by Eva Shaw
She could move fast for a tall, broad woman. She giggled, made gargling sounds, and grabbed the papers with Bob’s scribbled signature, dashing after one that was swept away. Straightening up, she dried her fingers on the hips of her skirt and said, “Just look at what little old me has done now. Oh, Jane, what silly stuff we girls put in our purses.”
She knew.
I’d seen the promissory notes. Bending over, we sorted the innards from our purses—some for her, some for me.
I gathered the CD Gramps had recorded of the neighborhood garage band’s music, a grocery list, a pencil, a calendar from Staples, tampons, a chick lit novel, and a wad of slightly used tissues and thought: Were these the same ones I’d seen in Bob’s office or yet more debts? I’d never know because she had them all again. But why was she carrying them around now?
I tried to hand her the adoption papers but she was backing up away from me. “Can’t we talk, Delta?”
She nabbed the brown banana and the plastic fork. Without looking at her watch she said, “Oh, the time. I simply cannot spare a second.” She reached down once more to stuff the Visa card and a gum wrapper into the bag and ran to her car, waving. “I’m late right now.”
“Wait, Delta. You’ve got my lipstick.”
She screeched to a stop, reached in her bag and tossed me one, a gold-colored tube that definitely wasn’t a color I’d ever buy. Pink. No one wears bright pink, right? Made me wonder why she did. To prove she was girly?
I called to her, “Can’t you spare a few minutes? We need to talk about this, um, business. And the adoptions? About the families? Me being a mom?”
“Come back again, Pastor. Real soon, you hear?” The tires squealed as she pulled out of the parking lot.
I looked down and found a pencil that had tumbled away and then saw a gold-handled hairbrush. Delta’s. I felt beneath the bushes near the office door for anything that had rolled there, and my fingers touched a paper. Not a scrap of litter. It was a debit form from one of the big casinos on the Strip and in the amount of $5,000. Bob Normal’s signature was on the bottom. The due date was today.
What really happens when gambling debts go unpaid? If you’ve watched TV in the last ten years, you know there is always some husky, ugly bruiser who bounces the borrower for the bucks. Would an enforcer come to church? Were there rules for this kind of thing? I felt that puking feeling come to my throat.
How long had Bob been squandering church funds? How much had he spent? Lordy, if he could steal from his own church, the church he’s sworn to shepherd and care for, then detail how he was going to murder me in cold blood, what else was he capable of? I had no answers, and my head throbbed. My nose was again stuffed up. I longed run to home to Mama, except I didn’t have a mama who cared, and my house was filled to the brim with humans and a barking machine in fur.
I sat down right where I’d stood, resting my butt against the door marked Philemon Society of America. I closed my eyes. Could I, an underling preacher, one breath away from being ousted for my buttinski-ness, call the District Council and expose Bob? Why would they even believe me? The whole enchilada was so far-fetched, even I didn’t want to believe I could believe it.
Pastor Bob Normal was a leader in the Las Vegas community. He’d taken Desert Hills Community Church, as I was so often informed with waving arms by Bob himself, from a tiny family church of under thirty souls into a mega church of over six thousand congregants each Sunday. He’d raised money for the building, negotiated with the builders, and cut corners to have everything a mega church should have so that he and the flock could reach out and help the helpless of Sin City. I’d heard this five to fifty times in the weeks since coming to the desert. I turned the IOU in my fingers. “Why?”
“Why what? Jane? You okay?” There was Tom, all six feet of him, standing in front of me.
I tried to scramble to my feet, lost my balance, and managed to fling myself straight into his chest. Even in the tangle of arms, and with only the slightest idea that I could easily reach up and plant my lips straight on his, I shoved the promissory note into the pocket of my Capris. Why? The police—which was definitely Tom, although he was dressed in a blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks—didn’t need to know about Pastor Bob’s dirty deeds. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The giggle sounded hysterical. “Am I on the most wanted list or something? How did you find me?”
“Actually, I called the church and Vera told me you were headed over to PSA. We need to talk, Jane.” He took my arm, just above the elbow as he might do with a felon, and we headed to yet another McDonald’s across the parking lot.
We sat in a booth. We sipped iced tea. We stared at each other. “Jane, there is something I need to tell you,” he said, twisting the straw between his fingers and smiling. The guy not only was cute, he had perfect white teeth.
“What?” I snapped.
“Hey, turn that frown upside down.” He took his fingers and demonstrated on his face. I know I was supposed to laugh, but I was royally ticked. He didn’t give up. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you make faces they’ll stick like that?”
I forced my lips to turn up. “It’s been a tough few days, Tom.” I took a long pull on the icy liquid. There were no right answers about Bob Normal except to do the right thing, which was to call the District Council. Did they need proof? I felt my pocket. The paper was here. Was that good or bad? And what of Bob’s career? Headed for the toilet as far as I could tell, but then again, I wasn’t privy to information held by the District Council. “So why are you here?” I asked.
“It’s like this. Un-involve yourself with this PSA stuff. Just get out of it, Jane.”
“I’m concerned, Tom, concerned for the children out there like little Mikel.”
“Yeah, I know, well, just back away.”
