A Sounding Brass (13 page)

When the hymn was finished and Owen had said a short prayer, he adjusted the microphone and looked out at them all.

“People of God,” he said, “no doubt you saw the headlines in the paper this week. A jury has found our Senior Shepherd guilty
of terrible crimes, and we have no choice but to accept that, as abhorrent as it is.”

Beside her, Ray shifted on his chair.

“This has brought me to many hours of prayer and fasting,” Owen went on, “and many conversations with our brother Luke Fisher
and my father-in-law, the other Elder of this church. We have concluded that the leadership of Phinehas has been flawed, and
God’s people have been making sacrifices that perhaps have been too hard to bear.

“For instance, it’s not scriptural that His people should wear black alone. We understand the significance of it, but we also
understand that a life surrendered to God has its own fragrance and doesn’t need to have attention brought to it by clothing.
So, starting from this Gathering, the people of God are free to wear black if they wish, or any other color they choose.”

Claire drew in a sharp breath, and a sound like the wind blowing over a field whispered through the hall as people shifted
in their seats and looked at each other.

Luke rose and leaped up the steps to the microphone, where Owen surrendered it to him.

“Remember, my friends, that our lives speak to others. It’s not our clothes or how we do our hair. It’s our spirit and our
actions. That’s how God’s love is transmitted one to another. We’re so used to sacrificing things like clothes and hairstyles
because of Phinehas’s ideas that we’ve lost sight of the truly important things, like reaching out to our brothers and sisters
or helping those in need. That’s what real sacrifice is, friends. A giving heart is so much more pleasing to God than someone
bundled up in black who is so focused on how they look that they forget how they’re supposed to relate to those around them.”

People looked at one another, and Claire saw every expression, from confusion to guilt to elation—the last being particularly
evident in the faces of the teenage girls who had just realized they’d been given permission to wear red or yellow if they
felt like it.

“People who love Christ give in His name,” Luke went on. “We have a chance to take the focus off ourselves and put it on others,
and you know what? That means it will give glory to God and be reflected back on us again. If you feel you need to sacrifice,
then send a gift in God’s name to the station. Let your sacrifices be the kind that do good in the world, that make a difference
and glorify God.”

Now Luke yielded the microphone to Owen. “Luke has an idea that I think will be as much a monument to God as the Temple was
in Jerusalem of old,” he said. “There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of godly people in this area, and they have nowhere to
meet in fellowship, to learn, to even have recreation time with their families. Our own Summer Gatherings are transient at
best, with tents temporarily set up and a lot of work for people to manage only once a year. Luke has found property here,
lakefront property. What if there was a conference facility there, with meeting rooms, a dining room, cabins to sleep in,
and hiking paths and other recreation? What if we could host corporate events there that would bring in thousands of dollars?
What if we could have our own Summer Gatherings there, and hear God’s Word in comfort instead of sweltering in tents and putting
up with pit toilets and flies?”

“That’s not a conference facility, that’s heaven,” someone—Linda Bell’s husband, Claire thought—quipped from the back.

Luke grabbed the mic, and Owen grinned and stepped back. “Exactly!” he said, his hand open toward the ceiling. “It would be
a little piece of heaven right here on earth. Instead of wearing odd clothes and worrying about how our women look, we should
be glorifying God in concrete ways. A place like this would be renowned not just all over the state, but all over the country.
The land is there. The vision is there. The need is certainly there. All we need to do is act on it.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Derrick Wilkinson stood up on the other side of the hall. “This sounds like a huge
investment.”

“Not as huge as giving your life to God.” Luke smiled at him, but Derrick didn’t smile back. “The land is three hundred fifty
thousand, and I estimate two and a half million to develop it and build the conference buildings and other facilities. A volunteer
workforce will keep construction costs down, and of course our loyal listeners will continue to contribute.”

Almost three million dollars! Claire fought back the urge to laugh. No one was going to do this. No one in this room had ever
even seen that much money, much less donated it to anything. The Elect didn’t do it that way, anyway. If they
did
give to charity, it was in secret. No one kept records, and no one knew where the money went because God was in control of
it through His Shepherds, who never spoke about such things.

