by Alice Duncan
After that, I thought for a moment and decided to say something that might be considered detectival. After all, that’s why I was here, wasn’t it? “I didn’t realize Sister Everett works so hard for the church. What does she do?”
“Oh, she comes in every single day to tidy up the pews, set the hymnals to rights, and arrange flowers and so forth. She’s most conscientious about keeping the Angelica Gospel Hall looking tip-top.”
“Every day?” I said, amazed.
“Oh, my goodness, yes. Sister Emmanuel broadcasts sermons daily, you know, and holds a service every single evening.”
“My word, I didn’t realize that. Is Brother Everett as involved in the church as his wife?”
“Gracious sakes, yes. To tell the truth, I think he’s . . . it’s not my place to judge, mind you, but I sense he’s more attached to the church and its message than his wife is, even though,” Mrs. Pinkney hastened to add, “he does most of the driving and that sort of thing. Picks up supplies when they’re needed. Things like that. He drives Sister Emmanuel to interviews and appearances, too. He retired not very long ago from his former job, I believe.”
“Oh? What sort of work did he do?”
“I’m not sure. Something involving clerking at a store, I believe.” Mrs. Pinkney lowered her voice when she added, “I don’t think he made a lot of money, but he’s a good man for all that.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said. “I firmly believe that the amount of money one has doesn’t have a thing to do with one’s moral fiber.”
“Absolutely,” said Mrs. Pinkney, smiling upon me as if I’d said something profound.
I heard Lulu sniff, but didn’t pursue her notions on the money issue, mainly because I already knew what they were and didn’t consider them appropriate for this present conversation.
Then the organist began playing, and we all sat down, shut up, and listened. The music was quite lovely, and very loud. Whoever their organist was, he or she had a real gift.
Lulu gasped audibly when Adelaide Burkhard Emmanuel took the stage. I mean the chancel. But she sure used it like a stage. She possessed all the warmth and love Sister Everett lacked and then some. Her message was the same as it had been the week before, although she used different words to make it. You know: God’s love was everywhere, and His people here on earth needed to spread the message with joy and enthusiasm and stuff like that. She was quite a motivated and motivational speaker, Sister Emmanuel. I’d never heard so vibrant a religious speaker before her, and I haven’t heard one since. Not even Billy Sunday, although I did manage to catch a broadcast of his once. My mother would die if she knew.
Lulu and I each made a contribution when the plate was passed, and when we stood to sing the hymns, I realized Lulu had quite a lovely soprano voice. I envied her that, having always had trouble reaching the high notes myself. It occurred to me that she might do better trying out for radio positions than for a position on the silver screen. Not that she wasn’t pretty or anything like that, but after meeting a few screen stars, I thought Lulu fell a teeny bit short of the . . . what word am I searching for? The aura required for the picture business? The magical essence? I don’t know, but I don’t think Lulu had it. She could sure sing, though.
The last hymn of the day was “Bringing in the Sheaves,” I guess because it was September and harvesttime in some parts of the country. The hymn had probably also been selected because Sister Emmanuel was attempting to sow the seeds of her brand of religion and seemed to be reaping enormous results, to judge from the size of the congregation and the size of the Angelica Gospel Hall itself. The enormous place was packed from the floor to the rafters with, literally, hundreds of worshipers.
After the rites were over, the general hugging, kissing, blessings, and greetings commenced. Lulu hugged me and then she hugged Mrs. Pinkney, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. Oh, dear. I wasn’t sure what those tears portended, but I wasn’t awfully happy to see them.
“I’m so very happy you came, Sister LaBelle,” said Mrs. Pinkney.
“I’m blessed that Sister Allcutt invited me,” said Lulu in a quavery voice.
Oh, boy, I really didn’t like the sound of that!
“You certainly are,” said Mrs. Pinkney. Sister Pinkney. Whatever her name was.
Then Lulu turned on me again and wrapped me in a hug the likes of which I don’t believe I’d ever experienced before, my family being rather cold and stand-offish and not having anyone else given to hugging me around on a regular basis.
