The Oldest Sin (11 page)

Placing a finger against his lips, Lavinia said, “Not here, honey. Tomorrow. At our business breakfast.” Her eyes moved from face to face. “You’re all welcome. Even Sophie and Adelle. I don’t know why the two of you haven’t joined my remarkable organization, but that doesn’t prevent me from inviting you to this unveiling.”

Bunny sank into a leather armchair. “What… unveiling?”

‘Tomorrow,” whispered Lavinia, giving her a confidential wink. “Now, I think my new marriage calls for another toast. Does everyone have champagne?”

Sophie walked over to the table and poured a glass for Peter.

“To our marriage,” said Lavinia, smiling seductively at her new husband. ‘To the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

As she took a sip of wine Sophie felt a tear come to her eye. Sometimes she was such a sucker for sentiment she even appalled herself.

“I’d like to propose another toast,” said Bunny. Her face had grown flushed.

Sophie wondered if she wasn’t a little drunk.

“I think we’ve forgotten someone tonight. Someone who should have been here.”

“Who’s that?” asked Cindy.

“Ginger Pomejay,” said Bunny, spilling her wine as she held her glass aloft. “If it hadn’t been for that horrible disease, we’d still have her with us.”

“Ginger didn’t die of any disease,” said Lavinia, under her breath.

“Excuse me?” said Sophie. “What did you say?”

Lavinia straightened the neck of her dress and replied, “Ginger didn’t die of cancer.”

“But… of course she did. We all saw it. We were there.”

“It wasn’t cancer,” said Lavinia flatly.

“Then what did she die of?” asked Adelle, looking visibly shaken.

“Look, I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have said anything. Not yet.”

“But you did,” said Sophie, feeling more than a little indignant that Lavinia could let something like that slip, and then refuse to comment further.

Leaning back against the couch cushions, Lavinia said, “She was murdered. That’s all I can tell you — for now.”

Sophie was horrified. “But —”

“Listen,” said Lavinia, cutting her off. She gave everyone a hard look. “I won’t take back what I said. I can’t, because it’s the truth. Before I leave Minnesota, I’m going to find the proof I’ve been looking for. And when I do, I promise, you people will be the first to hear the real story.”

Isaac Knox sat on a chair in his hotel room, feet propped up on the coffee table, staring out the window. It was nearly eleven. A few stars were visible in the night sky, though the downtown buildings obscured most of his view. He knew he should get out his laptop and begin preparing his notes for tomorrow morning’s sermon, yet he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Too much had happened today. Too many problems weighed heavily on his mind.

Isaac had been gone from the hotel since early morning. He’d been in meetings mostly. All over the city. Important contacts had to be made. Plans finalized. During these past few months, his life had taken on the quality of a spy film. It wasn’t a role that came naturally to him. He didn’t like all the sneaking around, the whispered conversations. And yet Howell Purdis had left him no other choice.

Even though he felt a bit sorry for himself as he thought of his wife at home in St. Louis, he was still glad he hadn’t allowed her — or his kids — to accompany him to the Twin Cities. Tabernacles Week, indeed, all of die church festivals, no longer held the same importance they once had. The next few days would be hard — probably the hardest of his life. He had to spend some time tonight in prayer, seeking God’s guidance and strength. He knew he needed both desperately. He also needed a clear head and a pragmatic mind. The end didn’t necessarily justify the means,

yet he
had
to reach his goal. If someone got hurt along the way, well, perhaps it was God’s will. Who could say?

Stretching his arms high above his head to release some of his pent-up tension, he rose and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the edge and switching on the light.

On the nightstand next to him, the phone rang.

This was entirely too late for anyone to be calling, thought Isaac. He’d already spoken to his wife. There wasn’t a single other person on earth he wanted to talk to right now. Picking up the receiver, he said hello, knowing his voice sounded gruff and unfriendly.

“Isaac? Is that you?” asked another deep voice.

“Yes?”

“It’s Hugh Purdis. I need to talk to you right away.”

Leaning back against the pillow, he said, “It’s kind of late, Hugh. Maybe we could talk in the morning.”

“No. It has to be now.” Silence. “Can I come up?”

“Where are you?” asked Isaac wearily. Surely there must be some way he could put him off until morning.

“Downstairs in the bar.”

“It’s the Sabbath, man. What are you thinking? There could be other church members around.”

“I … had to get out of my hotel suite. The walls were closing in on me.”

Isaac could well understand that. “Where are Adelle and your father now?”

“Dad’s asleep. And Adelle had a reunion tonight. Some of her old friends from college are here.”

Isaac’s brow furrowed. “Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs. But I want to make it quick.”

“No. I think it would be better if I came up. I need to talk to you privately.”

In other words, thought Isaac, he didn’t want to be seen. A report might get back to his father. “All right,” he said slowly, realizing he was curious what Hugh might have to say. “Do you know my room number?”

“I’ll be right up.”

The line clicked.

Ten minutes later Hugh and Isaac sat staring at each other across the dimly lit hotel room, each sipping somewhat uncomfortably from a glass of mineral water. Isaac didn’t drink, though he knew just about everyone else in the Church of the Firstborn did. It was the one perceived vice Howell Purdis allowed his flock. If Jesus could turn water into wine, people should be allowed to drink it.

“So,” said Isaac, deciding to get the ball rolling. “What can I do for you?”

Hugh didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared down into his glass, swirling the ice around and around. It was the only sound in the quiet room.

Isaac found the noise irritating. Why didn’t he just get to the point?

