A Sounding Brass (22 page)

Is this why she was alone so much? Here two men in the last twenty-four hours had let her know they were interested, and she’d
said no both times. Was she crazy?

“What am I thinking?” she said aloud. After hitting a key to lock her computer and grabbing her purse, she ran down the hall
and out of the building. She looked up and down Main Street, but Luke was already out of sight, and by the time she walked
around to the parking lot where he usually left his car, the silver Camry was already gone.

L
IEUTENANT BELLVILLE
of the Hamilton Falls PD steepled his fingers and leveled a long gaze at Ray. “So, what you’re telling me, Investigator, is
that the star citizen of our fair town has a years-long record of fraud and petty crime?” He glanced at Ray’s file on his
desk, the topmost item of which was the digital photo Teresa White had sent him.

“Yes, sir.” Ray hoped the good lieutenant wasn’t a Christian, too, or convincing him to take the case was going to be difficult.

“But you’ve got no proof he’s involved in anything now.”

“No, sir. It’s possible he’s turned over a new leaf and gone straight, but to be honest, I doubt it.”

“You know this is going to be a hard sell, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir, I figured that.”

“He’s all anyone talks about these days. Even my wife listens to KGHM, and with the new youth music program over at the community
church, my kids are bugging me to join so they can be part of it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, sir.”

“Yeah, but if they find out I’m investigating the closest thing they’ve ever seen to a celebrity, my name will be mud.”

“It happens all the time, sir.”

“What, that my name’s mud? Don’t remind me.”

“No, that celebrities get investigated. I’m not saying this should go any farther than this room. I’m just telling you that
he has a record in a couple of states and you should keep an eye on him. I’m being called back to Seattle, so I need to leave
it in your hands.”

Bellville closed the folder and handed it across the desk to Ray, who stuffed it in his backpack. “Understood. Thanks for
the information, Investigator. And thanks for your work on that rapist preacher, too. Ugly case. I’m glad it’s done and we
got a conviction.”

“I am, too. I wonder what these folks—the Elect—will do for a leader now?”

Bellville shook his head. “They’ve always been a funny bunch. Great folks to talk to. Sincere, well-meaning. But keep to themselves
so much it isn’t healthy. I’d like to see them join forces with the community church, but that’s a long way out of my bailiwick.
One of my golfing buddies is assistant pastor there at the church. You’ve probably heard him on the radio, too. Toby Henzig.
Decent guy. They’d do themselves a favor if they’d get a leader like him.”

“That’s outside my bailiwick, too. The whole church thing is foreign to me.” How had he gotten into this conversation with
the lieutenant, anyway? What was he doing blabbing about personal stuff on company time?

Bellville gave him another look, only a twinkle lurked in the back of it. Ray began to understand why this station ran like
a well-oiled clock and why the crime rate in this town was so low.

“It’s too bad people think about faith as only a church thing,” the lieutenant said. “That’s one of the problems the Elect
have—they look at the structure itself instead of what it represents. Get all hung up on the appearance of things and forget
about the reality. But faith, now, that’s different.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that, either, sir.”

“Well, this isn’t the time or place to talk about it, probably, since I have to brief the next watch in ten minutes. But you
keep your heart open, Investigator. You might be surprised.”

That, Ray reflected as he shook the lieutenant’s hand and left the station, was probably the strangest conversation he’d ever
had with a fellow law-enforcement officer.

But then, he’d been having a lot of strange conversations since he’d arrived in Hamilton Falls. And a lot of them seemed to
revolve around God and belief and a bunch of other stuff that had never bothered him in Seattle. In fact, getting back home
and
not
talking about God for a change would be a relief.

Why he was dragging his feet was a mystery. He’d checked out of his motel this morning, briefed Bellville, and now there was
nothing left to do but put gas in the truck, grab a sandwich, and head west like a rational person.

Right.

That must be why he was now standing in front of the radio station, the need to see Claire and say good-bye—again—an ache
in his gut.

Go on, you dope. Get out of here. There’s no point.

