"Ben," Beale said at one point, away from the ears of the police officers, "we-we need to talk."

  "You're right," Ben answered. "But not here and not now. Tomorrow morning, in my office."

  Beale's lips moved slowly, as if finding each word was a major struggle. "I-have a vestry meeting tonight."

  "You're not still planning to go through with it!"

  "I have no choice. The bishop's review council arrives tomorrow and-and-" He turned away, his head trembling. "We have to appoint someone to replace Kate."

  Ben placed his hand on the troubled man's shoulder. "Come on."

  Ben found Father Beale a quiet room in the rear of the church where he could try to get a grip on himself, somewhere he would be safe from prying eyes and probing questions. Then he returned to the crime scene, hoping he could overhear some of the remaining interrogations.

  Ben spotted Ernestine Rupert, once again on the arm of her nephew.

  "Truly, Aunt Ernestine, we should leave. You shouldn't be subjected to this macabre business. Let me take you home."

  Ernestine slapped his hand away. "Don't be a ninny, Bruce. I can't leave now, not with all this trouble about. I have a responsibility to the church."

  And besides, Ben thought, you might miss something good.

  "But Aunt Ernestine, you shouldn't be associating with all these police and-"

  "Balderdash. The church needs me. I am becoming a bit parched, though. Would you fetch me a club soda?"

  "They don't keep club soda in the kitchen, Aunt Ernestine."

  "The convenience store down the street will have it. Please hurry, dear boy."

  He let out a long sigh. "Yes, Aunt Ernestine." And disappeared.

  Ben spotted two of Mike's lieutenants quizzing Paul Masterson, the choirmaster. He appeared to be quite agitated about something. Probably attributing the murder to the fact that he was forced to play the Wedding March.

  Not far away, he saw Christina, and clinging close behind her, Alvin Greene, the Altar Guild guy. Was this love at first sight, or was he just making sure she didn't forget she promised to help clean up?

  Ben grabbed Christina's arm and tugged her aside. "Learn anything useful?"

  She shrugged. "Lots of church gossip. I don't know how useful it is. But there certainly seems to be a lot going on here at St. Benedict's."

  "We'll compare notes later. Jones and Paula?"

  "Halfway to Eureka Springs by now."

  "Good. I didn't want this to spoil their honeymoon. I'm sure it already spoiled their wedding."

  "Oh, I don't know. They're certainly going to have some interesting stories to tell their grandchildren." She smiled. "So what do we do now?"

  "Unbelievable as it may seem, there's a vestry meeting tonight, and it isn't being canceled. I have to be there with Father Beale. God only knows what will happen. Why don't you start seeing what you can dig up about Kate McGuire?"

  "Anything in particular?"

  "Yeah. Why someone might want to suffocate her."

  "Ben." Christina gave him a concerned look. "You realize that to most people… this looks like an open-and-shut case."

  "That's why God invented defense attorneys, Christina. So people wouldn't be convicted on 'looks.' "

  "Still… are you sure you're entirely… impartial on this one? After all, Father Beale was your childhood priest. And technically speaking, still is."

  "As a matter of fact, I'm not impartial. I'm totally partial. In his favor. Which is what a defense lawyer is supposed to be, remember?"

  "Yes, but-" She reached out tentatively. Her fingers brushed against his hand. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

  "Don't worry about me, Christina. Worry about Father Beale. He's the one who has problems."

  "Of course." She slowly withdrew her hand. "It was a lovely wedding, though, wasn't it? While it lasted?"

  "If you like that sort of thing."

  "I do," she said quietly. "Don't you?"

  He shrugged. "It had its moments. But the murder wasn't one of them. Get me the scoop on Kate McGuire, okay?"

  "Of course. I live to serve. Anything else I can do for you?"

