Queen Bee Goes Home Again (9 page)

My brain started cussing up a storm, but I managed to reduce it to
rats
. Just
rats
!

Frozen chosen Presbyterian or Episcopalian would have been fine, even Methodist, but why did he have to be a
Baptist
?

I could hear laughter echoing from heaven, and I didn't think it was funny. Not one bit.

God and I both knew perfectly well that I was nobody's idea of a proper companion for a Baptist minister. Mary Lou Perkins would go through the roof.

When I'd first moved home ten years ago, Grant Owens had told anybody who'd listen how I'd gotten high on weed (completely not my fault) and slept with him (which I hadn't, at the last minute, but I might as well have, because I'd planned to do it), making me notorious in Mimosa Branch forever.

God
knew I hadn't followed through on the affair, thanks to a serious case of the giggles when we got into bed, but I don't think anybody else believed the truth. Except Tommy, God love him. So I'd been branded a loose woman without ever having tasted the sweet nectar of sin.

Wouldn't you know.

I cleared my throat. “Well, if you're ready,” I told the AARP Adonis, “why don't we get started?” I held open the front door for him, letting in the waves of heat. “It will be simpler if I drive, because I know where the showings are.”

He didn't make any of the usual man-noises that my male customers did about letting me drive. He simply said, “Great,” then followed me to my car and got into the passenger seat.

“This is a really nice car,” he said as we pulled out. “I used to have a minivan, too, but I had to give it up. Literally.”

Curious, I asked without thinking, “What happened?”

He grinned and looked out the window. “My ex got it in the divorce.”

I almost wrecked.

A
divorced
Baptist minister?

He was starting out with two strikes against him!

Times, they were a-changin' in Mimosa Branch, for sure, but even that didn't mean this man could be seen with me without causing a scandal. Never mind that over half the congregation had been divorced at one time or another.

When it came to divorce and remarriage, the convenient Baptist excuse was for the guilty parties to claim they weren't really saved when they were misbehaving and got divorced, but I don't buy that. Christians have the same choices non-Christians do, so they can sin like anybody else. And when it came to this guy, I didn't think that excuse would fly with his congregation. I'd seen him preaching on the big Christian cable channel as I'd surfed past.

Connor Allen looked at me with that same mischievous smile. “At least I didn't lose my job. She ran off with a much richer man who paid her a lot more attention than I ever did, so I had scriptural grounds for letting her go.” His tone lightened. “Apparently, God hadn't called
her
to the ministry, only me. I gotta tell you, it broke my heart, and hurt even worse because I was the one who'd neglected her. I felt like such a failure, but my congregation didn't judge me. Very humbling.”

Boy, was he forthcoming.

“I lost my husband to a stripper ten years ago,” I confessed. “Well, to be perfectly accurate, I told him I wanted a divorce after he said he wanted to have us both. Was that scriptural grounds?”

Connor Allen chuckled. “Definitely.”

“That's a relief.”

Instead of preaching at me, he changed the subject to safer ground. “Julia said you grew up on Green Street. Where do you live?”

Seriously direct, but his lucent personality went a long way to allay whatever questions I might have raised about his motives.

“Actually, you'll see it when we visit the last listing. I recently lost my house, so for the moment, I live with my mother and my brother, right next door to the listing.” I changed the subject back to business. “Will you be needing a financing contingency?”

“Not if we stay in budget. I owned my former house long enough to pay it off,” he said. “Since most churches sold their pastoriums decades ago, we ministers have had the chance to build equity in our own places. The wife got half the proceeds, but that left me with my housing budget.”

Must have been a really nice house. “You must have been at your last church for a long time, to pay off your mortgage.”

“Too long, if you ask me.” He watched the houses go by. “Our ministry grew so huge, I felt like I was riding a brontosaurus every day. The next thing I knew, our kids were grown and on their own. My workload was more than my wife could take. So she decided to quit trying to win me back from the church and found someone else who wanted her.”

