Never Preach Past Noon

by Edie Claire

  "My aunt thinks—" Leigh cut herself off, then felt her face flush. Had she really been about to blurt out everything Bess had told her in strictest confidence? Was she nuts? She looked into Warren's soft brown eyes and decided it was his own fault—he was so blasted easy to talk to. "My aunt thinks these are very nice people," she corrected. "A lot of the members are from her old Presbyterian church."

  Warren cocked his head to one side and looked at her closely. "Your aunt didn't really save Humphrey from the fire, did she?"

  Leigh's face flushed redder and hotter. Then she got mad. "Dammit, Warren! I hate it when you do that!"

  "Do what?" he asked innocently.

  "You know what!" she ranted. "Read my mind! Now cut it out!"

  Warren dissolved into laughter. "Calm down, Leigh. I'm not psychic. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that you were both miserable in that spotlight. I don't know your aunt very well, but I'd think that if she were a hero, you would at least look proud of her. You looked like you wanted to crawl under the pew."

  Leigh just glared. She had no intention of confirming his accuracy. "Aunt Bess doesn't like the spotlight," she lied without thinking. "I was just worried about her, that's all."

  Warren lifted up his hands and tried to stop smiling. "Fine. Let's change the subject. How about if I take you and your aunt out to lunch? It will give me an excuse to dodge my uncle."

  Leigh's anger started to melt. Warren's mind-reading abilities could work in her favor sometimes. He knew, for example, that food was a sure means of pacifying her. Besides, she was starving. "That sounds great," she answered, looking to see how many more well-wishers remained in Bess's line. There were quite a few—almost as many as were in the pastor's. A thought struck her, and she turned back to Warren. "You heard the sermon. Do you believe someone could be trying to kill him?"

  Warren shrugged. "All I know is what's been passed on from my uncle, and he's hardly a reliable source. A Molotov cocktail is a little rough for petty vandalism, but I can't buy the bit about the dark side trying to thwart the up and coming Jedi, either."

  Leigh narrowed her eyes at him. He was talking that gibberish again. "In English, please?"

  He translated. "If someone's out to get him, it's not because he's started up a successful church. He must be involved in something else."

  Leigh felt a sudden twinge of panic. A mobster? Her aunt had gotten herself indebted to a mobster?

  "Warren! How're you doing, my boy? Good to see you!"

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a large, loud individual she assumed must be Warren's uncle. He clapped his nephew on the back with one long arm and wrapped the other around the tiny woman beside him. "Shannon and I are so glad you could come. You're still planning on being a groomsman, I hope!"

  "Of course—I wouldn't miss Joy's wedding for anything." Warren answered politely, standing up. "And how have you two been?"

  The man shook his head and wiped a hand across his damp brow. Leigh was a bit warm herself. The tiny, crowded church had gotten progressively stuffier, even though it was freezing outside. "Things have been sticky lately," the man said heavily. "I guess your momma told you about the parsonage."

  Warren nodded.

  "Now Humphrey thinks someone's out to kill him." The man shook his head as if he didn't believe it, but said nothing more.

  Warren seized the lull in the conversation to introduce Leigh. "Uncle Ted, this is a good friend of mine, Leigh Koslow. She's Bess Cogley's niece. Leigh, this is my uncle, Ted Hugh, and his wife, Shannon."

  Leigh rose, and the three shook hands. Ted Hugh was a strong-looking man, at least physically. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his shining head—bald except for a thin line of black hair arching from ear to ear—made him look even more imposing. His mannerisms were equally unsettling—he fidgeted almost constantly as he stood, and his dark eyes darted back and forth as he talked. "Bess's niece, eh? My little girl's counting on your aunt to coordinate one heck of a wedding. It had better be perfect, too!"

  His tone was jovial, but it seemed to hold a serious undercurrent as well. Before Leigh had a chance to be offended, however, the slight, easily overlooked woman who clung to his arm broke in gently. "It's so nice to meet you, Leigh. We think the world of your aunt, of course. Everyone in the church does."

