Flee From Evil (5 page)

Her mother peeked from the side of the magazine she was reading. “Billy’s the best. And reasonable too.”

Kat turned off the water and let the hose drop into the hole at the edge of the sink. “No, the best would be his father, Lew. But Lew won’t work for Billy. He’s a driver for a delivery company, now.”

Cassandra loved the feel of Kat scrubbing at her temples. Even the jangle of her bracelets sounded like wind chimes. “Why won’t he work for Billy?” Something about this woman felt so open. Maybe it was the profession. People often said hairdressers—and bartenders—were like therapists. Cassandra felt she could ask almost anything. Maybe even tell her … well, not tell her
everything.

Kat rinsed her hair again. “They fought a lot when Billy was a kid, and Lew wasn’t around much otherwise. He was a dirt-track race car driver, and traveled a bunch. Billy’s been tryin’ to patch things between them, but Lew can’t see that. Lew thinks it’s just cuz Billy wants him to help with the car-care ministry.” She chuckled mirthlessly. “Lew won’t have anything to do with church-folk.”

If Cassandra’s car only needed what that ministry provided, minor maintenance work, she wouldn’t feel so bone dry when it came to finances.

“Kat, what do you know about job openings?” Mom seemed to read her mind.

A muffled jangle accompanied the hairdresser’s toweling of Cassandra’s hair. “What kind of work experience do you have?”

Cassandra sighed. She hadn’t worked outside the home since she’d waitressed at the country club sixteen years ago. Sophie was born her first year of marriage and Tim agreed for her to stay home.

“She developed a special-needs program at the church she used to go to.”

Kat’s fingers stilled.

“Mom, that’s not work. I volunteered, hoping to provide something for Tibo.”

“It was a beautiful program, and attracted lots of new families who wouldn’t have come to the church if it hadn’t been there.”

Cassandra loved her Mom. Seeing only the best in Cassandra’s small accomplishments. Even if she was also blind to the faults of pastors. “Mom—”

Kat lifted the seat back from the sink. “You should talk to Pastor Vince.”

A throbbing began in Cassandra’s head. Was the hairdresser a Vince groupie too?

“He’s been trying to start a special needs ministry for a couple months.”

This didn’t sound like the self-centered man she knew. “Why?”

Kat scanned the hair salon as if looking for someone. “I think it’s because of Isabella.”

Of course—a woman.

“Isabella is one of my hair dressers. She’s a single mom and her son has autism too.” She wrapped the small towel around Cassandra’s neck. “She came to our church once, but her son caused such a ruckus in Children’s worship she swore she’d never come back.”

That’s what caused the fear in the teacher’s eye when she’d mentioned Tibo’s issues.

“It really bothered Pastor Vince, because he feels those who are hurting are the ones who need the church the most.” Kat led Cassandra to her station. “So he researched the proportion of families with special needs children in the area, and realized the church sees a smaller percentage than the public schools. He says the church should see more, not less.” Her voice became animated. She obviously loved the pastor as much as Cassandra’s mom. Noticing Kat’s intense gaze pointed at her through the station mirror, Cassandra suppressed the eye-roll.

“He said when Jesus told the weary and burdened to come to Him, that means the church should have more weary and burdened.”

Boy, Vince still knew how to charm the ladies. Appeal to their vanity and their sense of compassion. If only she could gag out loud.

The bell on the door jangled.

“Pastor Vince.” Kat’s smile split her face. “We were just talking about you.”

At least he had the sense to look concerned, his gaze questioning Cassandra’s reflection. What did he think she’d divulge?

“Oh yeah?” He had a small tremor in his voice.

“Did you know Cassandra, here, started a special needs program at her church in Philadelphia?”

His blue eyes darkened hinting at intense interest.

“And.” She patted Cassandra’s shoulder. “She’s looking for a job.”

He stilled.

~*~

Cass looking for a job and him needing someone to design this program. Vince peered at the hefty diamond ring and the fancy shoes resting on the little bar at the end of the chair. Something didn’t set right. He’d heard she’d married rich. Very rich. Had her husband not left her provided for? Or were her tastes too high class now she always needed more?

No. Not Cass. It was instinct for Vince to think that way given his upbringing on the high end. And even among those he knew from the drug trade. Those who had, wanted more. Like it would fill the chasm in their souls that only deepened with the pursuit of things.

“I’m not interested in developing a special needs ministry.” Cass didn’t even look at him.

Her mom gasped, eyes incredulous. “What are you saying? You need the money and you’d be perfect for it.”

“Your pastor,” her eyes met his for one painful second in the mirror, “does not need to be saddled with an employee just because I need a job.”

He sat in the station next to where Kat trimmed those luscious auburn curls. Vince’s mind traveled to the memory of the feel of them running through his fingers. He shook out of it, and softened his voice. “I do really need to hire someone.” He thought about the boy with her in church, obviously special needs himself. “You could work from home.”

“Sorry, I’m late.” Isabella’s Hispanic accent cracked with emotion as she flew in through the back entrance. “Sean had a tantrum at the school, and I needed to calm him.”

Vince’s heart plunged at the stress on the young woman’s face. He could see in Cassandra’s eyes—so did hers. Would Isabella ever find peace? She dropped her purse at the station where Vince sat, then closed herself into the bathroom, sobs murmuring through the salon.

Vince glared at the door then back at Cass. He whispered, “She needs you.”

Cass’s eyes flashed as she mouthed, “That’s not fair.”

Kat’s brows drew together at the gesture.

