The red church (24 page)

She smiled to herself as she followed Frank up the steps. This
will show him.
She blinked. The rope was gone.

She gazed up into the small hole that led to the belfry. Nothing. Had someone pulled it up? If so, whoever it was would still be up there. They would have seen anybody running from the church. Frank had his hands on his hips, looking at her.

"I swear. There was a rope here."

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

"I'm serious. Give me a boost up to that hole."

The sheriff shook his head. "No way in hell, Sheila. The last time I did that, I lost a brother. I'm not about to lose you."

She balled her fists. "Damn it, I saw a rope. Are you going to tell me one of your ghosts tied it to the bell?"

"There's no rope."

"Do you think I imagined it? That I'm catching whatever craziness seems to be spreading around these parts?"

The sheriff sighed. "Look, maybe I've been a fool. Forget all that crap about the ghosts. If I really be-lieved in ghosts, why would I bother to investigate the case?"

"Because you're the sheriff. You
have
to act like you know what you're doing."

"You're not going up in the belfry."

"There's no way
you're
going to fit. One of us has to look. We can't just sit back and cower while people keep getting murdered."

Sheila grabbed two of the coatrack pegs and pulled herself up, then positioned one foot against the doorknob. If the murderer was dumb enough to play stupid tricks, he was just begging to be caught. She wondered if she should draw her revolver, but her hands were occupied. If the murderer was wait-ing with a weapon . . .

She poked her head through the belfry, her anger giving her strength despite the poor grip she had on the wood.

Nothing.

Nothing in the belfry but a cold, tarnished cast-iron bell. A few leaves skittered in the breeze, caught in the corners since last autumn. Nothing else.

After a moment she jumped down, the impact jar-ring her knees. Frank caught her and helped her regain her balance. Their eyes met at the contact and they both looked away.

"Satisfied?" asked the sheriff.

"I swear I saw a rope," she said, failing to convince even herself.
Had
she seen it?

Well, at least there was the blood. That was real enough. She vividly recalled the texture of the coagu-lated flakes. Good, hard forensic evidence, with none of the problems caused by haunted eyewitnesses.

She brushed past Frank and hurried to the rail The blood was gone.

"So where's this blood?" Frank asked when he caught up with her.

She stared at her hand, thinking of that Shake-speare play.
Out, out, damned spot.
Had she imagined it, just as Lady Macbeth had?

"It was right here," she whispered.

"Maybe it was ghost's blood."

From the windows, shafts of sunlight sliced across the church. Golden dust spun slowly in the air. Wood and nails and stone and glass. The building, the walls, waited.

"Are you ready to call in the SBI?" Frank asked after an awkward stretch of silence.

"Why? So they can certify me as insane as every-body else in these mountains?" She went outside and sat on the church steps, alone with her confusion.

Linda drove up the narrow dirt road that led to Mama Bet's house. The driveway became so rutted that she had to park along the fence beside the other cars. She walked the last hundred yards, up the hill to a little glen in the forest. She heard the music before she saw the house. Sounded like a fiddle and a guitar playing "Fox on the Run."

Mama Bet's house was one of the oldest struc-tures in Whispering Pines, and generations of McFalls had been born, grew old, and died behind those warped gray walls. It was a perfect place for a good old-fashioned revival, away from the snooping eyes of the cops and those brownnosers from Barkersville. It was only fitting that the church members congregate here. After all
,
besides Archer, Mama Bet was the last of her line. Though Linda had always thought the old woman was strange, a little bit haughty and holier-than-thou.

Lester Matheson had brought his four-wheel-drive truck all the way up to the house. The truck was parked under a half-dead apple tree. Two of the Buchanan sisters sat on the sidewalls, moonfaced and dull-eyed. The oldest wore a red plastic clip in her greasy hair.

A goat was tied to the apple tree, browsing along the banks of the creek. The goat stared at Linda, its dark eyes knowing and cold. It sniffed the air. The goat's jaws worked sideways, then it shook the flies from its ears and dipped its head back to the brush.

