. Of course it’s Jim’s decision to make, not mine.” Then she pushed herself out to arm’s length and stared squarely into my eyes, “But don’t you dare come back to me in a bag or on a stretcher. You hear me?”
“I love you too.”
Chapter 44
Armed with the contact information Elmo had, I took Jan home and went to work on the phone.
“Ray?” I realized immediately it was his voicemail. I waited for the beep, and asked him to call me.
Next I reached out to Pete Boyd, and he was at his post.
“Jim! How you feeling?”
“I’m okay. Listen; you have any way of putting a name with a phone number?”
“What you need?”
I rattled off the phone number and he repeated it back to me. “That’s right; can you tell me where and who that reaches without dialing it?”
“What would my purpose be?”
I explained the news from Elmo.
“You in a hurry?”
“I don’t know. That depends a great deal on who might pick up that phone when I call it.”
“You’ll hear from me, one way or another, before dark.”
I started to tell him how much I appreciated his help, but, of course, he had already disconnected. I was staring at my phone when Jan, who had sat down behind me while I’d been focusing on the phone, piped up, “You know they only do that because it bugs you so much.”
“You know that how?”
“I asked them to do it.”
“Pete?”
“All of ’em. I love ’em all for doing it, too.”
“I wonder why I even bother with enemies when I have you twenty-four-seven.”
“I wonder what you’re going to do for Elmo and Grace.”
I had been thinking about that when I decided a lot would depend on who we were dealing with, and that had caused me to start calling my badged friends. While I was explaining my thoughts to Jan, my phone lit up. “Stanton here.”
“Jensen; you rang?”
I repeated my conversation with Peter. “So, you think Boyd can handle it, or should I ask you for help on this?”
“I’m sure Pete Boyd can handle it, and I absolutely demand you ask my help with this.”
“What can you do for me?”
“Open doors, hold your coat... There’s a lot I can do as long as I’m fully appraised on the lay of the land.”
“I’ll share everything I know as soon as I know it; you know I always do that with you.”
“Hmmmph! You have a very selective memory, sir, but I want in as far as I can be if it involves that soup kitchen.”
“Why? How did you become so protective of The Table?”
“I’ve been hearing things about that operation; good things and frightening things.”
“Share?”
“You know the good as well as anyone; but they’ve somehow become crosswise with some bad actors. Word is out that they’re to be made an example, but the word is murky on how, or when, or why.”
“An example?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“That’s the word that was used.”
“Could be most anything...”
“It comes from folks who have used fertilizer to make a point in the past,” Jensen said in a mater-of-fact voice.
“You think they’re in danger of being blown to bits?”
“I have no reason to rule out that approach. They’re dealing with some pretty fringe characters. Give me the number.”
I read it to him, and he hung up with a “See ya.”
I had been making notes as we talked. Jan reached around me and picked up the notebook. “Holy Jesus!” She breathed. “We’ve gotta warn...”
I was dialing as she was speaking, but Grace wasn’t answering. Minutes later I knew Elmo wasn’t answering, either.
I fished the Pendleton Police Chief’s card out of my wallet, and dialed his cell number.
“This is Chief Wilson.”
“Chief, this is Jim Stanton. We met at the Table of Grace...”
“I remember; what can I do for you?”
“I have just received information that there might be some trouble for Elmo and Grace, but neither one of them is answering their phones right now.”
“I’m a block away; stick by your phone.”
/> He called back five minutes later. “Mr. Stanton? This is Wilson. The kitchen is closed and dark; there are no vehicles here and it doesn’t look like anything’s amiss. Do you know where they live?”
“Weston. I’ll ask Pete Boyd...”
He interrupted me. “Not necessary. I have OSP on my car radio; hold on.” Seconds later he was back, “Okay, they have a trooper in that area and they’re directing him to the location. You stick by your phone, one of us will call you. Out!”
The next hour seemed to drag, but when my phone buzzed it was Jensen, “Morgan Shore.”
“What?”
“That phone number; it connects to one Morgan Shore, land developer in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.”
I was stunned again, and my mind spun. I focused on my breathing and willed my pulse rate back into the 50s, “I know that name, kinda.”
“His son, Martin, is what you’re thinking of.”
“I was thinking of the last words Art Truman told us about how he ended up in my front yard, something about a rich kid from Coeur d’Alene whacking some do-gooder, and his rich daddy contracting Art to make it look like a suicide... Ray, doesn’t even one of your agencies know anything about this old man?”
“I resent it when you make me out to be part of two agencies. I’m a contractor, dammit.”
“So was Truman, in a manner of speaking, Ray. In fact, doesn’t that describe Mark Gardner as well?”
“Why do you insist on bringing that guy into every conversation we have?”
“I don’t know, really; but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s somewhere in the middle of all this, otherwise I can’t explain Randy Mason in my backyard or a hooded stranger down at Jack Nelson’s place.”
“What hooded stranger?”
“You didn’t hear about that?”
“What? I don’t know how much you think I’m wired into your end of Oregon, but it’s not daily, weekly, or monthly.”
I told him of our encounter and the warning I received from the mystery man.
“Holy shit, Stanton; you’re up to your neck in this stuff. How did that happen?”
“I tried to do a good deed for a woman who received some bad information that actually was right...” I knew I wasn’t making sense. “Just mark it up under ‘no good turn goes unpunished.’”
“I’m going to rattle some cages. I’ll let you know when I have something, but in the meantime you take all the precautions to protect Jan and your neighbors.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 45
“This is Morgan Shore; who’s this?”
“Sir, my name is Jim Stanton. I’ve been retained by Elmo Williams and Grace Morton to represent them in negotiations concerning the purchase of Table of Grace Soup Kitchen in Pendleton, Oregon.
