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I filled him in on the stuffed dog and the warning note. I mentioned there’d been another threat, but kept things vague since we still hadn’t told Mama about my narrow escape on the highway. She thought my Jeep was just in the shop—again. I summed up Emma Jean’s behavior.

“You both know her. Do you think Emma Jean could be behind any of this?’’ I asked.

The minister tapped together his fingers. Mama picked at a piece of lint on her pantsuit.

“Is she violent?’’

Pastor Bob said, “She did look awfully comfortable with that tire iron.’’

Mama scowled at him. “Well, I don’t believe it.’’ She shook her head. “I think what Emma Jean needs right now is some proper Christian charity, not condemnation.’’

“I’m perfectly willing to render that charity, if only I could find her, Rosalee.’’ More teeth. “Delilah and I called several times after services last night, and again this morning. We didn’t reach her. I was hoping you had.’’

That’s when I repeated what I’d said in the car about Emma Jean calling, but not showing up. This time, I had Mama’s complete attention.

___

A half hour later, we’d about exhausted the topic of Emma Jean’s troubles. Sitting on that itchy black chair in the pastor’s office, my mind started to wander to work and the day ahead. I needed to stop at the poultry plant and buy a dozen whole chickens for Ollie. That alligator was about to eat up the annual operating budget for Himmarshee Park.

I shifted my wrist to get a look at my watch. Pastor Bob caught me. He must get a lot of practice at that from the pulpit. Clearing his throat, he stretched his toes to the floor and pushed back the leather chair.

“Ladies, it’s been a pleasure speaking to you both. I only wish the circumstances were better. I’m praying for Emma Jean. I hope you are, too.’’

He seemed to stare extra hard at my lapsed self as he said that. It was my turn to look down at his desk.

He walked around and enfolded Mama’s right hand in both of his. “Don’t worry, Rosalee. When we find Emma Jean, we’re going to take care of her. The Bible tells us to help up a companion who falls.’’ He pulled Mama up from her chair, acting out the verse.

Woe to him who is alone when he falls and doesn’t have another to lift him up. Ecclesiastes 4:10,’’ he recited.

He turned to me. “You’re certainly a good daughter, a companion for your mother.’’

Placing one of his boy-sized hands on my shoulder, he gazed at me. His green eyes were piercing, especially against those white teeth. His hand lay there so long, I started feeling uncomfortable. His clammy fingers wriggled. I shifted my shoulder, trying to get out from under what felt like a flopping catfish. Then, just before he removed his hand, he kneaded the bare skin on my upper arm like it was dough and he was a baker.

Could I have imagined it? I searched his eyes, and saw the slightest flicker. “C’mon, baby. I’m ready if you are,’’ it said.

Ewww.

Grabbing Mama’s elbow, I moved her as a barrier between Pastor Bob and me. I backed out the door of his office and into the church.

“PleaseCallMamaIfYouHearAnythingAboutEmmaJean,’’ I said, the words squirming out like tadpoles in a creek. “We’veGottaGo.INeedToGetToWork.’’

I rushed Mama past plastic lilies and pulpit, across dark blue carpet and out the door.

“My stars and garters …” she protested as I pushed her onto the sidewalk. “What in the world?’’

“Don’t ask questions, Mama. Just get in the car.’’

Pastor Bob stood in the church’s front window. He pulled open the blinds, watching us go. He looked just like Ollie the alligator— right before I toss a raw chicken into his waiting jaws.

Mama’s head swiveled like a one-eyed dog in a butcher shop.

I was telling her all about Pastor Bob’s stroking and come-hither stare. She’d look at me for a second, then snap her head toward Abundant Hope, disappearing in the distance behind us. Me, the church. The church, me. I think she expected the minister to jump in his car and chase me down for some nookie-nookie.

“Well, I never!’’ Mama’s lips formed a disapproving line. “That is just about the awfulest thing I ever heard, Mace. I knew there was something off about that man. He’s a predator in pastor’s clothing, plain and simple.’’

“Oh, c’mon, Mama.’’ I laughed a little at how naïve she seemed. “It’s not the end of the world. He thought he saw the chance for a little somethin’ on the side, and he decided to go for it. He’s not the first man to do it. He won’t be the last.’’

Once I’d put a few blocks between me and the lecherous Pastor Bob, I eased off the gas. Unclenching the grip she’d had on the window crank, Mama snapped her seat belt shut.

“He’s not just a man, Mace.’’ Her face was as serious as a sermon. “He’s a man of God. There’s supposed to be a difference.’’

“Tell that to Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart. I seem to remember they were famous ministers, and they had a little trouble with the ladies, too.’’

She ran a hand through her hair. I imagined stray strands scattering in the wind. “That’s not fair, Mace. Those scandals happened a long time ago. And the majority of religious men are good, righteous leaders. They’re not out to jump the bones of anything that moves.’’

“Thanks for the compliment, Mama. Maybe my knockout looks and sex appeal tempted that poor pastor, just this once. Did you ever think about that?’’

She took a long look at me: sleeveless collared shirt in park-department green; shapeless matching trousers in olive drab. I wore heavy-soled black boots, laced up past my ankles. No lipstick or blush. No perfume, either. The park’s animals don’t like it, and it draws mosquitoes.

“Honey, I love you to death.’’ Mama put her palm on my cheek. “You can be an awful pretty girl, when you try. But let’s face facts. You’re no Marty.’’

Mama had a point. My little sister draws men like flies. Usually, I just draw the flies.

Mama put her hand over mine on the stick shift and patted. “I feel guilty, Mace. If I hadn’t dragged you to church, you wouldn’t have had to put up with that awful man attacking you. Just disgusting, that’s what he is. And how about those DVDs? It’s not right for a pastor to be so intent on selling himself.’’

I turned on the radio. Another weather report. Still hot.