Authors: Kylie Brant
Waking Evil 02 (43 page)
He stifled a wince as Teddy’s thoughtful gaze flicked to him. “Always been most familiar with this one,” he hastened to put in. The other man didn’t look convinced, but he was too polite to dispute him.
Teddy’s attention returned to Ramsey. “Are you lookin’ for a place to worship, Miz Clark?”
If he wasn’t so relieved to have Teddy’s focus off him, Dev might have felt sorry for Ramsey. The shock in her expression was quickly followed by horror. “Uh . . . no. Do I need to be a member of the congregation for you to answer questions?”
Teddy laughed easily. “No, ma’am. I was just . . . well the truth of it is, I’m cursed with a curiosity befittin’ a cat. Surely your interest doesn’t have anythin’ to do with the case you’re workin’.”
“No. Reverend.” That last was tacked on, as if unsure exactly how to address a man of the cloth.
“I’m a bit of a crime-show buff,” he admitted in a shamefaced aside. “Oh, I know TV is nothin’ like real life. But I find myself sittin’ in front of the set several times a week anyway, tryin’ to solve the crimes before the detectives in the show.” He looked at her expectantly. “In your expert opinion, which of the crime shows on TV these days are most realistic?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t watch much TV.”
“Of course.” He waved a hand. “And if you did, why would you choose to watch the same thing you deal with in your work? Let’s see.” He paused a moment. “You asked about churches in town. At last count we had eleven.”
Ramsey gaped at him. Dev was mildly surprised himself. Certainly he was aware of the churches dotting the town even if he couldn’t name them all. But he would have been hard pressed to come up with the number.
“There’s not even three thousand people in Buffalo Springs.” She did some quick math. “That’s about two hundred fifty people per church.”
“Far less than that, I’m afraid. Even countin’ the people who live in the outlyin’ areas.” Teddy’s face had gone businesslike. And Dev supposed this
was
his business. “We’re church-goin’ folk down here, but of course not everyone attends.” Although he never once looked in Dev’s direction, Dev couldn’t help but take the tinge of disapproval in the man’s voice personally. He no longer lived in Buffalo Springs, but he also wasn’t a regular churchgoer at home. It suited him to blame that on Reverend Biggers and the long-ago trauma he’d inflicted on a ten-year-old boy, and not sheer laziness on his part.
was
his business. “We’re church-goin’ folk down here, but of course not everyone attends.” Although he never once looked in Dev’s direction, Dev couldn’t help but take the tinge of disapproval in the man’s voice personally. He no longer lived in Buffalo Springs, but he also wasn’t a regular churchgoer at home. It suited him to blame that on Reverend Biggers and the long-ago trauma he’d inflicted on a ten-year-old boy, and not sheer laziness on his part.
Teddy went on. “And it would be a mistake to assume all churches have the same size congregations. Take ours. We’re half the size of the Southern Baptist at two-hundred ninety, but I’m not bein’ prideful tellin’ you that we make a pretty good showin’ for ourselves at the fall festivals and Fourth of July booths.” He gave a boyish smile. “Our ladies’ guilds bake all the pies for the pie eatin’ contest every Buffalo Days, and they start takin’ orders after the county fair that keep them busy clear up to fall festival.”
“Which church in town is the one Rufus Ashton built?”
Teddy sent Dev a reproving glance. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Devlin. It’s ours, of course.” He turned to follow the direction of their gaze at the structure behind him. “The limestone was quarried locally, I’m told, and all the windows ’cept one are original.” He made a face. “I know that ’cause we’re constantly lookin’ for ways to cut the draft through them. The ladies’ guild saved up for nearly a decade in the sixties for that big stained glass window facing Main Street. At least what’s now Main Street. Way I hear it, back in Ashton’s day Main ran north and south. It wasn’t until the early twenties that the town leaders renamed it to coincide with the direction the town was growin’.”
“I recall hearin’ somethin’ ’bout that. Used to have flash floods on the old Main Street, so people were leery ’bout buildin’ there.”
But Ramsey had clearly remained footed in their earlier conversation. “Is this part the original structure?”