  Shannon was almost striking in her plainness, with short, straight ash-blond hair devoid of any styling. A neat, prim-looking pantsuit hung on her thin frame, and large, thick glasses hid what were probably a pretty set of pale blue eyes. "Bess is such a wonderful volunteer," she continued. "We couldn't possibly have afforded to pay a professional wedding coordinator, but she just jumped right in."

  Leigh smiled and nodded. Bess did have a habit of doing that.

  "We were just on our way out to lunch," Shannon continued sweetly. "Won't you join us?"

  "Yeah!" Ted chimed in loudly. "How about it?"

  Warren hesitated only a millisecond, but Shannon's soft voice broke in swiftly. "Please, Warren. We'd enjoy your company. It's been such a long time since we’ve seen you, and I'd love to hear how your campaign is going."

  "Of course, Shannon," Warren said graciously. "We'd love to come. Will it be all right if Bess joins us?"

  "I sure as the devil hope so!" a boisterous voice insisted. "Because otherwise I'm going to start eating the carpeting." Bess hobbled up on her crutches and clapped Ted soundly on the back. "So you're Warren Harmon's uncle! Small world. Where're we going?"

  Ted didn't answer, but turned to confer with his wife, and Bess's cheerful expression vanished instantly. She clutched Leigh's shoulder and whispered intently in her ear. "Please tell me Warren Harmon is not this man's blood nephew!"

  Leigh shook her head, trying hard not to grin.

  Bess relaxed visibly. "Okay then. You're allowed to have his children."

  Leigh glared fiercely, but before she could think of a suitable retort, Ted Hugh's unnecessarily loud voice scrambled her brain waves.

  "To King's, then!" he boomed, heading out the door. "My treat!" It was a generous offer, but delivered in Ted's offbeat tone, it sounded suspiciously like an imposition.

  Warren looked at Leigh and Bess apologetically, but Leigh just grinned and started walking. She had too many nutcases in her own family tree to be disconcerted by anyone else's. Either way, it took more than one loony uncle to make her lose her appetite.

  ***

  Leigh walked through the doors of her apartment building late that afternoon with a heavy feeling that went beyond the fried clams she'd had for lunch. Two days of vacation down, and she felt more drained than ever. She was supposed to be either indulging herself or relaxing—preferably both. Yet all she seemed to be able to do was worry about her aunt's predicament—and stew about Warren.

  She never did get a chance to be alone with him. After lunch he had made some vague excuses and departed, and judging by the absence of his neon-blue beetle in the apartment parking lot, he hadn't come home. So where was he?

  Leigh entered her apartment and swept up the black Persian that tottered out to meet her with a lilting whine. "I know, Mao Tse—I've been neglecting you. Your elusive babysitter has been feeding you on schedule, hasn't he?"

  She surveyed Mao's food and water dishes, and found both well filled. Warren was reliable, she'd give him that. She'd asked him if he could drop in Saturday night—and he'd evidently made a morning visit as well. That certainly made up for his refusal to touch the litter box.

  She collapsed horizontally on the couch, and Mao Tse quickly curled up on her chest, purring loudly.

  It’s your own fault, you know. Leigh's conscience chided her as she reviewed what a quandary she'd gotten herself into with Warren. They'd known each other for over a decade, and in all that time she'd never even considered the possibility of his being more than a friend. Then suddenly, this fall, he had gotten serious about another woman—and then the realization had hit her. How much she would miss him. Really miss him. He would mar
ry someone else, and she would be relegated to a mere entry on his Christmas card list. The more she thought about her life without him in it, the more unbearable the idea became. But naturally, she hadn’t done anything about it. She hadn't had time.

  Oh, come off it. She'd just been too damned chicken to face him.

  A knock interrupted her thoughts. She put an arm around Mao Tse and carried her to the door. A glance through the peephole made her pulse quicken, and she opened the door. Warren must have gotten home right behind her.

  "Are you busy?" he asked, walking in as he spoke. "I want to talk to you about something."

  Leigh shook her head and settled back down on the couch with Mao, gesturing for him to join them.

  He did. "Sorry about running off so soon after lunch—"

  "That's okay," Leigh jumped in. Her voice sounded nervous, which annoyed her. Why should she be nervous? She was only going to hassle Warren about his social life. She'd been doing that for years. "I assume you were with Ms. Bower?"

