by Edie Claire
Leigh shook her head. "Some trouble" was a place she had visited before, and she had no desire to return. "Well, as long as he doesn't find out what you were really doing there, I guess there's no harm done." The words weren't even out of her mouth before she remembered the fire. "Oh, my God. The fire. You didn't—I mean—was it an—"
Bess drew her back up straight. "I'm going to assume you're asking me if I started the fire by accident. Well, naturally not. I have no idea what started the fire. I couldn't see a blasted thing from that accursed attic."
Leigh was beginning to think that getting through this conversation would require a lot more tea. Perhaps something stronger. But somehow she couldn't seem to move. Instead, she sputtered out the obvious question. "The attic?"
Bess nodded grimly. "It's not like I planned it that way. Humphrey was supposed to be at the men's Bible study. They meet every Thursday night in members' homes, and they usually stay till around 10:00 pm. I was going to sneak in the parsonage around nine—I figured the Iveys would be going to bed around then.
"The who?" Leigh asked.
"Betty and Louise Ivey," Bess answered with a sigh. "The definition of busy bodies. They're both in their early eighties—nice women at heart, but experts at making trouble. They live across the road from the church, and their living room looks right out on the parking lot and the parsonage. For years they've loved nothing better than to spy on the pastor and whoever's coming and going. They even installed a big picture window about ten years ago." Her eyes narrowed. "It was their meddling that made Pastor Morley leave back in the late eighties. She was young and single, and they suspected she was fooling around at the parsonage, which was none of their business even if she was. But the church never recovered."
Leigh tried to drag Bess back to the present day. "So you went to the parsonage late, so the Ivey sisters wouldn't see you?"
Bess nodded. "I don't think they did, either. I used a dim flashlight just in case." She smiled to herself. "I even left the TV and lights on over here, so anyone who drove by would assume I was home. But I guess you already know that, don't you?"
Leigh nodded. That explained one odd thing she'd noticed this morning, at least. "So why did you put your recyclables bin right next to the front door?" she asked, remembering the other. "I put it back by the garage, by the way."
Bess's eyebrows arched. "I didn't put it anywhere—maybe the trash men moved it." She took a swig of tea and continued with her story. "I'm not sure exactly what I was looking for at the parsonage, to be honest. Maybe some identification. I didn't find much of anything. The parsonage is full of old, donated furniture, and there was a desk, but it didn't look like Humphrey used it. The one in his church office is much better." Her eyes drifted off as her thoughts wandered. "That's where I really need to look…"
"Aunt Bess!" Leigh chided. "Don't even think about it. Now, how did you end up in the attic?"
"I'm getting to that," the older woman answered, lowering her chin. "Be patient. I looked around the living room and kitchen and couldn't find anything interesting. Not many personal items, just some framed pictures of him and his wife."
"He's married?" Leigh asked, surprised. "Where was his wife during the fire?"
Bess scoffed. "Where is she, period? Zaire, Zimbabwe…some Z place. He says his wife is a foreign missionary, and that as much as it pains them, their calling is to live apart. No one at the church has ever met her."
Leigh's eyebrows rose. "Sounds a little fishy to me."
"I don’t think she exists," Bess announced. "I think she's a scam too, to protect him from the attentions of his parishioners. And to make him look like a family man. At least there are no fake children in the package. Could you make more tea?"
Leigh started at the quick change of topic, then complied. She gathered their cups and went back to the kitchen to heat more water. She kept waiting for Bess to go on, but her aunt seemed intent on delaying the good part of the story. After the stove was turned on, Leigh returned to her chair. "So you went to the attic to see if he had personal items stored up there?"
Bess sighed. "Not exactly. I was searching the upstairs—and still finding nothing—when I heard a car door slam. I shut off my flashlight and went to the window in the master bedroom, and sure enough, it was him. Home way early. He was already opening the front door, so I couldn't go back down the stairs. I started to panic, and then I remembered that the door to the attic was in the master bedroom closet. He came straight up the stairs to the bedroom—I barely had time to get through the panel and reset it before he opened the closet door. I guess he was changing clothes. I sat there squatting on the steps for a long time, and then I thought I heard him leave. My legs were killing me, so I climbed the rest of the way up and sat down in attic. It was freezing up there, and filthy. I felt like a complete dolt."
