The Runaway Pastor's Wife (41 page)

She gave in to the tugging lure of sleep as
well, even as her thoughts battled on.

What am I doing . . . oh God,
what am I doing?

CHAPTER 30

Seminole,
Florida

From his study at home, David called his
secretary’s cell number. After a brief conversation, he changed the subject.
“Listen, Sally, I’m heading into the office in few minutes. I’ve got to do some
work or else lose my mind. And I’ll be at the mid-week service tonight. I’m not
sure what I’ll preach on, but I’ll manage somehow. I’ll be in before anyone
else this morning, but let’s keep that between you and me at this point, all
right? No appointments.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Thanks. Anything else I should know?”

Silence.

“Sally? What is it?”

“Something’s up, David. The deacons have called
a special business meeting, and I’m pretty sure Chet’s behind it.”

David groaned aloud. “I’m not surprised. But
let’s just take it one thing at a time, okay? See you in a little while,
Sally.”

Pete Nardozzi eased
his cruiser into a
parking place marked PJ’s CUSTOMERS ONLY. At eight in the morning, the popular
donut shop was packed. As the jangling bell announced his arrival, he found his
way to the far end of the counter near the archaic Frigidaire.

“Good-morning-how-you?” PJ’s usual greeting
drifted from behind the counter where the proprietor boxed up two dozen glazed
donuts for a UPS driver.

“Morning, PJ,” Nardozzi answered. “How’s the day
treating you, my friend?” He took a seat on one of the counter stools.

PJ snapped straight up at the sound of the
officer’s voice, shooting him a wrinkled, bewildered expression. His mouth fell
open.

Startled, Pete set his hat on the counter then
laughed. “PJ, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s gotten into you?”

“Uhhhhhh . . . Nothing wrong with
me, Pete! No sir! No problem here!” he protested, busying himself with the
truck driver’s order. “Now I lose count. Let’s see, that’s sixteen, seventeen,
eighteen—okay, now, I got it. That’s twenty-four glazed for the UPS guys. Okay!
See? I even give you guys a couple extra! See? Here—have a couple cinnamon
rolls for the road, okay?”

The driver laughed and paid for the order then
hustled out the door.

“Bye-bye-nice-day!” PJ’s traditional farewell
followed the man in brown out the door. He quickly began wiping down the
counter opposite from Pete, then rushed around refilling coffee mugs. The bell
on the front door rang again and the ritual repeated itself.
“Good-morning-how-you?”

Pete waited. Normally, the donut maker scurried
right over to serve Pete’s usual cup of coffee and two buttermilk donuts. Not
the case today. He rested his elbows on the counter, watching the curious owner
dart around like a nervous mouse. He noticed the morning paper scattered on the
counter and reached for the front page. In a box below the fold he noticed a
short header:
Pastor’s Wife Still Missing.

“Don’t they ever give up?” he mumbled to
himself, scanning the brief story. As he continued to read the paper held in
front of him, he sensed a presence. Slowly peeking over the newsprint, PJ’s
weathered face flashed from curiosity to feigned innocence.

Pete refolded the paper. “Okay, PJ. What’s going
on? For fourteen years I’ve come by here at least once a week and you always,
always
serve me my regular order without having to ask. You know exactly what I want.
This morning I walk in and not only have you failed to bring me my food, you’re
ignoring me.”

“What?” PJ protested. “I don’t ignore you! I
serve you like everybody else that comes in here!” He rushed to fill a cup of
hot coffee and grab two buttermilk donuts. “See? I got your donuts. I got your
coffee. I don’t ignore you!”

Pete stared back at him. “Uh huh.” The old man’s
eyes shifted mischievously. “PJ, could it be you know something you ought to be
telling me?”

“Who me? Nobody ever tells me a thing. No sir. I
just make the donuts, that’s all I do. Always the last person on this earth to
know anything! That’s right, Officer Pete. Hey, you want a cinnamon roll?”

Pete laughed, raising his hands. “No, thank you,
my friend. Sometimes I think this town would be downright boring without you,
do you know that?” He continued to chuckle, making a mental note to keep an eye
on the donut shop for the next couple of days. “It’s like our buddy William
Shakespeare used to say—‘methinks thou dost protest too much.’”

PJ’s brow knotted. Absently wiping the counter,
he answered, “Well, okay. Yeah, oh sure, I know him. He’s one of my regulars.”

Pete donned his hat and put three bills on the
counter. PJ shoved it back at him. “You know I don’t let police pay for donuts!
Put that away.”

