“Maybe it depends on just how much you care about me.”
“I am touched,” I said. “It has more to do with time, my love. But I am genuinely touched by your loneliness.”
“Indeed, touched in more ways than one I must say.”
Somewhere along I-81 in southern Pennsylvania Rogers called to update me on her snooping around in the impending mess regarding the man of the cloth in Clancyville whom I did not even like.
“Surprise, surprise. You will never believe what I have found.”
“Go ahead. Give me the goods.”
“Nothing good about it,” she said. “In fact, there is even a blog out there that recounts the story blow by blow. Most of the stuff I am finding, however, comes from emails sent by several members of the church. They are hot to trot.”
“Where do you find these local idioms?” I said.
“I am ever-the-astute student of the language and culture of your world,” Rogers said.
“Too much I fear. What have you unearthed?”
“Funny you should use that metaphor. Mostly dirt, dirty dirt. It’s enough to make you swear off of religion altogether.”
“I didn’t think you were a religious entity?” I said.
“Your need for research has caused me to do some, shall we say, private investigation into the world of religion for my own edification. I find it interesting and a little compelling. But that’s for another time. This is what I have unearthed, to use your language. Reverend Stoddard has been accused of embezzling funds from the church. It seems that he has been accused of using one of the accounts in the church budget for his own things. That’s the short version.”
“I thought you said this was dirty dirt. That’s simply a case of avarice or whatever you wish to call it. What makes it dirty dirt?”
“The things he is accused of using it for,” Rogers said.
“Can you substantiate any of the emailed claims?”
“The list is long, but, in a word, no. I cannot, at least not without breaking the law and going inside the church’s computer to see what I could find. You want me to do that?”
“While I am reluctant, I do think it is important to my mother that I can substantiate either his guilt or his innocence. Wait a minute … why this stab of conscious about breaking the law. That has never bothered you before.”
“Before it was simply the government I was hacking into. A church is kinda different … besides, why not simply trust the authorities, those deacons?”
“Can’t believe I am encouraging you to hack into some institution’s computer. Have any of the deacons engaged in exchanging info via the email circuit?”
“Just one, but it was a vague email without any gossip attached. I think the officials are trying to do the church justice with their manner of handling.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Go ahead and get inside the church’s info and see what you can be certain about,” I said.
“It shall be done.”
Two hours later I was cruising along the Virginia corridor of I-81 and wondering out loud with Sam as to what might be ongoing with my friend Rosey. My cell alerted me to an incoming call from, of all people, Roosevelt Washington himself. Imagine that.
“Where on earth are you?” I said.
“That would be affirmative,” he shot back.
“Precisely where on the earth are you?”
“Heading towards Clancyville, Virginia,” he said.
“Pray tell, why are you going there?”
“To see my good friend, the one I have not seen in a while. I’ve missed you.”
“And you knew I was going there…how?”
“I called your mother, and then I called Rogers to substantiate the unimaginable. It’s nice to know that Rogers has my best interest at heart.”
“She’s in love with you, if a computer could be in love with a human,” I said.
“I know. It’s sweet. But our love could never be. The marriage of man and machine, albeit female machine, is really science fiction. This unrequited stuff is for poetry and short stories. I’m more into novels. I take the long view of life,” he said half-jokingly.
“And artificial intelligence is nothing if not science fiction,” I said.
“Well, it used to be science fiction. Rogers sort of disproves you on several levels.”
“Yeah … Sam and I will look forward to seeing you there. You can stay away from sleep for a few days now?”
“I am rested and ready for work. Thought you might need some help.”
“Speak to Sam here. He’s listening in on our conversation via speaker phone,” I said.
“Hey, Sam! How are you boy? See you soon.”
“He’s wagging his tail. Pleased to hear your voice. Ditto for me on that as well. I could use you in the Boston case for sure. Maybe you can keep me from prematurely killing my mother.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I decided to leave I-81 in Roanoke and travel some back roads to Clancyville. My anticipation mingled with some anxiety made the trip from Roanoke to home go faster. It was good to once again be in my hometown despite the circumstances. Rachel, Rosey, and Ginny were eating supper when Sam & I entered the back door.
“Everything’s still hot. Grab your plate and fill it from the stove,” Mother said before I could put down my small suitcase and greet everyone. Her priorities, not mine.
Several minutes into staving off my hunger with food and having fed Sam some vittles, it dawned on me that Rachel had not asked about anything I might have discovered regarding the situation between the deacons and Reverend Stoddard. I swallowed a bite of peas.
“You want to know what I have found out so far?” I said to her.
“It’s all over,” she said.
“What do you mean it’s all over?”
“Reverend Stoddard is leaving town. He and his wife are most likely packing as we speak. The movers are coming tomorrow to load up his furnishings. He’s going, leaving, never to return again,” she said and continued eating.