“Why don’t you come closer so I can show you?” They fell into step behind Molitor as he led them across a patch of grass toward the church. “It takes a discernin’ eye to tell where the original structure ends. Each time an addition was planned, great pains were taken to match the limestone. But basically everywhere there’s a difference in the roof pitch, that indicates a newer addition.”
He pointed to each in turn. “I’m told the new front steps and gatherin’ area were added in the twenties. Then the sacristy burned in 1941, and here’s where the new one was built, about three times the original size.” Gesturing to another area, he went on. “A cryin’ room and social hall were added in the 1980s. Just paid off the note on that two years ago.”
With all the various additions, Dev would have expected more of a hodgepodge effect, but the resulting structure was anything but. The effects of modernization coexisted peacefully with the original sections.
Ramsey moseyed to the front, eyeing the magnificent octagon stained glass window above the double oak doors. A wide expanse of steps led to the doors from the sidewalk. Looking back over her shoulder, she asked, “So when did this structure change from Ashton’s church of Sancrosanctity to United Methodist?”
Molitor looked puzzled. “This structure has housed a few different denominations in its time, most recently the Pentecostals before United Methodist moved in durin’ the 1940s. But I’ve never heard Ashton’s church called that before. What’d you call it? Sancrosanctity?” He shook his head. “Although truth be told, I don’t recollect ever hearin’ the name of Ashton’s church, if it had one. Back then, there were many more nondenominational churches than organized ones.”
“So you wouldn’t have complete records on the history of this building?” Ramsey asked. She turned and walked back to rejoin them.
“You mean regardin’ the original structure? I suspect there’d be some in the museum. But the only church records I have relate to the United Methodist congregation, as is fit-tin’.”
“So where do records like that go?” she wondered. “I imagine there were notations of births and deaths, marriages. They wouldn’t just be destroyed.”
“Well . . .” Teddy scratched his chin. “If the congregation merely moved from one buildin’ to ’nother, of course, the records would move with them. If it dissolved altogether, and it was an organized religion, chances are it would go to the leadin’ church in its district. At least Methodists are divided into districts,” he added.
“But Ashton’s church was an offshoot of the Church of Elders,” Dev put in. “My researcher says there was a rift between Ashton and the parent church, so it’s doubtful the records would have gone there.”
“You’re sure Ashton’s church doesn’t still exist in one of the other eleven churches here in town?”
Teddy was looking increasingly confused. But he answered Ramsey’s question. “I can say with complete certainty there is no congregation affiliated with the Church of Elders in Buffalo Springs. I’d be surprised if one existed anywhere in the state. The other ten here are the Baptist, Flat Rock Christian, Christian Reformed, Presbyterian, Episcopals, First Christian, Christian Alliance, First Alliance, Sunrise Salvation, and Spring County Family Worship.”
“I’m not familiar with some of those denominations. Isn’t it possible that one of them evolved from Sancrosanctity?”
The reverend shook his head in response to Ramsey’s question. “I think you two are followin’ up on some faulty information. Granted, I’ve only been in town nine years, but I’m never heard that church name before.” His expression grew thoughtful. “I’m certain you’d find the name of Ashton’s church referenced somewhere in local history stored at the museum or library, though.”
“You’d think so,” Dev agreed. “But I couldn’t find it when I checked. I had Denny Pruett, a buddy of mine, look up these details and others for me. He’s supposed to be top-notch in his field. I trust his research.”
If he’d suggested he donned a cape and flew to the moon in his free time, Teddy couldn’t have looked more astounded. “Dennis Pruett? Of the NYU Theology Department?”
“That’s right.” And it tickled Dev no end to see the utter astonishment on Teddy’s face at the attested relationship. “He’s now dean of theology there.”
The reverend withdrew a handkerchief and wiped at his face, an act that could only be habitual since the temperatures were relatively balmy. “You’re friends with Dennis Pruett.” He repeated the words as if he were having trouble comprehending them. “He’s a leading scholar of theology in this country. How did you two ever . . .” He stopped himself just in time, Dev reckoned, to avoid saying something offensive.
“I did him a favor once.” And since he didn’t want Teddy to keel over in shock right on the church sidewalk, he’d spare him the details.
