by Carol A. Guy
Well, this isn’t good. Not good at all.
Personally Adelaide liked the minister. He had charisma. Plus, he delivered a great sermon every Sunday. In the year and a half since his arrival, he’d brought a new kind of energy into the congregation that seemed to give the members a boost when they needed it the most. Even some members whose attendance had been sporadic seemed to be coming more regularly now. Of course, his extreme good looks had perked up the women. Therein was the problem, evidently. If indeed there was something going on between Susan Hatfield and Reverend Underwood, it would have to be dealt with quickly, decisively. This sort of thing couldn’t be ignored.
Does Fran know? Suspect? That could explain her melancholy mood this morning.
“Are you all right?”
The voice startled Adelaide. She looked up to find Brenda Collier staring at her quizzically from the open office doorway. “I wanted to speak with Reverend Underwood, but I don’t think now is a good time.” Adelaide said. She felt a little disoriented. Her head was still reeling from the scene she’d just overheard.
“Why? What’s going on?” Brenda glanced up and down the main hallway.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Adelaide said. Before the young woman could question her further, she hurried down the stairs.
* * * *
By the time the box lunches were served, the social hall was packed. Adelaide got a cup of coffee and took a seat across from Ethel at one of the tables. Again, in her mind, she replayed the scene between Jerry Hatfield and Douglas Underwood. If Jerry’s accusations were true, several reputations could be ruined.
“This is the best bazaar ever. We’ve practically sold out of baked goods, it looks like.” Ethel nodded toward the nearly bare table in the back corner.
Before Adelaide could answer, Fran Underwood entered the social hall, nearly running into Susan Hatfield who was just leaving with a pie box balanced in one hand.
Since Adelaide was facing the main doorway, she got a good view of the two women.
Fran stopped in the doorway, blocking Susan’s way. Although Adelaide couldn’t see Susan’s face, she did see the woman’s back stiffen. Fran looked Susan up and down slowly, a disdainful expression on her face. Her pale green eyes narrowed as her lips formed a thin line. The two women stood there immobile for what seemed like minutes but could only have been seconds. Finally, Susan stepped back to let the minister’s wife enter the room, then scurried up the stairs.
“What are you staring at?” Ethel asked. She turned around to look. “Oh, Fran. She’s barely spoken to a soul this morning. I still can’t figure out how she ever landed Reverend Underwood. He’s got so much personality. Poor Fran just seems to melt into his shadow.”
Adelaide watched as the woman headed their way. “Well, here she comes. By the way, I think there may be something to that argument you heard last night between the Hatfields.”
Ethel perked right up. “Of course there was. I told you that already.”
Fran approached the table, her gaze focusing on Adelaide. “I’m sorry, Adelaide, but I need to go home. I know I was supposed to take another shift in an hour, but I have a horrible migraine.” Without waiting for a reply or comment, she turned and walked away.
Adelaide noticed that when she exited the social hall, she turned right, which meant she would be leaving by the back door leading to the parking lot.
Ethel sighed. “Looks like I’ll be working alone this afternoon. We were supposed to work in the Christmas ornament room. I see she didn’t bother to apologize to me.”
“I’ll try to get you some help. If no one is available, I’ll do it myself, Ethel.”
“Never mind. I can handle it.” Ethel got up, gathering the remnants of her box lunch. “You know, Adelaide, there’s big trouble brewing. Can’t you feel it in the air?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve had a bad feeling for a couple of days now.” Adelaide glanced around the busy social hall. It seemed so festive, so full of holiday cheer. People were chatting amiably; children were playing, while in the background Christmas carols were playing. Yet, underneath it all there was a disturbing undercurrent just waiting to bubble to the surface, like a dormant volcano that erupts when you least expect it.
Once she finished lunch, Adelaide made another round of the classrooms. Ethel had managed to commandeer some help, a choir member named Justine Baker. The next two rooms were filled with customers. She spotted the workers, waved, then moved on to the nursery. The teens seemed to have it under control so she retraced her steps, slipping into the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms.