“That was wonderful, Mercy! I loved it! I think Sister Emmanuel is wonderful!”
“I’m . . . so glad,” I gasped when she finally let me go.
“I’m going to come here again next week,” she declared. “I’ve never had so much fun in a church before in my life!”
Mrs. Pinkney grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t you just love Sister Emmanuel’s message, Sister LaBelle? She’s so open and loving and . . . and . . . Oh, I don’t know, but she’s a gift from God. She’s joyful and happy. None of that hellfire-and-brimstone stuff here, even though we all know Satan is lurking right around the corner.”
We did, did we? Hmm. I wasn’t so sure about that.
“I wonder if I can volunteer to do something for the church,” Lulu then said, further astounding me.
“Well, we have a ladies’ circle,” said Mrs. Pinkney. “We meet every Wednesday morning at ten and do good works of various sorts. You know, like collecting clothes for the needy and collecting food for the poor and starving and other things like that.”
“I couldn’t do that,” said a clearly disappointed Lulu. “I have to work during the day.”
“Oh, dear. Yes, I suppose so many young women do have to hold jobs these days, don’t they? I don’t suppose there’s a young man on the horizon?” Mrs. Pinkney’s face took on a bright and inquiring look, as if she were hoping Lulu had a beau. And this from a woman who was hoping her own husband would be arrested for murder. Shoot. Romance never dies, I reckon.
“No,” said Lulu, sounding a little discouraged. “No young man yet.”
Mrs. Pinkney heaved a largish sigh. “That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Well, if you can think of anything else I can do to help the church, like maybe at night, will you let me know? I work at the Figueroa Building with Mercy here.”
“Of course. May I have your telephone exchange?”
“Sure.” So Lulu gave Mrs. Pinkney the Figueroa Building’s telephone number, and we joined the throng filing out of the church. Lulu darned near knelt before Sister Emmanuel and kissed her feet when we finally got to where she stood at the back of the sanctuary, bestowing blessings and farewells upon her many hundreds of parishioners. I introduced Lulu to Sister Emmanuel.
“I just loved your sermon,” Lulu said in an awed voice.
“Thank you. I’m so glad you came today, Sister LaBelle,” said Sister Emmanuel. Then she turned at me. “And Sister Allcutt. I’m so pleased to see you again this week. I pray you will become a regular member of our congregation.”
She remembered me! No wonder the woman was so popular. She had charm and a half, that one. “Thank you very much, Sister Emmanuel.”
“Mercy’s the one who invited me to come today,” Lulu said quickly, as if reluctant to have Sister Emmanuel’s attention diverted from her. I didn’t blame her. Sister Emmanuel was quite a compelling woman.
Seeming to sense Lulu’s need for attention, Sister Emmanuel grasped her hand in both of her own, and said, “How lovely to have our message spreading among friends. I pray you’ll join us again, too, Sister LaBelle.”
“Th-thank you,” whispered Lulu.
I had to lend my support to Lulu as we left the church, since she was so overwhelmed she wobbled on her pins. “How about I take us both to lunch somewhere, Lulu? We can talk about our observations.”
It didn’t seem to me that Lulu was in any condition to add much to any sensible conversation about the case, which was the reason we�
�d attended church this morning, but I figured it was the least I could do for her, as I sort of blamed myself for her present condition. Said condition seemed to be one of vicarious ecstasy or something akin to that. I’d had no idea Sister Emmanuel would affect her so.
“Sure. That sounds nice.” Lulu’s voice was almost back to normal.
“Want to go to Chinatown, or would you prefer somewhere else?”
“Chinatown’s fine, and it’s close to home.”
“It is for me, too. Good. Let’s have Chinese for lunch.” I’d never eaten so much Chinese food in my life until I moved to L.A. I loved it. Still do.
We dined at a restaurant in Chinatown I’d never been to before, but which Lulu said was tasty, and she was right.
When we were about halfway through our delicious meal, and hoping Lulu’s state of exaltation had deflated some, I asked, “So what did you think about Mrs. Pinkney and Mrs. Everett?”
“I liked Mrs. Pinkney. She seems kind of lost, though.”
