Relentless (15 page)

Jill's legs just wouldn't cooperate. In her mind, she was sprinting. In reality she had barely cleared the back side of the church. She had to speed up. As she cut around the corner, bam, Jill ran right into an older-looking short guy. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she stammered, avoiding eye contact and trying to push around him.

“Wait a minute, miss,” he said stepping in front of her. She shifted to the left and he matched her step. She moved back to the right determined to get past him. He shifted in the same direction, as if they were dancing.

“Excuse me, but I have to get by you,” she said very agitated.

“Who are you and what are you doing behind the church?”

Her nerves were screaming, the adrenaline flowing. “Nothing,” she said kind of loud. Fear was speaking, and she didn't seem to have control.

“Listen, young lady, you better start talking or I'm calling the police,” he demanded pulling a cell phone from his pocket.

“No, wait,” she yelled reaching for the phone as he pulled back. Visions of her children's welfare overtook her. She couldn't get locked up. She just couldn't. What would happen to them?

“Were you breaking into the church?”

“No,” she said. “I was meeting with Bishop Jones. He asked me to come to the church and I did. That's why I'm here.”

“This late and you expect me to believe that story?” he said practically laughing in her face.

“You don't have to believe me. Go in the church and check for yourself. He has on a dark blue suit with a blue and white striped tie and a baby blue shirt.” Jill's nerves settled. She wasn't afraid to tell the truth. Neither Bishop nor Minister Simmons was worth sacrificing her children. She'd give up their names and anyone else's if necessary.

Jill could tell the guy wasn't quite sure if she was lying but he seemed more interested in what she had to say the more they spoke.

“Why would you be meeting with the bishop this late in the rear of the church?”

His accusatory tone didn't bother her. She was sticking with the truth and leaving it at that. “Why do you want to know? Who are you?”

The little man pushed his chest out and said, “I'm Deacon Burton.”

“Deacon Burton, I'm telling you the truth.”

“Then why are you in such a rush to get away? Why don't you go with me and we can see Bishop Jones together. Maybe he can tell me why you're here.”

“I wouldn't mind doing that but not tonight,” she said staring at her watch. “I have to get home to my children. My babysitter isn't going to keep them much longer.”

“I'm no dummy, young lady. I'm not going to let you steal from the church and get away with it. Either you come in with me or I'm calling the police,” he said reaching for the phone again.

Anxiety rising she blurted out, “I wasn't stealing. If you want to find out what's going on, talk to Bishop Jones or, better yet, ask Minister Simmons about Jill. He's the real thief here.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her world was spinning. Acts she'd committed with Minister Simmons meshed with embarrassment and desperation. It was too much. At that precise moment she just didn't desire to keep the secret anymore. Maybe it was the excruciating pain roaring around her spine or the weight of humiliation pushing her words out. “He's the reason I'm here. He's the one who made me sell the drugs.”

“What drugs? Who made you sell them? What are you talking about?”

“Minister Simmons made me help him sell prescription meds.”

“Do you mean drugs or medication?”

“Meds, drugs, it's all the same.” He seemed confused but sincere. She had no reason to trust him or anyone from Greater Metropolitan. Intuition told Jill he was different. She was tired and had to believe someone could help her. Maybe Deacon Burton was the man.

“Does Bishop know about this?”

“Yes.”

He dropped his gaze and clapped his hands together. “It's very late, and there's no need to keep standing out here. You can go on your way.”

“Does this mean you believe me?”

“Shoot, that's a tough story to believe, and I sure hope you're lying. It would be much simpler if you were a common thief trying to cover up your crime, but I don't know.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Go and talk with Bishop Jones and get to the bottom of this, that's what I'm going to do.”

Jill glanced at her watch once again. She had five minutes to walk a distance that would normally take fifteen. She snatched a crumbled piece of paper from her purse and scribbled her phone number. “Here,” she said shoving the paper into his hand. “I'm Jill. Go ahead and ask him about me. When you find out I'm telling the truth, please call me if you can help me out of this situation. I'm tired and I need somebody's help. Somebody in this big old church has to be genuine. Maybe it's you. I don't know, but I'm out of options.”

