Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors

by David O. Dyer, Sr.

  + Remodeled buildings

  + Paid fire chief

  + Rescue squad?

  + School?

  + Preacher

  + Jobs

  + Entertainment

  + Library?

  + Street lights

  + Police?

  + Water?

  + Sewage disposal?

  + Trash disposal?

  + ?

  He printed the list, snapped off the computer equipment, roamed through the house turning off lights and locking doors, and quietly ascended the staircase.

  He stood beside Sandra, drinking in her beauty. She had fallen asleep, propped up in bed, waiting to scratch his head. Middlemarch lay open in her lap. He gently removed the book, inserted a bookmark, and silently placed the novel on her nightstand. The sheet she always pulled up to her neck while propped up in bed had slipped below her breasts. He gently kissed each one. She stirred, briefly opened her eyes, smiled and scooted down in the bed. He gently arranged her pillow. There was a warm glow somewhere deep within him as he turned off her reading lamp.

  As he brushed his teeth, words, unbidden, filtered into his mind. Isn't love an emotion we can't control, that overpowers common sense and logic? Does anyone ever choose to love another? Is there any defense? Once cupid's arbitrary arrow has struck, is there any cure? Would anyone in his right mind ever want the cure, even if one did exist?

  He liked these thoughts. They made sense. They were almost poetic. He thought he should write them down ... but he didn't.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Since it was the last dinner on the grounds for the season, Tim and Sandra decided to stay after the morning worship service. Tim found himself in the company of several of the men of the church, including most of the deacons, while the visiting minister, Mack McGee, cornered Sandra.

  “You know, Mrs. Dollar, there is considerable speculation on the part of church members as to whether or not you and Tim will join the church,” said the friendly preacher.

  He is so damn close, she thought. I wish I had not worn this low cut dress, but flat-chested women must not turn him on. He hasn't even tried to sneak a peek.

  “I'm afraid their main interest is not your spiritual welfare,” he continued. “I understand there are few people of means left in Dot. They sorely miss Pete Harlow's financial contributions. They would like to have them replaced with the Dollars’ dollars."

  Sandra chuckled. “You have to be one of the most honest preachers in the entire world."

  Mack smiled. “I never learned how to lie. I used to try it sometimes when I was a youth, but I am too stupid to keep up with my prevarications. Inevitably, I wind up telling on myself. I just decided it was best to be honest and let the chips fall where they may."

  “Okay, I'll be honest with you too. Tim and I haven't talked about joining the church. I think Tim used to attend church regularly, but something happened. I'm not exactly sure what. Anyway, he quit going. He said he was ashamed to be a Southern Baptist anymore."

  “I think I know what that something was, and I share his disgust, but every Baptist Church is different. In reality the Southern Baptist Convention actually exists only a few days out of the year, and then disbands until the next annual convention."

  “Yeah, well, you'll have to talk with Tim about that. I think he would probably join this church if you were the permanent pastor. He seems to think you are special."

  “That's quite a compliment, but I prefer to talk with Sandy. I want to know what Sandy thinks."

  “Preacher, my religious convictions are rather unconventional and private."

  “Now Sandy, you said you were going to be honest with me. I don't think you have any religious convictions at all. Am I wrong?"

  She smiled. “No, you are not wrong, but you are not right either. I've heard so much junk I just don't know what to believe."

  “So you don't believe anything?"

  “I believe in a God, but I don't believe the things you preachers preach. No, wait. I take that back. I confess I have nodded through most of the sermons you have preached, but what I have heard from you I do believe. You're not like the others."

  “I've been told that before,” he laughed. “In fact, I was kicked out of a church once because I was so different. Let me ask you something. I understand you are an avid reader. Have you ever read the Bible?"

  “Oh, I've read little snatches here and there. I don't think the holy book is holy. I don't think God wrote it. I certainly don't think it is infallible. I guess I just don't think it's worth reading."

  “Well, we agree and we disagree. I don't think God wrote it either, but it is a collection of thoughts and historical events written by people who were searching for an understanding of God. Let me offer you a challenge, Sandy. Read the Gospel of John. If you will read John's gospel, I'll promise to read Silas Marner."

  “Preacher, I don't think there is a Bible in the house, but if there is one, I'll read this Gospel of John just for you."

  “I'll be glad to loan you a copy, but not the one I have with me. It's special. I'll bring you one next Sunday."

  “Don't bother. I'll pick up one the next time I am in Charlotte. Is there a reason you want me to read John?"

  Mack smiled. “Of course there is. I believe the Gospel of John. All of my personal experiences and all religious books I read including the rest of the Bible I compare to the Gospel of John. If an expressed thought or experience agrees with John's Gospel, I accept it as truth. If it doesn't, I have to think long and hard about it. If you are going to buy a Bible, Sandy, I'd like to suggest you purchase the New Jerusalem Bible. I like that translation best. It started out as a Bible for Roman Catholic laymen, but it was so widely accepted that in its current edition it is truly ecumenical."

  Sandra made a note to buy a copy of the New Jerusalem Bible and to look up the meaning of the word “ecumenical.” “Since we are being honest, Mack, I don't have much religious training. I probably won't be able to understand this Gospel of John. If I do read it, you must promise to preach some sermons on it to help me understand."

