Holy Rollers (16 page)

$ $ $

There had been no question Mary Beth would ride in the front seat—she hadn’t even bothered to ask—so Chase and Constance sat in the back of the rental car as Farraday wheeled it through the winding residential streets toward the Virginia Cathedral of Love.

Chase said, “So we’re agreed we go our own way when we get to the church, right? Me and Mary Beth will pretend we don’t know Constance, and Constance will pretend she doesn’t know us.”

Mary Beth nodded. So did Constance, but she couldn’t resist tweaking Chase.

“You don’t want people to think you’re helping your maid find the Lord?” she asked.

“You’re never gonna let this drop, are you?”

“Should I? I mean, you get a two-fer with me. You can be saving a domestic worker
and
a Negro at the very same time. That’s very 1950s. If I know my Bible-bangers, they’ll love it.”

Chase slumped back and tried to ignore her. Fortunately it was a short ride—even without a direct route, as Farraday noted more than a few times—and soon they were deposited in front of the cathedral, immediately walking a short distance in opposite directions when they were out of the car.

It was the first time they’d seen it up close. From a distance, everything looked huge; up close, it was mammoth. They turned, looked at each other, and nodded.

It was show time.

$ $ $

As they would later tell the story, things went predictably at the cathedral.

Chase and Mary Beth, posing as Charlie and Mary Beth Hudson, went off in one direction. The people they tended to encounter were parishioners, although they stumbled across an associate pastor or two. Charlie Hudson discussed his deep faith; his wife tended to stand unapproachably to the side with her arms folded across her chest.

The problem was, Mary Beth Reuss was used to getting her own way. She didn’t understand Mary Beth Hudson.

She was also, pretty much everyone they encountered would agree, opinionated. There was a place for that, but that place wasn’t in the middle of a discussion about abortion.

“Honey,” said Chase, gently trying to pull her away before the heated words combusted. “Maybe we should save it for another day.”

“I’m not gonna let some man tell me what I can do with my body!”

Chase smiled apologetically at the associate pastor and circle of very nice, very conservative women surrounding him. “She’s been a little tired lately.”

“Bless you, Mr. and Mrs. Hudson,” said the associate pastor, who genuinely felt sorry for that poor husband. It had to be difficult to be married to a communist.

Constance fared better…

$ $ $

It was a point of pride in the administrative offices of the Virginia Cathedral of Love that they had never been late on a payment. Not sixty days, not thirty days, not even fifteen days. Invoices were promptly processed and payment was made.

But since Leonard Platt had been fired, even that simple task had fallen apart. How Dr. Hurley had found out, Merribaugh didn’t know. But he had.

The bookkeeping situation was going to have to be resolved sooner rather than later. If Merribaugh hadn’t already known that, Hurley’s tongue-lashing reprioritized it.

He stood in the cavernous sanctuary, trying to gather his wits, when he heard a woman ask, “Excuse me, but are you the Rev. Mr. Merribaugh?”

“I am,” he said with a sigh, and turned to face a fortyish black woman in a modest dark blue dress with a bit of white lace at the collar.

She extended her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Constance Brown, a new member of the Cathedral.”

He smiled. “Welcome, Constance. I hope you’ll feel very much at home here.”

“I’m sure I will.” She looked around the sanctuary. “Quite a place. How many worshippers do you get here?”

“We usually have eight thousand people in attendance for a normal Sunday service, but we’ve been able to accommodate as many as fourteen thousand.”

“Praise the Lord!” she said. “It must be almost impossible running a place like this.”

“Some days,” he agreed.

“Well, if you ever need a volunteer…”

“That’s very kind, but…”

“…I have twenty years of office management experience, and I would love to dedicate my time to helping the Cathedral.”

Merribaugh raised an eyebrow. “Twenty years of real experience?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ve been an office manager. HR director. Handled corporate payroll. You name it, I’ve had hands-on experience with it.”

“Really,” he said. “Maybe we can use your skills.” He leaned close to her, as if they were now confidants. “You see, we’re a bit overwhelmed right now. Our bookkeeper unfortunately, uh, had to leave our employ.”

“I know bookkeeping,” she said.

Merribaugh smiled. “Ms. Brown, I would love to talk about this at greater length.”

$ $ $

Lisa hung up the phone, then turned to Grant and said, “I got us a lawn service, Captain Nature. Now please stop scratching yourself. Especially…
there
.”

Grant stopped scratching there. “I’ll never understand the suburbs.”

“And I doubt they’ll ever understand you.” She would have said more but she was interrupted.

“Yoo-hoo!”

Grant frowned. “It’s that Tish lady. And what’s with the yoo-hoos? Doesn’t she know how to work a doorbell?”

“I’ll get rid of her,” said Lisa, who obviously failed because seconds later Tish Fielding was marching into the kitchen, with Lisa tailing.

“Good news, Mr. Williams,” she said. “I talked to Dr. Bradean and she’s willing to drop her rates for you.”

He cocked his head. “Huh?”

“Mrs. Bradean,” she said again. “The grief counselor from August Morning Drive.”

“Oh. Right. Maybe I’ll give her a call if I ever have a chance.”

Tish smiled sympathetically. “You’ll get through this, Mr. Williams. Just stay strong.”

“I’m trying.”

“Good!” She looked around the kitchen with a bit of envy. Even though every house in the subdivision had a similar layout, this room felt bigger than hers. She’d have to check the blueprints later. “Also, I wanted to make sure you knew about the neighborhood barbecue on Saturday.”

“Barbecue?”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry; I assumed you’d heard.” Tish turned that frown upside down. “It’s good I stopped by! The entire neighborhood will be there. You and Mrs.…Mrs.…” She looked at Lisa.

