Gone To Glory. Ron/Janet Benrey

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СКАЧАТЬ of the corner of his eye Daniel saw George Ingles leap to his feet. Daniel stood, too.

      The woman walked toward them, her right hand extended. “My name is Lori Dorsett,” she said. “I’m from Chicago—I’ll be visiting Glory for the next month or so.” Daniel noted that she moved gracefully, but with the kind of powerful grace achieved by an athlete rather than a ballet dancer. “I’m staying at The Scottish Captain.”

      He felt a twinge of annoyance when George—on the side of the table nearest to Lori—moved next to her more quickly than he could and lunged at her hand. “I’m George Ingles,” he said, voice oozing, “an elder of the church and our financial secretary. Let me welcome you to Glory. We like to think of ourselves as the friendliest small town in North Carolina.”

      Daniel tried to take charge. “Friendly indeed, Miss Dorsett, welcome to Glory,” he said enthusiastically. “The Captain is one of our nicest bed-and-breakfasts.” But his words had no effect. George Ingles maintained his grip on Lori’s right hand and she seemed content to keep smiling at him.

      Why would she feel that way? Daniel wondered. George was your run-of-the-mill, sixty-year-old retired businessman, slightly overweight, mostly bald and totally married. There were hundreds more like him living in Glory. Lori, by contrast, was a rarity in town—a stunning woman in her late thirties with a splendid figure and a bare ring finger.

      Daniel tried again. “I take it that you want to photograph inside our sanctuary, Miss Dorsett?” he said, significantly louder this time.

      Her smile faded as she turned toward him. “I’d hoped to begin with some outside photos,” she said, “and then, with your permission, to move inside the building.” She made a vague gesture in the direction of the sanctuary. “Your stained-glass windows are really quite lovely.”

      “You have a good eye. Our five windows were imported from Scotland in 1858. They were designed by Daniel Cottier, the famous Scottish stained-glass artist, and crafted in the equally famous glass studios of James Ballantine, of Edinburgh. Each window illustrates one of Jesus’ parables.” He let himself grin. “See if you can deduce which parables when you photograph the windows.”

      “I’m afraid I haven’t opened a Bible in more than twenty years. I’m not sure if I even remember where to find the parables of Jesus.”

      “Then you don’t belong to a church back in Chicago?”

      She shook her head. “Sorry—I haven’t thought of myself as a Christian since I was fourteen years old.” She added, “I hope that won’t disqualify me from taking pictures inside your church?”

      “Not at all. Our sanctuary windows have been one of Glory’s attractions for more than a century and a half. We’re delighted that visitors want to take pictures—regardless of their beliefs.”

      “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate your understanding.”

      George Ingles jumped back into the conversation. “You might feel differently about your Christianity if you attended one of our Sunday worship services.” He beamed at her. “Our choir and our praise band are first-rate—the finest in Glory. And Daniel, here, delivers a pretty good sermon.”

      “I have to admit that I’m tempted…” she said. “I promise that I’ll think about it.”

      George patted Lori’s shoulder. “We can’t ask more than that, now, can we?”

      “It was lovely meeting you,” Lori said to George, and then to Daniel, “Thank you, once again, Reverend Hartman. I promise that I won’t be a nuisance.”

      Daniel returned a halfhearted wave to Lori as she left, then glanced at George, who was clearly waiting for Lori to be out of earshot before he said anything else. A moment later the church’s heavy front door swung shut.

      “It’s the story of my life,” George said with a mock display of anguish. “The ladies love me, even though I never disguise the fact that I’m married. I tell you, Daniel, it’s a curse.”

      Daniel knew that his friend was joking, but he still felt another round of annoyance at George’s delight. Why did Lori act the way she did? What did George have that he didn’t?

      Enough! Stop thinking like a jerk.

      Daniel took a deep breath and wondered why he felt the way he did.

      TWO

      Emma Neilson glanced at the clock above The Scottish Captain’s aging stove and felt a flutter of excitement cut through her rotten mood. Noon! In less than ten minutes she would look out the kitchen window and see Rafe—her husband of scarcely two months—marching along the flagstone path behind the Captain.

      Rafe, I need a hug. Badly.

      Rafe’s job as Glory’s deputy police chief required that he work long days, often stretching into evenings. Her job as owner and proprietor of The Scottish Captain put her on duty at about six every morning. Their daily lunches together were an oasis of calm during the middle of their twelve-hour workdays that they both could enjoy.

      Emma banged a stoneware plate on the small table in the kitchen, fully aware that she was taking her annoyance out on the crockery. Most lunches she could talk about pleasant things with Rafe—but not today. Her morning of shopping in Glory had been decidedly disagreeable. She’d been glared at by three different people—two of whom she didn’t even know.

      Ill will toward her seemed to be growing worse with each passing day. It had started a week earlier when Rafe had arrested Tony Taylor for the murder of Quentin Fisher. Many of Glory’s upstanding citizens thought that killing Fisher, a big-city stranger, was a fabulous idea, a fate he richly deserved for defrauding Glory Community Church and trying to con Tony Taylor. They resented Rafe, and Emma, for doing his duty.

      Emma glanced at the cover of her latest marketing brochure, fresh from the printer. Her marketing communications firm had sent over the first dozen copies. The photo on the cover, one of her favorites, captured the Captain on a crisp fall day when the trees had reached the peak of color. White letters above the photo proclaimed, “The Scottish Captain: A Charming B and B in North Carolina’s Friendliest Town.”

      Friendliest town, my foot.

      The clock inched closer to twelve-ten. Emma checked on Calvin Constable’s latest culinary experiments, which had begun to bubble nicely in the microwave. Calvin, her breakfast chef, was an inveterate innovator, whose latest project was to develop a series of hot entrées that combined North Carolina cuisine with international dishes. The dish in the microwave was Southern Fried Thai Chicken. Well, how bad could it be?

      Emma turned the brochure over. The back cover illustration was a stylized map of Perquimans County that made the town of Glory seem larger and more important then Hertford, the county seat.

      The kitchen door flew open and Rafe entered, his cheeks rosy from a fast walk from police headquarters. Her heart sang to see him looking so happy. She hurried over to hug him and be hugged. After a long welcome-home kiss, Rafe sniffed the air. “Chicken?”

      “Mostly,” Emma replied. “It’s covered with peanut sauce that’s flavored with a mix of Thai and Southern spices.”

      His face registered mild surprise. “Calvin strikes again.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