Before Another Dies (15 page)

I went, but I took my time. I said hello to several of the volunteers and thanked them for their fine work. I'd send thank-you cards later. Nat would make sure of that. Two minutes later I took a seat in a corner booth that had apparently been saved just for me. Paul Shedd's wife, a round woman with blue eyes, greeted and seated me. Like her husband, she was a deeply spiritual person and had become a role model for me. I was sure I'd never grow in my faith like she had. Every time I saw her I expected to see a halo. This evening she looked a tad tired, and I said so.

“Ain't nothing but age, Mayor. I don't know what's wrong, but I seem to get older with every passing year.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor, Martha. I'm sure they have some magic elixir to make you grow younger.” Paul and Martha were only in their early fifties, but I've noticed that people who cross the fifty barrier love to banter about their age. Maybe it was a way of accepting the inevitable fact that no one gets to stay young forever.

“I've learned to be content with whatever circumstances I'm in.”

“Wait, I know that one,” I said as I took my seat. “Don't tell me. It's John, right?”

She smiled and shook her head. “The apostle Paul. Philippians 4:11.”

“Rats! I thought I had it this time.”

“Give yourself time. The Word has a lot in it. It takes time to get some of it down.”

I had been reading the Bible daily for almost a year. I had been taught the basics at a new believer's class at church, but I was having trouble retaining it all. “I have a good memory, but sometimes the Bible just seems beyond me.”

“It's beyond all of us, Mayor. The thing to remember is that it is a process, not an event. Just keep reading, and more and more of it will take root. You'll see. Can I get you anything?”

I looked around the room. The restaurant could only seat about 125 people and it was doing so now. There was a buzz in the air and waiters and waitresses moved with precision between the tables. I didn't have to be a prophet to know that Martha and Paul were busy and that my fund-raiser just added to the day's challenge. “Just tea. I'll be eating later.” I felt guilty for taking up an entire booth that could hold four paying customers.

“I'll bring you an assortment. What about you, young man?”

Floyd looked at me, then back at Martha. “I need to get back out there and see what Nat wants me to do.”

A second later, I was alone gazing through tinted glass as volunteers scurried around. I drummed my fingers on the table. I removed a folded copy of my speech from my black purse. I would be speaking from memory and it was my job to make it all sound spontaneous. My eyes traced the words but my mind took a detour.

Suddenly, I felt cold.

chapter 19

M
ost people move their eyes when reading.”

The words yanked me up from a dark place. Standing by my table was Paul Shedd, a smile creasing his deeply tanned face. He had an empty cup in one hand and small plate with one of those restaurant-sized metal teapots in the other. On the saucer were several types of tea bags. He set it all down. “Hey, Paul. I'm sorry. I didn't see you walk up. I was just going over my speech.”

He raised an eyebrow. “May I join you?”

“Sure, if you have the time.”

“I have a few minutes, then I have to help my crew toss down some meat on the grill.” He sat. “It looked to me like you were glancing through your notes, not reading them.”

“I may have been daydreaming.”

He nodded. Paul is one of those intuitive people who know if something is wrong with you by the way you blink your eyes or move your lips. He studied me for a second. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?” Ants began to crawl inside me.

He worked his mouth a little before speaking. “I know it's hard for you to come to the pier.”

Last year, during some of the worst days of my life, a friend of mine was found strapped to one of the mussel-laden pylons. Her body wasn't discovered until low tide the next day. “Facing hard things is part of life. I can't avoid this place.”

“No, I don't suppose you can. I, for one, am glad for it. We're always glad to see you at the Fish Kettle.” He paused and looked out the window. “You ready for all of this?”

“I was born ready.” I was overstating things, something I did when I felt uncomfortable. I was never ill at ease around Paul. It had to be something else.

“So how's the walk?”

The walk
. It was Paul's shorthand for my newfound faith, a faith he was instrumental in bringing into my life. “Forever forward,” I said, “but . . .” I didn't know where the “but” came from.

“But what?”

I ripped open a tea packet, Apple Orchard, and dropped the bag in the hot water. “I don't know why I said that. Really, I'm fine.”

“Let me guess,” he leaned back and studied me as if I had my anxieties tattooed on my face. “You're having trouble adjusting to the Christian life.”

“I wouldn't put it that way.”

“How would you put it?”

I played with the tea bag, lifting it from the water and dropping it again, as if I were torturing it for some crime it had committed. “I'm excited by my faith, and I'm learning new things every week . . .”

“But you're struggling with something.”

I released the tortured tea bag and closed the lid on the tiny metal pot. “I'm not having trouble believing, although I have a great many questions. I'm struggling with myself.”

“Well, after you've been a Christian as long as I have you'll . . . still have a great many questions. It goes with the territory.”

“I've always been such a quick study; I just thought that I'd have a better handle on the spiritual things by now.” I poured tea into my cup. It looked weak. Apparently I was feeling impatient.

“By spiritual things, do you mean Bible knowledge or the daily stuff?”

“Stuff? Is that a theological term?” He smiled but the little joke wasn't going to derail his thoughts. “It's me. Do you remember that verse you asked me to memorize after I gave myself to Christ? The one about being a new creation?”

“‘Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come,'” he quoted. “That one?”

“That's it. I don't feel like a new creation. I feel like the old creation with a new coat of paint. The structure is all the same.”

“What brings all this on?”

“Life brings it on. Business brings it on. When I'm around people who annoy me or who I think are doing things for selfish motives, I turn back into the old Maddy. I've always had a quick tongue and tend to speak my mind. That's not always good.”

He considered what I said, then, “Is it always bad?”

“I don't understand.”

“Someone at work is annoying you and you let them know what you think. Is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you curse at them? Run them down? Degrade them?”