  Warren looked surprised. "Not just now, no. I was talking to my mother again."

  Now Leigh felt stupid. "Oh." She buried her face in her cat, hoping he would ignore the question and move on.

  Of course he didn't. "What made you think I was with Katharine?"

  She peered at him over a horizon of black fur. He looked amused. Dammit. "Because you've been joined at the hip lately, that's why." She put Mao Tse back down in her lap and decided to go for broke. "So, has she popped the question yet?" Once the words left her mouth all she could do was wait—and listen to the sound of her own heart racing.

  But Warren just looked at her. After a few years, he cracked a smile. "If you're hoping my marrying Katharine will get you a retroactive legal discount, you're out of luck. I already got you her rock-bottom criminal defense rate."

  Leigh digested this little bit of non-information, and decided it didn't mean anything. But he was definitely dodging the question, and that wasn't a good sign either. She dove in for another cuddle with Mao Tse and tried not to hate Katharine Bower. After everything the woman had done for her last fall, Leigh owed her a lot, not the least of which was money.

  "A girl can dream can't she?" she said flippantly, emerging again from cover of cat. "I keep hoping one day she'll show up at my doorstep, tear up her bill, and say, 'Never mind, friend copywriter. You need this money more than I.'"

  Warren smirked. "Keep dreaming."

  Leigh was wondering if she had any choice. "Seriously," she said, getting brazen again. "Are you and Katharine getting serious, or what?"

  Warren fixed her with another long, studious look. Unfortunately, the traitorous Mao Tse had jumped down from Leigh's lap as she spoke, so now she had to look back at him. She tried hard to look like his answer didn't matter, but she doubted any Oscars were heading her way.

  He leaned a little closer to her. "Why do you want to know?" he asked softly.

  Leigh's heartbeat leapt skyward again, and she was certain her face had turned into a tomato. Why was this happening to her? She was a thirty-year-old woman shooting the breeze with a man she'd known almost half her life, yet she felt like a sixth grader at a school dance.

  Why did she want to know? Really? Because she couldn't stand the thought of him being with anyone else, that's why. Because for some inexplicable reason, she wanted him all to herself, in every way, for the rest of their lives. And if he didn't want that too—

  "Leigh," he said in a low voice, with just a hint of a smile. "I asked you a question. Why you do care what's going on between Katharine and me?"

  She stared back into his eyes, wondering if he already knew. Surely he must. He seemed to know everything that went on in her mind, even when she didn't want him to. But if he already knew how she felt and he felt the same way, he wouldn't be dating Katharine. Would he?

  She jumped up from the couch in one motion. "No reason," she chirped. "You want a drink?"

  It took him a moment to answer. "Sure."

  Leigh drained half of her can before delivering his to the couch. She had to get a hold of herself—supreme humiliation was only one step away. "So," she began more soberly, "what’s the word on your dad? Are they going to make the wedding?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think so. It sounds like my father has pneumonia. It's killing my mother to miss Joy's big day—but she won't leave him. I offered to fly down and stay with him so she could come up, but she wouldn't hear of it."

  "She stands by her man," Leigh said with an attempt at cheerfulness. She had always liked Warren's mother, who was just about the sweetest woman alive. His father was nice, too. The uncle was another matter. "I'm sure everything with the wedding will go fine," she said supportively. "Shannon seemed nice."

  "Shannon's a saint," Warren said sincerely. "She's been wonderful for Ted; I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't come along when she did. She's been wonderful for Joy, too, but more as a sister than as a stepmother. My mother always kept that role." His expression suddenly turned somber. "You know, my mother got me worried about all this mess with the church; now I'm more worried than she is."

  Leigh's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

  He sat up, exhaling sharply. "That's what I came here to talk to you about. You'd never met my uncle before today. Based on his behavior at lunch, how would you guess he feels about the Reverend Humphrey?"

  Leigh paused a moment. She preferred not to remember much about lunch, except perhaps the monster salad with blue cheese dressing she'd enjoyed before stuffing herself silly on the clams. She certainly didn't care to recall Ted's frequent insinuations regarding the parentage and general deportment of Reginald Humphrey—nor how uncomfortable his comments had seemed to make Shannon. "He doesn't like him," she answered simply.

