The Diva Wore Diamonds (13 page)

Meg looked at me suspiciously.

“
I did a little research,” I admitted.

“
So God had no choice?” asked Nancy.

“
Not according to Brother Hog,” I said. “God is bound by his Word. Within the Word of Faith teaching, a central element of receiving blessings from God involves claiming a promise that God has to honor.”

“
How so?” asked Meg.

“
As I understand it,” I explained, “God created the universe by speaking it into existence, and we Christians, being children of God, can command this same power. Thus, if you make a confession by reciting a promise from the scriptures, whatever you ask for comes to fruition. Name it, claim it.”

“
Dang!” said Noylene, who had finished her bussing, had wandered up and been listening in. “Where in the Bible does it say that?”

“
Mark 11:22 and 23. ‘I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him.’ And hence, Brother Hog can’t argue he didn’t cause the fire without going against his own beliefs. I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to do that.”

“
Then it
is
his fault,” said Nancy.

“
Probably not,” said Pete. “But he can’t say that it’s not. If he does, he’s finished at New Fellowship.”

“
Yep,” I said. “Right now, he’s riding high. Of course, if the church is found liable, his stock is likely to go down considerably.”

“
Why would the church be liable?” asked Dave, who’d joined us as well.

“
Russ Stafford’s position is that Brother Hog was acting as the church’s agent,” said Pete. “One thing’s for sure. Those Baptists are getting pretty steamed at ol’ Russ. Why don’t you ask them about it? I saw a couple of the elders working at the Bible Bazaar.”

“
I think I will,” I said.

Nancy looked over at me. “Hey, I just thought of something. You and Meg are probably going to be called as witnesses. You were the only ones there who weren’t part of the protest.”

“
Yeah,” I said.

“
We’ve already gotten our subpoenas,” Meg added glumly.

The cowbell on the door jangled, and two men in their mid-twenties came in, looking around like they needed some help or at least some information. They spotted Nancy’s uniform and walked over to the table. They both were sporting the requisite three-day beard stubble, LL Bean pre-faded polo shirts, mock-baseball caps, distressed jeans and expensive hiking boots. Designer sunglasses hung around each of their necks on leather lanyards.

“
Hi, there,” said the taller of the two. “We’re looking for the place where the diamonds were discovered.”

“
You’re the third group of prospectors today,” said Pete. He pointed out the window and across the park at St. Barnabas. “They were found right over there, under the church, about a hundred years ago.”

“
No,” said the other man. “The diamonds that were found in the cave. You know, it was in all the papers.”

“
Ah,” I said. “Also a hundred years ago. Sorry boys, but that land is privately owned. All the mineral rights are held by one person.” I looked over at Noylene. She just smiled and kept clearing one of the dirty tables.

“
The paper made it sound like the cave was in a national forest,” said the first.

“
Well, it might be,” I said. “Nobody’s ever found the cave. Pisgah National Forest is huge—over half a million acres from south of Asheville all the way to Virginia. There are a couple of big wilderness areas, but most of it’s privately owned. The particular property mentioned in the AP report is one of those.”

“
Quail Ridge?” said the first man.

“
Yep,” I said. “Private property.”

“
So, even if we found the cave?” asked the second.

“
Anything on that property belongs to the owner,” I said. “And last I heard, she wasn’t in the mood for claim-jumpers.”

“
Oh, well,” said the first with a shrug. “At least it’s a good day for a hike. How ’bout some breakfast?”

“
Grab a seat,” said Pete. “Noylene will be right over to take your order.”

•••

The theological discussion had ebbed, and we were all heading back to our respective morning activities. I was standing outside the Slab on the sidewalk, surveying the square and counting my blessings that we’d decided not to give out any parking tickets to out-of-towners. Noylene suddenly appeared at my side, wiping her hands on her apron and looking distraught.

“
Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. “I have a problem.”

“
Sure. What’s up?”

“
Russ Stafford has been after me since Christmas to sell him the back forty on Quail Ridge. I think he wants to do some sort of deal up there.

“
Wormy said something about it. He said you weren’t interested in selling.”

“
I’m not,” said Noylene. “But since Sunday, he’s really been putting the pressure on. I’ve got about a hundred and thirty acres up there. Been in the family since the 1940s. My trailer sits right in the front of the property. It was the only way I could get electric.”

“
Okay,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”

“
Here’s the thing. Russ has a camp up on the backside of the ridge. It’s been there for years. He wheeled an old camper in, and him and his buddies use it when they go hunting.”

“
Yeah?”

“
Now I get this certified letter. It came this morning.” She handed it to me.

