Her Christmas Protector
Page 14
“Absolutely lovely. I had no idea the ballroom at the Hilton was so large. It was a much larger crowd than I’d expected.”
“So it was a nice date for you and Detective Campbell, as well?” Shirley Mae’s head tilted at just the angle to tell Zora that she was wondering what no doubt a lot of people were—how did a nondescript woman with huge glasses and mousy, outdated hair land a man like Bryce?
She wanted to laugh but Shirley definitely wouldn’t get the joke.
“It was. How about you, Shirley Mae, what did you do last night?”
“Oh, nothing more than the usual. Curled up on the sofa with my two kitties and watched Modern Family reruns.”
“Sounds relaxing.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Reverend?”
“Yes, but let’s get a few things clear. First, I pour my own coffee. Second, call me Colleen. It’s silly to be so formal.”
“Works for me, Colleen.” Shirley Mae’s peony-pink lipsticked mouth stretched wide in a grin.
“I’ll be in my office again this morning, and I’ll take appointments after lunch. I have two scheduled—feel free to pencil in anyone else who calls.”
“Will do.”
Zora poured herself an extralarge mug of coffee from the communal carafe on the station just outside her office and liberally added nondairy powdered creamer. Usually she preferred almond milk when she wasn’t at home, but today she needed the extra luxury.
After she’d studied the sermon and the Christmas pageant program, she got up from the desk and stretched. She wandered out of her office and found Shirley Mae at her station.
“I’ll be in the sanctuary if anyone needs me, Shirley Mae.”
“Uh-huh.” Shirley Mae’s gaze never left her computer screen, where Zora caught a glimpse of the week’s bulletin. She’d read that it usually went to the printer by ten in the morning on Friday, but due to the Christmas season’s rush they were printing it in-house this week.
The administrative offices were part of a huge, circular addition that had been added to the main church building in the mideighties. An enormous theater and audiovisual entertainment center had been added only ten years ago, and it was where most of the Sunday services were held since the congregation had grown so quickly after the church opened its doors to the entire Silver Valley community. It was truly ecumenical in both form and function.
Exactly what the Female Preacher Killer detested, she was sure.
The outer buildings were beautiful and highly functional, including a coffee bar that served a variety of hot beverages, doughnuts and soup, all of which were also available for takeout. If a church member ran a business, he or she could advertise in the church bulletin. Many offered their services at a discount to the church community.
It was hard for Zora to see a church so open and welcoming to the public and not think back to the True Believers and how it had been exactly the opposite. Closed, not open to other beliefs or practices and downright hostile to anything or anyone who threatened Leonard Wise’s gospel of hate and control.
She shoved the unwanted memories aside with an ease learned from years of practice. This was now, and she was safe. From the True Believers, at any rate.
The Female Preacher Killer. That was a different story.
She came to the end of the long, modern corridor and turned to walk through two sets of double doors. The second set was original to the first church. Each one was eight feet tall and made of a thick slab of oak, simply carved with a cross and a small window in its center.
The spirits of many Christmases past surrounded her as she walked into the sanctuary where the Sunday school teachers and youth minister’s team had been busy bringing in props for the Christmas Eve pageant. A large crèche was on the altar, as was a very large papier-mâché star, which rested against the rustic wooden structure. She looked up at the ceiling above the altar and could make out a small hook, which no doubt needed some fishing wire strung from it to hold the star aloft.
“We have a lot of work to do yet.”
She shrieked and spun around, her hand at her back, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. She’d left it in her purse in the office.
“Whoa, I’m sorry to startle you.” A man of medium build and in his early twenties stood in front of her, hands up in a “calm down” gesture.
“Well, you did.”
“I’m Peter Hoffman, the youth minister. You must be Reverend Hammermill.” He held out his hand, which Zora shook. Firm and straightforward. His grasp didn’t elicit any panic.
“It’s Colleen, and I’m pleased to meet you, Peter.” She cast her gaze around the sanctuary. “How on earth are we going to fit three thousand people in here?”
He smiled, revealing deep dimples that she found adorable.
“We’re not. Only the families of the children in the pageant will be in here, along with you and me, and the choir. Everyone else will catch the action on the wide screens in the auditorium. The entire pageant will parade through the auditorium at the end.”
“Even the llamas?”
“Ah, I see you’ve read the schedule and script. Yes, along with three dogs, a sheep and maybe an alpaca or two—they haven’t confirmed yet.”
“I can’t wait to see how the llamas look, dressed as camels.”
“They look like furry camels. Last year our biggest worry was the cleanup after the animals but we were blessed—none of them took a bathroom break while they were in the sanctuary.”
“We’ll still have a plastic runner put down, right?”
“Absolutely.”
Relief eased some of the tension in her shoulders. She might be a fake minister but her appreciation for the historical and spiritual significance of the original church building was real.
“Have you thought about what you’ll say?” Peter’s frank gaze was relieved only by the slight twinkle in his eyes.
