God had been talking to Ethan for years. When he was a kid, the voice had come from Charlton Heston, which had been a major drag, since it was hard for a youngster to bare his soul to all that mighty Republican wrath. But as Ethan's understanding of the many facets of the power and wisdom of God had matured, Charlton had been stored away, along with the other artifacts of his childhood, and replaced by images of three celebrities, all of them woefully inadequate to be divine representations.
If he had to hear voices, why couldn't they have come from more dignified people? Albert Schweitzer, for example? Or Mother Teresa? Why couldn't he get his inspiration from Martin Luther King or Mahatma Ghandi? Unfortunately, Ethan was a product of his culture, and he'd always liked movies and TV. Thus, he seemed to be stuck with pop icons.
"Is it too cold in here?" he asked, trying to overcome his animosity. "I can turn the air-conditioning down."
"Just fine, Rev."
Her cheeky manner set his teeth on edge, and he silently berated Gabe for getting him into this situation. But his brother had sounded so desperate on the phone when he'd called less than an hour ago that Ethan hadn't been able to refuse him.
When Ethan had arrived at the Pride of Carolina, he'd found the door of the snack shop locked and Rachel and her son sitting on the turtle in the playground. There was no sign of Gabe. He'd helped load up the pitiful pile of possessions that was stacked over by the riverbank, and now he was taking them to Heartache Mountain and Annie's cottage.
Rachel glanced over at him. "Why are you helping me?"
He remembered her as being shy, and her directness took him aback, just as it had two days earlier. "Gabe asked me to."
"He asked you two days ago, but you refused."
He said nothing. In some way he couldn't entirely define, he resented this woman even more than he'd resented G. Dwayne. Her husband had been an obvious crook, but she was a more subtle one.
She gave a wry laugh. "It's okay, Rev. I forgive you for hating my guts."
"I don't hate you. I don't hate anyone." He sounded stuffy and pompous.
"How noble."
Her disdain angered him. What right did she have to be condescending after she and her husband had destroyed so much with their greed?
None of the county's ministers had been able to compete with the Temple of Salvation's riches. They didn't have rhinestone-flecked choir robes or laser-enhanced worship services. The Temple had offered Las Vegas in the name of Jesus Christ, and many of the local church members couldn't resist the combination of show-business glitter and easy answers offered by G. Dwayne Snopes.
Unfortunately, as members fled their local congregations, they took their money with them, along with the funds that had always supported the county's good causes. Before long, an area drug program was abandoned, then the food pantry hours were cut back. But the biggest loss had been the county's small storefront medical clinic, an interdenominational venture that had been the pride of the local clergy. They had watched helplessly as the money their churches had spent helping the poor ended up in G. Dwayne Snopes's bottomless pockets instead. And Rachel had been a big part of that.
He remembered the day he'd impulsively introduced himself to her as she was coming out of the bank. He'd told her about the clinic that was being forced to close and been encouraged by what he'd interpreted as a genuine look of concern behind her mascara-coated eyelashes.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Reverend Bonner."
"I'm not trying to assign blame," he'd said, "but the Temple of Salvation has taken so many members from our local congregations that the churches have had to abandon one worthy project after another."
She'd stiffened, and he could see that he'd made her defensive. "You can't blame what's happened on the Temple."
He should have been more tactful, but the large sapphires in her earlobes caught the sunlight, and he thought how even one of those stones could help keep the clinic open. "I'll admit that I'd like to see the Temple show a little more responsibility to the community."
"The Temple has pumped hundreds of thousands of dollars into this county."
"Into the business community, but not into philanthropy."
"You're obviously not a regular viewer, Reverend Bonner, or you'd know that the Temple does wonderful work. Orphanages throughout Africa depend on us."
Ethan had been trying to look into those orphanages, along with the rest of the Temple's finances, and he wouldn't let this pampered woman decked out in flashy jewelry and too-high heels get by with that one. "Tell me, Mrs. Snopes, am I the only one who wonders exactly how many of those millions of dollars your husband collects for orphans actually make their way to Africa?"
Her green eyes had turned into chips of ice, and he saw a flash of redhead's temper. "You shouldn't blame my husband because he has the energy and imagination to keep his pews filled on Sunday morning."
He couldn't hide his anger. "I won't turn my worship service into a lounge act for anyone."
If she'd responded sarcastically, maybe he could have forgotten about their encounter, but her voice had softened with something like sympathy. "Maybe that's where you're going wrong, Reverend Bonner. It's not your worship service. It belongs to God."
As she'd walked away, he had been forced to acknowledge the painful truth he didn't want to face. The grandiose success of the Temple merely highlighted his own shortcomings.
Although his sermons were thoughtful and delivered from the heart, they weren't dramatic. He'd never stirred his congregation to tears with the passion of his message. He couldn't heal the sick or make the crippled walk, and the walls of his church hadn't been bursting from overcrowding, even before G. Dwayne's arrival in Salvation.
Maybe that was why the dislike he felt for Rachel Snopes was so personal. She had held up a mirror that made him face what he didn't want to see-his utter lack of suitability to be a minister.
He turned off the highway onto the narrow road that led up Heartache Mountain to Annie's cottage. It was located less than a mile from the entrance of the drive-in.
Rachel pushed a tangled lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry about your grandmother. Annie Glide was a feisty woman."
"You knew her?"
"Unfortunately. She had an aversion to Dwayne right from the beginning, and since she couldn't get past his bodyguards to give him a piece of her mind, she gave it to me instead."
"Annie was a woman of strong opinions."
"When did she die?"
"About five months ago. Her heart finally gave out. She had a good life, but we miss her."
"Has her house been empty since then?"
"Until recently. My secretary, Kristy Brown, has been living there for the past few weeks. The lease expired on her apartment before her new condo was ready, so she's staying here temporarily."
Rachel's forehead creased. "I'm sure she won't want two strangers moving in with her."
"It'll only be for a few nights," he said pointedly.
Rachel heard the unspoken message, but she ignored it. A few nights. She needed longer than that to find the Kennedy chest.
She thought of the unknown woman who was about to have a stranger and a small child move in with her. And not just any stranger, but the town's most notorious citizen. Her head ached, and she surreptitiously pressed the fingertips of one hand to her temple.
Ethan swung wide to avoid a rut, and she banged her shoulder against the door. She glanced into the backseat to make certain Edward was all right and saw that he had a death grip on Horse. She remembered the grip Bonner'd had on her when he'd slipped his hand between her legs.
His cruelty had been deliberate and calculated, so why hadn't she been more frightened? She was no longer certain of anything, not her emotions, not even the unsettling combination of self-loathing and suffering she thought she'd seen in his eyes. She should be enraged by what had happened, but the strongest feeling she could conjure up at the moment was exhaustion.