He shook his head. “Talk about a wake-up call. After she left, I decided to make way for a younger pastor and look for a smaller congregation that didn't need a big staff.”

On the rebound?

“First Baptist has a great core congregation,” I assured him. “And since the building boom crashed, they've stabilized at a reasonably intimate membership.”

“So Ed Lumpkin told me.”

I grinned. “Ah, yes. Ed.” He'd been running the church for years, de facto. “It would be wise to make him your ally.”

Connor Allen shot me a knowing look. “I appreciate the heads-up.”

I really liked this man. But as usual, I jumped to rash conclusions immediately and assumed he was a teetotaling Bible-banger.

Drat. Drat, drat, drat!

I pulled into the driveway of the clapboard ranch house just a few blocks from the church. “Here we are.”

The grass had been cut, but the house had no other plantings and looked neglected. Inside, it was bland and nondescript, clean but not redecorated since the sixties. “What's your impression?” I asked Connor Allen.

He didn't even ask the price. “It's a bit too … plain for my tastes. A traditional exterior is fine, but I'd really prefer something a bit more updated inside. With some character.”

“Then I think you'll really like one I have scheduled for later. But I wanted you to see the bottom of the market for your qualifications, first. This one's only sixty-five thousand.”

He shook his head with a smile. “As my history attests, being a minister doesn't leave me time to do much else, so I'd rather not see anything that needs work.”

I mentally deleted all the other olde-towne listings but the one next door to Miss Mamie's. When we'd both gotten back in the van and buckled up, I decided to do something I'd never done before.

I mean, heck, he was my last customer. Might as well, right?

“Would you prefer to see more listings that don't exactly fit your preferences,” I asked him, “to get a feel for what's available? There are more I can show you a few blocks farther out. Or would you rather I take you to the one close by I think you'll like best?”

Connor Allen laughed. “Good for you. I like someone who's honest and direct. I'm the same way.” He leaned back in his seat. “Take me to the one I'll like.”

I did, and when we passed First Baptist, then Miss Mamie's, I pointed them out.

“Wow,” he said, scanning our house as we drove by. “You live in a mansion.” He didn't even seem to notice the bathtub on our verandah, which was a definite plus.

“As you can see,” I told him when we turned onto the crushed-granite driveway next door, “it's very convenient to the church. Just a few blocks' walk on our fancy new sidewalks.”

In the short time since Julia had alerted Jerry, he'd gotten the grass cut and edged, and had had someone touch up the subtle blue exterior and white trim. The mature plantings in the yard had been trimmed, and the giant oak behind the house shaded it from the morning sun.

Connor Allen leaned forward and took it all in through the windshield as if he were looking at the original Ark of the Covenant.

“What do you think so far?” I asked.

“It's perfect,” he said. “I like to garden a bit, so the yard is great. Not too big, not too small.”

“It's on a third of an acre.” I braked, then killed the engine. “The only downside is, the builder who redid it consolidated three small bedrooms into two larger ones with better closet space and two baths.” I let that sink in. “Still interested?”

He nodded, getting out as I did, then followed me to the Chinese-red front door.

Connor Allen brightened as I put the key into the lock. “Energy-efficient doors and windows. I like.”

“And new formaldehyde-free foam insulation,” I added, turning the key. “It's all energy efficient, from the Euro hot water system with a proper baffle, to the appliances.” I pushed open the door and stepped back. “Go in and check it out.”

Connor Allen walked in as if he were entering a fairy tale. “Wow. This is exactly what I hoped for. Exactly.” He shook his head, grinning. “Déjà vu all over again.”

You had to like a man who quoted Yogi Berra.

Connor Allen just kept hugging the house with his gaze.

I followed him inside. “There's a large storage closet beyond the kitchen that can be easily converted to a laundry. I could have estimates for you in a couple of days from good local people.”

He noted the built-in bookshelves that took up the whole north wall of the open living area, with a large space in the shelving for a big TV. “Plenty of room for my library and sermons.”