As she opened the women’s restroom door, she came face to face with Susan Hatfield, who stumbled backwards, nearly falling. The pie box, perched precariously on the palm of one hand, teetered slightly until she put her other hand on top of it.
“Oh, I didn’t…you…” the woman sputtered. “I bought one of Dora’s pecan pies. Had to use the restroom before heading home…coffee goes right through—”
“You look a little shaken up, Susan, what’s wrong?” Adelaide knew her tone of voice was a little sharp but could do nothing about it now, even if she wanted to. When it came to illicit affairs, it took two participants. Each partner shared equal blame for the bad idea. If what Jerry said was true, both Susan and Reverend Underwood should have known better.
“I was…just getting ready to leave. Unless you need me somewhere?” Susan’s eyes seemed to be focused at a point over Adelaide’s left shoulder.
Adelaide stepped back, opening the door wide for Susan to exit. At the same time, she was able to see what had so caught Susan’s attention. Reverend Underwood stood in a nearby alcove talking to an elderly parishioner.
Susan seemed glued to the spot. Adelaide waved a hand, indicating she should come out of the restroom.
Finally, Susan returned her gaze to Adelaide. Her cheeks reddened. A sheepish smile barely curled up the corners of her well-shaped lips. “Sorry. I’m a little…tired.” She stepped out of the restroom and hurried toward the stairs.
Adelaide, still holding open the restroom door, stood watching as Reverend Underwood and Susan made a big production of ignoring each other when she walked by.
However, Adelaide did notice how Susan’s posture became more rigid as she passed the man. As for the preacher, even though he was pretending to pay attention to what the parishioner was saying, his gaze followed Susan all the way up the steps.
* * * *
After picking up the sunflower pastel she’d purchased at the bazaar, Adelaide drove to her son Daniel’s condo in Creekside Village, arriving shortly after seven o’clock. She wasn’t at all surprised to see Brenda Collier there. Dinner was on the stove in the Pullman-style kitchen. In the dining room the table was set for three. The invitation to eat with them had come via Adelaide’s cell phone just as she was helping the workers close up the bazaar for the day. The proceeds were tallied. She’d counted out change for tomorrow, distributing it into four metal cash drawers. All of it was now locked in the church’s office safe.
“We knew you’d be exhausted and need a good meal tonight,” Brenda said with a smile. She’d changed from the prim white blouse and navy blue skirt she’d worn at the church that day into a light blue sweater with matching slacks. She looked rosy cheeked, very relaxed. Most likely she’d be spending the night, if the overnight bag on the living room floor by the bookcase was any indication. Adelaide also noticed the cheerful looking Christmas tree on a nearby table. Usually Daniel didn’t put up a tree, so she had a feeling this was Brenda’s idea.
Daniel stood by the stove, stirring something in a deep stainless steel pot. “It’s just pasta and salad tonight, but Brenda made her famous crescent rolls to go with it.”
He turned, grinning at Adelaide. Once again she was struck by how good looking her son was. He had Albert’s black hair combined with her emerald green eyes. The combination was striking.
Brenda moved to the stove, slipping an arm a
round Daniel’s waist. “I can watch the sauce if you want to get your mother something to drink.”
Adelaide seldom drank alcohol—her strict Methodist upbringing prohibited that. “I’ll have some iced tea if you have it,” she told Daniel.
While he fixed the tea for her, she lifted the large wooden salad bowl from the counter and took it in to the dining room table. A bottle of Bordeaux was chilling in a wine bucket. Daniel wasn’t a teetotaler like herself, and neither was Brenda.
Daniel joined her, carrying a bread basket in one hand and her iced tea in the other. The rich aroma of the crescent rolls made Adelaide’s mouth water.
He put the basket in the center of the table, handed her the tea then set about uncorking the wine. “How did it go at the bazaar today?”
