Kitabı oku: «Gone To Glory», sayfa 3

Kevin’s voice became softer. “You like the town of Glory. You respect the people you’ve met. I could hear it in your voice earlier.” He seemed to hesitate. “You okay with all of this?”

“All of what?”

“If your investigation succeeds, the church won’t get its money back.”

“If I succeed, as you put it, it will mean that I’ve uncovered evidence that George Ingles made a rotten investment with his eyes wide open. That would mean that the church doesn’t deserve to get its money back.” She added. “And you’re right—I do respect the people I’ve met. They’re cheerful, direct and nice. I haven’t met any phonies yet.” Lori recalled George’s sleazy sweet talk. “Well, maybe I did meet one phony.” She added, “Anyway, I never take anyone’s side.”

Kevin snorted. “Speaking of rotten investments…we received another package of relevant documents from McKinley Investments. This stack of goodies includes the last monthly brokerage report that Quentin Fisher filed before he was killed. He claims that he urged the church not to buy junk bonds, but that the church’s financial secretary wanted to maximize return and was willing to accept a higher risk.”

“When did Fisher submit his last report?”

“The middle of April.”

“That seems rather late in the day. The church invested the money in February. Quentin Fisher counseled George Ingles in January.”

“I suppose he was finishing up his required paperwork—you know, dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s.”

“More likely, Quentin Fisher was covering his tail. He wanted to document that he lived up to his responsibility to give the church sound financial advice—even though he probably didn’t.”

“Hmm. Didn’t someone just tell me that Lori Dorsett never takes sides.”

“I don’t and I haven’t,” Lori said. “One needn’t play favorites to recognize that something’s wrong with Quentin Fisher’s story. It doesn’t ring true. We don’t have all the facts on him. We don’t know everything he did.”

“Maybe so, but Quentin Fisher’s not our problem. Our primary target is George Ingles.” Kevin grunted, a signal that the debate was over. “To change the subject, I hope you’re eating well. I’m concerned for two reasons. I need you to stay healthy and don’t want you to return to Chicago with a craving for chitlins and cornpone.”

“I’m eating very well, thank you. Since Chicago Financial Insurance is paying my expenses I intend to sample all of the best restaurants in Glory—the kind that have lobster and filet on the menu. In fact, it’s approaching my usual dinnertime and I’m feeling a bit hungry.”

“Bon appetit!” Kevin said with a laugh. “Let’s talk again tomorrow.”

“Whatever!” She pressed the disconnect button.

Lori turned off her computer and grabbed a lightweight jacket. Spring evenings could be cool in Glory. She ignored the stab of concern she felt as she left her room. There was a simple spring lock on her door, but every container in her room was unlocked: her suitcase, her camera case, her attaché case that held her computer and a folder full of travel brochures. This seeming indifference was in keeping with the laid-back persona she’d chosen. Christine Stanton would expect a “ditz” to behave that way. Better to risk a theft than raise unnecessary suspicions about herself. And besides, the odds of her room being burgled in a town like Glory were small.

As Lori walked toward the front door, she saw Christine sitting in the parlor, reading what looked like a thick law book.

“That’s definitely heavy reading,” Lori said.

Christine raised her eyes. “Out to take more pictures?”

Lori stepped into the parlor. “No. I’m in the mood for a short walk then a good meal.”

“Well, you can’t do much better than a stroll along the Glory Strand, down by the waterside. Turn left when you leave the Captain and take another left on Dock Street. Keep walking, you’ll end up at the start of the Strand.”

“Left, left and walk. Got it.”

“When you get to the end of Dock Street, look to your right and you’ll see the Glory at Sea Marina. There are a couple of fine seafood restaurants nearby. The Glorious Catch is big and fancy. The Fisherman’s Inn is small and cozy.”

“The Fisherman’s Inn sounds perfect. I’m kinda gloried-out.”

“Good choice. The Tuesday night special is usually homemade Maryland-style crab cakes.”

“Yum!”