“No, of course not.”

“Was there a time when you would have?” He leaned forward.

It was my turn to mull things over. “Yes. I've been known to take head shots at my detractors and a couple of people on the council.”

“Do you still do that?”

“I've had a few terse conversations, Paul. Some of them pretty blunt.”

“It sounds to me like you need to give yourself a break. How's Floyd working out?”

Paul attended the same church as I did and knew Floyd was Pastor Lenny's son. “He's catching on but has a long way to go. I think he has potential. He just doesn't know it.”

“Sounds like you're pretty patient with him, Mayor.”

“Well, of course I am. This is all new to him. It's going to take time for him to find himself.”

“Why not fire him and get someone more competent?”

I sipped my tea. I had the feeling I was being taken for a ride. “I don't fire people for not having had the time to learn what they need to.”

He gave me a gotcha smile. “I have to scoot out and start throwing things on the grill so let me do this quickly. You are far more patient with others than you are with yourself. Of course you're going to struggle with old patterns and habits. Every believer does. The apostle Paul called it the old man and said he struggled with it every day. You can look this up later, but Romans 7 tells of Paul's inward struggle. He said, ‘For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the wishing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I wish, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not wish.'”

It still amazed me that Paul had so much Scripture at his mental fingertips.

He went on. “If he was in a daily wrestling match, who are we to think that we'll fare better than he?” He reached across the table and laid his hand on mine. “You are a new creature in Christ, but the Christian life is a process of becoming. We're not one thing one day then,
boom,
something else the next day. Victories in the Christian life come one day at a time. Give yourself a chance to change. By the way, speaking your mind is not a sin if done in love. Okay?”

I took a deep breath and let it out.

“You're under a great deal of stress. You've faced several tragedies in your life, you're mayor and now running for congress. Add to that a death on the doorstep of city hall and the loss of a friend's husband.” I must have looked puzzled because he added, “Floyd filled me in. I imagine you feel all sorts of things in the course of a day.”

“That's true enough.”

“You're doing fine, Mayor. You really are. My advice: It is better to know things with your head than with your heart. The fact that you're thinking about these things is proof of your faith in Christ. Enjoy the process of becoming.”

He stood. “Knock them dead tonight. Oh, and one last piece of advice: Be sure and try the au gratin potatoes. I outdid myself this time.”

“Thanks, Paul. I will. And thanks for everything else you're doing tonight.”

“It's my pleasure. Besides, it's great advertising.”

He walked away. Friends, I decided, are God's way of saying, “I'm thinking of you.”

chapter 20

T
he fund-raiser went well. Nat sent Floyd to retrieve me fifteen minutes after the official start. I exited the Fish Kettle, made one careful step after another, and walked to the staging area. People stood and applauded. I did the meet-and-greet thing—shaking hands, touching shoulders, passing out compliments like flowers, and listening to the flattering words of my supporters. No matter how many times such things are done, I'm left with the feeling that I'm a pretender, an actor playing a part hidden behind costume and props.

The meal was a mile or two beyond good. Paul had served up barbecued Ahi tuna steaks, Southwestern chicken breasts for those who didn't like fish, and hot dogs for those who brought their children or anyone passing by who showed an interest. My volunteers waited tables, handed out brochures, and collected contributions. I made the rounds to every table, shared jokes, talked politics, and schmoozed with extra flair. The band had performed a set before the meal, then played CDs while everyone ate.

Following the meal I thanked everyone, then delivered my twenty-minute speech in seventeen minutes. The rest of the evening the band was center stage. Songs ranged from the Beatles to REO

Speedwagon. A few people danced to the music but most chatted, exchanged jokes, and enjoyed an evening that was better than could be expected.

Titus and Larry provided some support from the council with their presence. They said nice things about the speech and wished me well. Then each of them worked the crowd and several times I overheard, “Maddy is the one I plan to support.” It was especially kind of Titus who was facing surgery in a couple of days. I don't know if I would have shown if I were in his place. Neither Tess nor Jon made an appearance. I didn't expect them to do so. They opposed me on almost everything.

The crowd began to thin around eight, and I discovered some time to myself. I sipped pineapple punch, meandered over to the band, and extended my thanks. Nat had been right, they had been good. They seemed to sense the desires of the crowd and put forth a mix of contemporary music. I heard songs I hadn't heard since high school. It was refreshing.

Volunteers busied themselves with cleanup. I saw Paul Shedd cleaning his grills and a few of his employees bussing the tables. There was little for me to do. I continued past the band to the rail at the end of the pier. It had been a while since I walked out this far. My schedule was twice as busy with the campaign, and there were some deep hurts here. It was here that Paul had told me about my husband's spiritual decision, something of which I was unaware. He died—was murdered—the same day. I look back upon that revelation with mixed emotions. I now held the same belief, and because of that, I believed Peter to be in heaven. Still, it was just one more place that reminded me that I was a widow who lived alone.

I leaned over the rail and watched the waves lit by ivory moonlight and harsh white light from lamps on the pier. They rolled in, one upon another in rhythmic progression, unperturbed by the hubbub of the fund-raiser. The tide came in and went out no matter what happened in human history, or in my history. In a few months I might stand here as the new congresswoman for my district, or I might be here having lost in a landslide. I decided it didn't matter. I would do my best. The rest I'd leave in the hands of the voters—better yet, in the hands of God.

“I thought things went well enough that you wouldn't need to consider jumping.”

The words jarred me out of my thoughts, and I jumped with a start. I snapped my head around to see a man of maybe forty years, sandy hair, and bit of a Robert Redford look. Not quite as good looking, but I imagined he turned a few heads in his day.