by Ron Benrey
“Have you looked outside? It’s a beautiful day.”
“True, but I’m working inside, to collect interesting information about Richard Squires. I may recommend that we produce a feature segment about him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Once again, Mimi Gallagher came to his rescue. “Richard experienced a freak accident during a hurricane that did very little other damage when it visited Glory. A story like that is chock-full of human interest.”
“You’re serious about this?”
“Cross my heart,” Sean said, sensing a small victory.
She sighed. “Don’t bother the mourners.”
“I promise I’ll be good. I’m merely going to look and listen—and pray a little. Chiefly about you. You need the wisdom to rethink your impulsive decision to leave Glory.”
“I’m at peace with all that has happened, and everything I plan to do.”
She talked with conviction, but he didn’t believe her. Once again the expression on her face spoke louder than her words. Anyone could make out that Ann loved her job at Glory Community Church and that she didn’t want to be bullied out of Glory by Phil Meade.
From her vantage point in the front of the sanctuary, Ann could see Sean sitting on the right side and Phil Meade sitting on the left. Both men were staring intently at her.
Sean looked unhappy. Apparently he’d finally accepted that she would leave Glory. Ann knew she’d hurt and disappointed him. She hadn’t meant to, but she knew that cutting off their relationship had been the right thing to do.
Phil, though, looked delighted. Ann could almost feel his glee. He’d obviously heard that she had resigned and was tickled that he had won. He probably couldn’t wait to gloat about his triumph to Rafe and Daniel.
It wouldn’t make any difference to her. She’d be in Asheville.
Daniel moved to the pulpit and turned on his microphone. “Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.’”
Ann had helped Daniel plan a straightforward service with a reception immediately after in Fellowship Hall. She had heard Daniel officiate at dozens of funerals. Today, he followed the same simple three-element pattern he often adopted.
First, he offered thanks to God for the valuable life of the deceased and the impact he had on his family and friends. Second, he spoke frankly about the pain that death causes when it separates the deceased from his loved ones. Third, he emphasized that Jesus’ resurrection demonstrates His victory over death—a victory that the Gospel teaches is ours in Christ.
Nina McEwen had selected, with Sheila Parker’s input, three old and popular hymns, all of them among Ann’s favorites: “Blessed Assurance,” “Because He Lives” and “Amazing Grace.”
Many guests asked to give eulogies, but Daniel limited the number to three. Joseph Lyman, Glory’s mayor, praised Richard’s lifelong love of Glory, his determination to outshine other Albemarle Sound towns, and how he had died serving the community. Jackson Wallace, the president of the Glory Chamber of Commerce, extolled Richard’s commitment to the business community.
When the time came for Daniel to introduce the third speaker, he smiled toward the pews and said, “Our final message of remembrance this morning will be delivered by a speaker who asked me not to tell you his name. I’ll merely say here’s a gentleman who knew Richard Squires longer than almost anyone else in this sanctuary.”
The man crossed in front of Ann as he walked to the podium. She’d never seen him before; she’d certainly have remembered his thick salt-and-pepper hair and his wrinkled face. He paused to adjust the height of his microphone and used the occasion to show his face to different parts of the sanctuary.
Ann listened to a trickle of murmured oohs from the pews. Some mourners looked bewildered, while others looked shocked. All seemed puzzled to see the third eulogizer standing at the podium.
“Good morning my friends,” he began. “Most of you here today think of me as a new face at Glory Community Church, but some of you know better. I’m anything but a new face. In fact, I used to live in Glory. I was baptized at Glory Community sixty-three years ago. I grew up in this church and was a member for more than thirty-five years. And then, one morning twenty-five years ago, I left Glory and swore that I’d never return.”
The trickle of murmurs became a loud flood. Two people in the front row were glaring at the speaker.
“Ah,” he said. “Several of you remember me. If so, you’ll also recall the reason that I moved away. I left Glory because I hated Richard Squires.”