Lori had taken several small steps into the parlor during the brief conversation, bringing her close enough to Christine to read the spine of book she held: Litigating Financial Fraud.

Lori nodded at Christine and backed out of the room. She would have to track down the book on the Internet and find out if it was a text for beginners or experts. That would be a useful bit of information to know. But it certainly could wait until after she ate her fill of crab cakes.

FOUR

A soft thud against the outside of his closed office door made Daniel look up from the church budget spreadsheet he’d been studying. He’d been expecting Ann Trask to join him, but she never knocked before entering his office, which meant that he would have to deal with someone else before he and Ann could get down to productive work.

“Come in,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice. More than a week ago he’d set aside the first two hours of this Wednesday morning so that he and Ann could quietly review the church budget and revise the figures downward.

The only answer was another thud.

“Come in,” he said, more loudly than before. His prayer on waking at sunrise had been for discernment—but it took a clear, untroubled mind to be discerning. He felt on the verge of being angry.

A third thud sent him bounding from his chair, furious. He hurried to the door and flung it open. There stood Ann, holding a large tray that held a plate of homemade sticky buns, another plate of cookies, two mugs, a steaming carafe and all the usual coffee fixings. Her blue eyes twinkled. “Goodness, what took you so long to come to the door?” She pushed past him. “You’d better take this tray—it’s getting heavier by the second.”

Daniel took the heavily laden tray and realized that for the zillionth time in his life he had mistakenly over-reacted. It was his most vexing character flaw, the one he had to apologize for most often.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting…”

“Of course not. I should have warned you, but I figured you could use a treat to help you deal with the budget. I know that you hate financial numbers.” She smiled. “You told me that the first day I came to work.”

“Ann, you’re a gem.”

“Keep that in mind. My annual evaluation comes up next month.”

She pulled a visitor’s chair close to the side of Daniel’s desk. When he sat in his swivel chair, she dropped onto hers.

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth just now,” she said. “I woke up early and baked sticky buns mostly because I couldn’t sleep. The idea of cutting our budget has me so depressed that I start crying whenever I think about it.”

Daniel patted Ann’s hand. “Whenever I feel that way—and I often do—I say, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Even as it hath pleased the Lord, so cometh things to pass: blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

She frowned. “I know I’ve heard that before, but I can’t think where it comes from?

“The Anglican Book of Common Prayer. The English have buried people with that phrase for many hundreds of years.” He took her hand. “It’s a simple reminder that everything we have is from God.”

She returned a weak smile. “I do wish God would’ve let us hold on to what He gave us a little bit longer. Having the money then not having the money makes my head spin.”

“Mine, too. Well, let’s pray before we go to work.”

He watched Ann bow her head and then closed his own eyes. “Lord, we ask You to bless our efforts this morning. We have difficult choices to make and we know that we won’t do a good job on our own. We ask You to give us discernment. Be with us to provide the help and counsel we need. We pray these things in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

He blinked his eyes open when he heard her speak a quiet, “Amen.”

“At the risk of offending you some more, Ann, I think it’s best that we both agree not to discuss our decisions with anyone else.”

Ann began to pour coffee into a mug. “I agree. Budget cuts will be tough to swallow. People are going to get mighty stirred up when they learn their ministries aren’t being funded.”

“Fortunately, the final decision will be made by our able Board of Elders.”

“Reverend, the Elders asked you to make suggestions so that they can agree with everything you suggest. When it comes to reducing spending, the ball is in your court.” She added a spoonful of sugar to her coffee. “Anyway, most of the Elders assume that we’re going to get our money back.”

“I certainly hope we do.”

“Hope? I thought it was a sure thing.”

He shrugged. “Christine and George are confident, but there are no guarantees when you go to arbitration. McKinley Investments isn’t a stupid company. They obviously think they can win.”

Ann peered at him over the top of her mug. “Whew! The only reason the members haven’t tarred and feathered George Ingles is that they expect us to recover what we’ve lost.”