“But I haven’t finished checking into everything yet. Do you not want me to substantiate what the deacons have accused him of?”
“Doesn’t matter. He has agreed to go. It’s all over.”
“You think that is reasonable?” I said.
“Reasonable enough,” she said curtly.
I wondered what was at play with this sudden reversal of attitude. I looked at Rosey and he shrugged. Ginny shook her head but said nothing.
“Why the change in heart, Mother?”
“I found out the truth. It’s what I needed to know, so it’s over. I’m glad you came down, but you needn’t worry yourself any longer with the details of this. The church has to move on.”
“Who told you the truth, as you call it?” I said.
“Jessica Thompson let me in on all the details. She told me things about Reverend Stoddard that I simply could not imagine,” Rachel said.
“I’ll just bet she did,” I said. “You know she’s one of the town’s great gossips. Of course she could tell you things you could not imagine. She probably made it all up!”
“Clancy, I will not have you speak ill of that poor, old woman. She’s an institution around here and I will not permit you to speak that way about her.”
“She’s an old biddy that ought to mind her own business, that’s what she is. I can’t believe that you asked me to come here to check on this and then you take the word of a town gossip as if it is Jesus told you.”
“It might as well be Jesus informing me,” Rachel said.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Jessica told me that Jesus appeared to her in a vision and informed her clearly about all the horrible stuff that Reverend Stoddard was involved in. So there. You see. She’s not such an old biddy after all.”
48
I have often heard the proverb that truth is stranger than fiction. The longer I live and work as a private investigator, the more I
prove the validity of the proverb. Just in case my work would fail to prove the adage, then without question my relationship with my mother certifies the authenticity of the sage who uttered this long ago. At least my life is not boring whenever I come home to visit my relatives.
For most of my life I have wondered what I am supposed to do with the anger generated from my relationship with my mother. Besides venting at her. My anger comes from several venues. In this particular mess, she desires to involve me with one Reverend Stoddard, a man I do not even like. Not only involve me, but ask me to look into a situation in which he could even be innocent of whatever has been labeled against him. He is a strange man with strange ways and I simply do not care for him on several different levels. Nevertheless, if the gossip mongers have indeed falsified the facts about him and driven him from town, then I can’t let it go. Even though he has resigned and agreed to move on, I have this overwhelming compulsion to set the record straight, even for the likes of him. Curse my mother and curse my sense of fair play.
I find this whole affair rather distasteful. For many reasons. My anger is mounting at present, so I don’t think I will name them.
I was sitting on the front porch of my old home in the swing but not swinging. I did not feel like swinging. Sam was on the first step pretending to be asleep. He was resting and no doubt waiting on something spectacular to occur. Rosey was sitting in a chair at the other end of the porch. Ginny joined us after she had finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. My mother was nowhere around at the moment. Grace.
I was waiting on Rogers to send me some information regarding the inside dope that she uncovered with the church’s records. The sooner the better, I was thinking to myself.
“Ginny, tell me why my mother is so prone to believe that old biddie, Jessica?”
She smiled.
“Jessica has taken up a new profession of sorts. She sees visions and interprets them. She also interprets dreams for people. Your mother went to see her just after she spoke with you two days ago. She had a bad dream and thought that Jessica might have some insight. So, she went to see her.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said in disgust.
“Nope. It’s true. Your mother told her the dream and had her interpret it.”
“And the interpretation was that Reverend Stoddard was guilty as charged by the rumor mill of Clancyville Baptist Church,” I said.
“Something like that.”
“Religion. I swear this is not what God intended.”
“Probably not, but it is what we get when people get involved. It can’t be helped. We’re all sinful, you know. Even the Christians. I once heard my preacher say that his ministry was really good, except for the people he had to minister to.”
I laughed and Ginny laughed. Rosey smiled, but said nothing.
“Your church Baptist, Ginny?” I said.
“No, ma’am. It’s a small Methodist church just outside of town here, about six miles or so. The Java Methodist Church, it is called.”
“So your preacher was speaking of good Christians that make his work so challenging?” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly who he was speaking of … the good Christian folk.”
“The things we do in the name of religion.”
“It’s a long history, Miss Clancy. You’re not tellin’ me anything I don’t already know,” she smiled at me. In the growing darkness I could see her beautiful white teeth glowing against the surrounding shadows as well as the backdrop of her perfect dark skin. I decided that she knew more about the evils of so-called religion than I did.
“Was Jessica directly involved in any of this stuff about Reverend Stoddard?” I said.
“I think so, but I am not positive about that. Your mother knows more. We don’t talk much now since Jessica interpreted her dream for her. She has no reason to talk with me about it. She believes it’s over, just like she told you.”
Rogers called. I moved from the swing into the yard so that I could talk more freely without Ginny thinking I had lost my mind completely.
