My mothers just asking because we spoke to her last night before all the trouble started. And then the two of you seemed to work together as a team, the way yall got Emma Jean quieted down and hustled out the door. Were a little surprised Delilahs not here, too.
He leaned back and turned his fingers into a steeple, which he rested against his chest. Well, its always something when youre a ministers wife, he said. She was called away suddenly. A member of the church has taken ill.
Really? Mama asked. Who?
Youve got me there, Mrs. Deveraux. He showed his teeth again. I thought of fairy tales and wolves. Im just awful with names. But even so, its a confidential matter. Im sure youd appreciate the same treatment if you came to us about a health issue or for counseling.
Mama looped her wrist through the strap of her purse and set it squarely on her lap. Im not much for counseling. She held onto the purse with both hands, like she was afraid Pastor Bob might ask her to pony up for psychotherapy.
Well, people seem to want that kind of thing these days. Im going to offer another DVD:
Ending Emotional Pain with Pastor Bob
. What do you think, Mace?
I thought he wasnt setting any sales records with his first DVD. The only time I saw them move was when Emma Jean stumbled into the display table.
I dont know much about marketing, I answered.
He flushed. Marketing sounds so crass. Im talking about helping people.
In that case, why dont we see how you can help in this situation? I put my hand on Mamas shoulder. You may have heard my mother was briefly detained in connection to the murder of Emma Jeans boyfriend. Weve been trying to find out who really killed him. But somebody doesnt seem to want us to do that. Some strange things have been happening.
I filled him in on the stuffed dog and the warning note. I mentioned thered been another threat, but kept things vague since we still hadnt told Mama about my narrow escape on the highway. She thought my Jeep was just in the shopagain. I summed up Emma Jeans behavior.
You both know her. Do you think Emma Jean could be behind any of this? I asked.
The minister tapped together his fingers. Mama picked at a piece of lint on her pantsuit.
Is she violent?
Pastor Bob said, She did look awfully comfortable with that tire iron.
Mama scowled at him. Well, I dont believe it. She shook her head. I think what Emma Jean needs right now is some proper Christian charity, not condemnation.
Im perfectly willing to render that charity, if only I could find her, Rosalee. More teeth. Delilah and I called several times after services last night, and again this morning. We didnt reach her. I was hoping you had.
Thats when I repeated what Id said in the car about Emma Jean calling, but not showing up. This time, I had Mamas complete attention.
___
A half hour later, wed about exhausted the topic of Emma Jeans troubles. Sitting on that itchy black chair in the pastors office, my mind started to wander to work and the day ahead. I needed to stop at the poultry plant and buy a dozen whole chickens for Ollie. That alligator was about to eat up the annual operating budget for Himmarshee Park.
I shifted my wrist to get a look at my watch. Pastor Bob caught me. He must get a lot of practice at that from the pulpit. Clearing his throat, he stretched his toes to the floor and pushed back the leather chair.
Ladies, its been a pleasure speaking to you both. I only wish the circumstances were better. Im praying for Emma Jean. I hope you are, too.
He seemed to stare extra hard at my lapsed self as he said that. It was my turn to look down at his desk.
He walked around and enfolded Mamas right hand in both of his. Dont worry, Rosalee. When we find Emma Jean, were going to take care of her. The Bible tells us to help up a companion who falls. He pulled Mama up from her chair, acting out the verse.
Woe to him who is alone when he falls and doesnt have another to lift him up. Ecclesiastes 4:10,
he recited.
He turned to me. Youre certainly a good daughter, a companion for your mother.
Placing one of his boy-sized hands on my shoulder, he gazed at me. His green eyes were piercing, especially against those white teeth. His hand lay there so long, I started feeling uncomfortable. His clammy fingers wriggled. I shifted my shoulder, trying to get out from under what felt like a flopping catfish. Then, just before he removed his hand, he kneaded the bare skin on my upper arm like it was dough and he was a baker.
Could I have imagined it? I searched his eyes, and saw the slightest flicker. Cmon, baby. Im ready if you are, it said.
Ewww.
Grabbing Mamas elbow, I moved her as a barrier between Pastor Bob and me. I backed out the door of his office and into the church.
PleaseCallMamaIfYouHearAnythingAboutEmmaJean, I said, the words squirming out like tadpoles in a creek. WeveGottaGo.INeedToGetToWork.
I rushed Mama past plastic lilies and pulpit, across dark blue carpet and out the door.
My stars and garters she protested as I pushed her onto the sidewalk. What in the world?
Dont ask questions, Mama. Just get in the car.
Pastor Bob stood in the churchs front window. He pulled open the blinds, watching us go. He looked just like Ollie the alligator right before I toss a raw chicken into his waiting jaws.
Mamas head swiveled like a one-eyed dog in a butcher shop.
I was telling her all about Pastor Bobs stroking and come-hither stare. Shed look at me for a second, then snap her head toward Abundant Hope, disappearing in the distance behind us. Me, the church. The church, me. I think she expected the minister to jump in his car and chase me down for some nookie-nookie.
Well, I never! Mamas lips formed a disapproving line. That is just about the awfulest thing I ever heard, Mace. I knew there was something off about that man. Hes a predator in pastors clothing, plain and simple.
Oh, cmon, Mama. I laughed a little at how nadve she seemed. Its not the end of the world. He thought he saw the chance for a little somethin on the side, and he decided to go for it. Hes not the first man to do it. He wont be the last.
Once Id put a few blocks between me and the lecherous Pastor Bob, I eased off the gas. Unclenching the grip shed had on the window crank, Mama snapped her seat belt shut.