  “You'll understand enough of it, Sandy, but that's a promise I will be glad to keep if it turns out I that am going to be around here long enough."

  “Are you planning to leave us?"

  “You know the church is looking for a permanent pastor."

  “Why don't you become the permanent pastor?"

  “I haven't been asked."

  “If you were asked, would you accept?"

  “In a heartbeat, but that must remain our little secret. It isn't considered proper for a minister to apply for a job."

  “Why not?"

  “Beats the hell out of me,” he laughed.

  * * * *

  “I think you are right, Deacon,” Tim responded to a question. “Mack McGee is one whale of a preacher. He talks to us, and shares from his experiences as a sinner, rather than looking down at us as if he were a saint."

  “Then don't you think he is the logical man for us to call as our next pastor?” asked Deacon Jones.

  “That's not for me to say. I'm not a church member."

  “You do have an opinion though, don't you?"

  “Of course, but are you sure you want to hear it?"

  “Certainly I do."

  “Okay then. I mean no disrespect, but I think of the Dot Baptist Church as being a country church. I think of country churches as congregations of simple, hard working folk who are very conservative and who fit right in with the current ultraconservative teachings of the Southern Baptist Convention. I think if Mack were to become the pastor you would either lose most of your congregation or would have to sever your ties with the Convention—maybe even remove the word ‘Baptist’ from the name of the church.” By this time twenty or more men had joined the group conversation and they all burst into laughter.

  Tim looked bewildered. “Was it something I said or do I have spinach between my teeth?” he asked.

  A man w
hom Tim had not formally met replied. “Tim, we withdrew from the Southern Baptist Convention years ago. We thought about renaming the church, but voted against it. It is our contention that it is the Convention, not us, which needs to remove the word ‘Baptist’ from their name. Historically, Baptists have been fiercely independent. The founders of this church believed strongly in the principle that every man is free to interpret the Bible according the dictates of his own soul. This crowd controlling the Convention now insists that we all interpret it the way they interpret it."

  “Hell,” a voice piped up from the crowd. “They can't even agree among themselves."

  There was more laughter.

  “In that case,” Tim said smiling warmly, “I think Mack would be a wonderful choice."

  “If Mack were our pastor, would you become a church member?” the deacon asked.

  “I want to think about it carefully, and I want to talk with Sandy about it. However, I believe that what you have just told me is reason enough for me to become a member of your church, whether Mack is the pastor or not. This is not to say I don't like Mack. I really do, but I doubt we would be able to even match his present salary and benefits."

  “You're probably right,” the deacon continued. “We couldn't match his salary,” he said gesturing towards the assembled group, “but we could.” The last gesture included Tim.

  “I won't make a commitment right now, but find out if Mack is interested and how much money we are talking about and get back to me on it."

  The group began to break up, but Tim, raising his voice, regained their attention. “You set me up with this conversation,” he began, smiling, “to see if I would help pay Mack's salary. Now I want some advice from you."

  He pulled out the list that he made the previous night and explained that he wanted to be a good citizen of the community. There seemed to be many community needs but no leadership. If the community wanted to die, it would appear to be on the right course, but if it wanted to continue to exist and even thrive, careful planning was necessary as well as hard work. The response was not overly enthusiastic, but the group agreed to hold an old-fashioned town meeting at the church the following Saturday night. Diane Sizemore had joined her husband for this part of the conversation and volunteered to announce the meeting in the Courier and to print and distribute flyers.

  * * * *

  Victor Kimel was sitting on the porch when the Dollars returned from church. Tim approached him with outstretched hand. “You must be Victor. I'm Tim Dollar and this is Sandy. I'm sorry we are late. I'm afraid I got into a long bull session with some of the town people after church and let the time get away from me."

  “Actually,” the smiling youth replied, “you're right on time. I left Winston early because I'm not always too good at following directions and I didn't want to be late."

  The two men went to the study and Tim got right to the point. “Your girlfriend is considering taking over a law practice here in Dot. It was from her, during dinner at our house last night, that Sandy and I heard about you. Until then, neither of us had thought about employing a business manager, but while Susan talked about you, the idea occurred to both Sandy and me independently. I hope you will seriously consider the outline of my proposal, understanding that I don't have all the details worked out yet."

  While Tim and Vic talked business, Sandra placed a call to the Charlotte Memorial Hospital. There was a new recorded message. Matt Dilson was still in ICU, had undergone extensive surgery, and his condition had been upgraded to “guarded."

  “Thank you God,” she whispered as she dialed the number of Dr. Honneycutt, and was pleased when the sisters accepted her invitation to join her for an afternoon of fishing and a dinner of turkey leftovers. As she headed to the bedroom to change clothes she thought, Did I just pray my first prayer?

  * * * *

  “Instead of telling you how much my present salary is,” Mack McGee said to the unscheduled meeting of the Dot Baptist Church Pulpit Committee, why don't you tell me how much you can afford to pay?"

  “It is a bit embarrassing,” replied Victoria White, the chairperson. “Our last minister was right out of the seminary. We paid him $20,000 a year. We know that salary would be an insult to you."