“Okay, here’s the scoop. From the records, there seems to be some disagreement over who can manage the discretionary fund that the church established to help the indigent. A footnote on the document in the church files says that it is up to the deacons and/or the pastor to determine who needs help and how much money is to be spent in that regard.”
“It reads and/or in the document?” I said.
“It does. And, the water hit the wheel when Reverend Stoddard helped someone to the tune of $500,” Rogers said.
I walked down the sidewalk away from my mother’s house just in case my voice would carry. I stopped in front of a neighbor’s place. They were vacationing out west somewhere so I knew it was safe to talk there.
“Do the records say who Reverend Stoddard helped?”
“Pansy McDermott.”
“Say it isn’t so, Rogers my friend.”
“Afraid it is. Pansy McDermott. He didn’t give her the money directly, it would seem. But, he paid some bill for her and that’s the story in the church file.”
“Damn.”
“This can’t be good. What am I missing?” Rogers said.
“Pansy McDermott is the town prostitute. She’s been turning tricks here since God was a little boy.”
“Beg your pardon,” Rogers said. “You data does not compute.”
“A long time. She’s been involved in the world’s oldest profession since I was a teenager. Everyone knows Pansy McDermott.”
“Except maybe Reverend Stoddard,” she added.
49
When I called Reverend Stoddard to see if he would speak to me, his reticence was blatantly obvious. His blunt refusal at the outset of our conversation was my first clue. I told him that it was urgent.
“You trying to save my job here?” he said.
“Not really. I think the die has been cast on that, but I might be able to help some folks see another side to this issue.”
“Why should I care about that?”
“I can’t answer that for you. I can only say that there are better ways to leave a parish than being asked to resign. It will stay with you the rest of your life. One day you might regret that you did not take a stand here.”
“You think I am innocent?” he said.
“Not for me to judge. I only know facts. I simply want to meet with you and with the deacons and present the facts.”
“How do you know these so-called facts?”
“I’m a detective. I investigate things.”
“And you believe the deacons will listen to you?”
“Can’t say that for sure. I can only ask them to meet and listen while I present the facts. If they then refuse to hear what I say, then it’s their problem.”
“Mine, too.”
“Well, like I said earlier. For you, the die has already been cast. I can’t undo what has been done. You may not even want to undo it. But I would like for you to leave Clancyville with the record straight and clear,” I said.
“Why do you care how I leave Clancyville?”
“Good point. By all rights, I should not care how you leave. I don’t much like you and I certainly do not care for your style of preaching, nor do I care for the manner in which you show little respect for your wife and children. But that’s not the issue here. I don’t live here nor do I worship in the Clancyville Baptist Church. However, that being said, I do care about fair treatment, justice, and the facts as they have been presented. I like clarity. I simply want to clear things up.”
“I do not understand you, that is, I do not comprehend your motives in this. In fact, it could be that you’re messing in my business here because of your mother. I can’t say for sure. Still, you make sense and I will meet with you. Tell me the time and place.”
I made arrangements with him. Then I called the chair of the deacons and talked to him. When I told him what information I had as to a false interpretation of a
binding document approved by the church, he listened. He also agreed to contact all of the other deacons and urge them to come to the meeting.
Three days later the chairman, a man named William Sullivan, called me to report that all but two of the deacons could meet at the allotted time. He assured me that with no more than two out, they had enough for a quorum and that it could be counted as an official meeting. Oh joy, oh rapture. Anytime there is an official quorum of gathered Baptist souls to do the King’s business, something is bound to happen. For good or ill. Roll the dice.
I took Rosey with me in case things got out of hand. One should never be surprised at the lengths with which good Baptist Christians might go to insist that they are right in the midst of their wrongness. One should never be unprepared either.
I also took Ginny. She stayed in the car with my surprise guest along with Sam. One can never have too many advocates when meeting with a bunch of irate Baptists about a church issue that caused a disruption. I honestly never thought about being in a position like this and having to go to bat for a preacher whom I did not even like. Life can be rather peculiar, to say the least. Peculiar and irritating simultaneously.
When Rosey and I entered the room, silence had already engulfed the gathered group of deacons and former pastor. His wife was also on hand, at my urging, when I last called him to finalize the meeting time. Barbara Stoddard sat next to her husband but not close enough so as to suggest that she maintained any affection for him. I could only imagine the joy of living under the same roof with such a man. Check that. I could not imagine such a state for myself. I would shoot him, of course. Then bury the body and tell no one, not even Rogers.
“Since I’m the one responsible for this gathering, then I guess I have the floor and I ask only that you listen to my report.”
“What report?” William Sullivan said. “No one here asked you for a report.”
“My mother asked me to investigate this situation involving the deacons’ understanding that Reverend Stoddard misappropriated funds from the Discretionary Fund of the Clancyville Baptist Church,” I said.
Desperate Measures: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 5) Page 19