“I know it seems like a lot,” Luke said earnestly, “and it is. But think of it this way. Claire?” Unerringly, he found her
in the seventh row. “Claire, how much did the station receive in gifts to God in just seven days?”

Claire looked around a little wildly. Surely he wasn’t going to ask her to speak aloud in Gathering? Women just didn’t do
that. It was unheard of.

Without the help of the microphone, Owen called, “It’s all right, Claire. You may speak in support of our brother.”

Slowly, she stood. “In—in seven days we received twelve thousand, two hundred and thirteen dollars and sixty-seven cents.”
Her knees gave out and she sat rather suddenly, her cheeks scarlet.

But no one was looking at her. “You see?” Luke waved an expansive arm. “In seven days we’re well on our way to a down payment
on the land alone. Seven days. My friends, it’s clear that this area is ripe to glorify God. And I believe the Elect are called
to lead this effort. Feel free to talk about it. The Elders and I are already talking with the bank and an architectural firm.
But in the meantime, just remember that this is not for us. It’s for the glory of God, and we are just His instruments. Let’s
sing and praise Him!”

Owen launched into “Building on the Rock,” and people flipped to the right page in their hymnbooks, half of them singing from
memory. Next to her, Ray Harper gave up trying to find the right page. Claire had the uncomfortable feeling that he was watching
her sing, but it would hardly do to ask him not to do that. Instead, she moved her hymnbook over so he could read the words.

Only people who are about to get engaged share a hymnbook.

Nonsense. He was a Stranger and she was simply being courteous.

She kept the hymnbook low, though, so Luke wouldn’t see it from the front of the room. He may have gone Outside at one time,
but he wasn’t a Stranger now. And she wouldn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

W
HEN THE WEIRD SERVICE
that hadn’t actually been a service was over, everyone shook hands as if they’d just been introduced. Since he knew a grand
total of about four people, Ray thought Claire would stick around and help him out.

But no. She was off like a shot to join the hungry female crowd around Luke Fisher, some of whom were already digging out
their checkbooks as though it would buy them a ticket straight into his little black book.

Women. It never ceased to amaze him how they were bamboozled by good looks. That and this glorifying-God thing had them totally
hosed. The only sensible person he’d heard all evening was the lanky guy on the far side of the room, who had a couple of
pens in his pocket and looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon.

“Good evening, Investigator.”

Ray turned at the quiet voice behind him and looked into the direct gaze of Rebecca Quinn. “Hey, Miss Quinn. Nice to see you.”

“I’m sure it is. You only know a few of us, am I right?”

“Yeah, and two are missing. Dinah and Tamara.”

“It’s not likely we’ll ever see them at Gathering again.” Ray couldn’t tell if the lady was sad about this or not. She merely
stated the facts and let the listener make up his own mind. “That’s why I came to speak to you,” she went on. “They’re at
my place now, planning to leave in the morning now that the trial is finished. Would you like to join us for a cup of coffee?”

“There wouldn’t be a conflict of interest now,” he allowed. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

“It’s purely selfish of me,” she said crisply. “I may not get to see you all in one place again, so I have to finagle it and
hope you don’t see how transparent I am.” He had to smile. “I’d like to ask Claire, too.” She craned her neck. “Do you see
her?”

“She’s over there with the radio guy. Fisher.”

“She and every other eligible female over fifteen. Dear me. I see I’m not the only transparent one.” Ray kept his mouth firmly
closed. “Perhaps you’d pass on the invitation for me when the crowd thins, Mr. Harper? I want to get home and put the coffee
pot on.”

Feeling as though he’d been outmaneuvered, but not sure how it had happened, he replied, “Sure. Be happy to.”

“See you in a bit, then.”

She turned and made her way to the door, spine straight, silver hair shining under the overhead lights. He smothered a grin.
She reminded him of his gram, who could teach trained surveillance specialists a thing or two.