On the outside speaker, the open-mic program was in full force and some guy was haranguing the county at large about the price
of gas. Toby Henzig pushed open the station’s door and stopped on the step.

“Sorry.” Ray moved out of the way.

“Coming in?” Toby held the door. “I was just on my way to indulge my secret weakness for a double latte, extra whip, until
this caller runs out of steam. Don’t tell my wife.”

Ray had to laugh. “She trying to keep you alive on a low-fat diet or what?”

“No, she’s on the diet and I’m in sympathy mode. She craves the whipped cream, and I’m the one who sneaks off and gets it.
Are you stopping in to see Claire?”

“Busted.” Ray gave Toby a halfhearted grin. “I’m going back to Seattle and thought I’d say good-bye.”

“Back to Seattle?”

Ray now leaned on the open door, his back to the hallway, while Toby gazed at him from the sidewalk. “My vacation’s over,
and the bad guys didn’t take time off while I was gone.”

“Vacation, huh? Somehow I thought you were here for . . . other business.”

“The Leslie case? Yeah, that, too.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant.” He gazed past Ray in the general direction of Claire’s office. “Have a safe trip.”

He turned and made his way through the sidewalk tables outside the coffee bar, leaving Ray with nothing left to do but shut
the station’s door behind him.

He found Claire at her desk, with some mystifying maze of numbers arrayed on the monitor in front of her. She was studying
them intently, giving him a few quiet seconds to appreciate the way her hair waved over her ears and into the elegant coil
at the nape of her neck. She had a beautiful neck, long and smooth. She wore a crocheted sweater over a blue T-shirt that
matched her skirt. Gone was the old-lady Victorian look and in its place was a modern woman any sane guy would snap up in
a second.

Why did she have to believe so stubbornly that without her kind of religion, they had no chance? What a waste of a future.

“Hey,” he said from her doorway when it became obvious she didn’t know he was there.

She turned in surprise. “Hey. What’s up?”

Levering himself off the doorjamb, he said, “Not much. I just came by to say adios.” Her office wasn’t very big. It didn’t
take long for him to look it over while he waited for her to burst into tears and beg him to stay. Or maybe say she was sorry
for chasing him away.

Or something.

“Oh,” she said. “Already?”

“I handed my case off to the HFPD just now. I’m on my way out.”

His tour around the office had brought him to the side of her desk. Behind her on the credenza was a plastic bin with “Property
of the U.S. Post Office” stenciled on the side. A stack of letters and envelopes sat next to her computer, and a row of cards
was arranged on the sill of the interior window that looked into the hallway. Through it he could see another window into
the record library and the studio. How nice. She and Luke could wave at each other while they worked.

To fill the silence, he picked up a card. “‘Your program has brought meaning to our day,’” he read slowly. “‘Thank you from
the Wyslicki family.’”

He picked up another. Same sentiment. These people clearly needed to get a life. “Are all these to Luke?” he said aloud.

She nodded, and he picked up another one. This was dumb. She wasn’t interested in whether he was there or not. Why didn’t
he just take a hint and leave?

“Ray?” Her voice sounded uncertain, with none of its usual warmth and confidence.

“Yeah?” He fingered a letter that had been taped to the window, over the cards on the sill.

“Before you go, I want to say I’m sorry. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Angry?” His gaze tracked the lines of the letter without really seeing them. “I’m not angry. Disappointed, maybe. Hurt, a
little. And my nose is probably out of joint over this whole religion thing. But I’m not angry.”

Behind him he heard a soft sound that might have been a laugh. “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

He gave up on the letter and turned. “What do you want from me, Claire? I tell you I’m interested, your kiss tells me you
are, too, but your words say I don’t measure up. Now you want me to make you feel better about it?”

“I knew you were angry,” she whispered.

“I can’t stand that you’re letting religion get in the way of what could be a good thing.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, you told me that before.” Frustrated, he swung toward the door. “I came to say good-bye, not get into an argument.
You have every right to do what you want with your life.”

He had a strange feeling in his gut, as though he were on a ship that was pulling inexorably away from a dock. He didn’t want
to be on this ship. He didn’t want to leave, but that was what he had to do. Anything else was pointless.