Daniel filled his own mug. Ann was exaggerating about the congregation’s feelings toward George, but she had the Elders pegged right. Ultimately the board wanted him to craft a new budget. The Elders were smart enough to anticipate the “elbowing” that would happen if each of them fought to protect his own pet project. Better to let the pastor propose controversial financial solutions.

“Let’s begin with our pledges,” Daniel said. “If I recall, pledging is down from last year.”

“About ten percent, Reverend. But I think that’s to be expected, don’t you?”

Daniel nodded. “Absolutely! Lots of our members have sent their tithes to organizations in greater need. After all, we were rolling in cash when our stewardship campaign began.”

Ann’s face brightened. “Maybe we could hold a ‘second mile campaign’ during the summer? We can give it a snazzy name, something like ‘Step up Again.’ Or…” Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being impractical. I know that I’ll have a hard time coming up with more money this year.” She lifted her hands in a gesture that signaled the inescapability of her situation. “My old clunker of a car is on its last legs. I was even thinking of asking the church for more hours. I guess that’s out of the question for a while.”

“It looks that way,” Daniel said. Eleven months earlier, Ann had agreed to work a twenty-five-hour week at Glory Community. Back then, everyone had expected her job to grow into a full-time position. Ann had returned to Glory to live with her ailing mother after earning a Bachelor’s degree in business administration from East Carolina University. Her zeal and efficiency made the church run more efficiently than it ever had before. Daniel especially appreciated her no-nonsense attitude. He knew that every task she began would be done right. She’d amply proved her worth and deserved to become a full-time employee.

Ann is another casualty of George Ingles’s foolish investing.

“Okay,” he said, “gift-giving is down. Let’s go through the budget line-by-line to see if we can find any obvious fat. We’ll start with our planned spending for the church building.”

Ann made a face. “There goes the new carpeting in our fellowship hall. I was looking forward to a nicer floor, but the old carpeting is still serviceable—even though it’s tired-looking. The kids who play on the floor won’t mind if we delay for another year.

“Agreed.”

“We were also going to repaint the hall.”

“Paint is relatively cheap, we’ll leave it in the budget. After all, all the labor to do the painting will be provided by volunteers.”

She grinned at him. “But now they will have to work extra hard to keep paint off the old carpet.”

He returned her grin. He hoped they could maintain their good mood as they sliced and diced the rest of the budget.

Daniel lost track of time and was pleased to discover that they’d finished the budget review in less than ninety minutes.

“Okay,” Ann said as they reached the budget’s final line item, “we’ve managed to trim eighteen percent out of this year’s planned spending. I only see two really painful cuts.”

“Where are they?”

She tapped the spreadsheet with her pencil. “We cut the funding for Vacation Bible School and our Christmas pageant by fifty percent. VBS can charge a small fee to make up the shortfall, but I vote that we restore the original budget for the pageant.”

“I’m not sure I understand why pageant needs so much money this year?”

“They need to buy new wings for the angels. Half of our old wings molted on stage last December. Don’t you remember?”

Daniel felt himself smile. He did remember. The congregation had laughed again and again as feathers fell every time an angel moved.

“Let’s go for new wings,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. Ann made a final note on her spreadsheet. She stood and began to gather the various plates and mugs on her tray. She abruptly said, “Reverend, there’s another budget line item that could pop up later this year.”

“What did we leave out?”

“Well…several members, me included, want the church to help Tony Taylor. We’re worried that Tony and Rebecca will have to dip into their retirement accounts to pay for his legal expenses.”

Daniel grunted in lieu of an answer. He knew that the Taylors could afford the significant cost of a skilled defense attorney and had hired a well-regarded law firm in Charlotte, but he wasn’t at liberty to tell Ann about the recent bequest from Rebecca’s uncle.

“Yes, indeed.” Daniel tried to sound noncommittal. “I like the idea, but our decision can wait until we know more about Tony’s circumstances.”

She seemed satisfied by his proposed compromise. “Have you seen Tony lately?”

Daniel nodded. “As a matter of fact, I visited him yesterday.” He didn’t elaborate. Tony hadn’t sworn him to secrecy, but why spread the word that he’d been asked to help prove Tony’s innocence?