Leaning back in the salon chair, Vince contemplated his one last argument. He knew this would seal the deal. “Unfortunately, if you took the job, you’d have to visit other church services on Sundays to see what their programs are like. I hope that won’t be a problem.” He knew it was the excuse she needed. “Your mom could bring your kids to our church while you check the others out.”

Cass’s look reminded him of his old best friend, Drew’s, when they played chess. She released a long-suffering breath. “How about we meet at your office to discuss the possibility?”

He nodded.
Check.
But something about the tone of her voice and the tension in her jaw told him it was anything but check-mate.

~*~

Archibald Lewis pressed the gas of the big boxy delivery truck, feeling it labor just to make the speed limit. Was he dragging an elephant on its back, by its ear? The slow pace of the ride was maddening. The only worse thing about this job was the cutesy brown shorts they made him wear. It reminded him of the Easter suit his mother bought him when he was five. He tugged at the buttoned-up collar, and wondered again whether or not he should accept Billy’s offer to work at the garage.

Bah! He couldn’t be an employee of his own boy.

Lew, as his friends called him, fished the thermos from his pack while cruising the interstate, unscrewed the nozzle and took a gulp of soda mixed with scotch. He needed something to calm the ole ticker that wanted to speed as much as he did—like the old days at the dirt-track.

A car horn blared. He swore. Probably shouldn’t drift into another lane while someone’s passing him. With a belch he replaced the thermos in his bag.

First delivery. He rolled his eyes. Billy’s church. The one his son talked about all day long. The one that brought him to Jee-zuss! The boy was practically a preacher himself. It got so bad Lew contemplated stuffing toilet paper in his ears whenever his son visited. Was Lew so awful Billy needed to knit-pick about every last fault? He was only human. Knowing what Billy thought of him, he didn’t need an answer to that question.

Lew pulled off the exit, down the local roads of Water’s Edge and entered the Community Church parking lot.

After fishing around the back for the heavy box, he tromped up the steps and into the building.

“Oh yes! My new computer is here.” The black woman grabbed the box right out of his arms.

“Whoa, there, woman.”

She arched a brow.

“You need to sign the doo-hicky first.”

She slid the box onto a table and scribbled on the little window.

Lew released a long breath.

The woman jerked back and bunched her eyebrows. “You know we have lots of services here for people.” She watched the pen loop her name. “Grief groups, Marriage Prep.” Her eyeballs seized him with an unholy glare. “A.A.”

Lew shifted. “I don’t need no groups.”

Billy’s pastor—John, was it?—slapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Lew, I see you brought Yolanda’s computer.” His silver-haired head nodded at her to leave.

She gave one last hard look at Lew and harrumphed as she strolled away with her new toy.

“You just made her day.”

“I can tell.”

John gave a good-natured chuckle. “Stop by and see us on a Sunday sometime.”

“No thanks, preacher. All that organ music and holy people …” He looked down the hall at the woman with the box.

“Yep. I guess you’d be disappointed here then, Lew. We sold the organ ten years ago to pay for the band equipment, and nothin’ but sinners warming the pews since the day we opened our doors.”

Lew’s eyes followed the secretary. “Yeah, I bet.”

John seemed amused. “Don’t mind her. She’s a sinner too.”

“Does she know that?”

John’s eyebrows jumped. “You bet she does. It’s the reason she speaks her mind. She’d rather prevent others from seeing the destruction she saw in her younger years. She’s just not real good at …” John twisted his mouth this way then that, “ …
softening
her concern.”

The pastor turned to follow the Yolanda woman and called over his shoulder. “Tell Billy I said hi.”

“Sure.” If he even saw him.

Chapter Five

Cassandra hitched her briefcase under her arm pit, straightened her black, pencil skirt and smoothed a curl from her face before entering the church office. This moment felt somewhere between critical job interview and being fed to a ravenous wolf.

“May I help you?” The thirty-ish woman peeked up from under her desk, a large opened box with plastic wrap and styrofoam sticking out in all directions, beside her. Her expression held more question than necessary.

“I’m here to interview for the job of Special Needs Ministry Coordinator.” Cassandra kept the business in her voice, though she stacked emotional armor around herself as she followed the woman’s gaze to a crooked window that peered into an office. Inside it, Vince sat at a large desk, piles of paper lining the edges, talking on the phone.

She gestured to a hard plastic chair. “Have a seat. He’ll be right out.” She grunted and ducked to the floor again, apparently hooking cables to the computer equipment.

Cassandra did as she was instructed, breathing a sigh while she still had the chance, and peeked again at the misshapen frame around Vince’s office window.

The secretary lifted from her position, straightened out her clothes then dropped into her chair, pushing buttons on several devices. A smile stretched across her dark-skinned face as she appraised the obviously new equipment booting up. Glancing at Cassandra, her smile transformed into a smirk. “You’re probably wondering why the window to his office looks outta whack.”

“Yes.” Maybe small-talk would calm her nerves.

“Pastor Vince cut that into the wall himself after studying a Youtube video on how to install windows.” Her wary eyes told Cassandra what she thought of the idea. “He said if church members were going to build houses and make repairs for the poor, he needed to learn how to be handy with a hammer and nail.” She chuckled. “Truth is, we all wish he’d give up and just rake leaves or something. He spends more time in the emergency room for injuries on sites than he does actually helping.”

Cassandra looked through the window again, wondering if they were talking about the same man. “Then why does he do it?”

The woman grimaced. “He has this romantic notion about people who build things. Like they’re all Jesus, the carpenter. And he feels he should be more like them.”

Vince?
He was a bigger con-artist now than ever. How long could he keep up that charade? And what did he stand to benefit?

“Why a window into the office?”

The woman sobered. “I’m sure you’ve heard about his history?” She glanced around. “With women?”