“I haven’t written the sermon for Christmas Eve yet, no. I tend to write notes all week and then put them together by Friday night. I have tomorrow’s sermon done. I’ll squeeze in the Christmas words before the big day next week!” How she was managing to lie so smoothly she wasn’t sure. It was a bit unnerving to do it so easily.
“The parents love it when you mention their kids by name, but if I may, I’d like to suggest that the service is for the children. They’re more interested in hearing about how each of the roles they’re playing had a part in the Christmas story. It gives them more of a stake in the presentation.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. Dress rehearsal is still on for tonight?”
He nodded. “Yes, and fair warning, the kids are going to be cranky. They all still had school yesterday and they have it again on Monday before they break for the holidays. They’re sugared out from all of the goodies at school and here, and they can’t think about anything besides Santa Claus.”
She laughed.
“Well, I’m not going to dress up as Santa Claus.”
“That would be pretty funny, to have Santa Claus show up bearing gifts for the infant.”
“This is a forward-thinking, open-minded congregation, but I don’t want to push it that far, especially as an interim pastor.”
“I hear you. I’ve only been here for a year myself, and I’m hoping to get a promotion to another church when this assignment is over. I need a decent reference!”
“Where do you want to go?”
Peter’s expression was hopeful.
“I’m not sure yet, but it probably will be out of state.”
“Are you from here, Peter?”
“Yeah. I grew up in Harrisburg. But it’s not the same place it used to be. I’m looking for something different.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she let it go. Adolescents were entitled to their wanderlust; she’d had it herself.
“I’m sure you’ll get a great reference, from everything I’ve heard about you.”
“I hope so. Well, I’ve got to run a few erra
nds. We’re missing some costume material from last year and I promised the parent volunteers I’d have everything ready for the last-minute fixes tonight.”
“Nice meeting you.”
She watched him exit the old building and rubbed the tops of her arms. Zora didn’t believe in the bogeyman but it sure felt as if she was living in a haunted world between the footprints in her yard, filling in for a minister undercover and, oh, yeah, being shot in her own driveway.
And now waiting for the killer to aim at her again.
Maybe the Trail Hikers would be a temporary job for her. She couldn’t imagine doing this kind of work as her body aged.
The pews were wooden, old and massive. She sat in one and looked at the altar for a bit, trying to imagine the pageant as she’d read in the script.
Peter was right. It was going to be very crowded and no doubt overheated. Maybe she could ask Ernie the custodian about turning down the thermostat so that none of the children got too hot with their costumes on.
A creak sounded in the hushed room and she looked to her right. As if summoned by her thoughts, Ernie stood next to a utilitarian waste bin on wheels, his hand resting on the canvas container.
“Ernie! You startled me.”
He tipped his cap to her.
“Sorry, Miz Hammermill.”
“How long have you worked here, Ernie?”
“Since I was a teenager, really.” His tone was noncommittal.
Zora pressed on. “Was that before or after the newer buildings were added?”
He shifted on his feet. “The office building and classrooms were added while I was growing up. Then the big showpiece came in.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the auditorium.
“I take it you don’t like the modern touches?”
“It’s not for me.” Simple words, but said with such conviction Zora stood and tried to appear casual while she watched him for any tells, any indication he was more than a janitor.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged and took off his cap, scratching at his shaved head. His janitor’s uniform consisted of a green flannel work shirt, white T-shirt and dark, worn cargo pants. He wasn’t skinny but he wasn’t overweight, either. Very much an average male.
“I don’t mean anything, not really. It’s just that I’ve seen a lot of changes since I’ve been here. Newer ways of doing things.”
“You don’t like the newer ways?”
“I’m not saying that. If folks want things all modern, good for them. I’m more of an old-fashioned type.”
“Do you go to this church, Ernie, or just work here?”
His eyes widened and his head jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “I’ve gone here since my mother brought me as a little boy. I’m one of the longest-standing members of this church.”
“I didn’t know. Thank you for your service, Ernie. That’s the picture of dedication, for sure.”
“It’s what I know. Now, if you don’t mind, Ms. Hammermill, I need to get this place shipshape before the parents come in tonight and complain that their little ones got their socks filthy black from the floor.”
“Please don’t let me keep you. I do have one request. Do you think we can keep the heat turned down during the pageant?”
“Yes, ma’am, I always do. It’s going to get very hot in here, mark my words.”
“Thank you, Ernie.” She had the distinct impression that she’d stepped on his ego, implying he wouldn’t turn the heat down.
As she walked away she noted that he didn’t stop watching her until she was clear of the doors.
The members of Silver Valley Community Church were awfully protective of their domain.
* * *
“That smells so good.” She sniffed with gusto at the aroma emanating from the white paper sack Bryce held. He looked even more delicious in a white collared shirt with a red tie under a formfitting V-neck pullover. It was the exact shade of his eyes, and accentuated his powerful build. She allowed her gaze to drift lower and couldn’t ignore the delicious desire at the sight of his slim hips and powerful thighs.
“Pleasing to you, ma’am?”
His eyes brimmed with humor and...desire. He’d caught her but wasn’t holding it against her. He didn’t have to.