Ann frowned. “It must be awful being stuck in prison.”

Daniel shuddered as he recalled Tony’s gaunt face, hollow eyes and pleading expression. “Awful is the right word,” he said. “We have to keep Tony in our prayers.”

And I have to figure out how to keep the promise I made to him.

“What would a real detective do first?” he muttered.

Ann turned in the doorway. “Pardon me?”

He smiled at her. “Pay no attention—I’m blithering.”

Daniel watched Ann leave his office and shut his door. A real detective would probably find out the latest about the case. Daniel reached for his telephone, dialed the business number for the Glory Police Department and asked for Rafe Neilson.

Daniel rolled his swivel chair closer to the open window at the side of his desk. The sky was clear and the temperature had climbed to the low eighties. A gentle easterly breeze blowing in from the Albemarle Sound carried a hint of the marshes close to shore. All in all, a perfect day to go fishing.

“Hello, Padre,” Rafe said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?” He seemed, Daniel thought, in a good mood.

“I’d like to chat about Tony Taylor.”

Rafe’s tone changed abruptly. “I feared Tony might be the topic. I heard that you spoke with him yesterday in jail.”

Daniel felt a jolt of surprise, but then realized how Rafe had learned about his visit.

“Ah. The jail keeps track of Tony’s visitors.”

“And they tell us.” He hesitated. “Although we don’t know what you talked about.”

“I’ll be happy to relieve your curiosity, Rafe. Tony asked me to help him prove his innocence.”

Another hesitation. “How do you intend to do that?”

“I really don’t know—yet. But it seems to me that the first step is to fully understand the case against Tony. I’d appreciate anything you can tell me without violating your responsibilities.”

Daniel heard Rafe sigh. “It’s a straightforward case, Daniel. We have a mountain of credible evidence to prove that Tony Taylor arranged Quentin Fisher’s death. I shared most of the details with you the other day.”

“But you don’t have a credible motive for murder. Tony doesn’t benefit from Quentin Fisher’s death, nor does killing Fisher benefit the church. Just the opposite is true. Fisher’s death broke the chain that leads back to McKinley Investments. The church is building a malpractice case against McKinley Investments, but we’re working in the dark without Quentin Fisher.”

“And your point is?”

“You sing with Tony, Rafe. You know that he’s smart enough to understand that killing Quentin Fisher would hurt the church’s chance of recovering its money.”

“Most of the killers I’ve run into over the years were smart people who did stupid things. Intelligence gets pushed aside when emotions like hate take over.”

“Do you really think that Tony Taylor is a murderer?”

Rafe sighed again. “Look, I don’t like having Tony in jail any more than you do. If I had a single scrap of evidence that cast doubt on Tony’s guilt, I’d do anything to prove he’s innocent.”

“I’ll see if I can find that scrap for you.”

“Stop right there, Daniel! I didn’t invite you to play detective.”

“No, but Tony did. He didn’t kill Quentin Fisher. I intend to do my best to see that Tony is exonerated.”

Lori parked the blue rental car on Oliver Street just west of King Street, a location that gave her a perfect view of Glory Community Church, and waited to see if her plan would work. If luck was still with her this noon, Ann Trask would go off for lunch, leaving Daniel Hartman alone inside the church building. It would be better—much better—to meet with the pastor without the chilling presence of the church’s administrative secretary.

She glanced to her right. Sitting next to her on the passenger seat were the outside photos she’d taken of Glory’s stained-glass windows, fresh from the inkjet photo printer at Glory Print and Copy Center. The fifteen pictures were excellent. They should be! She’d spent nearly four hours cropping, filtering and retouching them. Daniel would believe without question that she was a travel photographer in the making.

A flash of motion in the distance caught Lori’s eye. Ann Trask. Walking quickly toward the heart of Glory along King Street.

Lori realized that she was holding her breath. She blew the stale air from her lungs and wondered why she’d begun to feel nervous. This was Glory, North Carolina, and Daniel Hartman was a pussycat—the easiest target she’d chosen during her three years of working for Chicago Financial Insurance.

