Final Call (11 page)

Chapter Twenty

Mary watched Dan’s car pull away from the curb. Although he
tried to insist on giving her a ride home, she really felt the walk would give
her time to think. At the corner of Clark and Walnut she prepared to cross the
street. The streetlights were beginning to glow and she knew within a half hour
the sky would be dark.

“There you are, young lady. I’ve been looking for you.”

She turned to find Reverend Johnson standing next to her.

“Hello, Reverend, how are you doing?”

He shook his head. “Not well, not well at all,” he
exclaimed. “They’re having my funeral tomorrow and I’m not dead.”

“I beg your pardon, Reverend,” Mary insisted. “But you are
indeed dead.”

“I know I’m dead,” he blustered. “What I meant is that I
haven’t moved on, gone to my righteous reward. A man should go to his reward
before his body gets laid in the ground.”

Mary started to shiver in the cold wind. “Excuse me, but can
we walk as we talk? I’m getting cold.”

“Of course, my dear,” he said, “how thoughtless of me.”

They continued up Walnut toward Stephenson Street. The
sidewalks were shoveled with only a narrow path, but the Reverend floated next
to Mary, not bothered by the drifts of snow.

“Have you thought about anything that might be keeping you
here?” she asked.
“Any unfinished business?”

“Can’t be that,” he said sharply.

“Why not?”

“I’ve always done all I was supposed to do in a timely and
efficient manner,” he said. “I pride myself on my organizational skills.”

Mary waited on the corner as a snowplow drove by on Exchange
Street. “How do you get it all done?” she asked. “Do you have a large
congregation?”

He smiled and nodded. “I have one of the largest
congregations in the community. Other churches have had to close because their
flocks have decided to listen to my message.”

“You must be a powerful speaker.”

“Young lady, power is not the only part of being an
excellent speaker. You have to take the time to perfect your sermons and you
have to practice. I practice several hours a day in order to be sure the right
words have the right emphasis.”

They turned onto Stephenson and walked away from the
downtown area, toward the hospital.

“I’m confused,” Mary said. “If you spend so much time
perfecting your sermon, when do you have time to take care of those in your
congregation who are in need?”

“My wife sees to those cares,” he explained. “I feel that I
can reach more people, spiritually, with my sermons. So, she takes care of the
day to day nuisances.”

“Like what?”

He raised his arms. “I don’t know
,
she takes care of them.”

“But when you meet together and talk about the members of
your congregation…”

“I don’t meet with my wife,” he said. “She knows the duties
of a minister’s wife and she does them without any complaint or conversation.
That’s what makes our marriage work so well.”

Mary nodded her head slowly. “And your children, do they
help as well?”

“Of course, they know I expect them to be examples to the
other children in the congregation,” he said. “Those other children don’t have
the advantage of being my children. They need to be offered an example. My
children offer that example.”

“How do they feel about being an example?”

“Why are you asking such absurd questions? Of course, they
are honored to be examples. They are honored to have a father who holds such a
high position in the community.”

“Reverend, I have a suggestion for you,” Mary said. “Why
don’t you go home and be with your family? Perhaps your final influence is what
they need and then you can move on.”

He thought about her suggestion. “That’s a very good idea,
young lady,” he finally concluded. “I’m sure it’s going to be difficult for
them once their role model is gone.
Excellent suggestion.”

He slowly faded away and left Mary walking alone on the
darkening streets of Freeport.

Crossing Stephenson, she walked down West Street until she
came to Reed Park. She peered down the paths; they were shoveled and, from the
myriad of tracks in the snow, had been well used during the day. But now as
Mary stood at the entrance, the park looked fairly deserted. The partial moon
reflected light against the snow.

Mary exhaled, her breath appearing in a puff. If she cut
across, she would easily save ten minutes of walking and she was getting cold.
But Dan’s warning had her feet hesitating.

“Dan was a drama major,” she reminded herself. “Get a grip.”

She walked into the park. Giant old trees coated in snow
lined the paths. Streetlights reflected off the ice at the skating rink. Thick
icicles hung like a mouthful of jagged teeth from the arch of the stone bridge.
The administrative building was dark, the parking lot empty. Mary moved toward
the center of the park.

She looked ahead. Shadows from the trees and large bushes
lay across the path and made the way seem threatening. She looked to either
side,
the streetlights seemed to be dimmer tonight and the
traffic noise from Empire Street even further away. All of the residents of
Freeport were safe inside their homes, warm and cozy.

She took a deep breath.
What
is wrong with me?
she
wondered.
I’m an ex-cop, I’m a private eye and I can
kick butt if I need to.
And no one is
going to intimidate me!