Jim Potter and Stepford Matheson continued their counterpoint melody on guitar and fiddle. Vivian, Lester's wife, sat in a rocker beside them, tapping her toe in time to the music. Rudy Buchanan stood at one end of the porch, nodding his head, though he was about a halfbeat off the rhythm. Sonny Absher leaned against a corner post, smok-ing a cigarette. His eyes moved to the woods behind the house, then fixed on Linda. "You're late," he said, smoke drifting through his ragged mustache as he spoke.

"I got here as soon as I could."

"The reverend don't like people to be late."

"Archer says, 'Everything in God's good time,' brother," she answered. The Abshers were a bunch of inbred ignorants, and Sonny was the worst of the lot. That was one of the things that burned her up about some of her neighbors: they were on the doorstep to heaven here in Archer's mountains, but instead of reveling in the glory, they lived off food stamps and bootlegging and selling the occasional beef steer. Archer would cleanse them, though. She could hardly wait. She entered the house without knocking. Mama Bet sat in an overstuffed armchair, a shawl over her lap. Her lower legs were thick-veined below the hem of her dress. The woman smelled of smoke and salt, like a cured ham.

"Hi, Mama Bet." Linda bent and kissed the woman's cheek.

"Hey, honey. How's that man of yours coming along?"

"Not real good. I was hoping he would see the light and be spared, but—" The old woman cut her off with a hard look, her eyes misted by cataracts. "Ain't for us to decide such as that."

Linda lowered her head.

"Only Archer knows the proper time and place for each man's death," Mama Bet continued. "
You
ain't the one turned David into a sinner, are you? You ain't the one packed him off to the Baptist church when he was a boy and too young to know any better. So Jesus is to blame for leading David astray, not you."

"Amen to that," said Nell Absher. Her husband Haywood nodded in solemn agreement. Their daughter Noreen went to the window and looked out over the clouded mountains.

"Here come Hank and Beulah," Noreen said.

"Good," said Mama Bet. "Is that everybody?"

Becca Faye Greene came in from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand. She gave it to Mama Bet and stood beside the old woman's chair. She flashed a smug smile at Linda.

Becca Faye was a Potter by blood, but had married and kept the Greene name after her husband ran off to Minnesota. She was part of Archer's circle back in high school, but had chickened out when Archer asked her to help found the Temple in California. Since Archer had returned, Becca Faye was doing ev-erything in her power to stay in the reverend's good graces, perhaps to make up for her earlier betrayal. Or perhaps for something more. Becca Faye's blouse was low-cut, and she was flashing enough cleav-age to earn her a severe spiritual cleansing. Linda had seen the way Becca Faye had sidled up to Archer at last night's service. She wondered if the woman had had better luck than Linda in Archer's parked van.

Jealousy. One of the greatest sins of all. Forgive me, Archer.

"Call them on in," said Mama Bet. She put the coffee cup to her wrinkled lips and took a sip. One of the Mathesons went outside, and the music stopped. The others filed in, silent Potters, Abshers, Mathesons, Buchanans, and two Greggs, both Linda's cousins. One of them met her eyes, then turned away in shame.

Linda wanted to shout,
There will come great trials, cousin. Archer says sacrifice is the true test of faith.
Donna needed cleansing as much as anybody.

But she kept her tongue. No words would bring Donna back from the dead. Except perhaps Archer's words.

About thirty people packed the living room, lined along the stone hearth and against the corner cup-board, filling the kitchen entrance. Some of the Mathesons skulked in the hall, looking into the room over Lester's shoulders. Mama Bet scanned the wait-ing faces. She worked her mouth in approval.

"You all know why we're here," she began. "The time's almost upon us. We prayed for the return, and now He's returned. We have all sinned and come short of the glory of heaven. Our ancestors came unto these mountains to worship in peace, but then their hearts turned hard and cold and went to Jesus. We thought saying 'I'm sorry' would make all the old sins go away."