Leigh wisely decided not to comment, and Bess continued.
"I kept listening for him to come back to the bedroom. My only chance to get out without him catching me was just to wait until he fell asleep. I didn't hear much, a door opening and shutting now and then, but I was pretty sure he wasn't in bed yet. It seemed like ages passed. I was cold and stiff and getting annoyed. I was about to bag the whole thing and confess when I heard the glass shatter.
"Glass?" Leigh asked. The tea kettle whistled, and she rose to pour the water. As soon as the cups were full she hightailed it back to her chair. "What glass?"
Bess shook her head in disgust. "Darned if I know. But glass broke, and then another door slammed. A few seconds later I smelled smoke, and that was that. I was getting the heck out of there." She paused again. "Is the tea ready?"
"No," Leigh answered as quickly as possible. "How did you get out?"
Bess threw a look toward the kitchen as if doubting her niece's word, but kept talking anyway. "I climbed down the ladder, moved the panel, and hightailed it for the stairs. When I got to them, I could see that the downstairs was on fire—there were no flames at the foot of the stairs, but I could see light flickering on the walls, and I could feel the heat. I'm not proud of it, mind you, but I panicked. That's all there was to it. I started down those stairs like a bat out of hell and wound up at the bottom like Humpty Dumpty."
Bess gestured towards the kitchen, and Leigh jumped up. She grabbed Bess's cup and carried it as quickly as she could without burning herself. Then she carried it a little quicker.
"Ouch!" she cursed under her breath, dropping the cup onto Bess's saucer and dabbing the burning liquid from her wrist.
Bess was neither sympathetic nor critical. "I'm glad I'm not the only clumsy one in the family," she said with a smile.
"Not hardly," Leigh agreed ruefully. "You were saying?"
"What was I saying?" Bess mused playfully. Leigh glared.
"Oh, yes," Bess began again. "My daring escape. I was lying there at the foot of the stairs, in some sort of shock, I assume. I couldn't move for the life of me. And then, I could see him standing there, and all I could see behind him was the flames. He didn't say anything, just started to help me up. It seems like I fought him at first, but then my mind started to clear. He got me up and I leaned on him and hopped with one foot towards the door. The carpet was on fire, like I told the investigator, but we made it out okay. Then we just sat in the parking lot and waited."
"Waited for…" Leigh prompted.
"For the fire trucks. We could hear sirens already."
"And what did he say to you?"
"Nothing, at first." Bess frowned, blew on her hot tea, and frowned again. "Right before the firemen got there, he said not to say anything to anybody until after he had had a chance to think. Of course, I was coughing so hard I couldn't say much anyway."
Leigh looked at her incredulously. "He didn't try to get you to explain what you were doing there?"
Bess shook her head. "Not only did he not ask right away, he didn't ask at all. He still hasn't asked."
Leigh pondered that odd fact, then remembered the anxious exch
ange she had witnessed in the intermediate care ward. "Right before I saw you in the hospital—you two were talking."
Bess nodded. She tested her tea gingerly, then took a sip. "That was my debriefing, kiddo. He told me the story he had just told the authorities—about what a great hero I was."
Leigh was finally beginning to understand the alarm she'd seen on her aunt's face that night. "He was covering for you, even when he must have known you were snooping in his house? Why would he do that?"
Bess took a deep breath and shrugged. "I suppose if I weren't the suspicious type, I'd say he was just being a good Christian. But since I am the suspicious type, I think he's doing me a favor because he wants something."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet," Bess answered, her eyes losing the amusement they'd held earlier. "That's what worries me."