  "It would appear not," Warren agreed. "Would you be surprised to learn that for the last six months, my uncle has sung the praises of the fabulous reverend virtually nonstop?"

  She nodded. "Uh-huh."

  "Well, join the crowd. I found it very odd, so I asked my mother if she had noticed the change—and she had, though just recently. Before, he couldn't say enough good things about Humphrey or the church, and he boasted about how proud he was to be appointed to the executive board. In fact, when Joy and Tim got engaged, he insisted they have the wedding at the First Church of the New Millenium, even though she wanted to be married in a private ceremony on a cruise ship. Being so newly formed, the congregation hadn't had a wedding yet, and he thought it would be fabulous if his daughter were the first."

  "And Joy agreed," Leigh assumed with pity.

  "They compromised," he answered. "She insisted on setting the date for her mother's birthday—a Tuesday—with her and Tim leaving on a cruise the next morning."

  Leigh grinned. She loved rebel brides. "A weeknight wedding. Didn't everybody hassle her about the inconvenience?"

  Warren threw her a heavy look. "Please, don't remind me. You have no idea what kind of crisis that was."

  Leigh grinned more. She did too know. He should have seen the carnage in her family when her cousin Cara had announced she was getting married in a red dress. "Good for Joy. I don't blame her for wanting to flee the country afterwards."

  An image of her own fantasy honeymoon floated awkwardly in front of her eyes. The sky was blue, the ocean was blue, the sand was warm, and Warren was—. She blinked back the images forcefully. "So anyway," she said, a little too loudly, "you're worried about what's behind your uncle's change of heart?"

  He nodded and took of swig of cola. Luckily, he hadn't been watching her during her last brain drift. "His reaction to the fire seemed odd to me at the time. Now I can't help wondering if he knows something else about this supposed attempt on Humphrey's life."

  He finished his drink and let out a deep breath. "Or maybe he's just flipping out because he wants the wedding to be perfect, and he's blaming Humphrey for attracting trouble. I don't know." He looked at Leigh. "I wanted to ask you, since your aunt is ob
viously a part of the inner circle over there, do you have any idea what might be going on?"

  Leigh paused. She couldn't betray Bess's confidence, but she might be able to sidestep it—just a little. "Bess doesn't know for certain that anything fishy is happening," she said carefully. "She has her suspicions, but she's trying not to show them to anybody—so please, don't pass that along."

  Warren studied her for a moment. "All right. I won't ask what your aunt was really doing over at the parsonage the night of the fire. But if you find out anything that could affect Joy's wedding, would you let me know, please?"

  Leigh nodded, but then a worry struck her. What if Reginald Humphrey wasn't even a licensed minister?

  He caught her distress immediately. "You know something already, don't you? What is it?"

  Leigh wavered. Surely her aunt wouldn't care if Warren knew part of the story? After all, his being suspicious shouldn't affect Bess's ability to gather evidence. "My aunt is concerned that Humphrey isn't all he claims to be. Are you sure—I mean, is all the legal paperwork in order?"

  His brow wrinkled. "Bess thinks Humphrey's a fraud, eh? I suppose it's possible. But thankfully, it won't matter to this ceremony. They're officially being married by Tim's best friend—a Methodist minister imported from Erie. Humphrey's just assisting."

  Leigh breathed a sigh of relief. Her aunt undoubtedly already knew that.

  Warren glanced at his watch, then threw his can into Leigh's recyclable bag and headed for the door. "I've got to run," he announced. "Dinner plans. But thanks for the information." He put his hand on the doorknob and waved goodbye. "If we can hold the First Church of the New Millenium together for another forty-eight hours—Joy and Tim just might make it on that cruise ship as man and wife."

  Those pesky sun and sand images started floating around Leigh's brain again. "Hey, Warren?" she asked as he started out the door.

  "Yes?"

  "New Simpsons at eight. How late is your dinner going?"

  He smiled. "You got microwave popcorn?"

  "Low-fat butter flavor."