A few guests booed and at least one shouted, “Get out!” The mourners might have become even noisier had Daniel not stepped in front of the pulpit and asked for quiet.
“I agree with you, my friends,” the speaker went on. “Hate is a strong word. Unfortunately, it fit me perfectly. Back then I considered Richard Squires my worst enemy.
“My name, for those of you who don’t recall it, is James Defoe. Richard and I grew up together. We were the best of friends in high school and best men at each other’s weddings. And when Richard’s children were born, I became their unofficial uncle. Richard and I were also partners in the restaurant business. If you look at the documents that founded Squires’ Place, you’ll see our names side by side. Our names show up side by side again—Defoe versus Squires—in the documents that launched the lawsuit I brought against Richard.
“What did we fight over? Money, of course. When we created Squires’ Place, Richard provided the know-how, the creative ideas and his wonderful manner with customers. I provided the money, a large sum I’d inherited upon the death of my grandfather.
“We succeeded, thanks completely to Richard’s efforts. But I wasn’t satisfied with reasonable profits. I insisted that we open a bigger restaurant in Elizabeth City. I believed that Glory was too small, that we’d never generate the kind of revenues we could in a bigger city.
“Alas, I never understood how important Squires’ Place had become to Richard. To me, our restaurant was merely an investment. To Richard, it was a calling—the way he honored God.”
Ann noticed Sean furiously jotting in his black notebook.
James Defoe continued, “We had a falling-out and decided to end our partnership. In 1982, Richard bought out my share of our partnership and I left Glory to open my own restaurant in Elizabeth City. But I grew unhappy with what Richard had paid me. I felt shortchanged, convinced that he had cheated me. The court decided that Richard had paid enough, but that only made me hate him more.”
Sean caught Ann’s eye. She knew what he was thinking. Here was a man with real motive for murder. Revenge. A feud that had lasted more than twenty-five years? She could practically hear Sean saying, You told me that Richard didn’t have enemies. Well, she hadn’t known about James.
Defoe talked on. “When I left Glory, I also left Christianity. I foolishly spent twenty-five years hating Richard Squires, doing much more damage to myself than to him. Naturally my own restaurant failed. I was so full of hatred I could barely smile at my customers.
“My testimony about Richard is simple. Despite everything I did, he never hated me. He often tried to reach me—by phone, by mail, through mutual acquaintances—all with the intent of restoring our relationship. I rebuffed him again and again.
“Until two years ago. That’s when I became a Christian all over again—a real Christian. I’m delighted to report that this past summer, Richard and I restored our lost friendship. We even talked about me moving back to Glory and working with him at Squires’ Place, just like the old days.
“To celebrate, I made us each an Eat Grits cap in our favorite colors. Mine is white with a red brim, his is red with a white brim. Richard told me that he wore it often in Glory.” Defoe tugged a red-and-white baseball cap out of his jacket pocket and pulled it down on his head.
Ann shuddered. Defoe’s cap was a version of the cap Richard had worn when he repaired the generator.
> Defoe continued, “I suppose that every story told in church needs a moral. My moral is simple—be like Richard Squires, not like me. He knew what was important in life. He was loving, forgiving and loyal—to people who didn’t deserve it.” He brushed away a tear. “That sounds like God’s grace, doesn’t it? Richard, we’ll miss you.”
No one booed when Defoe finished talking. It was silent in the church except for a torrent of sniffs. Ann moved quickly along the side aisle; the service was almost over and she needed to make certain that the Fellowship Room was ready.
When the crowd of mourners arrived, so did Sean.
“We have to talk,” he said. “What James Defoe said changes everything. I’ve been looking for a murder motive in the wrong place.”
“It still makes no difference,” Ann replied.
“Sure it does. Motive is the first step toward understanding what happened on Monday night. I care about this, Ann. And I’m sure they will also.”
He cocked his head toward Jordan and Erin, who comprised a short receiving line near the front door. They were locked in a group hug with James Defoe. Several other guests were waiting to pay their respects.