***
The sanctuary of the First Church of the New Millenium was a little cramped for the crowd that gathered the next Sunday morning. The pews, and some folding chairs behind them, were packed with an odd assortment of casually dressed young and formally dressed older parishioners. Leigh felt slightly out of place in her dress and hose—she was probably the only woman under forty who wasn't wearing slacks.
Bess had managed, with only a little help from Leigh, to squeeze into an appropriately doctored pair of thigh-highs and a bizarre Middle-Eastern looking wrap dress. Leigh couldn't help but admire her aunt's chutzpah. Though the rest of the Morton women were decidedly pear shaped, Bess was bountiful at both ends. Far from worrying about her weight, however, she had always considered herself sexy, and that view seemed to be contagious, at least to the opposite sex. The modified beehive took some getting used to, but those who knew Bess came to understand it for what it was—a harmless badge of nonconformity.
Leigh squirmed a little in her seat. There was space on the end of the pew still, and she knew that if people kept coming, the ushers were going to squeeze someone in beside her. She didn't relish the idea of sitting shoulder to shoulder with someone she didn't know, particularly after her aunt had complained about how long the Sunday service normally lasted. "His sermons are powerful, but when he gets wound up he just won't quit," Bess had griped. "I can't sit that long today with my ankle throbbing. If he preaches past noon, there'll be hell to pay." Leigh was more than a little daunted by the prospect of a marathon service, but her curiosity about the Reverend Reginald Humphrey won out. She simply had to see him in action.
An instant before the processional began, a tall man in a dark suit slipped onto the pew beside Leigh. She stiffened up, then realized who it was.
"Fancy seeing you here," Warren whispered.
Leigh smiled. Her friend's punctuality was legendary, but she'd had no idea he was coming. "I brought my Aunt Bess," she whispered back. "This is her church."
"So I gathered. My mother told me last night that a woman named Bess Cogley had saved the pastor's life." Warren leaned around Leigh to greet Bess, the famous Harmon charm in full swing. Bess cooed and twittered like a school girl, then sat back and elbowed Leigh meaningfully in the ribs.
Leigh ignored her. The service began, and the crowd grew silent. She wasn't sure what she expected, but Reginald Humphrey did not disappoint. The service was fabulous—warm and friendly, with upbeat music that made her toes tap and a classic hymn or two thrown in for good measure. The crowd was obviously enjoying just being there—one would never have guessed that a tragedy such as the loss of a parsonage had so recently taken place. After forty-five minutes of good cheer, the sermon was up next. Leigh got the distinct feeling that it was greatly anticipated, though she suspected that had a lot to do with the parsonage fire. It was the first time Humphrey had preached since it had happened. What was he going to say?
Reginald Humphrey clicked on his lavaliere microphone and moved the podium to the side of the altar. "My friends," he said loudly, beginning to walk among the crowd, "we are here today to rejoice. To rejoice about the good things that God has given us this week."
Being in a charismatic church, Leigh expected to hear an "amen" from the pews, but none came. Perhaps that was a Southern thing.
"First off," he continued, illustrating his speech with gestures. "I want those of you who don't already know to realize that the parsonage building was fully insured, so the church should not suffer any financial hardship."
Someone coughed, but otherwise the church was silent. "Secondly, and more importantly, we have lost nothing that should be of value to us. I have lost pictures of my wife—but my beloved Noel is still alive and well. I have lost my clothing—but as Sara de Vries will tell you, that's probably a good thing for the fashion world." He approached an older woman behind Leigh and smiled at her warmly, laying his hand on her shoulder as she blushed.
"These material losses are of no consequence. Our joy should be in the fact that we are all safe. I was the only one in the building when the fire started, and thanks to the courage of Ms. Bess Cogley—who risked her own life to save mine—I am here today as healthy as a horse." He had come to the edge of the pew next to Warren, and was extending a hand to Bess. "I owe this lady my life, my friends, and I thank her from the very bottom of my heart."
He bestowed a look on Bess that was akin to worship—a look so bold and piercing that Leigh, knowing what she knew, couldn't bear to witness it. She was sure her aunt would like to crawl under the pew as well, but Bess held her cool, even as the entire congregation turned to stare at her.