Lori scooped up the prints and slipped out of her car. She had to act quickly; perhaps Daniel also planned to leave the building for lunch. She half walked, half jogged to the church’s front entrance on Oliver Street. She trotted up the steps and made for the pastor’s office.

She tapped on the frosted-glass square in Daniel’s door. “Come in,” was the somewhat puzzled, curt response.

Daniel had a plastic food container open on his desk and a half-eaten sandwich in his right hand. He looked up as she entered the office. “Miss Dorsett? Good morning—or is it afternoon?”

Lori flashed what she hoped was a radiantly ditzy smile. “You remembered my name. I’m flattered.”

Daniel rose to his feet. “Have I forgotten an appointment?”

“No. I’m so excited about my photographs, I thought I’d drop in and show them to you.

He seemed momentarily confused. “Photographs? Oh, you mean the pictures you took of our windows.”

Lori nodded as enthusiastically as she could. “I have a dozen photos to show you, except…”

“Except?”

“You’re eating lunch. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Have you had lunch?”

“No. I’ve been working all morning. I guess I forgot about eating.”

“Your photos must be good.”

“I want you to be the judge.” She pushed the stack of photos closer to Daniel and turned up her smile to full intensity.

“Tell you what…” he said. “Share my lunch with me before I look at the photos. I have two egg salad sandwiches. You take one.”

“Half a sandwich is more than enough.”

“With a glass of iced tea?”

“That would be lovely.”

A new twinge of unease zipped through her. Daniel was acting the perfect gentleman and she planned to take advantage of his courtesy. Oh, well. It was her job to fool people. She had become expert at it.

“I’ll be back in an instant,” he said. “The kitchen is at the end of the hall.”

Lori switched her smile to hyperdrive. “I’ll be waiting.”

No need to hurry. I have lots to keep me busy.

The electronic bug she’d brought with her looked like a squat gray cylinder not much larger than a bottle cap. She retrieved it from her purse and tore off the piece of slick paper that protected the layer of adhesive applied to its bottom.

She quickly surveyed the room and decided that the best location to mount the bug was beneath Daniel’s overhanging desktop, close to his telephone. It would “hear” everything he said to people in the room and capture his half of telephone conversations. There was also little chance that the bug would be discovered: few cleaning people dusted the underside of a desktop. Lori pressed the bug into place against the wood surface.

Piece of cake.

The bug had a relatively short range, one hundred feet, at most. That meant she would have to hide a combination receiver/audio recorder in the bushes beneath Daniel’s office window. It increased the risk of discovery, but there was no other easy way to surveil the pastor.

Lori took several calming breaths, stood and began to survey Daniel’s office. One could learn a lot about a person from his everyday surroundings.

The furniture itself—old, heavy and made of cherrywood—probably belonged to the church. It included a big desk, a credenza and two tall bookcases with glass-paneled doors. Three upholstered wing-backed chairs occupied the corners of the room and two smaller visitor chairs stood in front of the desk. The office, especially his desk, was lightly cluttered—a sign that Daniel was both busy and well-organized.

He had made the office his own by filling it with memorabilia of his years as an Army chaplain. There were photos of him in a desert setting that must be Kuwait or Iraq, and others of him teaching in a classroom. There were plastic models of military vehicles, including both a Jeep and a Humvee. And there were several items of religious paraphernalia that he used when preaching in the field, including a simple cross mounted atop a stand and a portable communion set.

Most impressive of all were two framed Purple Heart medals. Lori had known that Daniel had been wounded in combat, but seeing the actual medals made those injuries truly real to her.

This man is for real.

Lori dropped back into her chair. A few minutes later Daniel arrived with an empty paper plate, a plastic jug full of tea and a tall glass. He put half a sandwich on the plate and filled the glass. “There you go!” he said. “North Carolina sweet tea—at its finest. However, I won’t vouch for the egg salad—I made it myself.”

Lori touched the plate, but then pulled her hand back.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Do we have to, um…say a prayer or something?”