  "Well, now that you mention it… do you suppose there's any of that groom's cake left?…"

  Chapter

  3

  Manly Trussell sat at the darkest corner of the long conference table, silently stewing. He hated meetings. And this had to be one of the worst. A lot of people sitting in uncomfortable chairs in a dark basement in a Unitarian church pontificating from ignorance.

  These ecumenical committees were always abysmal wastes of time. Why had he ever agreed to be on this one? Perhaps because they were drawing talent from churches all over Tulsa, he thought this would be different? Perhaps because he had allowed himself to be deceived by the fact that it was called an action committee? The term was an oxymoron. All committees ever did was sit around and talk. And talk and talk and talk…

  "What's your take on the Sapulpa situation, Manly?"

  Hearing his name jerked him back to earth. "What situation is that?"

  "Haven't you been paying attention?" The man at the head of the table drummed his fingers. "There's a new rumor that a doc out at that free clinic is performing abortions."

  That was his idea of a new rumor? Another reason this committee never went anywhere-the chairman was a blithering idiot. Manly had first heard that rumor months ago. "I think it's a lot of baloney, Craig."

  "You don't think it's true?"

  "If I believed it, I wouldn't be sitting here."

  One of the men on his side of the table laughed. "That's our Manly. The original Danger Boy."

  A woman on the opposite side didn't seem as amused. "What are you saying? That if you thought it was true you'd go out there with an AK-46 and blow him away?"

  Manly leaned slowly back in his chair. "An AK-46 would be overkill, I think."

  The woman flipped. "I can't believe this. I mean, is he serious?"

  Chairman Craig smiled. "Manly's Manly, that's all, Pamela."

  "I don't think this is something we should just shuck and grin about." Pamela, an anorexically underweight brunette with long tapered fingers, was not prepared to let it go. "Our goal is to represent the entire Christian community. To create a perception of spiritual unity. One loose cannon like this could destroy our credibility. It could undermine our entire purpose."

  Manly ran his tongue along his bottom row of teeth. "And what exactly is that purpose, ma'am?"

  "What we're trying to do, for your information, is to unite the community behind the pro-life cause. We're joining hands to educate and enlighten people on an important issue. We're accomplishing an important goal through nonviolent means."

  Manly fanned the air with his hand. "Sounds like a load of crap to me."

  Veins stood out in Pamela's neck. "I think we have a problem here. A serious problem. In some people's minds, pro-life is already associated with dunderheads and backwoods bullies. Religious paranoids-those who think it's acceptable to kill a doctor and call it pro-life."

  "I don't think people should be criticized for taking action in support of their beliefs."

  "That depends on the action, doesn't it?"

  "When a doctor commits an abortion, he takes a life. That's murder, pure and simple."

  "I don't argue with that, but I do argue with-"

  "Is it a crime to stop a murderer before he murders again?"

  "It's certainly a crime to shoot a doctor in cold blood when-"

  "Doesn't the Bible say 'an eye for an eye'? Isn't that what it says?"

  Pamela tumbled back into her chair. "Oh, please. Here we go again."

  "Don't duck the question. Doesn't the Bible say 'an eye for an eye'?"

  "And 'vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.' That's the end of the quote, the part people like you always leave out. Retribution is for God, not man. We were told to love one another. Which you can hardly reconcile with shooting a man down in cold blood!"

  "You know what I think?" Manly shouted back. "I think you're a coward, that's what I think. All of you! You don't have the courage of your convictions. You don't have the strength to do the hard jobs. You can talk the talk, but you can't walk the walk!"

  "Oh, sweet Jesus." Pamela pressed her long fingers against her forehead. "Craig, I can't work with this. I just can't."

  The chairman cleared his throat. "I think perhaps if we stick to our agenda…"

  "I'll tell you where you can stick your agenda!" Manly bellowed.

  Pamela's eyes rolled. "Seriously, Craig. This kind of talk-much less action-could undermine everything we're trying to do. How can we be taken seriously as a force for peace if we're represented by a neanderthal wannabe murderer?"

  "Are you talking about me?" Manly asked.