The description captured my attention. “Lost? What do you mean, lost?”
“I dunno. Like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself in the world or something. Like she doesn’t have any goals or ambitions or anything like that.”
“Interesting.” The most amazing things came out of Lulu’s mouth sometimes. I was becoming increasingly clear to me that Lulu wasn’t one bit stupid. She’d been born into a family of farmers in reduced circumstances, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a keen brain or know how to use it. “I see what you mean. That would explain her . . . I don’t know. Vagueness?”
Lulu shrugged. “Vagueness works, too. I bet she doesn’t like her husband much.”
Astounded, I gasped out, “How did you figure that out?”
“I’ve met women like her before. They’re stuck in lousy marriages and don’t think they have any alternatives to ’em, yet she hopes other women will find good husbands. You saw the way she asked if I had any men in my life, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I noticed that.”
“That’s what I mean. She’s in a stinking marriage, yet she thinks other girls can only find happiness with a man. If I ever found myself with a lousy guy, I’d divorce him.”
It grieves me to say I was shocked by those callous words, but I was. “You believe in divorce?” I did my very best not to sound judgmental.
“I believe in not being married to a lousy man,” Lulu said, looking up from her plate of chop suey. “Do you think a woman ought to stay with a fellow who knocks her around?”
“Well . . . I don’t know that Mr. Pinkney, uh, knocks Mrs. Pinkney around, Lulu.”
Another shrug. “Well, she’s sure not happy. That’s probably why she goes to that church. She’s hoping she’ll find something to take the place of a crummy marriage.”
I stared at her for a moment before saying in an awed voice, “You’re a woman of amazing insight, Lulu LaBelle.”
“Yeah? Y’think so?” She seemed quite pleased by my assessment.
“I do indeed. What did you make of Mr. and Mrs. Everett?”
Lulu thought for a moment. “He seems like a nice guy. Loves that church. Bet he hated his job and is glad he’s finally able to do something he likes doing.”
Another astounding insight from Lulu LaBelle. “Yes, I got the same impression.”
“Didn’t like Mrs. Everett. She seemed like a real snob. Like she’s judging everyone and finding them beneath her. Not like Sister Emmanuel at all. Or her husband, either, for that matter.”
“No, she isn’t, is she?” I said, then chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s difficult to imagine Mr. and Mrs. Everett as a couple, isn’t it? Yet Mrs. Pinkney says he adores her.”
“Bet she doesn’t adore him so much,” opined Lulu.
“Hmm. Maybe so. Maybe that’s why she seems so sour.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Lulu dipped an egg roll in soy sauce and bit off a chunk.
“I wonder why she’s so involved in the church. She certainly doesn’t seem to have embraced the same joy and love in the message Sister Emmanuel preaches that her husband has.”
Lulu shrugged. “Some folks are just like that. They do what they think’s their duty. Won’t even admit to themselves they hate doing it.”
I considered my mother for a moment. “I think you’re right. For example, I don’t think my mother ever does anything she doesn’t want to do, but she makes sure she doesn’t enjoy it, so that makes it all right.” I narrowed my eyes at Lulu, who was forking up some rice. “Did that make any sense?”
“Yeah. I have an aunt like that. Devil of a woman, although she devotes all her spare time to that little Baptist church in Enid.”
“Enid, Oklahoma?”
“Yeah. Me and Rupert used to have to go to church three or four times a week ’cause of Aunt Ruth. You’d have thought she hated the both of us from the way she treated us, but she claimed to be doing the Lord’s work.”
“Sounds awful,” I murmured. Aunt Ruth also sounded a good deal like my own mother and Ernie’s father, although I didn’t say so to Lulu.
“It was. I like Sister Emmanuel’s God a whole lot better than Aunt Ruthless’s. That’s what me and Rupert used to call her, Aunt Ruthless.”
I smiled at the name. “It certainly is interesting to learn about people’s early lives, isn’t it? Ernie told me his family was religious like that. Like your aunt Ruthless, I mean.”
“Oh, shoot. Really? Poor Ernie.”