I read it quickly. Russ Stafford was suing Noylene for quiet title of most of Quail Ridge under the adverse possession statute. A hundred and ten acres worth.

“
Oh, man!” I said.

Noylene went pale. “You mean he can jes’ take it!?

“
Did you ever give Russ permission to use the property?” I asked.

Noylene shook her head. “Not once! Thought I was being nice, so I never said anything. I wasn’t usin’ it for nothin’.”

“
It says here that Russ has been using the property exclusively for twenty-one years.”

“
That’d be about right,” said Noylene.

“
How about improvements? Russ make any improvements?”

“
He did some clearing, pulled some dead stumps out. He made a pasture on the backside and planted corn for the deer. Cut down a few dead trees. I never said anything. I figured he was doing it out of kindness ’cause I let him hunt on it. Then Wormy told me yesterday, he’s built him a little cabin back there.”

“
You didn’t ever use the property? Farm some of it maybe? Graze some cows?”

Noylene set her mouth hard and shook her head again. “It’s about those diamonds, ain’t it?”

“
I suspect so.”

“
Is this legal?” she asked in flat voice.

“
I’m afraid it is,” I said, handing the letter back to her. “You might take him to court for a while. Hold him up. But he has enough here to make it stick. Maybe you should go ahead and sell it to him if he’ll still buy it.”

“
In a pig’s eye,” snarled Noylene.

•••

The last afternoon of Bible Bazaar 31 A.D. promised to be memorable. To begin with, all the children were finishing up their various projects and making ready for the concluding ceremony, which would take place inside the temple tent and would include the presentation of certificates to all participating children; a brief presentation by Cynthia and her disciples of belly-dancing, all decked out in the beads, veils and other accessories they’d fashioned in the jewelry shop; some Hebrew prayers (recited in unison) that the children had learned; a few songs sung; and most of the crafts laid out on colorful blankets for the kids’ parents to “Ooo” and “Ah” over and then take home.

The memorial garden was abuzz. Kimberly Walnut had informed everyone who would listen that the skit would be at 4:45, to give everyone enough time to prepare for the other activities. It was at about 4:30 that people started noticing a distinct lack of children. The tent-mothers were in their usual places, chatting around the well and having their afternoon tea at the herbalist’s. The shopkeepers were a lot less busy than usual. Seymour Krebbs didn’t have much of a line at the camel ride. I decided that it was time for me to do a little tax-collecting. I’d been pretty lax on the first couple of days. It was time for these kids to render unto Caesar.

I caught the first remnant cowering behind the tent of the tribe of Naphtali. He’d seen me coming and darted into the tent, but I suspected he’d duck under the canvas and try to hide in the back. Sure enough, I found him cowering behind a black chokeberry bush.

“
I’ve come to collect the Roman tax, “ I growled, extending a hand. I didn’t know him—one of the kids from the Methodist or Baptist congregations. A slight boy, maybe six years old.

“
Please, sir,” he whimpered. “I don’t have any more coins.”

“
Didn’t your tent-mother just give you some?” I asked, surprised.

“
Yes, sir.” He was on the verge of tears.

“
Did you spend them already?”

“
No, sir.”

“
What happened to them?” I asked.

“
I can’t tell you,” he said. “They’ll kill me.”

I laughed and squatted down beside him, no mean feat in a tunic that was a bit too short for comfort.

“
What’s your name?” I asked.

“
Kevin.”

“
They won’t kill you, Kevin. C’mon. Tell me what’s going on and we’ll go sort it out.”

The boy looked relieved. “It’s those ’Piscopals. They took everyone hostage.”

•••

It seems that while the tent-mothers were having their tea and Kimberly Walnut was worrying about the skit and the shopkeepers were putting all the crafts in order, the tribe of Issachar had taken over much of the camp, one tent at a time, with a stealth that had to be admired. The Naphtali tent was empty, but Kevin pointed silently to the next tent over. Benjamin. The flaps were closed and when I pulled them apart and stepped inside, I found ten scared children sitting in the corner of the tent, their hands bound behind them with leather thongs and Dewey standing guard over them, a spear in one hand and a sword in the other. He was wearing a leather breastplate over his tunic and a matching headband. Wrist bands and flip-flops completed the outfit.

“
Dewey,” I growled. “Come with me.”

Dewey’s eyes went wide and he followed me meekly out of the tent.

“
Kevin,” I said, “go inside and untie them. If you need help, go get your tent-mother.”

Kevin darted inside the tent, and I put an ominous hand on Dewey’s shoulder. “Which tent is next?” I asked.

Dewey pointed to the tent with the Zebulun sign in front. “We only used the ones that had flaps,” he said. “That way, we wouldn’t be discovered until our mission was accomplished.”