“Because you’re saying so?”
“There’s trouble in River City—or Vegas, actually—and—” He waved a hand toward PSA. “—it’s all about what goes on in that building. I didn’t know until I got this lousy promotion, a job with tricks up its sleeve. Seems like conspiracy material for 60 Minutes or reported by that slick Anderson Cooper.”
“Are you saying this is official business now? That’s good, isn’t it?” I watched his eyes. They didn’t tell me anything except I wanted to spend a few years looking into them, and that of course wouldn’t help any baby in the clutches of PSA. I turned toward the window.
“Look, Jane, look at me. I’m taking off my badge.” He unclipped it from his belt, placing it on the table.
“Really, Tom, I’m not as much of a bumbling idiot as I look and didn’t just now fall off the turnip truck. Just because you aren’t wearing a badge, it’s foolishness to think you’re still not a sworn officer of the law.” I shoved the badge back toward him and took a sip of the acidic tea. The taste had changed as my mood soured. I would not be told what I could and should not do. Especially by Tom Morales.
“You’re right. This is personal with you and me, and I wanted to let you know I’m doing this for your own good.”
“My own good? I am not a child, in case you’ve missed that. I make mistakes. I take chances. I do my job, which happens to be saving souls and helping sinners. I don’t know exactly what God has in mind for me right this second, but I do have His word that it’s for the greater good.” I looked out the window, at the kids running around the restaurant, at the weary workers behind the counter. I refused to look at Tom, and when I did, our eyes locked. We both scowled. “What’s really up with all this?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Jane, you’re a smart woman, and I understand more about you now that I’ve done a thorough investigation of who you are.” Then he huffed, as if that last revelation shouldn’t have come out.
I barked, “Before or after you told me your life story and led me to believe w
e could actually go on a date?” I was steamed. “You used police databases to check on me? Am I good enough to date a big strong police officer?” I jumped from the vinyl booth like my panties were on fire. “I hope you found out enough to realize a smart woman like me wouldn’t put up with this baloney, Captain Morales. I don’t like your style of getting to know a woman and now getting rid of a woman. What happened? Did the sound of my dateless situation for the last five years scare you off?” All of which came from my mouth as I bounced up so quickly from the booth that the iced tea flew from my hand, down my blouse and on to puddle on the floor. Or did I scream this as Tom stretched out and caught me in midslip as I slipped on the puddle, only half of me sprawled on the floor, only to rip the shoulder of my shirt? Or did the manager swoop over and plead that no lawyers needed to be called?
All of the above? Mighty smart of you. I scrambled to my soggy feet, sopped the tea off my shirt with a fistful of paper napkins, slobbered an apology to everyone in a four-block radius, and skipped the joint, while a shred of pride was still left in place.
Then? I made it out the doors and behind the wheel of the SUV. The tires hit the same squealing notes as Delta Cheney’s Mercedes had when she peeled out of the parking lot minutes before.
Chapter 12
I didn’t make it to the first signal before my phone rang. My cheeks were scalding, and I felt as graceful as Bridget Jones. I snapped back the cover and snapped. “Jane here.”
“It’s Vera. Better come back to church,” she whispered, and since I didn’t know she even could use an “indoor voice,” that frightened me.
“Wait, I’m in traffic. Okay, I’m pulling over, Vera. What’s happened? It’s not one of the kids?”
“Jane, trouble’s brewing. Jane? The District Council is here, well, one person, and she’s asking for you, not old Bob. I haven’t seen him in hours, since he rushed in here about eight this morning, dug through his desk like a whacko, screamed orders at me to have you take care of the church business, and split the scene like greased lightning.” I could hear Vera inhale, and the next words came in a whistle. “And he was swearing like a teenager who just learned those four-letter words. Ah, it gets better, or worse, depending on your view of the mighty minister. You want to hear now or later?”
“I’m on Las Vegas Boulevard, and I’m about twenty minutes from church.”
“Wait, I’ll read her card. It says ‘Louisa May Stephenson,’ and with our church’s denomination listed below. The woman’s a prune, Jane. Looks likes she needs to add more fiber to her diet or has bad PMS or maybe ate lunch at the café across the street. Hurry, will you? She’s scaring me.”
“You can count on me,” I said into the cell then ended the call at the same time I screamed to myself. Someone from the District Council wasn’t supposed to arrive until next Monday. Crud. It’s Friday. Had stinking Pastor Bob Normal called them to come get me early when he couldn’t dump my body in the desert?
Traffic crept along, and twenty minutes turned into thirty. I was sweating bullets and tripled that production when I saw Bob’s Lexus parked in his shaded spot. He’d done it. He trumped up charges against me, and the DC was there to personally take away my ministry credentials. The jerk was blackballing me. I’d been in tight scrapes before, sure, but ministering was my life, my calling. The idiot wouldn’t get away with this. I squared my shoulders and stormed into the church and down to Vera’s office to more than likely to face a firing squad.
Vera yanked me back into the foyer. “I’ve been around, Jane, and never once has the District Council rep looked so angry. They just don’t do this,” she whispered with her booming voice. “She’s only the size of a toadstool, but the meanest eyes I’ve ever seen except on that crack dealer who hangs out on the Strip.”