“Hudson.”

“You and Mrs. Hudson
must
join us!”

“I don’t know,” said Grant. “We’re not really very social. We sorta keep to ourselves.”

Tish’s smile didn’t fade exactly, but it was clear she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “Everyone wants to meet the new neighbors. I have to insist…”

“We’ll try to be there,” said Lisa, in an effort to shut up Tish and get her out of the house.

“Oh, good!” She looked over Lisa’s shoulder into the living room. Was that a 72-inch high-definition television mounted on the wall? She and Malcolm only had a 60-inch TV…

“So thanks for the invite,” said Grant, which refocused Tish’s attention. “Now…”

She stopped him by holding a finger in the air. “Oh, I just remembered one last thing.”

“Of course you did.”

“How many people are living here?”

Grant and Lisa exchanged glances. “Why?” he finally asked.

“The HOA rules say that no more than two unrelated people can share a home.”

Grant and Lisa exchanged another glance, and Lisa asked, “Does that include the help?”

Tish thought about that. “I’m not sure.”

“Because if you don’t include the live-in help, we’re all related.”

It wasn’t the answer Tish wanted, but until she could clarify the rules about domestic employees, she’d have to live with it. It could always wait a day or two, after all. Maybe not another week, but certainly a day or two.

Grant began to rise and said, “Thanks for coming by,” but Tish remembered yet another “one last thing,” so he sat back in the chair.

“There’s the matter of your lawn…”

“Don’t worry about it, Tish,” said Lisa. “I just hired a service.”

Grant felt defensive. “We would’ve gotten better.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Lisa, and Tish was happy
she
didn’t have to say it.

Instead she smiled graciously. “Thank you for doing your part to help keep Old Stone Fence Post Estates one of the world’s best residential communities.” To Lisa, that sounded suspiciously like a real estate pitch line, but Tish began walking toward the foyer, so she decided not to call her on it. Any further conversation would delay her exit.

But then the front door opened and that exit was ruined by the entrance of Chase and Mary Beth, with Constance and Farraday bringing up the rear.

“Oh, hello!” said Tish, recognizing the group she’d seen through her window that morning when she wasn’t really snooping.

Lisa tried unsuccessfully not to roll her eyes and failed, but she covered it by making introductions before anyone could do or say the wrong thing. “This is my…my nephew, Chase. And his wife, Mary Beth. This is Tish, our neighbor from across the street.”

They exchanged unenthusiastic hellos.

“And you’ve met Farraday,” she said.

Since he was the help, Tish nodded in his direction but didn’t engage him. “Yes, of course.” Her eyes fell upon Constance. “And you are…?”

Constance’s hands went to her hips. “I’m the maid.”

“I prefer to think of her as the housekeeper, not the maid,” said Grant. “‘Maid’ seems like sort of a demeaning word.” He smiled at her. “Constance is so much more than that. We think of her as almost part of the family.”

“You got that right,” Constance muttered.

“A chauffeur and a housekeeper? Oh my!” Tish was impressed, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “You’re certainly fancy, Mr. Williams.”

Grant scratched at his stomach and said, “That’s what I keep tellin’ myself.”

Farraday put himself into the conversation. “Y’know, I’m not just his chauffeur. I’m his chauffeur
and
his chef.”

Tish eyeballed him. “You cook?”

“Why does everyone keep questioning that? Yeah, I cook. Like I said, I’m a chef.” He held up the grocery bag in his hand. “Tonight I’m even making
daeji
galbi
.”

“Huh?” asked pretty much everyone.

“Korean barbecued pork ribs. Lucky I found a place I could get
kochujang
. Otherwise, it ain’t the same.”

“So…” Tish shook her head. “So a chauffeur and a chef!”

“I’m whatcha call multitalented.”

“How…nice for you.” Tish smiled and broke eye contact, despite the fascination now mixed in with her revulsion. Still, one really shouldn’t stare at the servants. “Now, Mr. Williams, Ms. Hudson…the neighborhood barbecue…”

She was interrupted by a loud rumble from the driveway, which attracted their attention until it died off in a series of coughs of exhaust, followed eventually by silence.

“Sounds like someone needs a muffler,” said Farraday, and—as if that were his entrance cue—Leonard walked through the front door.

Grant ignored him and turned back to Farraday. “Go fix Leonard’s muffler. Can’t have him driving around disturbing the peace.”

“I was going to take my car in next week,” said Leonard.

“Let me explain something, Leonard.” Grant chose his words carefully, since Tish was standing just inches away. “See, when you drive a car with a bad muffler, you’re not just disturbing the nice people of neighborhoods like this one. You’re also breaking the law, and the cops might pull you over. And you wouldn’t want the cops to pull you over, would you?”

Leonard got it. “No. No, of course not.”

“Good. Farraday, fix his muffler.”

Farraday wasn’t happy, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Yes, Mr.…Williams.”

After Farraday dropped the groceries in the kitchen and stalked out, Tish looked at Leonard and said, “And this is…?”

“My accountant,” Grant told her, nodding at Leonard with a look that told him to play along. “You’ll probably be seeing a lot of him.”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Williams.”

“Call me Grant.” He said it not because he wanted to be friendly, but because he’d always react more spontaneously to being called by his actual name, and no matter how hard he tried there was always going to be a split second when he wouldn’t react to Mr. Williams.

“I’m impressed, Grant. Sometimes Malcolm and I can barely get our accountant on the phone, and you get house calls!”

“Yeah, well, we need to be very close.”

Eventually what they thought might never happen happened, and Tish Fielding went home. When they were sure she was gone, and not about to reappear like some killer from a slasher movie, Grant asked Chase, Mary Beth, and Constance how it went.