“Busy. Also very profitable.” She’d already decided not to tell her son about the argument between Reverend Underwood and Jerry Hatfield. She wondered idly if Brenda had mentioned it. Surely the woman must have heard the yelling in the hallway, although she’d seemed oblivious to it when she opened the office door to find Adelaide at the top of the stairs. “We sold so many Christmas ornaments I wish we’d made more.”
“Even in hard times the locals want to support the churches, Mother.”
She looked acutely at her son. “What’s going on, Daniel? You seem to be a million miles away.”
The cork popped out of the wine bottle, landing on one of the plates. Adelaide picked it up fidgeting with it while Daniel poured the deep red liquid into two glasses.
Brenda came into the room carrying a large bowl filled with pasta. “Get the sauce, will you, sweetie?” she said to Daniel.
Once he returned with the sauce, they sat down to eat. Adelaide said the blessing. “Lord, we thank you for the chance to share this wonderful meal. Please be with us as we partake and make us ever mindful of your presence in our lives. Amen.”
The spaghetti was delicious. Adelaide hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took the first bite. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Adelaide took a long sip of her tea, then said, “I was asking Daniel why he seemed so distracted.” She focused her attention on her son. Daniel exchanged glances with Brenda. Obviously she knew the reason.
He sighed. “I had a visit from Lloyd Fletcher today.”
Adelaide felt her stomach tighten. She had little use for the stocky realtor, finding him to be an opportunist who would sell his own mother down the road for a profit. “Dare I ask what he wanted?”
Daniel chuckled. “Vandals painted his lions again. Neon green this time.”
Adelaide had to smile. But that was short lived.
“That’s not all. Tell her the rest, Daniel,” Brenda prompted.
Daniel threw Brenda a strange look that Adelaide couldn’t quite decipher. “He hinted that if I wanted to keep my job I’d convince my friends on town council to vote for the casino idea he proposed a few months ago.”
Adelaide wasn’t surprised by Lloyd’s latest maneuver, although it did infuriate her. She pushed her plate away.
Brenda looked at Daniel. “Tell her your reply.”
Again the strange look. He shrugged. “I told him we’d do everything possible to catch those vandals.”
Adelaide knew her son would never allow the likes of Lloyd Fletcher to influence the way he did his job or force him to promote something he didn’t believe in. “You know, Daniel, I wish I could say that the people of Crescent Falls would never allow a casino to be built here, but who knows what will happen if things get worse financially?”
Getting up, Brenda began to clear the table. Adelaide watched Daniel’s gaze follow her from the room. The look in his eyes was inscrutable.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, nodding her head toward the doorway where Brenda had just exited.
A small frown furrowed his brow before his face cleared. “Sure. I just hate the political part of my job, that’s all.”
Adelaide got up just as the young woman came back into the room. “Let me help with cleanup, then I really must go. Tomorrow will be even busier than today, I’m sure.”
Brenda shook her head. “You’ve been on your feet all day. You go. We can handle things from here.” Picking up the empty bread basket, she left the room again.
“Walk me to my car, Daniel,” Adelaide said, grabbing her coat from the tan leather sectional in the comfortably decorated living room.
Once they were outside, she said, “I know something is bothering you, Daniel, and it has nothing to do with Lloyd Fletcher’s visit.” She stopped when they reached her blue Toyota Camry. She stood there, waiting.
“It’s nothing, really. I guess I’m just a little concerned about where this thing with Brenda is going, that’s all.”
“She’s obviously crazy about you. Don’t you feel the same?”
“I like her a lot, Mom. I might even be falling in love with her. Maybe that’s what scares me.”
“Love can be very disconcerting at times, Daniel, but it should never be scary.”
He grinned. “I think she wants things to move along more quickly than I do.”
“Then tell her that. Be honest with her. Don’t hold back what you are feeling or thinking.”
“Maybe I’m just looking for what you had with Dad.”
“What we had was built brick by brick over many years. It didn’t land in our laps fully developed.”
He leaned over, kissing her on the cheek. “It’s cold out here. Go get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He opened the car door for her.
Adelaide squeezed his hand. “Come by the bazaar sometime tomorrow. Maybe you can do your Christmas shopping there.”
