Thin Blue Smoke: A Novel About Music, Food, and Love

by Doug Worgul

  “That’s not all. A.B., Bob and I have been so grateful for your friendship with Warren. Warren has never been so happy and, well, so normal. We were worried that we would lose him, that he would get lost inside his own mind. But you cared enough to be a friend. Just a normal friend.

  “A.B., in his will, Bob left the 1700 block of Walnut to you. From Walnut to Main, from 17th to 18th, that block of property is now yours.”

  Both A.B. and LaVerne looked as if they wanted to speak. Marge lifted her hand.

  “There is one more thing. Bob’s desire was that the two of you should own and control the businesses and property in the neighborhood, but there are strings attached. LaVerne, if you should decide that you want out of the restaurant business and would like to sell your property, A.B. has first right of refusal. If he wants to buy the property, you must sell it to him at fair market value. If he doesn’t want to buy it, right of refusal goes to the Watership Foundation, which is a charitable foundation we’ve established to fund mental health programs. If the foundation waives its right of refusal, you’re free to sell it to the buyer of your choice.

  “Likewise, A.B., if you choose to sell any part or the whole of the property you now own, LaVerne gets first right of refusal. If chooses to waive his right, then the property must be offered to the foundation. If the foundation does not wish to buy the property, you may sell to whomever you wish.”

  Marge bowed her head and her voice lowered to a near whisper.

  “It gave Bob great joy to do this. And it gives me great joy to share this news with you. Bob was the connection between us. I would never have known any of you if it weren’t for him. I pray that now that he’s gone we will still see one another often. It’ll help me stay connected to him.”

  A.B. couldn’t bear anymore. He let out a loud sob. LaVerne buried his face in his hands and wept. Angela and Jen felt a weight of love as heavy as any sorrow. They stood and went to Marge and took her into their arms.

  *

  LaVerne and A.B. went to the restaurant that night for the first time since the murders. The cleaning service had done its job well; it looked the same as on any night after closing. There was no sign of what had happened.

  LaVerne had called ahead to ask if Ferguson would meet them there and within a few minutes he knocked on the front door and let himself in. He had been discharged from the hospital only a few days earlier and, under his shirt, his chest was wrapped with layers of gauze. He moved carefully. In his hand he carried his father’s silver brooch. He held it out for LaVerne and A.B. to see. There was a hole about the size of a dime in one of the bars of the Celtic cross.

  “This is what saved me,” he said.

  LaVerne and A.B. took turns holding the brooch, each sticking their pinkies in the hole, shaking their heads in disbelief.

  Ferguson eyed LaVerne’s sling. “How’s the shoulder?”

  LaVerne snorted. “Doctor says he cleaned up all the old scar tissue. Says I could play outfield for the Royals if I wanted too. I told him I’d pass.”

  They sat at a table by the window and were quiet for a time.

  A.B. spoke first. “I don’t want this property. I want Bob back. He wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

  “You aren’t responsible for Bob’s death,” said Ferguson. “Forgetting a pair of shoes never killed anybody. That poor tormented young man killed him. He made the choice to take Bob’s life.”

  “Why couldn’t God prevent him from doing that?” A.B. asked.

  “God could have, A.B. And he could have prevented you from forgetting your shoes. And he could manipulate time and space to put things back the way they were a month ago. But then all of creation would be meaningless. The only meaning there is in all the universe is love, A.B. And love can only exist of its own free will. If God manipulates all our choices and decisions, if we’re nothing more than his playthings, then we have no real relationship with him. A child’s toy cannot love the child. It’s only when we’re free to commit monstrous acts of murder, that we’re also free to love God and each other.”

  They were quiet again and then LaVerne spoke.

  “Son, this is what I know in my heart—to God there is no difference between here and there, heaven and earth. This life and eternal life, it’s all the same to him. Raymond and Bob were here, now they’re there. We’re here now. Pretty soon we’ll be there. There’s not much separating this place from that place. I have to believe that if I reach out my hand I can touch my boy. Believing that is pretty much the only thing that has kept my mind whole.”

  A.B. shook his head and stared down at his feet.

  LaVerne reached over with his good arm and took A.B.’s hand in his.

  Ferguson crossed himself. “A thin place,” he said “We’re in a thin place.”

  Epilogue

  The Peace

  In a near empty sanctuary, the sweet thin blue smoke of incense rises up like whispered prayer. Gathered around a baptismal font at the back of the nave are LaVerne and Angela Williams, Marge Dunleavy and Warren, Pug Hale, Periwinkle Brown, and A.B. and Jen Clayton. The Reverend Ferguson Glen, in his liturgical vestments, holds his hands over the water in the font and prays.

  “We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life. We thank you, Father, for the water of baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit. Therefore in joyful obedience to your Son, we bring into his fellowship those who come to him in faith, baptizing them in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

  Ferguson pauses and listens. Someone is speaking the words in unison with him. It is a voice he knows. He looks at the faces of those around him, these people he loves. Was one of them speaking the words together with him? He lowers his hands and touches them to the water.

  “Now sanctify this water, we pray you, by the power of your Holy Spirit, that those who here are cleansed from sin and born again may continue forever in the risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior. To him, to you, and to the Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.”

  He hears the voice again. It is one with his voice, and gives power to his voice. Those around him smile expectantly. They wait for him to continue. He extends his hands to receive the infant who has been brought here for baptism.

  Ferguson cradles the child in the nook of his right arm and touches the baby’s cheek. The baby reaches for his hand, grasping at his wedding band.

  Ferguson dips his hand into the water and speaks as he pours the water onto the child’s head.

  “Robert Raymond Clayton, I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  Ferguson knows now who it is who is saying the words with him. He knows that those standing near him are not hearing his voice, but the voice of the one who speaks with him, and in him, and through him. He knows that this is the voice he has waited a lifetime to hear. “Let us pray,” he says.

  “Heavenly Father, we thank you that by water and the Holy Spirit you have bestowed upon this your servant the forgiveness of sin, and have raised him to the new life of grace. Sustain him, O Lord, in your Holy Spirit. Give him an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. Amen.”

  With his thumb, Ferguson makes the sign of the cross on the child’s forehead.

  “Robert Raymond Clayton you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever
. Amen.”

  He turns to his friends. Their faces shine. He invokes the blessing.

  “The peace of the Lord be always with you.”

  And they return the blessing to him.

  “And also with you.”

  Meet Doug Worgul

  Doug Worgul was born in 1953 into a family of preachers, teachers, and writers in the state of Michigan.

  Worgul honed his skills as a writer at The Kansas City Star where he worked for ten years as a features editor, senior book editor, and editor of Star Magazine. While at The Star, he authored two books of non-fiction—A Table Full of Welcome: A Cookbook Celebrating the Ethnic Diversity of Kansas City’s Culinary Traditions and The Grand Barbecue: A Celebration of the History, Places, People, and Techniques of Kansas City Barbecue.

  A nationally-recognized authority on the history and cultural significance of American barbecue traditions, Worgul is currently director of marketing at Joe’s Kansas City Bar-B-Que (formerly Oklahoma Joe’s), named by Anthony Bourdain as one of the “Thirteen Places to Eat Before You Die.”

  Worgul has four daughters (and four grandsons) and lives in Leawood, Kansas, with his wife.

  Order these and other award-winning books at conundrum-press.com