by Glen Ebisch
Shepherd by the Sea
A Pastor Clarissa Abbot Mystery
by
Glen Ebisch
For Jill Rubalcaba: a fine writer and good friend.
Chapter 1
Pastor Clarissa Abbot looked out at the congregation of Shore Side Community Church from her position at the pulpit. Although only about half the normal number of people were in attendance for a Sunday service, the church seemed more crowded than usual because the required social distancing during the pandemic had spread folks out across the pews, looking like a corn field that had been randomly harvested. Clarissa had heard about some churches that chose to ignore social distancing and the use of facemasks, preferring to rely on the power of God to keep the members of the congregation safe. This seemed to her like the dual mistake of testing God and refusing to use the powers of reason with which humans—–at least some humans—–were blessed.
Clarissa had just finished her sermon about how the challenges of the past few months had provided a positive message by making us more responsible for taking care of each other. As the congregation stood to sing the final hymn of the service, the normal four hymns having been reduced to two in the interests of hygiene, she took the opportunity to study the people before her. She easily picked out her administrative assistant, Ashley Reynolds, who, as always, was dressed in Goth regalia and wearing a black facemask. There was something medieval in her appearance that made Clarissa feel that they should be standing in a cathedral rather than in the light and airy Victorian structure, which had housed the Shore Side Church for over a hundred years. She glanced around the room and, despite the facemasks, easily picked out the members of the congregation whom she’d come to know during her almost five months as the church pastor. She was surprised to find tears coming to her eyes as she realized how close she already felt to many of these people whom she hadn’t known only a short time ago.
The hymn came to an end as Bob Fallon, the organist, brought the song to a grand, if somewhat overly embellished, conclusion. Clarissa walked down to the altar and raised her right hand high to confer the benediction on those before her. There was something about this gesture that gave her the feeling that the power of God actually could course through her body to be bestowed on others. Even though she rejected that belief as a bit of Catholic excess, she could understand how clerics of all faiths might be prone to the feeling that they are an instrument of God. Having said the words of the blessing, she strode quickly down the center aisle of the church, her robes flaring about her long legs, and positioned herself at the front door of the church to give the morning greetings—minus handshakes—to those who’d attended.
When the last person in line had given her a friendly nod in lieu of a handshake, she stood on the top step of the church and looked out on the front walk where those who liked to socialize after the service were scattered in small conversational groupings. She paused for a moment before joining any of them. Being a minister was a subtle combination of faith, handholding, and politics. To be seen as a member of one group rather than another could easily have repercussions when it came to the governance of the church. She was still frozen with indecision about which group to join when the young woman standing with Ashley, Brenda Fisher, gestured for her to join them. Clarissa smiled and made her way down the steps to the spot on the lawn where the two of them were standing.
Although she’d been familiar with Brenda as a member of the congregation since taking over the church, Clarissa had only gotten to know her well in the last few weeks since Brenda, a licensed realtor, became responsible for marketing an old Victorian house in Shore Side that the church owned. The church had inherited the house when a member of the congregation, who was a widow with no children, had died recently in a nursing home of the virus.
Brenda smiled at Clarissa as she drew closer.
“We had a really good open house yesterday,” she announced. Clarissa guessed she was smiling under the mask. Brenda was usually smiling. “Ten people came by appointment to tour the house, which is excellent the way things are today.”
“Were they really interested or just curious about what it looked like inside?” Ashley asked. Clarissa smiled to herself. Her assistant had a way of cutting through the hype to get to the truth.
“Oh, half of them were definitely interested in the house. I’ll bet we get at least one offer in the next few days. I just hope that it’s for full price.”
Clarissa shifted from one foot to the other, slightly embarrassed. The church was asking seven hundred thousand dollars for what Clarissa considered to be a rather rundown old house. She had raised the point with Brenda when the price was set. Brenda had laughed and said that there were so few houses for sale in Shore Side right now that you could virtually name your price, and with mortgage rates so low, somebody would buy it. Clarissa wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with letting the market determine value. She thought that there had to be some intrinsic value in things, and it didn’t pay to be greedy.
“The church can certainly use the money,” Ashley said, as if reading Clarissa’s mind and arguing the other way.
Ramona Russell, chairperson of the church’s board, joined the group. Ashley said goodbye, following after her Aunt Mona who was getting ready to leave. Ashley would be her ride home.
“I was just telling Clarissa that I’m hoping to sell the house quite soon,” Brenda said
“Very good,” Ramona said. “We could use the money to fund our children’s after school program that we’re running down at the recreation center, and the time will soon be here when the church building will need a new roof.” Ramona glanced up at the top of the church as if half-expecting to see it blow away in the gentle early fall breeze.
“How was the rental season this year?” Clarissa asked Brenda. She knew that many realtors got a substantial portion of their yearly income from the seasonal rentals they managed.