The pastor’s expression was still dazed. “Well.” He folded up the handkerchief meticulously and replaced it in his pocket. “I’m ’fraid my thoughts are goin’ ever’ which way. But if you say you got this information from Dennis Pruett, I can’t disbelieve it. I’d be interested in lookin’ it over sometime, if you have a mind to share it.”
“Sure.” Dev was careful not to promise a timeline. In light of their recent conversation, it was doubtful the man could shed any new light on the material Denny had sent him.
Teddy’s gaze went past him then, and he gave a slight wince. “I’m sorry. Musta lost all track of time. Here comes my chess partner to continue our weekly game. I don’t want to chase you folks off, though. Maybe you’d like to stay and repeat this information to Reverend Biggers. He’s been in town far longer than I have.”
Dev glanced behind him, met Biggers’s baleful gaze as he approached. “Not likely.”
“We’d really appreciate it if you’d keep this conversation to yourself,” Ramsey put in. “We’d like to talk to the other . . . ah . . . pastors in town and get their opinions.”
“Of course.” But Teddy looked disappointed. “Feel free to come back anytime.”
Biggers stomped by them, muttering audibly, “Godless sinner.”
“Bellicose old hellhound,” Dev offered pleasantly.
As Teddy’s eyes widened, his gaze swinging between the two of them, Biggers scowled fiercely in Dev’s direction before continuing up the walk leading to the home next to the church, which housed Teddy’s family.
Molitor coughed, lifting his fist to his lips, but Dev saw the smile he was trying to hide. “I’d best get on inside. It doesn’t pay to leave Jay alone with the chessboard too long.” Conspiratorially, he leaned forward, lowered his voice. “He cheats.”
Dev offered a bland smile. “I’m not surprised.”
In the car a few moments later, Ramsey worked her shoulders. “Men of the cloth always give me an itchy feeling between the shoulder blades.”
“I’d blame it on a guilty conscience if they didn’t make me feel exactly the same way. And, of course, my conscience is pure.” She smiled, as he’d meant her to. “Do you believe in an afterlife?”
Her expression went pensive. “I can’t say I’ve ever given much thought to heaven. But I hope there is a hell, if only because I’ve met so many people who belong there.”
Her words sobered him. Times like these, when he gave real thought to what she saw every day on the job, he wondered how she could bear it. And understood, just a little better, what drove her.
His granddaddy, as wise about human nature as anyone Dev had ever met, was fond of saying “we all look out our own window.” Dev was pretty certain the view out Ramsey’s window could be pretty grim.
He cleared his throat and switched the subject. “I have a hard time believin’ records from a church are destroyed once the church ceases to exist. Towns this size put a lot of store by their foundin’ fathers and the town history. But I sure never found any direct reference to Ashton’s church in the record books I went through at the museum or the library.” He put the key in the ignition, checked the nonexistent traffic, and pulled away from the curb.
Ramsey looked at him. “And you’re sure you saw every record book?”
He thought of Shirley Pierson and the lack of welcome she’d afforded him at the museum. “I can’t be positive of that, no.”
“Might be worth making another pass at them,” she mused. “But I’m not as convinced as Molitor that Ashton’s church ceased to exist. I’d like to spend a little time going around to talk to the other ministers in town.” She waited a beat. “It’d probably go smoother if you made the introductions. That is, if you have time.”
He felt a flicker of satisfaction. Ramsey’s intentions stated better than words that whatever she’d earlier said about the information he’d shared about Ashton having no bearing on the case, she was hooked now.
In the next moment, satisfaction was elbowed aside by discomfit. “I’ve got the time. I just don’t know how much use I’m gonna be to you.”
Immediate comprehension filled her expression. “The man who knows everybody doesn’t know the ministers? Why am I not surprised?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I probably know ’em. I’m just sayin’ if you gave me a map of all the churches in town, I’m not so sure I can label each with its name and the pastor that goes with the church, if you catch my drift.” Her look of amusement had him feeling defensive. “Could you do the same if we were talkin’ ’bout your hometown?”
“Point taken.” Her voice was dry. “Okay. Let’s go back and get Molitor to make us a list. That would be quickest.”
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