  “Why would it be an insult? You would also be providing me with a home to live in. If this is the very best you can afford to offer, I don't think God requires more, and neither do I. I believe I would really enjoy being your minister. I have never felt so at home with any congregation in my life."

  “Then, if the church voted to call you as its new minister, you would accept with a salary of $20,000 and the use of the house?"

  “You all know I am divorced, don't you?” he asked. “Divorced ministers and Baptist churches usually don't mix."

  “We know,” said Joe Sizemore, “and we also know that not all marriages are made in heaven."

  “In that case, I would humbly accept the position if offered, and I will accept whatever compensation the congregation agrees is the best they can afford."

  “You should have been a hoss-trader,” said Deacon Jones.

  “Why do you say that?"

  “Because you drive a hard bargain. Everyone in this room, except maybe you, knows that somehow we can do better than $20,000."

  * * * *

  Sandra waved from the fishing pier when she saw Bobby approaching the house, and waved again when the three men departed.

  Sitting in the afternoon sun with her two new acquaintances, with whom she hoped to become friends, felt good. The Honneycutt sisters knew more about fishing than did she. Susan displayed an unexpected sense of humor and the good doctor urged Sandra to drop the formal professional title.

  Sandra studied Susan relaxing in a lawn chair, intently watching the float on her line. Susan had seemed delighted when told that Tim was talking with Vic about the possibility of becoming his business manager, but she insisted that Vic must know that she had nothing to do with it. “Vic's masculine pride would be destroyed if he thought I used my influence on his behalf,” she had said.

  As the November sun approached the western horizon, the temperature began to drop noticeably. The three ladies were reeling in their lines for the final time when Tim and Vic joined them.

  “Sandy,” Tim said. “I think we have things pretty well worked out. Vic is going to come on board as our business manager. He needs to give his current employer a two-week notice. We're going to fix up the old tenant house on the other side of your spring for Vic to live in for the time being, and set him up with an office in the back of the hardware store. We're both pretty excited about it."

  Sandra draped her arms around Vic in a friendly hug. “Welcome aboard,” she said aloud, and to herself she said, Damn it, he has an erection. She did not notice that Vic's eyes focused on Susan's breasts, which he could just barely glimpse as she bent from the waist to close the tackle box.

  * * * *

  It was shortly after noon on Monday, under gray and threatening skies, that SBI agents Ralph Potts and David Evers left the Dollars’ residence and began the return trip to Charlotte. Potts turned the plain blue Taurus onto Highway 13 without first stopping at the end of the driveway. “Whadaya think, David?"

  “I think that if I were a cop I would give you a ticket for entering the highway like that."

  Both men laughed. “Do you think we got the truth out of the Dollars?"

  “Yeah, the truth, but not the whole truth."

  “That was my feeling. I think what they gave us was correct—hell, nobody could have invented that story—but I also think they reserved some details. Probably not important."

  “There's no question they burned some video cassettes. He's gonna have a hell of a time getting that melted plastic out of his barbecue pit."

  “It will be weeks before we can question Dilson,” Potts continued, turning right onto the Old Charlotte Highway just barely making the yellow light, “and we may never find the prostitute."

 
“Oh, she'll turn up, probably in California or some place like that, but I'm not sure we really need to question either one."

  “Maybe not. Let's see what we know. The autopsy showed Deputy Cathy Long was on drugs. We found pot in her apartment, in her car and in her pants. Her salary would not support the habit, so she had a few income producing schemes up her sleeve."

  “Yeah. We know she tried to blackmail Sandra Dollar. If necessary Mrs. Dollar will testify to that."

  “It looks like the sexual harassment charge against Matt Dilson was another type of blackmail attempt. Poor bastard must have really been in love with her. Didn't the report say he hit that bridge abutment at 100 miles per?"

  “Yeah. She stood to collect $50,000 from the county on that trumped-up charge."

  “That's the part of the puzzle that bothers me. She knew that money was coming. Why did she continue with the motel scam?"

  “No, she didn't know the money was coming. She caught a bullet between her eyes before the county agreed to her terms."

  “You're right. We know Matt couldn't have been the shooter. He didn't have a motive until after she was dead. Sandra Dollar certainly had the motive, but her alibi seems pretty tight."

  “It must have been a scam gone wrong. We know from the motel clerk that she had a passkey, and that she paid him a few bucks from time to time to keep quiet. We know the room was rented by a whore known to the clerk."

  “Yeah,” laughed Evers. “That clerk sang like the villain in a TV mystery as the hour draws to a close. Cathy would burst into a room, probably with gun drawn, and scare the shit out of the mark, relieve him of his cash and send him home to mama."

  “We don't know if the whore was in on the scam."

  “For our purposes, does it matter?"

  “Probably not. That narrows the killer down to two general possibilities."

  “Three,” corrected Evers.

  “Three?"

  “Yeah. Could be the mark overpowered her someway, or could have been a previous victim who set her up."

  “Yeah, that's one possibility. The other is that the whore wasn't getting her cut of the take and she did it. What's the third possibility?"