Brenda shook her head sadly. “Not as good as most years. The virus kept most of the tourists away in May and June. However, things did pick up nicely in July and August. Even though it’s September, and quite late in the season, I even have a couple of people renting condos by the week right now.”
“I think September is really the nicest month at the beach,” Ramona said. “The water is still very warm, the air is less humid, and the crowds are smaller.” She turned to Clarissa. “This will be your first fall and winter at the beach. You’ll find it’s an entirely different place in the off-season.”
Clarissa smiled and half listened as Ramona and Brenda began talking about a renovated hotel that was scheduled to open in the spring. Finally, with a nod to the two women, she excused herself and made her way to the parsonage, suddenly feeling the need to get away from church issues and back to the comfort that came with privacy.
She was scheduled to have dinner that evening with Roger Rudinski, the man she was currently seeing, and was looking forward to having a conversation about something other than church business. Since he was a police officer and on duty until four, she had the afternoon free. She was hoping to spend it on mindless activities. After a quick lunch, she was planning–––first of all–––to clean her bedroom. This was the one area of the parsonage that she refused to let Mrs. Gunn, the housekeeper, touch. Clarissa paused to remind herself that since her recent remarriage, Mrs. Gunn was now technically Mrs. Morgan. In fact, she confined Mrs. Morgan’s energies primarily to the first floor public rooms since none of the upstairs bedrooms were used except for her own. Once every couple of months Mrs. Morgan would quickly go through the guest bedrooms for “decency’s sake” as she wo
uld say, but Clarissa felt there was no need for them to be spotless when she had no overnight guests to occupy them.
After half a chicken sandwich and a cup of coffee warmed up from breakfast, she spent over an hour getting her bedroom ready for the week. Once done, she felt that she’d earned some time for prayer and contemplation, so Clarissa sat in a chair in the front window of her bedroom, looking out on the large oak tree that dominated the front yard, and read from a book of spiritual meditations that she found meaningful. After she’d fixed on a phrase that seemed appropriate to the day, she sat on the floor in a cross-legged posture and began to meditate. Gradually her mind cleared, and without consciously thinking about what she’d just read, she slowly found herself coming to a deeper understanding of the passage. A half hour later she stood up, feeling refreshed and somewhat wiser.
She looked at the clock and realized it was time to get ready for her date. Clarissa was going to meet Rudinsky at a small, informal restaurant in town that was near the police station. To save him some time and effort, she’d promised to walk from the parsonage to the restaurant and meet him there, so it was time to get ready.
After showering, she got dressed and studied her face in the mirror. She applied light makeup. It wouldn’t do for a minister to go around town appearing like a “painted woman” as some of her congregation would say. Although she avoided admitting it to herself, she was quite attractive, and that was already one strike against her in the ministry, where woman were expected to either be plain or make themselves appear that way. Clarissa refused to purposely diminish her looks, but she was careful not to overly accentuate them. Doing her frequent runs along the beach in shorts and a t-shirt was already enough to offend some of the older members of the congregation. It wasn’t always clear whether they were more bothered by her lack of dress or the fact that she engaged in a vigorous, unfeminine activity better left to men.
Even more delicate was the issue of dating while being a pastor. Some members of the church no doubt expected a woman minister to be celibate or married, and anyone with a status in between was subject to much critical scrutiny. This had bothered Clarissa when she’d first arrived in Shore Side, but by now she’d adjusted to the idea that her personal life was inevitably going to be the subject of gossip, so she should simply accept that fact and not let it disturb her equanimity.
She smiled at herself in the mirror, determined to forget her role as a pastor for the evening and have a good time.
Chapter 2
Clarissa sat in the corner of The Golden Anchor looking across the table at Roger Rudinsky. Both of them were wearing masks and had asked for a table as far away as possible from the bar, which, although not crowded by normal standards, was populated by more people than the rest of the room.
“Do you feel safe here?” Rudinski asked, apparently able to detect her discomfort through the mask.
“I’m not thrilled with eating inside, but it’s a bit too chilly for dining outside today.”
“We could eat at my place,” he suggested.
They’d eaten at Rudinski’s place a couple of times in the month that they’d been dating. Clarissa had been tempted to cook him a meal at the parsonage, but she doubted she could do so without Mrs. Morgan knowing that she’d had someone over. If Mrs. Morgan knew, the entire congregation would know shortly afterwards, and Clarissa was reluctant to make her relationship with Roger fully public just yet. Things had been going along well between them, but a month wasn’t very long, and she was still smarting from when her ex-fiancé had been accused of a murder in Shore Side a couple of months ago. Although he was eventually vindicated when the real killer was discovered, it had created unpleasant publicity. Plus her even more recent breakup with a local lawyer had also been a popular item on the grapevine. In short, Clarissa was thoroughly tired of having her personal life scrutinized by the congregation and others in town. She thought she was taking a big enough risk going out to dinner with Rudinski anywhere in Shore Side where she could always be spotted by prying eyes.