Vera kept an iron grip on my arm. What could the woman have said to make Vera a basket case? It had to be Bob’s doing that the DC lurked beyond.
“Now this woman from headquarters has come to—” But the words stopped as Bob’s office door opened and musty, powdery-smelling perfume only some elderly aunt would wear preceded Mrs. Louisa Stephenson out into Vera’s office. Vera looked at me and then to Mrs. Stephenson before she grabbed her purse and waved. “Quitting time,” she cackled. If I hadn’t moved, she would have flattened me with the speed of her exit.
I was alone with a woman who looked like Einstein in drag. As short as she was round, Mrs. Stephenson stood in the threshold of Pastor’s Bob office and said, “Thank you for coming so quickly, Pastor Angieski.”
Quick or slow, my goose was cooked, and from the scowl on her face, she was going to enjoy watching me squirm as she told me to take a permanent hike from being a pastor.
I didn’t remember walking into Bob’s office but I must have because I was standing in the middle wondering if she’d listen to my somewhat logical explanation. But then she said, “Sit down and call me Louisa, won’t you?” She leaned forward. “We have a situation here.” She swept her hand around Bob’s office, and at least to me, it looked like post-Katrina hurricane damage with Hurricane Andrew thrown in. “Are you aware of it?”
Why was she being gracious when I was going to get the ax? Why ask me to use her first name if she was there to do the dirty work? Of course, this didn’t make sense, but my world never did as you have come to realize. I looked at the brown iced tea stain down the front of my blouse and then to her. “More than I care to.”
“We at headquarters are concerned.” Louisa cleaned her glasses on a hanky. “This is a matter of grave importance.”
I stared. I hadn’t seen a handkerchief ever used before except maybe in a high school play. If she was this old fashioned, that swan song and the cooked goose would be roasting together. I gulped. “I’m sure Pastor Bob will clarify everything and tell you about my work here.” I grasped the edge of Bob’s desk, since there were papers on every single chair in the office.
Starting with the first visitor’s chair, Louisa Stephenson scooped the litter to the floor with her pint-sized hand. She cleared the other in the same way, then scooted her butt on it. Her feet didn’t reach the carpet. “I am sure you’re aware that many pastors are leaving the ministry.”
That’s how it’s handled? I “leave” the ministry? They don’t yank my credentials? Less messy. Looks better on some stupid, blinkin’ statistic someplace that some clerk tabulated for each denomination. Well, not this little gal who happens to be a minister, I’ll have you know. The toad would have to ask me outright, I vowed. But she was saying something else. I stopped to listen.
“Situations like this,” Louisa began, “always make us very sad, as you can imagine.”
“Just cut to the chase and get it over. I have chocolate to eat, pounds and pounds of it. Wait, first, is there anything I can say before you complete your reports?” I dug into my purse for medicinal M&Ms, but they’d been gobbled on the drive over.
“We thought you’d be upset.” Louisa’s little forehead wrinkled more, making her look even more like Kermit the Frog.
I sighed. Without coffee or chocolate, apparently my bravado was zilch. “Are there specific situations you’d like to hear about, or shall I recount it all?”
“I want to hear everything,” said Louisa, leaning back in her chair, crossing her baby-sized feet at the ankles.
The woman got an earful about sex slaves, the black-market baby trade and child abandonment. I told her about Pastor Bob Normal. Told it all. “Everything I’ve done has been with a pure heart, although some people—” I meant Bob the Gambler. “—may have told you otherwise.”
“Yes,” Louisa said, and nodded.
“When do you take away my job, take back my credentials?” The words squeaked from my throat.
“My dear, why don’t you just tell me when you first suspected Pastor Bob of ministry violations?”
I was staring at her fe
et as she crossed her ankles in the other direction. For a woman as round and short as she was, her feet were delicate, even though her shoe choices, orthopedic-esque, made me queasy. I was looking at her shoes when wham, it hit me. “What? This is about Bob?”
She nodded.
I jumped up and down like a forgiven sinner at a tent revival. “You’re not here to reprimand me, but Pastor Bob.” I’m embarrassed to say I remember my moves were reminiscent of a running back making it to the end zone, swinging my booty, waving my arms. I finished this sight for sore eyes with, “You’re from Dallas to discipline him, oh, thank you, Jesus,” then ordered my mouth to clamp shut. For once, it listened to instructions.
“Now, Pastor Jane, calm down, please.” She leaned forward. “We know you well, perhaps not personally, but from talking to others, we realize your methods are unconventional. That said, you are a fine pastor.”
Yes, those were her words, at least as I remembered them because I was going to have them placed in needlepoint and framed for a picture. Bliss hit. I felt like Sally Fields when she accepted her Oscar . . . yes, they liked me. “I, um, well, could you be specific?”
“Back to business.” She cleared her throat. “Information about Pastor Bob’s behavior came to our attention a month ago. The tithes skyrocketed, a holy thing, but attendance went down. For summer in Las Vegas, that surely is not usual. When the associate pastor resigned and the youth pastor asked for a leave, we wanted to know more.”