We both burst out laughing. Poor Ernie, indeed.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m telling you, Mercy, that damned church doesn’t have anything to do with anything,” Ernie growled at me the next morning when I told him about my foray with Lulu to the Angelica Gospel Hall the prior morning.
“Blast you, Ernie Templeton! Why do you have to throw cold water over every idea I have? For heaven’s sake, you and the police have already ruled out everybody else in the case. Do you want to be convicted of a murder you didn’t commit? That’s what it sounds like to me.” To say I was indignant would be an extreme understatement. I stood before his desk now, my fists on my hips, glaring at him, glad I was dressed in one of my suitable-but-not-flashy working outfits. It was easier to be on one’s dignity when one was soberly clad.
Ernie’d come ambling into the office around nine o’clock, flung his hat at the rack in his office, and didn’t even bother to pick it up when it hit the floor. He’d taken his suit coat off and it hung at an ungainly angle on the rack. It was beginning to look to me as if my boss was losing hope and spirit, and his attitude irked the dickens out of me.
Ernie sighed and began running his hands through his hair, a habit he’d adopted since the murder of that pesky Chalmers woman, and which seemed to be almost perpetual with him by this time. “Ah, shit,” he grumbled.
“And don’t use foul language in front of me, either! In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe that the answer has to be connected with that church. Everything else has turned out to be a big, fat blank, including the two Misters Chalmers and that ratty Mr. Pinkney. Have Phil or O’Reilly even bothered to talk to Sister Emmanuel?”
Looking up at me with one of his more cynical grins, Ernie said, “Yeah. Phil himself talked to the lady of God. Says she’s crazy as a loon, but not murderous, so I think you’re all wet about the church angle.”
“Oh! The two of you ought to . . . to go soak your heads!” I said, and then I turned and marched out of the office, furious.
By gum, if the police and Ernie had given up on discovering the real killer, Mercy Allcutt was on the job. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that, given the alibis proven for the two Misters Chalmers and the horrible Mr. Pinkney, the only logical place to look was that wretched church. That’s where Mrs. Chalmers had been spending all her time and money. Shoot, she’d even sold jewelry and then claimed it had been stolen, just to slip the loss by her husband. And he claimed not even to care if s
he was involved in the Hall. What’s more, after talking to him twice, I believed him.
I also believed his son hadn’t cared enough about his father’s money to take the life of his father’s wife. He was fond of his father, and his affection showed. Besides, he was living on money of his own through his trust fund, something with which I could identify. Which might be considered unfortunate, since I was attempting to make my own living. Abysmal job I was doing of it, too. However, the younger Mr. Chalmers clearly didn’t share my sentiments, and I believed him when he said he didn’t covet his father’s money.
Susan the maid and Mrs. Hanratty the housekeeper clearly weren’t guilty parties. They’d been horrified, terrified, and downright shocked when they’d come home to discover the body of their mistress at the foot of the staircase. Occasionally my ears still rang from the decibel level of their discovery, in fact, and I didn’t believe either woman had strength of character or wit enough to do that good an acting job.
There was always Mrs. Pinkney, but I couldn’t believe her to be guilty of such a ghastly crime. Heck, she was still in a tattered emotional state about Mrs. Chalmers’ death. In fact, as I’ve already mentioned, I got the distinct impression she rather wished her husband would be discovered to be the perpetrator because she was so annoyed at his shenanigans and his opposition to her church attendance. I thought about Lulu’s assessment of the woman. Lost was a good word to describe her. Small wonder she clung to the church as if it were a lifeline.
That church . . .
Something was odd about that church, and it wasn’t Sister Emmanuel. She had converts by the thousands, but I got the impression—not that I’m always right about people—that she honestly believed the message she preached so eloquently. Her church was all about uninhibited joyfulness combined with religious fervor and a total rejection of evil, as personified by scarlet women, gamblers, thieves, and so forth. It was the uninhibited part that made my Boston soul withdraw with something of a sneer from the Angelica Gospel Hall, but it was that same part of her message that drew people like Lulu and Mrs. Pinkney and Mrs. Chalmers to her.