“Brenda wants that large quilt, so maybe I’ll put in a bid.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday morning dawned with a bright cloudless sky, although there was snow in the forecast for later that evening. Even though the air was crisp, Adelaide could feel the building humidity. The meteorologist on the TV was predicting three to six inches by noon tomorrow.
“A nice fresh snowfall will bring even more visitors to see the falls,” she told Oscar, her six-year-old tortoise-shell cat, who now sat in the downstairs turret window staring outside. His big green eyes were focused on a cardinal perched in one of the spruce trees.
Her Victorian-era home, located on the corner of Hawthorne Avenue and Buckeye Street, was over two hundred years old, one of the first built in the town. It was painted pale yellow with white shutters and gingerbread trim. The wide wraparound front porch was gracefully elegant.
She’d had two cups of coffee this morning, hoping that would bolster her up for the busy day ahead. It would be a long one. Not only would there likely be a plethora of customers but there was also the silent auction, Santa’s visit then the dinner tonight.
For the occasion Adelaide had dressed stylishly but comfortably in an emerald green pantsuit and a white silk blouse. On the lapel of her jacket was a jewel encrusted pin in the shape of a cross. Albert had given it to her several years ago so she wore it often. Her comfortable black, flat-heel shoes would keep her from having blisters on her feet.
As she prepared to leave the house, she thought about yesterday’s events, especially the argument she’d heard between Jerry Hatfield and Reverend Douglas Underwood. Jerry was usually an easy going man, who was always willing to help out at the church, especially with keeping the finances on track. To hear him making such horrible accusations against the minister was very disturbing.
Adelaide grabbed her coat and purse from the chintz covered sofa in the living room, gave Oscar a pat on the head then walked through the cozy kitchen to the back porch. After making sure the cat had food as well as plenty of water, she got her tote bag off a hook by the back door. She added a pair of slip-on boots to the contents, in case she had to walk home through snow.
Once outside, she locked the door then started down the cobblestone walkway to the alley running beside the house. As was her habit,
she would walk to the church just a block away. As she crossed Hawthorne Avenue, she glanced at the Historical House Museum across the street. It was another Victorian structure, although not as large as her home. The local Historical Society had purchased it several years ago when it went into foreclosure.
The members got a grant from town council to restore the building to its former condition provided it would be used as a museum. The idea was a good one, so Adelaide was all for it. Artifacts from the town’s past, some already in the possession of the society, some donated by residents, were now displayed throughout the rooms. Guided tours were offered on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday from one PM until four PM. Tourists coming to see the falls usually took a tour. There was no charge, but donations were gratefully accepted, usually netting the society a substantial amount during the holiday season.
As Adelaide trudged along she heard a voice behind her. “I see I’m not the only health-conscious person in town today.” She turned to find Tina Engler entering the alley from her backyard. Tina, another Crescent Falls native, owned the local hair salon. She was a petite woman with short black hair, soft brown eyes and skin the color of heavily creamed coffee. Always a snappy dresser, today she wore red slacks. Her tweed coat, unbuttoned all the way down, revealed a striped blouse. Santa’s-face earrings dangled from her earlobes.
“I take it you’re headed for the bazaar?” Adelaide said.
“I don’t have to be at work until one today, so I have lots of time to shop. I heard the quilts this year are fabulous, especially the one that’s being auctioned off.” Tina’s step was lively so Adelaide picked up the pace.
“You should get Rudy over to the church. He could do his Christmas shopping there,” Adelaide suggested.
Rudy Engler had been one of the best fullbacks the local high school had ever known. There had even been talk about him being scouted by several colleges. Then, during one game in his senior year, he sustained a knee injury that put to rest any idea he had of a football scholarship or career. Undaunted by the setback, Rudy married his high school sweetheart, Tina, and went to work for L&C Precision. Unfortunately he’d been one of the first casualties when the company began its layoffs because he was one of its highest-paid employees. Now he worked full time for the Church Coalition, managing the affairs of the food pantry and thrift store.