  "If you could both please just calm down!" Craig glared across the table, as if challenging anyone to say another word. "We have work to do, people, and this isn't getting it done."

  "I won't let this go, Craig," Pamela muttered under her breath.

  "I'm calling a ten-minute recess," Craig announced. He banged his little gavel on the tabletop. "Go get a drink and cool off! Both of you! When you return, I expect to get back to work!" Manly stepped outside, but the ten minutes stretched to fifteen, then twenty, then more. Almost an hour passed before Chairman Craig emerged from a side room to talk with him. It was obvious he wasn't looking forward to saying whatever he had to say. He didn't sit down with Manly; in fact, he couldn't even look him in the eye.

  "Manly, we've been having a little impromptu meeting in there. I'm very sorry, but-"

  "I'm out, aren't I?"

  Craig rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't put it like that. The committee just feels that our goals and… methodologies are radically different and that we will never be able to work together as a team."

  "Work? Who ever said anything about work? All you people do is talk. That's all you ever will do."

  "Still, we feel that it would not be mutually beneficial to continue-"

  "You're afraid I'm gonna go lop off some abortion doctor's head, aren't you?"

  "No, no, nothing like that-"

  "Well, you should be," Manly said, pushing himself onto his cowboy boots. "Because I just might."

  "Manly-"

  "You people make me sick. You go on and on, talking about how ethical and righteous you are. But not a damn one of you has the guts to put your money where your mouth is."

  "We don't feel that the most politic approach-"

  "Did Christ care about politics?" Manly bellowed. "No, sir. He did not! He put his life on the line. Upset a lot of people, too. But he did what he knew was right."

  "He never killed anyone."

  "He tossed the money-changers out of the temple. He fought back the madding crowd."

  "Look, we're never going to agree. And we're never going to be able to control you. You're not a team player, Manly. So we have to sever the relationship. We can't have you on this committee. I'm sorry, but we just can't."

  Craig hurriedly stole back to the conference room, leaving Manly to sit and stew. Goddamn cowards. Self-righteous dilettantes. What do they know about what it takes to get anything done in this world? Not a damn one of them has ever accomplished anything in their entire lives. They stroke themselves and tell themselves what a wonderful contribution they're making to the world, but the truth is they never do a damn thing!

  Manly was so absorbed in his thoughts that at first he didn't notice the stranger's approach.

  "You're upset, aren't you?"

  Manly glanced up. "Damn right I'm upset. Don't I have every right to be?"

  "Far as I'm concerned. All I wondered was… what you're planning to do about it."

  "And what makes you think I'm going to do anything about it?"

  "Instinct. I can tell just looking at you. You don't belong on some committee chewing doughnuts and bulleting action items. You belong on the front lines."

  "Front lines? Is there a war?"

  "I think there is, yes. Don't you?"

  "Maybe." He rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. "So what do you want?"

  "I'd like to propose a mutually beneficial relationship for both of us. A win-win situation. You get what you want, I get what I want. We both fight for the causes we believe in. Sound good?"

  "Couldn't say. Don't know what you're talking about."

  "Well, you will. Soon enough. The great work has begun, you know." The visitor's eyes darkened. "But there's still much to do. Ever so much more to do."

  Chapter

  4

  Ben sat at the darkest corner of the long conference table, silently stewing. He hated meetings. And this had to be one of the worst.

  "This is supposed to be a house of God, not a house of horrors!"

  "And we're supposed to be loving Christians, not back-stabbing assassins!"

  "How can we behave as Christians when we're living in the third circle of hell?"

  "Should I be putting this in the minutes?"

  Ben had known having a vestry meeting tonight, so soon after the discovery of another murder, would be a mistake. But no one would listen to him-not even his client, Father Beale. The work of the church must go on, he insisted. And the vestry must select someone else to lead it, now that Kate is gone. So the meeting was convened, and Susan Marino, a thirtyish woman who appeared to Ben much too nice to even be on this vestry, was chosen to lead it. And from the moment the senior warden position was filled, the meeting had been nothing but an acrimonious succession of accusations, backbiting, and venom.