“I always pray before I eat. Would you like me to say a simple prayer for both of us?”

“Okay.”

“The simplest grace I know is, ‘Thank You Lord for the food we are about to receive.’”

“Amen!” Lori mumbled, hoping that Daniel would presume that this was a difficult moment for her.

She lifted the glass and sipped. The tea was sweet and strong, and with a hint of lemon. “Delicious.”

She took a bite of the sandwich. The egg salad was nothing special and the bread tasted stale. “Yum! This hits the spot.”

Daniel’s hazel eyes shimmered. His face seemed even more handsome than usual.

Whoops. You’re forgetting why you’re here.

Lori pushed the collection of photographs closer to Daniel.

He picked them up. “So these are the shots you took when you visited us the other day.” He slowly browsed through the pictures. “I’m impressed!” he said. “These are really good. You’re a fine photographer.”

“Thank you. I’m hoping that the inside shots will be even better.”

“Well, I’ve never seen better photos of our windows.”

“Pick the one you like best. I’ll get it enlarged and framed. Consider it my gift for all your kindness.”

“That’s exceptionally generous of you.”

Lori gestured toward the wall. “There’s a perfect spot for a photograph a few feet past your diplomas and medals.”

He laughed.

She went on. “Speaking of medals, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with two Purple Hearts. Where did you earn them?”

“Panama and Iraq. Happily, they were both minor injuries.” An expression of surprise crossed his face. “You know, most people I know can’t recognize a Purple Heart.”

Lori bit her tongue. Your average ditz might not even recognize the image of George Washington on the front of the heart-shaped medal. She had made a tactical mistake. Now she would have to tell another lie.

“My dad had one,” she said. “He fought in Vietnam. A piece of shrapnel hit his left leg.”

“I see.” Daniel paused, apparently to gather his thoughts. “May I ask you a question that might sound impertinent, Lori?”

“Sure. But I may refuse to answer it.”

“Fair enough. When we first met, you mentioned that you no longer think of yourself as a Christian. May I ask why?”

Lori wiggled in her seat and tried to look nervous. This was the exact question she’d hoped he would ask—the question that would help to build their relationship. She had worked out an answer the night before, a simple answer that included lots of truth about her.

“I ran into a mixture of bad preaching, bad teaching and a church that didn’t care at all about teenagers. I lost interest, stopped going to worship services and never looked back.”

“Do you believe in God?”

Lori shrugged. “I’m confident He’s up there somewhere, doing His thing. But we’ve struck a deal. I leave Him alone and He stays out of my way.”

“One day you might want God to take center stage in your life.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Lori could tell that Daniel was holding back. He clearly wanted to say more about the joys of Christianity, but had decided to wait until another time. Perfect. She finished the half sandwich and drank the rest of her tea.

“Did you choose a picture?” she said abruptly.

“Ah—for my wall.” He held up a print. “I chose this one. The window illustrates the well-known scene in the parable of the Prodigal Son when the delighted father runs out to meet his returning wayward offspring.”

Lori took the print and put a small checkmark on the back. She glanced at Daniel. His wistful expression proved that her strategy had worked: he wanted to see her again. Now was the time to leave.

“I’m sure we both have lots to do this afternoon, so I’ll say goodbye.” She stood and reached across his desk. He rose and took her hand—at the same instant as Daniel’s door swung open and Christine Stanton breezed into the room.

“Ooops!” Christine said. “I didn’t know that you had a visitor, Daniel.”

“I was just leaving,” Lori said to Christine. She turned to Daniel. “The photo should be ready tomorrow.” She eased her fingers out of his grip. “Shall I drop it off?”

Lori watched his face brighten. “Oh, yes, please do.” Daniel seemed suitably pleased at the idea of seeing her again, tomorrow. Double perfect.

Lori nodded to Christine, who had begun to eye her suspiciously, and walked out the office.

“Phase One accomplished,” she murmured as she breezed out of the building. “You’re almost mine, Reverend Hartman, even though you don’t know it yet.”