“Hey! I have to talk to her,” Sean said, spotting Sheila at the refreshment table.
“If she kicks you, I’m going to applaud.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Sean thought he saw a small smile on Ann’s face as she walked with him toward Sheila. Sheila—busy heaping hors d’oeuvres on a paper plate—didn’t see Sean approach.
He dove in. “Several people I’ve talked to know about your relationship with Richard, but no one knew how far along it had progressed.”
Sheila used a canapé to wave away Sean’s remark. “I told you—we decided to keep our engagement a secret.”
“That’s the thing. Even if you hadn’t talked about it, people would have noticed the signs. But no one did.”
“You have a whale of a lot of nerve to gossip about me in Glory.” She tossed a handful of canapé dust at Sean. “Stay away from me. We have nothing else to talk about.”
“Oh, yes we do. I want to look at Richard’s paperwork, especially the documents pertaining to any potential sale of Squires’ Place.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Never say never. I intend to ask Richard’s children for permission to browse through his papers at the restaurant—the documents you’ve organized so neatly in the file room.”
She glared at Sean, an ugly glower that seemed close to rage.
“What you do or don’t do is no concern of mine.” She stormed off with her plateful of food.
“Wow!” Ann said, “You seem to have lost a friend.”
“I’ll say.” He laughed. “And here I thought you were the only woman I could make mad.”
Ann noticed that Sheila stopped halfway across the room to look back at Sean.
If looks could kill…
THIRTEEN
“Are you sure about this, Daniel?” Ann smiled at him, wondering what had prompted his last-minute invitation to dinner.
“Absolutely positively sure,” he said. “We’ll expect you at seven.”
“And Lori is okay with this?” she asked, wary of interrupting a still-honeymooning couple.
He laughed. “‘We’ is Lori and me.”
Ann couldn’t hear any waffling or insincerity in his voice, but his unexpected request bewildered her. Daniel wasn’t a last-minute kind of person. Retired army colonels liked to plan things in advance. But this invitation had been entirely spontaneous. They’d been chatting after Richard’s funeral, when out of the blue a strange look crossed Daniel’s face. “Have dinner with us tonight,” he’d said.
In the end, Ann accepted, as graciously as her fears of being a gloomy table companion would allow. “I’d be delighted to come to dinner, Daniel, even though I won’t be the best of company this evening. I set aside this afternoon to pack up my office. I’m already feeling a tad melancholy.”
“I understand completely. Lori and I will do our best to cheer you up. We’ve both done lots of spur-of-the-moment moving around ourselves. Packing in a hurry can be a real pain.”
What an odd thing for Daniel to say, Ann thought, as she struggled to keep the smile on her face. She reminded herself that Daniel had lots on his mind, too. He clearly wanted to be supportive, even if he expressed himself awkwardly.
Friday afternoon passed in a flurry of corrugated cardboard boxes, plastic packing tape and trips to her car to load her belongings. Ann called the manse a few minutes before seven and spoke to Daniel. “Can I bring anything this evening? Extra soft drinks or dessert?”
“Nope. We have everything we need. Simply bring yourself.”
“Myself is on the way.”
Ann endured yet another twinge of remorse when she put down the phone. Cleaning out her office—wrapping her collection of framed photographs—had triggered a steady succession of bittersweet feelings. She’d miss lots of things in Glory, but she’d Daniel and Glory Community Church most of all.
She snatched up her car keys, determined to be resolute that evening. No gnashing of teeth. No crying. She’d made a sensible decision; there was no turning back. She regretted leaving her job, but in time all good things came to an end. That was how the world worked. She switched off the lights in her office for the last time as church administrator.
Ann tapped hesitantly on the front door to the manse. Cheer up, or you’ll ruin Daniel and Lori’s Friday evening. Daniel opened the door and Lori scooted gracefully around him to give Ann a brawny, welcoming hug.