Reluctantly he took the paper, glanced over the writing, and shoved it into his pocket. Jill breathed a sigh of relief, glad he hadn't tossed the paper away. Hey, maybe there was a chance he'd help. Her hope meter rose, then reality set in. He probably wasn't going to help but she was encouraged if for only a few minutes.

That woman must be crazy.
That's what Deacon Burton wanted to believe, but there was an inkling which didn't sit right. His mama used to call it “following his first mind,” which basically equated to going with the feeling in his gut that told him what was right. He meandered toward the rear door of the church, meditating on the woman's words. It would have been nice to discount her. After all, there were plenty of trifling characters in the neighborhood who were out to get whatever they could. Robbing a church wasn't out of the question, but there was something about how she said what she said that rang true. He didn't want to believe her, but it was his responsibility as a man of God to find out.

He reached for the door handle and went to pull on it as Bishop Jones was pushing it open simultaneously.

“Deacon, oh my, you scared me, man, coming in this late,” Bishop Jones said, letting out a deep sigh and then straightening his blue striped tie.

“I could say the same thing. You sure scared me too. I didn't expect to find anybody here this late,” he said. “It's after eleven o'clock.”

The bishop looked off to the side. “Yes, I had some business to handle.”

Deacon Burton looked squarely at Bishop Jones. “I didn't know there were any business meetings at church tonight. I must have missed this one,” the deacon said, not ready to hastily draw any conclusions. There was a good reason for Bishop to be at the church, and he'd give his spiritual father enough respect to explain.

“You didn't miss anything,” Bishop said patting Deacon across his shoulder. “It was a small meeting.”

“With the woman that I met outside?”

Bishop jerked his neck around. “What woman?”

“Uh, Jill, I believe it was.” Deacon reached for the paper in his pocket, the one with her name and number, and at the last minute decided not to pull it out. “I ran into her as she was leaving, and I was coming in.”

“Jill huh, well yes,” the bishop answered straightening his tie again even though it didn't appear out of place. The bishop's voice dropped as he continued. “Ms. Smith was here for counseling.”

“This late and with you by yourself?” The bishop nodded in affirmation. “That's not so good, Bishop. It can be dangerous around here at night. Why couldn't she come during the day?”

“She said something about her kids and a sitter. She was reluctant to talk about her challenges. The two of us meeting one-on-one was best. All I know is that she needs help, and I'm going to make sure she gets it.”

“Meet with you, humph. She says you wanted to meet with her.”

“Jill is clearly going through a tough situation and needs help. Hopefully I can counsel her through this. I really do want to help her.”

“Don't you worry about it, Bishop. I'll get her signed up with one of the church mothers tomorrow. She will get as much counseling and prayers she can handle.”

“No,” the bishop called out.

Deacon Burton was surprised to see Bishop Jones react so negatively to such a basic suggestion. New members coming into the church with heavy problems were always assigned to the mothers and deacons of the church. This Jill lady might not be new, but he'd never seen her before and assumed she was. Deacon Burton refused to believe what she had told him, but Bishop Jones had to come up with a better story soon; otherwise truth was bound to lean her way. “I don't mean any disrespect, Bishop, but why are you so wound up over this woman?” He hated to ask but had no choice. “You aren't into anything with her that would create a problem for the church, are you?”

Bishop Jones's eyelids squinted as he reared back on his heels. “Absolutely not, Deacon Burton. I'm disappointed you even felt the need to ask me. You know me better, Deacon, at least I thought you did.” Bishop fell into a chair situated not too far from the door.

“Look, I'm sorry, but I don't know what to think. You're here so late and alone, and a strange woman comes running out of the church, practically in the middle of the night, claiming she was with you.”

Bishop closed his eyelids briefly. “You can't believe everything you hear or see for that matter. It's not what you think, trust me. It's not what you think.”

He hoped not, but admittedly Deacon Burton wasn't convinced. The woman had proven her case better than his senior pastor had.

Bishop Jones stood. “I have to get home. It's terribly late and my wife will be worried.” He plucked a set of keys from his pocket. “After thirty-eight years, she won't go to sleep unless I'm at her side. For my wife's sake, I'm gone,” he said pushing the door open and holding it for a few seconds. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

“I think so.”