“Goodbye, PJ. Have a good day, and if you think
of anything you might want to tell me, don’t hesitate to call.”

The
Texas
Panhandle

The adrenaline of his mission was the only
motivation keeping Max going. Miles melted into more miles. The hours flew as
cities and small towns disappeared in his rear-view mirror. State lines
multiplied as he blazed toward his destination. With only an occasional stop
for an hour’s rest here and there, he inched ever closer to the
Colorado
state
line.

Beyond exhaustion, his concern turned to
weather. The reports on the radio sounded ominous. A Floridian driving on roads
covered with ice and snow? Mounting concern gnawed at his empty stomach with
each passing mile. Fortunately, the road crews had done their jobs well in
clearing the main highways and roads. Much to his amazement, the old Volkswagen
bus had performed fairly well for such a grueling trip.

He made his calls home right on schedule. His
dad seemed more relieved with each call and his grandmother’s oath of
continuous prayers kept him going. He uttered his own prayer that neither of
them tuned in to the Weather Channel.

He flipped on the wipers, attempting to clear
the dirty windshield, uneasy with the sleet bouncing against the glass. “Come
on, old hippie van, just get me there,” he coaxed as he wiped down the foggy
glass inside the windshield.

Then more quietly, he corrected himself. “Lord,
just get me there. Please?”

Seminole,
Florida

David showered and headed for church. He slipped
in through the private back entrance to his office. He needed to spend some
time on his knees before talking to anyone.

Half an hour later, he heard a quiet knock on
his door. Sally Hampton peeked around the corner. “Welcome back, boss. How’s it
going?”

David stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, I
guess. It’s good to be occupied with all this,” his hand sweeping over the sea
of papers. “Keeps my mind busy.”

“Good. How about some coffee? I’ll make us a
fresh pot.”

“Sounds great, Sally. You can catch me up on
everything I’ve missed.”

Returning minutes later with two steaming mugs,
she began. “I’m sure you know, the church family is heartsick about everything
that has happened to your family. I’ve fielded hundreds of calls for you. Most
are very sympathetic, all promising to pray for you and the family.”

David took a careful sip, then leaned back in
his chair.

“And I’ve refused comment to the media as you
requested.”

“Thank you.”

“Your mother-in-law made an appearance
yesterday,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“Darlene?”

“There’s only one, thank goodness!”

“What was that all about?”

“She flew through here in all her glory. Ranting
and raving and demanding to see you—the usual.” Sally laughed, rolling her
eyes.

“Any fall-out?”

“I don’t think so. Fortunately, most of the
office and staff were out for lunch at the time. Besides, everyone here knows
all about Darlene. They recognize her for who she is.”

“Attila the Hun?”

Sally laughed again. “Now, I didn’t say that.”

“She’s unbelievable, isn’t she? Aside from my
mother-in-law, anything else I need to know about?”

Sally looked at the open door then back to
David. “Only Chet,” she whispered.

“Aha. Good ol’ devil’s advocate incarnate.”

Sally kept her voice low. “Apparently he and
Geneva
hosted
a ‘prayer meeting’ of sorts at their home the other night. The guest list was
the usual who’s-who among his adoring fan club. I have no idea what took place,
but I have a bad feeling about all of it, David. He’s up to something. I’m
pretty sure he’s behind the special business meeting called by the deacons.”

“When has Chet
not
been up to something
is the better question. I think it’s time Chet and I went face to face on all
this. Maybe I’ve been a fool to keep dodging him. He’s given my kids a lot of
grief, and I’m not going to put up with it any more.

“In fact, why don’t you see if you can set up an
appointment for Chet and me? And just so we do this the right way, let’s have
Justin and one of the other deacons sit in on this meeting. Safety in numbers,
right?”

“Sure. I’ll get right on it.” She jotted herself
a note, then stared at the pencil he was tapping against his coffee mug.

He stopped. “Sorry.”

“Still no word from Annie?”

He drained the coffee and plunked down the mug
on his desk. “No, nothing. Hopefully Max will have some news for us shortly.
Otherwise, all we can do is wait. God is teaching me whole new dimensions of
the meaning of that word.”

She stood to leave. “How about more coffee?”

“No thanks. I’m wired enough as it is.”

Sally headed for the door. “I’ll have the
cleaners drop off your suit of armor.”

“What?”

“Chet Harrison,” she mouthed over her shoulder.

CHAPTER 31