“I guess it’s safe enough here. We’re far away from everyone, and they all appear to be wearing masks,” she answered slowly and turned her attention to the menu.
Rudinski glanced around the room. “We’re at least twenty feet away from the nearest other couple, and with the high ceiling, this room has quite a bit of volume.”
“We’ll leave our masks on except when we eat,” Clarissa said.
A waitress wearing a mask came to their table and delivered the beer Rudinski had ordered and Clarissa’s white wine. They each placed their orders, then settled down, still not quite ready to remove their masks.
“So how do you like being a Sergeant?” Clarissa asked Roger.
“I’m not sure yet. There’s increased responsibility of course, but Lieutenant Baker is also listening to me more, so I feel like his colleague rather than an errand boy.”
“That must be satisfying.”
He nodded then frowned. “I don’t want you to think that I’ve gotten you here for some ulterior motive . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“I really do want to have dinner with you, but something came up today that Lieutenant Baker wanted me to ask you to look into.”
“Oh?”
“Have you heard of The Good Grace Church?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Is it in Shore Side?”
“It’s run out of a house over near Second Avenue. They don’t publicize much. They just have a small sign out front. They’ve been in Shore Side for a few months.”
“Are they affiliated with any particular denomination?”
“I think they’re pretty much their own thing. In fact, it sounds like a cult to me. All the members live in the house together like a commune.”
“Why does Lieutenant Baker want me to find out more about them?”
The waitress brought their salads. They removed their masks and began to eat.
“It’s good to see your face,” Rudinski said with a grin.
Clarissa smiled as well. “It’s hard to read emotions when half of a person’s face is hidden behind a mask.”
Rudinski winked. “I think my feelings are pretty easy to spot.”
Clarissa felt herself blush. “So why is Baker so anxious to have me investigate this church?”
“A couple, Victor and Marie Carlson, came to see him today. They’re very upset because their daughter, Rebecca, has joined this church, and since she’s joined, they’ve had very little contact with her. I think they’re concerned that she’s been brainwashed.”
“Have they tried to see her?”
He nodded. “They’ve gone to the house, and whoever answers the door is very polite, but the person always reports back that their daughter doesn’t want to see them. They’ve gotten the same reply to their e-mails.”
“Can’t the police do anything?”
“Like I said, she’s over eighteen. She can’t be forced to talk to her parents if she doesn’t want to.”
“I can understand why the parents are frustrated and worried, but if the police can’t do anything, what can I do?” asked Clarissa.
The waitress brought their entrées. There was a pause in their conversation, while they each tasted their food.
“So what does Lieutenant Baker expect me to contribute?” Clarissa asked, chewing slowly.
“The guy who runs this church is named Jonathan Porter. I guess the Lieutenant was hoping that you could pay a sort of a courtesy call on this fellow and get a sense of what he might be up to. Maybe drop a little warning that the police are keeping an eye on him.”
Clarissa grimaced. “That sounds rather heavy handed.”
“But he’d probably take it better coming from another minister than he would from a police lieutenant.”
“There is such a thing as freedom of religion. I can’t threaten to have him locked up for his beliefs, no matter how far out they might be.”
“The real question is whether an
y of the kids living in that house are underage. That would be a police matter.”
“He’s not going to volunteer that information to me even if they are.”
Rudinski sighed. “I know the whole thing isn’t really very clear cut. I think the Lieutenant is just frustrated that he can’t take any action and is grasping at straws. He was hoping that maybe you could get a sense of this guy. Whether he seems like the sort of person who might be up to something illegal.”
“You know I’m not anxious to get involved in another crime. The last two were enough for me. I’m a minister, not a police officer.”
“But you did such a good job those other two times,” Rudinski said.
“Don’t try to flatter me, Sergeant, it won’t work.”
“Are you sure?” he said with a dazzling smile.
Clarissa couldn’t help but smile in return. “Okay, look, I guess I could pay a visit to The Church of Good Grace. I can tell Porter that I’m welcoming him to town. Maybe in the course of a friendly conversation I can get a sense of what his mission is all about. Would that satisfy the Lieutenant?”
“I don’t see how he can ask for anything more.”
“He’d better not,” Clarissa said firmly.
They talked about other things until the meal was done. Both passed on dessert.
“Would you like to go for a walk along the beach?” asked Rudinski. “I see you’ve got your sweater with you, so you should be fine. We could watch the moon come up over the ocean. Very romantic.”
Clarissa nodded. “Let’s do it,” she replied.
Chapter 3
“So what did you do after the romantic walk on the beach?” Ashley asked Clarissa the next morning in the church office.
“We said goodnight and went back home.”
“Whose home?”
“Our own homes.”
Ashley’s face was a mask of exaggerated disappointment. “That’s how you end a romantic evening?”