“By the way, why are you here so late?” Bishop Jones inquired holding his keys in one hand and patting Deacon Burton on the shoulder with the other.

“I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get a head start on some of the financial reports for next month's business meeting.”

“Okay then, I'll see you Sunday.”

Bishop told Deacon good night and left not only the building, but also a list of questions. Deacon's gut was talking and it wasn't telling a good story. He walked toward the offices. Each step was laced with an unpleasant feeling gnawing at him. He was loaded with doubt, which generated more questions, especially about why the woman was there so late. Bishop Jones's answer didn't make sense. Deacon knew it and he suspected his bishop did too.

The church was empty. Bishop was gone. The woman, Jill, was gone. That could have been the end of it, but instead, Deacon Burton decided to check out a few things before doing anything. He picked up his pace more determined to get to the office.

 

 

A week passed and then another and another. Deacon Burton was buried in preparing the church's financial documents for the bank loan. He didn't believe in the church taking on such large amounts of debt but there wasn't much he could do. Bishop Jones and the board approved it, and he wasn't going to complain. There was too much to do in the church and in the community to spend energy bickering over decisions that had already been made. So long as he kept his hand in God's, Deacon Burton was absolutely confident everything would work out.

He popped the latches on his briefcase open and paused. Jill Smith's name scribbled on the paper screamed out to him. It was as if she wouldn't let him get any farther into the stack of papers unless he addressed her first.
Nonsense,
he thought shoving the card to the side and continuing his pursuit of last year's income statement. He paused again, scratched at his beard, and then got up. Ignoring his curiosity hadn't made it go away in nearly a month. There was only one way to rid his mind of Jill's accusations, and it wasn't getting answers from Bishop Jones. He'd already tried that route and failed miserably.

“Can you get me logged into the contributions database?” he asked the church's financial recorder. Only four people had the access code for the church's contribution records: the recorder, auditor, Minister of Finance, and Bishop Jones. Asking either of them might have led to more questions, ones he preferred avoiding.

“Sure,” she said having no clue about what he was getting ready to do. The recorder should have told him no but thank goodness she didn't.

Once she got him set up, Deacon Burton went straight to the list of tithes, offerings, and other donations paid over the past months. He typed in Simmons, which brought up twenty-five names. He scrolled through the list until the cursor reached Otis. Deacon Burton placed his finger on the screen and traced across the line, month by month. He reached for his reading glasses to be sure he was reading the amounts correctly.

“Wow, you look so serious,” the recorder commented walking past the deacon.

“I'm just checking a few numbers,” he said, not drawing attention to exactly what he was doing. Nobody needed to know, not now and hopefully not ever. After reviewing three months of donations, his fear was growing. $1,200 in January, $1,600 in February, $1,500 more in March, and that was enough for Deacon Burton to sit up and take his glasses off. He fingered through his beard attempting to put a positive spin on what he was seeing. No reasonable explanation came forward. “Thanks for your help,” he told the church recorder. “You can log me out.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

“More than I was looking for,” he said without letting his somber feeling show. He schlepped back to his office and got his briefcase.

He couldn't stop wondering where in the world Simmons got so much money. From what he remembered, the junior minister worked a modest job as a security guard for a housing development in the city. Deacon Burton didn't know the exact amount of Simmons's salary. At the rate of ten percent for tithing, Simmons would have to make about $12,000 a month to justify his level of giving. Deacon Burton was pretty sure the city wasn't paying Simmons nearly that kind of money.

The deacon buried his forehead in the palm of his hand. The inkling had converted to facts and facts to a major concern. He pulled the piece of crumpled paper from the briefcase and pressed it out flat on the desk. Jill may have been telling the truth. His flesh said ignore what he'd found, go home, and have dinner with his wife and two sons. Leave the church business to the church folks. The rationale could have worked, except he was the church. Not just as a member of Greater Metropolitan, but as the larger body of Christ. He was appointed to handle the church finances and to operate with integrity. If there was a suspicion of wrongdoing, he had to point it out, no matter who got exposed from the bishop on down. He slammed the briefcase shut and tucked the paper into his pants pocket, not sure what to do next. He had to act, acknowledging that his first allegiance was to God and the church. He had to do something but what?