“Good-bye, Claire. Maybe I’ll see you at Ross and Julia’s sometime.”

He thought he heard her say his name, but he couldn’t be sure. Instead, he recognized the voice of Derrick, the unhappy guy
he’d met at Rebecca’s, as he came on the phone line to give the world his opinions about praying over the air.

Ray let the door swing shut behind him.

* * *

“
MIND IF I JOIN YOU?”

Claire looked up from
Daughters of the King
, the personal style guide she’d just picked up from Quill and Quinn that was the following month’s pick for “Hamilton Falls
for Books.” Derrick Wilkinson stood there, looking rumpled and hot, though the air was cool. The sandwich wrapped in wax paper
that he held looked a bit squashed, as if he’d made a fist while he’d forgotten he was holding it. She moved the remains of
her smoothie and the bagel she’d had with it to one side of the round glass table she occupied outside the coffee bar.

“Have a seat, Derrick. How are you?”

“I’m confused, I’m angry, and I just said a bunch of stuff I shouldn’t have over the radio.”

Claire had a vague memory of a familiar voice coming from the studio, but she’d been too miserable to care. “Well, other than
that.”

Ray had left town and she was sitting here at a table for one again. The trees in their planters along Main Street had begun
to turn yellow. The ducks and geese were leaving in long, straggling V’s, their wild calls in the cold blue vault of the sky
a haunting sound. Summer was over, and she hated the fall—it always meant that rain and cold were just around the corner.
Some people became excited because it meant the beginning of the school year and hockey season, but she only saw fallen leaves,
dead plants, and birds who got to fly away.

Why had she let him leave? What was the matter with her head? Or, to be more specific, her heart?

“Fine.” Derrick bit into his sandwich savagely and she roused herself out of her funk.

“What’s up, Derrick? I don’t usually see you like this.”

“You don’t usually see me at all. Nobody sees me, nobody listens to me. It’s like everyone’s asleep with their eyes open around
here.”

She blinked at him. She’d never seen the guy say anything but the right thing, or do anything but help old ladies in and out
of his car, or go to work every day punctually at nine o’clock. Something was seriously wrong if Derrick Wilkinson was upset
and showing it.

“What do you mean? Tell me what’s going on.”

He swallowed the last of his homemade sandwich and she wondered if he’d tasted even one bite. “The Elders were in to see us.
They just left.”

“You mean our Elders? In to see the attorneys you work with?”

“What other Elders are there? Owen, Mark McNeill, and your boss came in to draw up articles of incorporation.” From his tone,
you’d have thought they’d come in to sell illegal drugs. She thought Luke had gone to Spokane. He’d obviously made a stop
along the way.

“Incorporating what?”

“The Elect. As a legal entity.”

She sat back and stared at him. “That’s impossible. We can’t be incorporated. We’re a spiritual body, not an earthly one.
Not to mention we have no official name.”

“We do now. We’re officially known as the Elect of God of Inish County, and you know what else?”

“I can’t imagine.” She couldn’t. The fact that they were a spiritual church with no earthly ties and no guidance but the will
of God as spoken through his Shepherds had been a foundation of doctrine since . . . well, forever. Their founder was Jesus
Himself, in the tradition of the prophets, and this set them apart from worldly churches who were of the earth, who had buildings
and boards that kept them accountable to themselves. The Elect’s prophets were accountable only to God. If the Elect had incorporated,
that made them the same as anyone else. Why, she might as well go worship at the church Toby went to.

“The reason they’ve incorporated is so they can buy the land for the worship center. So now, not only are we a registered
legal body, we’re going to hold land, too.”

“We own the hall,” she pointed out.

“No, we don’t. It’s leased on a twenty-year agreement with John Willetts. He owns stuff all over town. The Elect have never
owned land—except for people owning their own houses, of course. It’s just wrong. The Elders could have gone in as a partnership
or something.”

“No, they couldn’t,” said Claire the former bank employee. “With a corporation you get a bunch of tax breaks in this county.
They’re trying to encourage new construction.”