She stepped forward onto the path and started to walk
briskly in the direction of her house. She could hear the snow crunch beneath
her feet, feel the wind raw against her cheeks, and breathe in the fresh scent
of snow and pine. She was energized. She was pumped.

A twig snapped behind her.

She was freaked!

She broke into a run, her boots clomping against the path,
her eyes tearing in the wind. She jumped small snowdrifts and ran around larger
ones. She used the playground as an obstacle course for anyone following,
veering around each piece of equipment and
zig-zagging
across the grounds. She dashed past the Little League diamonds, using the
dugouts as shelters and she dashed through the bleacher section of Little Cubs
Field, the Freeport replica of Wrigley Field, before finally reaching the edge
of the park.

Winded, she placed her hands on her knees and took several
deep breaths. She lifted her head and looked behind. Nothing stirred in the
park. Not a soul was in sight. Feeling more than a little foolish, Mary decided
to make the best of things and jogged the rest of the way home.

Once she was out of sight, a lone figure stepped out from
behind the closed concession stand at the far end of the Little League fields,
looked in her direction for a few moments and then turned and walked away.

Chapter Twenty-one

Hezekiah reappeared in the living room of his home. The parsonage
was not showy, but it had been their home for fifteen years. It was the only
home his children had ever known. He looked around it with pride. This was the
home he had given his family. This was his legacy.

“Momma, why do we have to move?” Vivian asked. “Why do we
have to leave our home?”

Lucinda carried a box across the room and began to pull
books from the shelves. “Well, sweetie, it’s because the church is going to
want a new minister and he and his family will want to live here,” she said.
“This house doesn’t belong to us, it belongs to the church.”

“But Daddy always said this was our house,” Alvin argued.
“He always said we had it because of the sweat of his brow.”

Lucinda sighed and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She
looked tired, he thought, there were bags under her eyes. He’d bet she wasn’t
sleeping.

“Alvin, what your daddy meant was the house was ours because
he did so much for the church,” she explained.

Rudy walked over with an empty box and set it next to his
mother’s. “Mrs. Baker says the church should just hire you. She said that you
did more for the congregation than Daddy ever did.”

Lucinda placed her hands on her cheeks and shook her head.
“No, no, I did no such thing,” she cried. “Your father was a good, strong man
who did wonderful things for this church.”

Rudy shrugged. “Mrs. Baker says all he ever did was
flap
his jaws on Sunday; all the good works were done by
you.”

“Well, God bless her, I know she means well. But she does no
honor to this family by spreading those disparaging remarks about your father.”

Hezekiah was shocked. Mrs. Baker was one of the members of
the board. She was a learned and powerful woman. Rudy must have been mistaken. Mrs.
Baker loved his sermons. Rudy must have been mistaken.

His thoughts turned to the board members and suddenly he
found himself back in his church, outside the boardroom. He slipped through the
door and was not surprised to find the members meeting together.

“A great asset to the church,” Mrs. Baker agreed.

“I’ve never witnessed a better example of Christ-like
behavior,” Mr. Busch, the senior board member added.

“I’ve received dozens of calls today,” Miss Williams,
another board member, said, “all supporting this idea.”

Hezekiah smiled. This was more like it. The board and
congregation were acknowledging what he’d done for the members. Perhaps they
were thinking of erecting a memorial for him. He thought about what he’d like
to have named for him.
The Hezekiah Johnson
Memorial
…he paused, contemplating his options…
Third Baptist Church. Yes, renaming the church after him. That would be
something.

His attention was drawn back to the conversation. “Although
it’s highly unusual, I think it’s a perfect solution,” Mrs. Baker said.

“Let’s take a vote,” Mr. Busch suggested.

The entire membership of twelve voted in favor of the
proposal. Hezekiah waited with excitement for the official proposal to be read
for the minutes.

“The board of the Third Baptist Church…,” Miss Williams
read.

“Soon to be known as the Hezekiah Johnson Memorial Third
Baptist Church,” Hezekiah inserted.

“…has voted by unanimous agreement that we extend the
position of minister to Lucinda Johnson, that we continue to pay her at the
salary her dead husband, Hezekiah, received, and that we pay for her to
continue her education to receive a degree in Ministry.”

“What?” Hezekiah shouted. “No! Lucinda can’t be the
minister. I’m the minister. I’m the one – not her.”

“How much more education is she going to need before she
receives her degree?” Mr. Busch asked.

“I called the college where both she and Hezekiah were
students. She was a year behind him in school and left school in order to marry
him and help him build his career,” Mrs. Baker explained. “The dean remembered
Lucinda and said she was one of his brightest students. He confidentially added
that her grades were much better than her husband’s.”