He stepped into the office-turned-master bedroom. “Wow. Space for my big bed and a dresser.” He opened the walk-in closet. “Wow. My stuff will get lost in here.”

“There's a small attic, as well,” I told him. “Fully insulated and vented.”

He glanced into the roomy bathroom. “A separate tub that looks like I could actually fit into it, and a tall shower. Perfect.”

I wouldn't mind having a tub like that, myself. Jerry had found an old, extra long and deep ball-and-claw-foot tub, then had it restored like new, with a shining chrome hand shower and taps that must have cost at least seven hundred, wholesale.

Connor Allen turned around and grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “I'll take it.”

I had to make sure this wasn't a whim he'd later regret. “You haven't even seen the other bedroom or asked how much it is.”

“How much it is?” he shot back.

Witty. Another plus. “Ninety-nine, five.”

“Twenty-five thousand under budget.” He scrubbed his hands together. “Perfect. That will leave me plenty left over to get a new mattress and set up the laundry. And pay a yard service.” He stuck out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Give me a contract, quick, before somebody else snaps it up.”

“We can do that back at the office. But I can nail this down with a phone call.” I pulled out my terrorist phone and scrolled to Jerry's number, then hit the call button.

He answered right away. “Hey, there, chickadee. What you got me?”

“I sold your house next to Mama's. Asking price, cash, contingent only on inspection. What do you say?”

“Hot dang,” he bellowed. “When do they want to close?”

I turned the phone to my shoulder and asked Connor Allen, “When would you like to close?”

“As soon as it passes inspection,” Connor Allen said, still soaking in the details of his new house.

“As soon as the inspection clears,” I told Jerry.

“Haw,” he said in delight. “It'll clear, all right. I took that place back down to the studs. Fumigated it, remediated any mold, vented and damp-proofed the crawl space, repaired all the damage, then insulated the schmoo out of it. New wiring, new plumbing, new furnace, new roof, new AC, and appliances. It'll pass with flyin' colors.”

“Good. We'll use Tyler Baskin for the inspection.” Dreaded as a deal-buster by sellers, Tyler knew his stuff and rarely missed a thing.

“Bring it on,” Jerry said, still in good humor. “Let me know when he's comin', and we'll schedule the closin' for the next day.” As always, Jerry didn't waste any time beating around the bush.

“I'll let you know soon as I reach him,” I promised.

Jerry went on, “You got you a deal, sugar, and for gittin' that off my hands so quick, I'm gonna pay you and Julia an eight percent commission.”

With Jerry, we usually charged only five, but I was in no position to turn down any money. “That's very generous. Thank you. I'll bring the contract over this afternoon.”

“You do that.” As an afterthought, he added, “Who's yer buyer?”

“Connor Allen, the new minister of First Baptist.”

“Married?” he asked, his tone sharpening.

“No,” I answered.

Jerry burst out laughing. “Well, if that don't beat all. Single, and right next door. Way to go, Linnie.”

I hated to be called Linnie. And I would have corrected his misconception, but he was the seller, so I let it pass.
Please don't let everybody else in town think the same thing,
I prayed, even though I knew they would. Mary Lou Perkins would see to it.

“Bye.” I hung up, then turned to Connor Allen. “You've got yourself a house.”

It would be all over town by midnight that I had sold the gorgeous, divorced new Baptist minister the house next to mine.

What would come of it remained to be seen.

Frankly, I liked the idea of having Connor Allen as my next-door neighbor.

If only he wasn't a
Baptist.

Never mind that I had been a Baptist, too. That was only true because God has a wicked sense of humor.

 

Ten

The next morning at the diner, I found the place abuzz. A bunch of regulars up front waved and smiled as I came in. Some even congratulated me on the sale.

No privacy in this town, I swear.

The little person/midget at the lunch bar motioned me over to whisper, “Ya think there's any sin left in that new guy? 'Cause if there is, give him this.” She tucked a business card with her name and phone number into my hand, then winked. “He won't be my first Baptist minister, and he won't be my last.”