The assembled crowd grew silent at the mention of that foul name, Jesus. Linda's stomach clenched in anger. Mama Bet nodded in appreciation of their revulsion, then continued.

"We got away from all the good things we wor-shiped," she said. "We strayed from the one true path. We needed the savior to return and deliver us from evil. So God sent Archer into the world of us mortals. And God punished us by making our seed go barren and letting our families die out, punishing the sinners unto the fourth generation."

"Amen," said Lester, and a smattering of others echoed the sentiment.

"We are wicked," said Mama Bet.

"Amen," said Haywood and Nell in unison. Hay-wood adjusted the knot of his red silk tie.

"We deserve God's wrath," the old woman said, her voice trembling as it increased in volume. Becca Faye raised her hands and threw back her head. "There will come great trials." The woman's breasts swelled against the fabric of her blouse as she arched her back. Linda sneered, wondering who the hussy was showing off for. Archer wasn't here, and God could care less. The air in the room was electric, thick with the odor of sweat and tension. "Some of us have suffered loss," Mama Bet said.

Linda looked at her cousins. They lowered their heads. The Potters also looked at each other. Old Alma Potter, Zeb's sister, choked on a sob.

"But don't mourn those who have gone before," Mama Bet said, finding her rhythm. "Sacrifice is the currency of God. It's part of Archer's work. We'll all have to make sacrifices before it's done." Mama Bet's eyes brimmed with tears. Archer was her son, the last of the McFalls. Linda knew that all the families had suffered losses. But the losses were justified, because all of them, the Greggs, Abshers, Potters, Buchanans, and Mathesons, were touched with sin. All of them had a hand in the murder of Wendell McFall.

"What do we do about the sheriff?" Lester asked. The room grew quiet. Mama Bet clutched the worn arms of her chair. Her fingers crooked as if she were suffering a spasm of pain. "Archer can deal with the sheriff."

"There's others that are against the church," said Becca Faye, staring at Linda. Linda's face flushed with anger and shame. "He's my husband. The Old Testament says to honor your husband."

Not that you would know about honoring a husband. The only thing you honor is whatever big-spending
cowboy picks you up at Gulpin' Gulch on Friday night.

"What about your boys?" Becca Faye said, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure at Linda's discomfort. The other members of the congregation looked on with interest. Ronnie and Tim were the youngest descen-dants of the families that had committed deicide more than a century ago. Linda looked out the window, at the trees green in the sun, at the dark ridges, at the creek winding be-tween the slopes toward the river. She wished she had stayed in California. Then Ronnie and Tim would have never been born. But she couldn't imagine a life without them, even a life spent in Archer's divine arms.

"I pray for Archer's mercy," Linda finally said. Becca Faye had no response to that simple plea. Sonny Absher broke the silence. "They got to pay like everybody else."

"But they're innocent," Linda said, angry now.

"Ain't nobody innocent"

Especially you,
Linda thought, but she shouldn't pass judgment on a fellow sinner. All were equal in the eyes of Archer. All were equally guilty, and all would pay the same price.

No, not exactly the same price. Sonny would lose only his own miserable life. Linda was more than ready to give Archer her life if that was required to complete his sacred work. She even understood that David would have to die if he insisted on interfering. But the boys . . .

The boys shouldn't have to pay for sins that only barely touched them. Their blood was nearly pure. But so had Isaac's blood been pure, and Abraham still had to lay him on the altar. Mama Bet tried to stand and fell back into the armchair. Two of the Potter brothers moved forward to help her rise. She wobbled slightly in their grip.

"Archer be praised," she said. "Y'all go on now. I'll see you at church tonight."

"Archer be praised," said Haywood Absher. He had been one of the last to leave the Baptist fold, but he had embraced Archer's gospel as wholeheartedly as anyone. At least, he put on a good act of believing. Linda joined the others in a closing "Amen."