Em gave me a wide-eyed look. She didn’t have to forgive James’s friend. I did.
“Why?”
Styles tugged on the brim of his hat. It came down almost to his eyebrows. “Instead of looking for something, look for something that’s not there.”
It actually made sense. It was thinking outside the box. Instead of seeing what was there, see what wasn’t there. The gold Bible was conspicuously missing.
“I don’t see what — ”
Styles jumped in. “Skip, I’ve got an idea. Cashdollar is going in for the evening sermon. He’ll kill.” He grimaced. “Sorry for the pun. This will be the biggest collection sermon of his career.”
“What’s your idea?”
“You and me, we’re going to be actively involved in this sermon.”
“And how is that going to happen?”
“Trust me. When it starts, I’ll let you know.”
“Hey,” the voice was below the truck bed. “There are about one hundred people in line here. Are you guys going to serve or do we have to go to the pizza place?”
Em looked down, and smiled at the man. “Yeah. Please go down there. And let us know how that works out for you, okay?”
I was piling on the toppings, serving the burgers, and Em was right beside me, doing the same.
“Working for Daddy is a whole lot easier.” She wiped sweat from her brow.
“So you appreciate what I do for a living?”
“I think you’re dumber than hell. But hey, I’m attracted nevertheless.”
I spun around, in a rare second of free time, and shouted back to Styles. He was just finishing his beer. “Daron, you said you had two things to tell us. Number one was that Crayer was an FBI plant.”
“Oh yeah. It may not mean anything, but Cashdollar had a meeting with the Congressional Black Caucus in Washington, D.C. The same day that Fred Long was murdered.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
T he crowd had grown. How that was possible, I have no clue, but the spillover factor was unbelievable. Where there had been two thousand people, there were now three or four thousand. If the fire marshal had appeared, we would have been closed down. People were parking at restaurants and gas stations up to a mile or so away and walking down to the park. The state of Florida would have been proud of their park, but the natural beauty, the river, and the Intracoastal Waterway was not what the crowd was coming to see.
The buzz was out that Cashdollar had made it back for the last event of the weekend. I couldn’t fathom how much money the man would collect tonight.
“It’s going to be a night to remember, Skipper.” Styles smiled, a sly look on his face.
Even more satellite trucks lined up inside the camper village, and a Fox News affiliate had a camera positioned outside the tent. Local news stations were lined up inside and camera flashes popped every quarter of a second. Standing on the ground, looking up at the truck, I saw James pose every once in a while.
“So, when do we go in?” I wanted a decent seat.
“We don’t.”
“Daron, Cashdollar is making his debut. Less than twenty-four hours after being shot, he’s going to preach. We should be in there.”
We were probably already in trouble for not telling the authorities what we’d witnessed. I wanted to see Cashdollar’s spin on the event.
“Skipper,” I hated that name, “everyone will be in the tent.”
“Yeah? You think?”
“I’m banking on it, son.”
“And we’re not going?”
“No.”
“So not everyone, just — ”
“Almost everyone.”
And the crowd continued to file in. Past our truck, past the police armed guard, through the opening in the canvas. And they filed and they filed and they filed.
Finally, with three hundred or more people outside the entrance, and several hundred lined up on the road past our truck, Crayer’s donuts, and the rest of the vendors, the sermon started. The speakers blared outside the yellow tent and the choir started singing. It was going to be one hell of a night.
“Ten minutes, son.”
We stood there as LeRoy spoke. “Today,” the voice echoed from the speakers, “in the last twenty-four hours, Reverend Preston Cashdollar was shot. No one knows the reason, but a threat on his life brought a serious threat to this ministry. God steps up, brothers and sisters. God works miracles. Tonight, it gives me a great honor to welcome back our own, the Reverend Preston Cashdollar.”
The crowd erupted, screaming louder than I’d ever heard. They shouted out hosanna, whistled, cheered, and screamed. In the midst of the greatest commotion I’d ever witnessed, including a John Mayer concert and a Dave Matthews show, Daron grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me away.
We fought our way around the outside of the tent, bumping into people every second. Finally we had rounded the left side of the big monstrosity and we were standing in front of the office. The first thing I noticed was the padlock wasn’t on.
“I’m going up.” Styles gave me a cold look.
“You’re crazy.”
“You said it yourself, son. Everyone will be inside the tent, seeing if miracles really do come true.”
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Come on up with me.”
“Look, man, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but the last time you were in there, you almost got killed, and you almost killed someone.”
“Won’t happen this time, Skipper. Everyone is inside big yellow. The last thing they’re going to worry about is someone inside their trailer.”
He walked up the wooden platform and twisted the handle. The door opened, and he stuck his head in.
“Come on up, buddy. Nobody here.”
I’d been through a lot. I didn’t understand most of what was going on around me, but for some reason that escapes me today, I figured at this point I had nothing to lose. I put my foot on the stair and walked up to the landing. Styles was standing there, waiting for me.
“Nobody here but us chickens, Skipper.”
In my high school history class we had a chapter or a page or maybe just a paragraph on Napoleon Bonaparte. The French general had a quote that I memorized, not because I understood it, but because I thought it was cool. Now, I understood it. And it made perfect sense. Men are moved by only two things. Fear and self-interest. I think that talk-show host Barry Romans said the same thing. Fear and self-interest. And I was in agreement. That quote pretty much summed up the last three days.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I walked in and the desk was directly in front of me. The computer that Styles had hacked into was sitting, totally exposed, on top of the desk, and to the right was a set of filing cabinets. No safe. Because the money was picked up as soon as it was collected. My bank took five days to process and cash a check I deposited. Cashdollar could get an instant credit. James often said it. You’ve got to have money to make money.
Styles was pulling open drawers and clawing through files. “We’re going to find something. Start looking.”
I had no idea what I was looking for.
“Skipper, go into the other room. See what you can find. I’m going to hack the computer.”
A narrow entrance led to the second half of the trailer. It appeared to be more of the living quarters, and as I walked in I saw two vinyl recliners, a flat-screen television, a bar, and two bookshelves. There must have been thirty or forty bottles of booze behind the laminated wood bar. I felt like pouring myself a drink. Or two or three. And again, I didn’t have a clue as to what I should look for.
I walked behind the bar, a narrow area with a sink. I shot a quick look over my shoulder, imagining what would happen if we got caught.
The crowd noise from the big tent outside was muffled but loud, and I caught myself listening, straining to hear any sound that wasn’t contained in that tent. At the first sign of anyone discovering us, I wanted to be ready to bolt. A large cabinet was beneath the wall-mounted flat-screen television and I opened the right door. There were dozens of DVDs. The titles that caught my eye were several movies that James and I considered our favorites. Dumb and Dumber, Bill amp; Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Midnight Cowboy, and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. The second shelf contained more of the same, but a couple titles I’d only heard about. Star Whores, Laying Private Ryan, and some others I couldn’t believe had been invented.