“Lucinda was a good student? Why hadn’t I known that?”
Hezekiah wondered.

“The dean had already made some calls with some very
prominent churches, setting up an assistant ministry for Lucinda,” Mrs. Baker
added. “He was surprised when she turned them down.”

“She turned them down?” Hezekiah shook his head. “She had
great opportunities and she turned them down for me?”

The board, done for the night, congratulated each other for
a job well done and left the boardroom. The last one out turned off the light.
Hezekiah was left standing alone in the dark.

Chapter Twenty-two

Mary jogged to the corner and took a deep breath. She could
tell she wasn’t in the same shape she’d been in last fall when she would run to
Krape
Park every morning. An ache near her heart,
that had nothing to do with her physical prowess, grew as she remembered her
early morning runs with Bradley, racing him through the park. In the span of a
few moments he’d tried her, judged her and convicted her.

She turned the corner and walked toward her home. Well,
there was nothing she could do about it now, she decided. The next move was
his.

As though her thoughts became reality, Mary saw the cruiser
parked in front of her house. Her stomach dropped; she really didn’t want
another confrontation today. She took a deep breath,
Well
, looks like I’m in for another fun night.

The cruiser’s door opened as Mary neared her house. Bradley
stepped out and met her at the porch.

“Bradley,” she nodded at him.

“Miss O’Reilly,” he replied curtly.

Okay, that’s it! This is stupid.

She stormed past him and jogged up the steps. She unlocked
the door and left it open, walking through the front room and stopping at the
closet.

He followed and closed the door behind him.

Mary tore off her scarf, mittens and hat and threw them in
the closet. Her coat followed. Then she turned on him. Her eyes were filled
with fire, her hands placed solidly on her hips.

“Listen to me, Chief Alden,” stressing his name
sarcastically. “You may not like the decision I made regarding Jeannine.”

“I don’t want to talk about Jeannine,” he said.

“Too bad,” she tossed back. “I did what I thought was right,
ethically. You might not agree.”

She paused. “No, you obviously don’t agree and I’m sorry,
but not for what I did. I did what was right. So, if that ruined our
relationship for you, fine, I can take that. I think it stinks, but I can take
it.”

She stormed over to him and poked him in the chest. “But if
you think you can play these asinine games like we haven’t known each other,
worked with each other and cared for each other for the past four months, you
can get yourself another consultant, because I quit.”

She turned around and started to move away when he caught
her arm and turned her back to him.

“I can’t trust you anymore,” he said.

She winced, but didn’t back down. “That’s your choice.”

“You betrayed me,” he argued.

“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I told you as much truth as my
client would allow.”

“I asked you on New Year’s Eve if you had seen her,” he
yelled. “I asked you and you lied to me.”

She put both hands on his chest and pushed him back towards
the door. “Get out of my house,” she said through gritted teeth. “I won’t be
called a liar in my home.”

She pushed him again and he stumbled back. “Fine, I’m
going,” he shouted, and slammed out the door.

Mary sniffed back the tears, but it was useless; they
overflowed onto her cheeks. She slowly lowered herself to her couch. “I’m such
an idiot,” she said, wiping away the tears.

“Actually, I think you were great,” Mike said, appearing
next to her on the couch.
“An Irish spitfire, who would have
thought?
He’s lucky you didn’t punch him in the nose.”

“I thought about it,” she admitted.

“So, do you think he’ll remember you told him the truth
about Jeannine on New Year’s Eve?”

“I hope so,” she said. “I hope he remembers in the middle of
the night and he can’t sleep. I hope he’s plagued with guilt. I hope he’s
miserable.”

“Still love him, huh?”

She nodded, wiping away a few more tears. “Yeah, it stinks.”

Mike laughed softly. “Yeah, it does.”

She sighed, dropped back against the couch and rubbed her
hand against her chest. “Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that being in love
hurts so badly?”

“Because when the good parts happen you forget about the bad
parts.”

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “There ought
to be a warning label. I mean, really, there’s a warning label on a cup of
coffee, for heaven’s sake. Why isn’t there one for love? Danger: can cause
emotional highs and lows, bouts of depression, binges of chocolate consumption
and irrational behavior.”

Mike nodded. “And should you experience an erection for four
or more hours, you should call your doctor.”

“Shut up!” Mary choked, laughter breaking through the tears.
“You are so rude.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I am. Feeling a little better?”

Sitting up she turned to him. “You really are a good
friend.”

“Mr. Watson to your sexy Sherlock Holmes,” he reminded her.

“Okay Watson,” she replied. “Let’s get some work done.”