“Oh, I see. You in the development business down there in Pendleton, Mister ...?”
“Stanton. No, I do odd jobs for folks around here, some volunteer work and sometimes on a fee basis. This is a volunteer effort, sir.”
“How can I help you help me?”
“I understand from Elmo and Grace you’re looking to operate the Soup Kitchen after you purchase it?”
“That’s correct. We feel we can significantly expand the services of their ministry while attaining goals our organization holds dear.”
“And, what is the actual name of your organization, sir?”
“It’s the Shore Family Trust for Outreach. We ‘pay it forward’ in a variety of efforts throughout the Pacific Northwest. As a fully funded family trust, every penny of donations goes directly to our field efforts, not one cent towards fixed or variable costs. We use paid staff which prides itself on out-performing volunteer efforts in every manner of delivery to the target audience.”
He sounded like a polished fund-raiser.
“That’s interesting, sir. Elmo shared with me that there has been no discussion of price at this point.”
“That’s true.”
“Have your people given you some idea of the evaluation on the property, equipment and inventory?”
“We don’t operate that way. When we consider an operation that conforms with our clearly defined goals and priorities, price is not a consideration. We will pay top dollar.”
“That is probably why the owners have contacted me, sir. There is no way to evaluate a market price for this institution. The building’s tax valuation will be of no help; the place was an eyesore before it was Table of Grace.”
“Then Mr. Williams and Ms. Morton will merely have to pick a number.”
“They are wondering if you have any other soup kitchen-like operations in your organization.”
“Our organization is quite diverse and operates under any number of labels. We do operate similar outreach projects in conjunction with our primary goal of bringing the one true faith to the people. We are a privately held organization and do not make a practice of discussing our varied commercial outlets.”
“Are you church, sir?”
“We are a religious organization that uses a variety of outreach operations to serve its people.”
“So you operate for-profit as well?”
“It is a tenet of our belief that all efforts that improve life on this planet for our followers are profitable; it all depends on one’s measurement of gains and losses.”
I switched directions, “As you may know, the Table of Grace represents life’s work and mission for Elmo and Grace. They hold its purpose dear to themselves, and the community they serve provides them with ample support for continuing the ministry, be it at the current site or some other place.”
“Their future mission and ministry are of no concern to us; we are not seeking any non-compete assurances. Our future is our only concern in this matter. Now, Mr. Stanton, if you have no other questions, perhaps you can confer with your friends and arrive at a figure that will move this transaction forward. Thank you for your time today.”
“You’ll be hearing from me directly, sir.”
“Very good. Good day.”
Chapter 46
Before I went looking for Jan, I typed up my transcript of the conversation as best I could. I gave it a quick read, saved it to my hard drive. After drafting a quick e-mail message to Ray Jensen and attaching the notes, I settled down to thinking.
I had been dredging my memory for some other outfit that might resemble the picture Shore had painted of the Shore Family Trust for Outreach. After half an hour, I roused myself with a shake and called Jack Nelson. He was home, and said I could come right up. He insisted I bring Judy and beer.
“How did he sound?” Jack asked. “What did you feel like as you listened to him?”
“Oily, a bit pompous; educated ... maybe not as old as I might have expected.”
“Guess an age?”
“Couldn’t. I don’t think I sound as old as I am...”
“None of us are any judge of how we sound to others...” He let that hang on the quiet of his backyard and sipped his beer. “Could you see him in a pulpit? Perhaps in an evangelical setting?”
That thought threw me for a second, and I was slow in answering, so he picked up the thread, “I’ve been reading lately of a new trend in religion, a trend that seems to be an offshoot of store-front, evangelical churches springing up in main streets and abandoned mall spaces around the country. They’re, as the saying goes, eating the mainstream brick and mortar churches’ lunch, and one way they do that is by expanding their ministries to other store fronts.”
“You read stuff like that often?”
“There is more to life than Field and Stream, you know. There seems to be a systemic pattern developing where churches that don’t look like churches, don’t function with the traditional pomp, circumstance and dogma of the established protestant churches are attracting young worshipers en masse.”
“That’s not really breaking news,” I said dismissively. “The millennials are avoiding their grandparents’ churches in droves.”
“But the latest trend seems to be building on that base. The churches are opening coffee shops – for profit, fancy coffee and baked goods, wifi hot spots, and laid back non-religious music. Often they cater to teens after school hours, and the young professionals in the early a.m. and after work hours. They’re enticing, and they’re boosting that connection with parishioners that used to be gained by having “social hours” following service on Sunday.”
I considered that for a second, and knew better than to scoff at Jack. He consumes news and facts like a robot, and regurgitates with amazing accuracy. “The kids and such are looking for church every day?”
“There’s no proselytizing in these coffee shops, Jim. They’re the spitting image of places such as Great Pacific that mark communities all across the country. The baristas are just as typically Goth and chill as any; the males are clean, and neat with just enough body art and facial hair to fit in with the clientele. It’s all very carefully scripted and presented, but the core customers heard about the place at church...
“Fundamentally, it only makes sense for the churches to connect with their target audience on the audience’s turf as often as possible. The days of spending nights praying in the big edifice with the organ and steeple bells are being rapidly replaced this way.
I thought about it and, as usual, he gave me all the time I needed.
“What’s the hook, professor?”
That’s more difficult to pin down. For some it’s just another way to fund the good works of the church; for others, albeit a minority, it’s more likely filthy lucre, I’m afraid.”
That raised my eyebrow and he drained his beer. I started to get him another, but he waved me off.
“I haven’t read any complete analysis of this phenomenon yet, but talking with a friend of mine a few weeks ago gave me a new line of thought. Jake – remember him? Came up to fish that time? Well, he’s a retired CPA, living large in Phoenix, but can’t forget his younger days in the employ of our government.