Hes not just a man, Mace. Her face was as serious as a sermon. Hes a man of God. Theres supposed to be a difference.
Tell that to Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart. I seem to remember they were famous ministers, and they had a little trouble with the ladies, too.
She ran a hand through her hair. I imagined stray strands scattering in the wind. Thats not fair, Mace. Those scandals happened a long time ago. And the majority of religious men are good, righteous leaders. Theyre not out to jump the bones of anything that moves.
Thanks for the compliment, Mama. Maybe my knockout looks and sex appeal tempted that poor pastor, just this once. Did you ever think about that?
She took a long look at me: sleeveless collared shirt in park-department green; shapeless matching trousers in olive drab. I wore heavy-soled black boots, laced up past my ankles. No lipstick or blush. No perfume, either. The parks animals dont like it, and it draws mosquitoes.
Honey, I love you to death. Mama put her palm on my cheek. You can be an awful pretty girl, when you try. But lets face facts. Youre no Marty.
Mama had a point. My little sister draws men like flies. Usually, I just draw the flies.
Mama put her hand over mine on the stick shift and patted. I feel guilty, Mace. If I hadnt dragged you to church, you wouldnt have had to put up with that awful man attacking you. Just disgusting, thats what he is. And how about those DVDs? Its not right for a pastor to be so intent on selling himself.
I turned on the radio. Another weather report. Still hot.
Maybe he wants to be a celebrity, like everybody else in America, I said. And he didnt really attack me, Mama. Honest. It was no big deal. Well tell my sisters, and itll give us something to laugh about. Lord knows we havent had too many laughs these last few days.
I like that idea, Mace. Another pat to my hand. Now, Ive already put you out more than enough this morning. Why dont you let me out of the car, up there at the corner? Right there by the pawn shop and your cousin Henrys law office. I can walk the rest of the way to the beauty shop.
I glanced down at her sandals with their three-inch heels. My feet felt sore just looking at them.
Thats four blocks, at least. You are not walking to work in those shoes, Mama.
Its okay. I dont want to put you out.
I rolled my eyes at her. Mama, asking me to drive a hundred and seventy-four miles, round-trip, to the airport in West Palm Beach to pick up a relative I barely know is putting me out. Dropping you off at Hair Today on my way to work is not. Still, I dont know why you insist on wearing heels. Its not like people dont already know youre short.
Easy for you to say, Miss Five-Foot-Ten. She put her foot up on the dashboard to admire her lemon-hued shoe. These
are
ridiculously uncomfortable. But havent you ever had a shoe that you loved just for the way it looks, Mace?
I ran mentally through my footwear inventory: leather ropers for riding, waterproof boots for work, sneakers or loafers for any other occasion.
Nope. Cant say that I have. We passed Petes Pawn, with its roadkill armadillo sign. Now, are we agreed that its not too much trouble for me to drive you whats now three remaining blocks to work?
She straightened herself in the seat; her hair barely grazed the headrest. Im just trying to be considerate, Mace. You dont need to get snippy.
I could use some of that consideration the next time Cousin Whatever-her-name-is flies in to visit, and you volunteer me to pick her up at the airport.
She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the windshield.
All of a sudden she reached out, turned down the radio, and yelled, Stop! Stop right there, Mace. Stop the car!
Mama, I cant stop. Im doing forty miles an hour. Ive got cars in front of me and cars in back of me.
No wonder she had that fender-bender that started everything at the Dairy Queen.
Okay, slow down, then. That next street there, with the used car for sale on the corner? Thats Emma Jeans street. I remember from one time Sally and I gave her a ride from bingo.
As we approached, I read the street sign out loud: Lofton Road.
Thats it, Mace. She leaned forward, peering out the windshield. Lets drive by to see if shes okay.
I downshifted to take the corner.
Im worried about her, Mace. She sure didnt seem right when she was swinging that tire iron at church.
Who would?
There it is, Mace. The blue one. About half way down, on the left.
I slowed, and turned into Emma Jeans driveway. Her cat-shaped mailbox was painted in Siamese colors. The cats black-tipped tail was the flag, which was flipped up straight.
I continued up the drive, noting a gaggle of yard gnomes. The rose bushes needed attention. Only the most dedicated gardeners can grow roses in the Florida heat and mucky soil around Lake Okeechobee. Judging from the mold-spotted leaves and sparse blooms, Emma Jean lacked the necessary dedication.
There was no car in the open, metal-roofed carport. I pulled in and parked. Mama and I got out.
The sun had faded the houses blue paint almost gray. The window curtains were drawn. Her screen door was shut, as was the solid wooden door behind that. Pink and white impatiens wilted in a pot on her porch. Mama leaned over to feel the soil. Shaking her head, she picked up a watering can and poured the contents on the flowers.
I knocked at the door. No answer. I pounded.
Emma Jean? Are you there, darlin? Mama called at the window.
Well, we know she was here fairly recently, I said. If that tail on her mailbox was up yesterday when the mail carrier came, he wouldve taken Emma Jeans outgoing letters and flipped it back down.
Mama glanced out to the cat-shaped mailbox. You know, I didnt even think about that. Theres a reason you were top in your class at college, Mace.
I opened the screen door and tried the knob on the door inside. Locked.
A Siamese cat, live, not the mailbox one, minced its way up the porch steps. It sniffed at Mamas lemon-colored sandal, and then made a beeline to me. Im an animal lover, but Ive never been able to warm up to felines. And dont the cats always know that? In a crowded room, theyll bypass a dozen cat-lovers; ignore every outstretched hand; fail to recognize a chorus of Here, kitty-kittys. Then theyll decide to make friends with me.