Mama’s back stiffened in the car seat. “Why wouldn’t I ‘show up,’ Delilah? The only thing to consider is I had the bad luck to discover some poor soul’s body in my trunk.’’
Delilah traced a finger along the spine of the Bible she carried. “Well, we did hear you’d been hauled into the Himmarshee Jail.’’ Her voice was loud enough to wake the crows roosting across the street in a magnolia tree. “All of us were worried you’d never get out.’’
Heads turned as other congregation members filed past.
“As you can see, I’m out. I wasn’t charged with a thing,’’ Mama said sharply. “It was a misunderstanding, is all. By the way, Delilah, you might want to reread the Gospel of Matthew in that Good Book you’re carrying. He writes all about the evil nature of false accusations.’’
I’d planned to jump to Mama’s defense, but she seemed to be doing fine on her own. Sputtering, Delilah flounced into church, her skirt a floral swirl around her sturdy legs.
“I know it’s not very Christian of me, but I sure don’t like that woman,’’ Mama whispered to me. “And did you see her in a sleeveless sweater? She’s built like a truck driver. With those big arms of hers, a three-quarter length sleeve would be much more flattering.’’
I aimed a sanctimonious look to the passenger seat. “Doesn’t Proverbs address gossiping, Mama? If I recall, the Bible says guard your mouth and tongue to keep yourself from calamity.’’
I couldn’t resist the jab. But I was secretly glad Mama was focused on Delilah’s fashion faux pas instead of mine.
“You’re absolutely right, Mace.’’ She looked contrite. “It isn’t nice to gossip. But I almost busted out laughing when she said how the congregation enjoys her husband’s sermons. The only thing that keeps most of them awake is the promise of the Pork Pit when it’s over.’’
I patted her on the arm. “Don’t worry, Mama. The people who really know you would never believe you had anything to do with the murder. The Dixons are fairly new, aren’t they?’’
“Just since this year.’’ She formed an O with her lips in the mirror, and painted them with her favorite shade, Apricot Ice. “Bob Dixon replaced Pastor Gooden, who everybody loved. And that wife of his doesn’t help his case. There’s something a little off about the two of them, Mace.’’ Shaking her head, she tossed the lipstick back in her purse. “At least half-a-dozen members have quit since they arrived.’’
Making our way inside, we were forced to step around a card table stacked high with homemade DVDs. The covers showed a dark-suited man, looking reflective in a beam of light from a stained glass window. Walking the Path with Pastor Bob, the title said. I turned it over. Fifteen bucks, according to a bright red price sticker on the back. I returned it to the pile.
Mama’s minister must have found a fancier church than Abundant Hope to stage his DVD photo. This one just had the store window, and not a pane of stained glass in sight.
Several people waved and smiled. But a few stared with cold eyes as we found two seats halfway down a row of folding chairs. Mama fiddled with a stack of church books under her seat, looking for a hymnal. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice the nasty looks before the music minister hit the first chord on a portable organ.
A young man in the front row lifted a video camera to his eye. The red Record button lit. The choir burst into What a Friend We Have in Jesus. As Mama warbled along, I counted the fake lilies in pots lining a raised wooden altar. I’d gotten to twenty-two, and started in on studying the Ten Commandments on three big panels against the wall, when a commotion broke out behind us.
“I told you, I WILL NOT sit down.’’ It was a woman, and she sounded on the verge of hysterics. “I have something to say, and I’m going up there to say it.’’
There was some quiet murmuring and shushing from behind us.
“People should know. They should know!’’ She let loose a wail, which sounded familiar.
I turned around to see Emma Jean Valentine being corralled toward the exit by a short man in a dark suit. Pastor Bob? Emma Jean’s green skirt was two inches too short. A kitty-cat pin shone on the lapel of her neon blue jacket.
Delilah Dixon stepped in, trying to help steer her out the door.
“Take your hands off of me!’’ Emma Jean’s eyes were wild. She raised her hand, and along with it a threatening-looking tire iron.
Mama clutched my elbow. “Oh, my stars and garters! Emma Jean is fixin’ to murder Delilah and her husband, the preacher.’’
Emma Jean backed up, knocking over the card table display. The DVDs clattered to the floor. As the guy with the camera moved in for a closer shot, Pastor Bob swiped his hand across his throat, yelling “Cut! Cut!’’
Now every head in the church was turned to the rear. Even the choir had quit singing to stare. Delilah and the reverend backed off a few steps. Emma Jean lowered the tire iron a fraction. She raised her other hand to her head to straighten a straw hat decorated with green-and-white daisies.
“Most of you know me.’’ Her voice rang out in the pin-drop silent room. “I suffered a terrible loss this week when Jim Albert was murdered. And now I’ve discovered something that hurts almost as bad as losing him. I’ve been looking into a few things. Jim was cheating on me. And the woman he betrayed me with is a member here, supposedly a good Christian.’’
Shocked gasps rippled through the seats. A loud clap sounded on the floor by the choir. I turned in time to see a pretty blonde soprano stoop to retrieve the hymn book she dropped.
“I just wanted y’all to think on something, sitting here in this church: People aren’t always what they seem. There’s a woman here who tried to take away someone I loved. She’s here among you, pretending to be pious and holy. But really she’s just a common whore.’’
Mothers covered their kids’ ears. The Reverend Dixon put out a hand to silence Emma Jean. She shook her tire iron at him, and his hand dropped like he’d touched a hot stove.
“God gave Moses the commandments.’’ Emma Jean’s voice rose like a preacher’s. “All of you know the one about coveting thy neighbor’s wife. Well, someone here coveted the man who was going to be my husband.’’
She walked halfway up the aisle and stopped, tire iron raised like a staff. All eyes followed her as she looked slowly around the church, pointing her arm like a weapon toward any woman under seventy. For a long moment, her gaze held on the soprano. The young woman cast her eyes down as she fidgeted with a barrette holding back her hair.