"Don't be ridiculous," she chastised, speaking towards the mike. "I didn't do anything more than anyone else would have done. And if you hadn't helped me out, I'd still be stuck at the bottom of the stairs."
Humphrey stepped back, but continued to hail her presence with an outstretched arm. "Just listen, friends, to the modesty of a good Christian servant. What a wonderful role model we have in Ms. Cogley. Please—let's give her heroism and selflessness a big round of applause."
The crowded sanctuary nearly shook with the noise, and Leigh felt sick to her stomach. Bess must have too, because her face was a tad green. Warren watched them curiously. The applause seemed to go on forever, and it might have if Humphrey hadn't stepped back up to the altar and motioned for silence. Then his tone turned serious.
"My friends, we have much to be thankful for. But we must also be wise. We cannot ignore those forces in the world that would seek to stop our mission."
The room grew deathly quiet again. Humphrey paused a moment, letting the silence fester. Just when it seemed unbearable, he spoke again, barely above a whisper. "I have news, my friends. Frightening news. The chairman of our trustees committee was notified just this morning as to the official cause of the fire."
There was more silence. Then the fateful word, spoken very, very softly. "Arson."
Some members of the congregation started in their seats, others looked fearfully at each other, and those with less-than-perfect hearing began looking around asking, "What? What did he say?"
Reverend Humphrey answered them. Loudly. "Arson, my friends!!" he railed, this time causing almost everyone to jump off their seats. "Your building was burnt to the ground not because of faulty wiring, not because of an untended stove, but because some misguided soul threw a Molotov cocktail straight through the kitchen window!"
Bess turned to look at Leigh, and Leigh looked back. Neither could think of anything to say. Apparently, no one else in the congregation could either.
"I know what you're thinking," Humphrey continued in a calmer voice. "You're thinking that we must be the random target of a hate crime. There was that string of church fires in Pittsburgh a while back, and maybe this is a copycat crime. But I would caution you about those thoughts. Because it wasn't our beautiful sanctuary that this soul chose to burn—and praise God for that—it was only the house beside it. Just a small, old, ordinary house. Nothing fancy. Nothing valuable. Just right for a servant like me. And I ask you, should we believe that the individual who threw that fire bomb inte
nded only to harm God's people at large? To harm them with a relatively innocuous act of property vandalism?"
He answered his own question quietly. "No. It might be easier to think that, but we can't. Because as I said, there is evil out there, waiting for a chance to spread its dark wings and fly. And I must tell you, though it pains me to do so—"
He broke off, his dazzling green eyes brimming with tears. "I believe with all my heart that this fire was no random prank. I believe—" he broke off again and steadied himself by leaning on a pew. "I believe someone is trying to kill me."
Chapter 5
When the sermon ended at 12:15 PM, Leigh and Bess sat motionless in their seats. "A Molotov cocktail," Bess repeated. "I can't believe it."
"It explains the glass breaking," Leigh said distantly. "I wonder why Humphrey didn't tell you this before? He must have seen what happened."
Bess shook her head. She looked around them to make sure no one close by was paying attention, then spoke softly into Leigh's ear. "According to our story, he was passed out on the bed, doped up with antihistamines and painkillers. He really did leave the Bible study early with a sinus headache, you know. But he can't very well admit to having heard glass breaking when I claimed I woke him up afterwards."
Their conversation was soon interrupted by a long stream of people offering sympathy and appreciation to Bess. Feeling only slightly guilty for abandoning her aunt, Leigh slipped out and took refuge on a folding chair in the corner, gesturing for Warren to join her.
"So what brought you here today?" she asked as he sat down beside her. "Casing out the joint before the wedding?"
He smiled ruefully. "You got it. My mother's worried, seeing as how my uncle doesn't have the best judgment about such things. She suggested I come and make sure they weren't all snake handlers."
Leigh grinned. "And your assessment?"
He made an equivocal gesture. "Jury's still out."