Five minutes of casual sauntering and smiling vaguely at well-meaning people who introduced themselves and shook his hand
brought him to the edge of the little crowd around Luke Fisher. He sidled up to Claire.

“Miss Quinn says you’re being transparent,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

She shot him an indignant glance. “I am not. It’s my job to deal with the money he’s collected. See?” She moved away from
the group, opened her handbag, and showed him the fat wad of envelopes and checks. “I am not a member of the No Pride Club.”

Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good. “Okay. Miss Quinn also invited us to coffee at her place.”

“Us?”

He wasn’t so sure he cared for those upraised brows and pickled-looking lips. What was he, a social leper?

“She invited me. And she asked me to invite you. She wants to have a get-together with Dinah and Tamara before they go.”

“Oh.” The sour expression faded. “That was kind of her. I’ve hardly seen anything of them because of the trial. Of course,
I’ll come.”

“Come where?” said a musical baritone full of laughter behind him. “Are you two making off with the Lord’s cash?”

With an effort, Ray unclenched his right fist.
Bad hand. No decking people after the nice service.

“No, Ray was just passing on an invitation.” Claire adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder and smiled at him.

“Was he? Are his intentions honorable?” Fisher stood a little too close to Claire for Ray’s taste. “Should I come along as
my employee’s chaperone?”

Technically they were both employees of whoever owned the radio station, but Ray didn’t see it would gain him any brownie
points to mention that.

“I’m sure you’d be welcome.” Claire glanced at Ray. “We’re just going to have coffee at Rebecca Quinn’s. She’s my landlady,
and she has some friends of ours staying with her.”

“I didn’t know you and the good investigator had mutual friends. But sure, I’d love to come. Can I give you a ride?”

Ray had opened his mouth to make the same offer. He closed it again when Claire shook her head. “No, I live upstairs, in her
rental suite. It would be silly to make you drive me back here afterward to get my car. I’ll meet you both there.”

With an airy wave, she headed out the door. Ray nodded at Fisher and did the same. So, the guy had invited himself along to
a private party. Either he was one of those gregarious types who just loved people, or he was doing it on purpose to get under
Ray’s skin.

Not that he was paranoid or anything.

But these things balanced out, he told himself, trying to be philosophical. He wasn’t going to be alone with Claire, but at
least he’d have a chance to observe Luke Fisher up close and personal. And if they were all going to be together in one big
happy tea party, he’d just as soon be there to run interference.

Metaphorically speaking.

When he got to the old house on Gates Place, Fisher was just pulling up in his Camry. His 2002 Camry, according to the state
motor-vehicles database, purchased in Seattle.

The guy’s affability never falters
, he thought as he followed him up the path to the door.
But some of the things he says can be a barb if you’re looking for one.
Such as “Are your intentions honorable.” Ha ha. Big joke. But very successful at putting a little doubt in Claire’s mind
if she were so inclined. Not that he had any intentions toward her, honorable or not. He was just looking out for the girl
until he figured out what the deal was with Fisher-of-the-many-faces.

Claire was already there, lit up like a Christmas tree and hugging Dinah as if they were never going to meet again. Behind
her stood the guy with the pens in his pocket whose name Ray didn’t know.

“I’m so glad you won,” she was saying to Dinah as Ray and Fisher came in. “With all your time in court I’ve hardly seen you.
You wouldn’t believe all the things that have happened because of this case.”

Dinah, whom Ray had always thought was kind of plain, with hair she wouldn’t allow to curl and a haunted look around her eyes
and mouth, was a changed creature herself. He actually did a double take. Was this the same girl he’d seen the night he arrested
Phinehas—or even the same girl he’d done the wrap-up interview with a few days ago?

She was wearing a thick knitted sweater in a dark gold that did amazing things for her coloring and a black velvet skirt that
just grazed her knees instead of falling practically to the ankle like the skirts many of the Elect women wore. Her hair had
been cut, allowing curls and waves to float around her shoulders instead of being imprisoned in a shapeless bun on the back
of her head.