  To her credit, Susan managed to keep her voice calm and even. "Father Beale, surely you can see why many people think this would be an appropriate time for you to step down."

  "Yes, I certainly can. Politics." Beale seemed badly shaken, both by the discovery of the body in his office and the battering he'd endured in this meeting, but it hadn't quelled his vigor. "This latest tragedy involving poor Kate is nothing but an excuse to accomplish what you people have been trying to do for months."

  "I think we have valid reasons," said Ernestine.

  "As you did before," Beale replied. "If you'll recall, the matter was subjected to a full-blown trial. And you lost. And after the trial, you were instructed to give it up. Except apparently none of you were listening, because now, here it is again."

  Ruth, the vestry secretary, talked while simultaneously taking notes. "That is not precisely what Father Holbrook said." She would be the one who knew, Ben realized. Probably had the man's every word scribbled down somewhere. "Moreover, he specifically said that he would revisit the matter in six months and that his ruling was contingent upon Father Beale's compliance with the conditions laid down by the adjudicative panel."

  "There have been some rather extenuating circumstances since the trial," Ernestine replied. Her bearing and manner were, as always, upper-crust and domineering. She had not put her name forward for senior warden, but Ben suspected she considered herself the true leader of the vestry regardless of who sat in the end chair. "When tragedy mounts upon tragedy, it's only natural for people to want… change."

  "What are you saying?" Beale asked.

  Ernestine pressed her hand against her bosom. "I'm only saying that given the circumstances-"

  "You're saying I killed Kate, aren't you? And Helen?"

  A deathly silence fell over the parish hall. No one spoke. No one even moved.

  "Well, listen up, people. I did not kill Kate. I did not kill Helen. Or anyone else. And I will not be railroaded out of this church based on these false-and damned convenient-accusations."

  Ben cleared his throat, even though at heart the last thing on earth he wanted to do was to attract attention at this little get-together. "Father Beale, as your legal representative, I must caution you again not to comment in any way on the murders."

  "I am an innocent man," Beale insisted. "Why shouldn't I say so?"

  "Believe me-it's for the best. Don't refer to the murders at all."

  After another moment of silence, Susan reasserted herself. "Let's approach this matter from a different direction." Ben had learned Susan was a divorced mother of two who worked full-time as an accountant for WorldCom. A stressful situation, but possibly good training for conducting this meeting. "St. Benedict's has always supported the Episcopal doctrine of lay leadership. As a member of the vestry, and now acting senior warden, I also support lay leadership." Her eyes rose. "Do you, Father?"

  "With all my heart and soul."

  "Then how can you… persist in this refusal to step down, when it is perfectly apparent that the majority of the vestry believe you should resign?"

  "I believe in lay leadership as to administrative matters of the church. You decide when services start and who teaches Sunday school. You can hire and fire janitors and select the menu for Lenten dinners. You can do basically anything-except oppose the will of God."

  "Are you suggesting that you are the embodiment of the will of God?"

  "Don't be absurd. What I'm saying is simply that God called me to this church and his representative in this diocese, the bishop, installed me here. The vestry does not have the authority, legal or moral, to undermine those appointments. You've tried everything possible, and it has all been unavailing."

  Another member spoke, a slender young woman Ben had seen teaching Sunday school classes. Carol Mason. "Father, all we're trying to do is find some peace and harmony for this church."

  "No, what you're trying to do is use rumor and false witness to accomplish a political goal-getting rid of me."

  "Speaking for myself, Father, I would never accuse you of anything." Despite her agitation, Carol was quite lovely, with delicate features and gorgeous blond hair. Ben felt his heart beating faster just watching her. "But I do think it might be best for the church if you resigned. Best for everyone. Including you."

 

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