Chapter 4

9:00 PM Wednesday: "Prayer Service" was a misnomer. In reality, the congregation sang a couple of songs, then an old man prayed, then a choir of old women sang, then a young man with long hair read from the Bible, then we made melody again, then the preacher asked if there were any sinners there "in need of the Lord’s bleeding hand" (apparently not), then a final song, and then a final prayer. Service over, the congregation then broke up into smaller groups for some real communion.

The men, less disciplined than the women, just shook hands with the preacher at the door and wandered around "waiting for the wives", as male gossip is called, not really choosing up sides. I was proud of the women, and Cheri in particular, because they promptly split in three distinct groups, showing that they knew how to get down to business, and because Cheri’s group had the most and the oldest women.

As I drew near, I could hear the oldest-looking one, a wide lady with a blue round hat stuck tightly on her fat head, speaking intently. "So I said, ‘That’s no way to catch a husband, dear,’ and do you know what she said? She said, ‘I catch the parts I want just fine!'" There were appropriate gasps and "I never"-s from all around. "Can you credit that huss-…Well, hello Mr. Stack!" We had been introduced in the way in.

"Hello Mrs. Gardener." The women looked at me as if I were the Devil himself, with the full range of expressions appropriate to his appearance. "Don’t mind me, ladies."

"I’ll bet he’s a spy from the men," giggled a little one in a red hat and a string of pearls.

"Oh, no, I just find to be women more friendly to strangers than men are." Heads nodded all around. "Ain’t it the truth!" said someone behind me. They had formed a ring around me.

"Mr. Stack may find our little town a bit dull," murmured a librarian type sitting alone at one end of the pew. She never looked higher than my feet.

All I had really wanted was to get people used to talking around me, but the opportunity was golden. "Not a bit," I replied. "I rarely see this many pretty women in a month at home. Besides," I lowered my voice conspiratorially to a whisper, "I’ve heard about that poor girl, Mary Cole."

"Oh, her!" humphed blue hat in disgust.

"Perhaps Mr. Stack is interested in that sort of thing, but we’re not!" murmured Librarian, pressing her hand to her narrow little chest for emphasis, but not lifting her eyes a millimeter.

"Well, maybe not. I don’t suppose she came here much," I admitted, "but surely you’ve talked over who might have done it."

Pearls started to say something, but Blue Hat cut her off. "There was nothing to talk about. As far as I’m concerned, it was an angel from God." She looked around. There was muttered agreement.

"Ladies! This is a woman we’re talking about! From what I understand, she had to have been killed by a man. She couldn’t even defend herself. He stuck from behind. No one, no woman could defend herself from that kind of attack." I looked around at the faces, avoiding Blue Hat’s. "Would you have that man roaming free?"

Blue Hat tilted her head back as far as her short fat neck would allow, and looked around. None of the women met her eyes. She turned back to me, leaning forward. "No decent woman has anything to fear. The death of that woman was God’s work! I’m just sorry that He didn’t burn that house to the ground as well!" Her head swiveled around again, and several of the women looked up, at me I thought, and gave half-hearted Hallelujahs.

Seeing that I was going nowhere fast, I was about to switch tactics, but I was rudely interrupted. "What inspired this praise to the Lord?" asked a baritone voice from behind me. I turned, and there stood the preacher, Mr. South. He had worked himself in close to me, and from the uncomfortable looks on the faces of the women behind him, he had been there for a while, but I played it straight and explained. "Poor girl," said Mr. South when I finished. "I can only hope she made herself right before she went before the Lord... but I fear for her."

"Why?"

"I assume you know her occupation. But don’t think I’m judging her on that alone. It strikes me that she went out into the woods with her killer willingly, as if she knew him. The only men she would have any opportunity to know would be her victims; the victims of her lure. If she had made right with God before her death as I hope, she would not have gone anywhere with one of those men. Does that make sense?"

I nodded. "Sure, except for the part about not knowing other men. You, for example must have gone to see her." I heard gasps all around, but kept my eyes on South.

He smiled. "Yes, I went to see her several times, to show her the error of her ways. ‘and I find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands.’ Ecclesiastes, chapter 7, verse 26. She wouldn’t hear the truth." He folded his hands over his black-suited middle, and shook his head. "There are so many stains in Testament alone to be cleansed, and so little time." I opened my mouth, but didn’t get to say anything. "I sometimes think it’ll take a miracle to do the work: either a man from God, or the last fire." He glanced at his watch. "Well ladies, I imagine the men are getting impatient, and I have some visitation to do in Knoxville in the morning." His voice left no room for further discussion. The women gathered up their cushions and knitting, and flocked out the door. As I turned to go, Mr. South held out his hand. "I hope you can join us again, Mr. Stack." I replied appropriately and made my way to my car, where Cheri was waiting.

About halfway back to her house, she turned to me. "Mary Cole, huh? That’s why you’re here?"

"No, no, it’s like I said, just a vacation."

"Well, you sure ask a lot of questions."

I waved my hand. "Force of habit. No matter where I go, someone has killed someone else in the recent past, and I just have to ask about it."

That kept her quiet for a while. I pulled up in front of her house and was just about to thank her for the fun when, her hand on the door handle, she smiled confidently. "Bet it takes you more than a week," she smirked, and jumped out before I could reply. So I said my good-bye’s under my breath, and drove away.