“Welcome to Chez Hartman,” she said. “You’re our first dinner guest as a married couple.”
“I’m honored,” Ann said, breathless from the hug. Lori was strong as well as nimble. When they first met, Ann had thought Lori too elegant—and too pretty—to be a police officer, but then Lori talked about her twelve years as a special agent in the U.S. Army’s Criminal Investigation Division. This decidedly unusual pastor’s wife would soon join the Glory Police Department as a detective.
Ann detected a familiar odor in the foyer. She sniffed. “I know that delicious smell, but I can’t put a name to it.”
“That’s our dinner,” Daniel said. “Cheesy shrimp and grits, à la Squires’ Place.”
“But that was one of Richard’s most secret recipes.”
“It’s not secret anymore,” Lori said. “Calvin Constable, Emma Neilson’s breakfast chef, ‘reverse engineered’ the ingredients. He’s a genius at identifying different spices.”
“Cheesy shrimp and grits is one of my favorites.”
“I know,” Daniel said. “That’s why I asked Lori to prepare it. I wanted your last home-cooked meal in Glory to be memorable. You won’t have much opportunity to eat Glory-style grits in the future.”
Ann stared at the foyer’s bare wood floor. Daniel was right, but couldn’t he have found a more tactful way to voice what he’d said?
“How about a glass of lemonade?” Lori asked.
“I’d love some,” Ann answered.
“You two head for the dining room. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Daniel gave Lori a military salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he offered Ann his arm and escorted her into the dining room.
Ann was familiar with the furniture in the manse, but there was something different about the dining room this evening. The table setting wasn’t elaborate, but the splash of late-summer flowers in the center and the charmingly folded napkins tucked into tall lemonade glasses sang of a woman’s touch.
“Lori sets a wonderful table,” Ann said. “I’m impressed.”
“Me, too!” Daniel said with a smile. “She’s adjusting to me faster than I thought possible. Everything’s new to Lori. Becoming a pastor’s wife, managing a household, transforming my bachelor manse into a convivial home. She’s taken every challenge of our marriage in stride.”
Ann nodded. If Lori could transition from her tho
roughly independent life to domestic tranquility, perhaps Ann could do the same thing someday, when the right man came along. She thought of Sean, but quickly dismissed him from her mind. Their lives had gone in different directions and that was that.
Daniel poured a glass of lemonade for Ann. A moment later, Lori arrived with a vast bowl of steaming cheesy shrimp and grits. She set it on an insulated pad made of cork.
“I’ll give thanks for our food,” Daniel said. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for the food and for the loving hands that prepared it. We also thank You for this time of fellowship with Ann. We’ll miss her, but we know that she thought carefully about her life and has made the right decision for her future. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
Ann said a soft “amen.” At last, Daniel had understood that she’d looked at every possible alternative and reached the only conclusion that made sense. Leaving Glory was the right decision for her future.
Lori handed Ann a large spoon. “Dig in—and don’t be shy. I accidentally made enough cheesy shrimp and grits to feed our choir. Calvin didn’t provide scaling directions along with his recipe.”
Ann served herself and inched the bowl toward Daniel.
“I won’t kid you, Ann,” he said, as he filled his plate. “I tossed and turned most of last night. For the first three hours, I couldn’t bear to contemplate the thought of you leaving Glory Community Church. But then I thought some more.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I began to realize that you made the right decision to sacrifice your career. If you keep working at Glory Community Church, your presence could easily start World War III in the pews.”
Ann nodded in agreement. “The last thing I want to do is be responsible for a fight among members of the congregation.”
“It’s a terrible shame really, but all we can do is face reality and recognize the foibles of human nature.” Daniel shook his head glumly. “Like it or not, you’ve become a disruptive force inside the church. And so, the only solution is for you to leave. I wish it were otherwise, but that’s the way people are—they take sides. We live in a fallen Creation and must expect the church’s flock to occasionally exhibit foolish and outrageous behavior. All you can do is admit defeat.”