“Have you talked to my father today?” asked Hugh finally, attempting to focus his eyes. His words sounded slurred.

So, thought Isaac. The game of cat and mouse had begun. As soon as Hugh had walked in the door, Isaac could tell he’d had too much to drink. “No,” he said calmly, wondering in a vague, incurious sort of way whether people who drank too much knew how pathetic they seemed to people who didn’t. “I was gone all day. Though I did get the messages he left for me at the front desk.”

“Did he say what he wanted to talk to you about?”

Isaac shrugged. “Not really. Just that it was important. That I should contact him as soon as I got in.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, Hugh. I didn’t.”

Hugh’s eyes shot to the minibar. “Have you got anything stronger than this?” He held up his drink.

Hugh had put on weight in the last few years. Isaac decided now that it was probably because of his drinking. “Help yourself,” he said curtly. “The key’s in the door.”

Lurching slightly, Hugh pushed himself out of his chair and removed a small bottle of vodka from the refrigerator. After returning to his seat, he unscrewed the cap and dumped the entire contents into the mineral water. “That’s better,” he said, taking several long sips. His eyes seemed to lose focus again as his gaze drifted out the window.

Isaac was becoming impatient. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired. If there’s a point, get to it.”

“Fair enough. I assume you know Arthur Lebrasseur?”

“Sure. He’s my new assistant.”

“This morning my father came to me with a report Arthur had just submitted to him. In it, he detailed all of your doctrinal heresy. Everything, Isaac. From your stand on the Levitical laws of clean and unclean meats, all the way down to your humanistic sermons. Nothing was left out.”

Of course, thought Isaac. It was instantly clear to him what had been happening. When Lebrasseur had been transferred from the Canadian office so quickly and pressed upon him with such enthusiasm, Isaac smelled a rat. Or more specifically, he smelled the hand of Howell Purdis. Yet Arthur had played his part well. He’d convinced Isaac that he was a friend — even a potential ally. An infiltrator in the guise of an assistant was a masterstroke indeed.

“You knew, didn’t you?” said Hugh, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I suspected I was being watched. I didn’t know it was Arthur. He’s a good actor.”

Hugh nodded. “There’s no point in sugarcoating this. You’re finished. As of tomorrow morning, you will no longer be a minister in God’s church.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. My father plans to disfellowship you. He would have done it today, but the two of you never connected.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down. “It’s been coming for a long time. You and I both know that.”

“As long as you were in charge of the field ministry, I thought I was safe.”

Hugh’s head popped up. His face hardened as he said the words, “I’ve been removed.”

“I see. Daddy get sick of your management style? Benign neglect does smack of laziness. That was never Howell’s way.”

“I’ve saved your ass more than once,” said Hugh angrily.

“As I’ve saved yours.”

“Right. We’ve been friends. For a long time. I care about you. I always have. You’re a good minister and I value that, you know I do. But there’s no way I can help you now.”

You may be surprised, thought Isaac, though he had the sense not to say it out loud. “What are you going to do now that your father no longer needs you to manage the field ministry?”

“I don’t know,” said Hugh, finishing his drink. “Knowing him, he’ll probably give me the position back tomorrow morning.”

“Or forget he ever fired you.”

“Yeah. That’s possible.”

Isaac sat back, folding one leg over the other. He had to proceed with caution. “Hugh, as much as you may not want to admit this even to yourself, your father is losing it. You and I both know it’s true. Sooner or later everyone else in the church will know it as well. It won’t be long before he has to step down.”

“He’ll never do that.
Never.
They’d have to pry his hands off the pulpit.”

“Maybe. Still…” He gave Hugh a second before continuing. “Have you ever thought of forcing him out? Taking over the reins of the church yourself? Forming a coalition with some of the other ministers who now see Howell Purdis as a liability?”

Hugh shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.

“I don’t believe you. In any case, if his behavior becomes too bizarre, and you really
do
care what happens to the church, you may have no other choice.”

“I can’t think about that.”

“Why? Because you’re a coward?”

“No! You of all people should understand. If I failed, if Father retained his position, my son would lose his chance to one day head the church. Father would be so angry at me, it would spill over onto Joshua. I can’t do that to him. I simply can’t.”

So, thought Isaac. That was his answer. “Well,” he said, rising and turning on the light next to him. “I think it’s time we call it a night.” He moved quickly over to the door, hoping Hugh would get the point He wanted to be alone now. Time for talk was over.

Setting his glass down on the coffee table, Hugh stood. “I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad tidings. I… thought someone should at least warn you.”

“I appreciate it” Isaac opened the door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

“I hope this doesn’t come as too big a blow.”

“I’ll survive.”

Hugh held Isaac’s eyes for a long moment and then peered carefully into die hallway, looking both ways down the silent corridor. “Night,” he whispered with a jerky wave.

Isaac stood for another couple of seconds, watching his old friend’s lumbering frame disappear around the corner. What a useless human being, he thought to himself, feeling a sudden sadness.

Then again, he had to be pragmatic. If someone needed to be sacrificed, better Hugh than him.

Lavinia woke the next morning to the sound of running water. Peter was humming in the bathroom as he took his shower. Easing back into the pillows, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the remembrance of last night’s lovemaking. Peter had been so passionate, saying how much he missed her during the few days they’d been apart. Lavinia felt the same way. To her, Peter was like a walking hot fudge sundae. She couldn’t get enough of him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She wondered if he knew how happy he’d made her. She hoped she made him feel the same way.