“Sorry. I don’t get many visitors in here through the day. They’re all afraid of the ‘interim.’”
“Uh-huh.” He let it slide but she knew that he hadn’t fallen for her weak excuse. Not at all. He took a seat across the desk from her and opened the bag.
“One ham-cheddar melt for you.” His fingers brushed hers as he handed it to her and she knew he was watching her face for her reaction.
“Nice try, Bryce. You’re not going to make me blush again. I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“So that’s why you just turned red. You’re attracted to me. I figured you were too young for hot flashes.”
“I am, and you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Perhaps.” He pulled out a sandwich for himself, along with two iced teas.
“You’ve gone all out today.”
“Hey, I’m doing my part to keep the minister well fed and ready to roll.”
“I’ve met some interesting people this week.” She unwrapped her sandwich and let out a high squeal. “You got me pretzel bread!”
“Don’t you like it? Are you gluten-free or something?”
“No, no, I absolutely love it. It’s my favorite. I don’t do it all the time. Too many carbs. But for today, it’s just what I needed.”
“Yeah, I figured. Last night wasn’t the most peaceful. The gala turned into a long night, didn’t it?”
“Yes. But it’s part of the deal right now.” She bit into the soft bread and savored the dough and fresh ham.
“Aah, this is like Christmas morning when everything tastes so delicious.”
“Mmm.” Bryce ate his own meal, his gaze on her face. Making her blush. Again.
“Stop it, Bryce. Now you’re the one staring.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled with his mouth full. She couldn’t help it; she giggled. Which turned into an all-out gale of laughter.
Bryce didn’t respond except by raising his brows and taking a long drink of his iced tea. “I’ve met the youth minister. Is he aware that he’ll be ‘training’ you yet?”
Bryce nodded. “I stopped in to see him earlier. I asked him if he’ll train the ‘new youth minister’ for a few months before he leaves for his next position.”
“I’ll bet he was thrilled by that.” She watched Bryce for his reaction.
“He wasn’t overjoyed, no, but he wasn’t rude about it, either. It’ll be over soon and he’ll be able to follow his original plans.” Bryce put his sandwich down on her desk, his expression neutral.
“You know, things would go smoother between us if you just spit it out. Tell me what you think about folks, about what’s going on.”
“But you need the space to make up your own mind.”
“We don’t have time for that, Zora. This isn’t the navy and you’re not analyzing an enemy who might strike. We’re in the middle of the war here. Don’t worry about telling me something that ends up not being relevant. I’m entirely capable of separating the chaff from the wheat, so to speak. I’ll be damned if we let this killer ruin Christmas for even one child.” His voice was low to avoid being heard by eavesdroppers.
“Sounds as though the holiday atmosphere has gone to your head.”
“Maybe it has. I used to love the Christmas pageant as a kid. I kept helping with it through high school. Remember the time I roped you into joining me on the tech crew?”
She smiled. “You mean the time Mary got chicken pox?” It was her classmate who’d contracted the illness, and the role of Mary had been in jeopardy. Zora had been plucked out of the stage crew to act as Mary.
“Yes. You were a wonderful Mary.”
“I was hoodwinked.”
They chuckled and Zora loved the so
und of their laughter together. It sounded as if they harmonized. Like an old Christmas hymn that you immediately recognize when the first chord is played.
She shook her head and took a big gulp of her tea. “I was so afraid I’d drop that little baby. I’d never held one since...”
She froze, realizing she’d been about to say “since I moved here, away from the True Believers.” There, on the compound, child rearing had been considered an exalted science, one that women needed to take seriously and learn as early as possible. Which meant that by eight years old, Zora had known how to bottle-feed, diaper and bathe an infant. There’d been plenty of babies to practice her skills on with the number of young women Wise impregnated. She still couldn’t believe the authorities weren’t able to do a damn thing until she’d broken her silence and told a hospital nurse what was going on after the security guard had taken her to the police.
She rubbed her elbow, a comforting gesture she’d adopted there in the compound.
“Does your elbow hurt?”
She blinked. “Not anymore. But it did when I got hit by Wise for not knowing one of the babies’ names. He’d had seven in three months at one point. I was only eleven and I’d been up all night taking care of the infants so their mothers could rest. You know, so that getting pregnant again wouldn’t be a problem. When he hit me he knocked me onto the concrete floor and I fell directly on my elbow. It was a small fracture, a chip, really. But sometimes it still aches.”
It was more like the memory ached, reminding her of all she’d lost as a child. When the dark thoughts came she used it as a reminder of how far she’d come. How much she’d gained and been blessed with by leaving and living her own life. Free of the past.
Until last week when she had seen Edith in Walmart.
“Are you going to go see your mother, Zora?”
“You must mean Anna, right? Because the woman I saw in Walmart was nothing more than an incubator to me.” She knew it was a lie as she said it, but damn it, so much time had passed and she’d suffered for so long under her mother’s distorted thinking.
Bryce remained silent.
“Why would I want to see her ever again?”