Read Online 2 - Secrets: Ike Schwartz Mystery 2 by Frederick Ramsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frederick Ramsay
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have to speak to her.”
“Don’t waste your breath. Nothing short of a heart attack will stop that tongue from flapping. But since my vicar told me this morning to make nice with my enemies, I guess I’ll have to stop wishing for that.” She marched away to assume her duties as the Wednesday Morning Bible Study Organizer.
Dan Quarles, a worried look on his, face approached him.
“Father Fisher—”
“Just plain Blake will do, Dan.” Quarles stood an inch less than six feet but looked taller—like most thin men whose body proportions include shorter than normal arms. He had a broad forehead with tufts of hair sticking out at the temples. His face came to a point at his chin. His mustache made the whole look like an upside down A. Blake had been told Dan attended seminary briefly and still affected black suits and an air of piety that made Blake uncomfortable. He wondered if the clothes and attitude were a seminary leftover, or the habits of a lifetime. He smiled at his own pun.
“I just wanted to give you a heads up. Everyone is upset about your sermon. I don’t know how I’m going to straighten this out.”
“Who’s everyone, Dan?”
“Well, everyone.”
“Names, Dan. Who are upset and, more importantly, why did they tell you and not me?”
“Well, I am the chairman of the Mission Board, so naturally they would. I don’t think I should name names.”
“Then we are not having this conversation. I have one simple rule. If you have something to say to me, you say it to me . You do not go to a third party and file an anonymous complaint. Either you believe strongly enough in what you have to say to be up front about it, or you keep it to yourself.”
Blake heard his words and thought they must have come from someone else. What had gotten into him? First the sermon, now he just told off Dan Quarles, the chairman of the Mission Board. Dan stood absolutely still, his jaw slowly descending toward the floor. Finally he recovered.
“Now look here, Mr. Fisher—”
“Blake.”
“You need to be clear about one thing. Some of us have been here for a long time. We have put a lot of sweat and tears into this church and by golly we think we’ve done a pretty fair job. We will not let you, or anyone else your pal Bournet sends down here, destroy what we worked so hard to create.” Quarles spun on his heel and stalked away.
Blake watched him rejoin a group of men in a corner, and then felt the white heat of scorn from their eyes as Quarles repeated their conversation. He sighed, caught sight of Mary Miller leaving, and waved a goodbye. Mary gifted him another beautiful smile.
***
The phone rang. Blake walked to his bedroom and picked up the extension. He’d forgotten how much psychic energy Sunday mornings required. He needed a nap.
“Hello, Blake.” He knew the voice but could not identify the speaker.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Oh Blake, how soon you forget. You broke my heart and now you pretend you don’t know me.” Blake’s heart sank.
“Gloria? How did you get my number?”
“The Reverend William Smart had it in his Rolodex. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Smart gave you my number?” Blake worked for Smart in Philadelphia, at Saint Katherine’s, a lifetime ago.
“Well, not exactly. I found it on his desk when he stepped out of the office and so I just, you know, took it.”
“Gloria, you have done enough. I have nothing to say to you, and you can take it as Gospel this number will be changed.”
“Don’t hang up, Blake. I have something important to tell you that I know you are dying to hear.”
“I doubt it.”
“I talked to the Picketsville sheriff’s office, to your nice Mr. Schwartz. I told him everything.”
“Told? You had nothing to tell, Gloria.”
“Don’t I? There is a difference of opinion on that. My side is borne out by the fact that I am still in Philadelphia and you are not. Who will they believe? By the way, he asked if I thought you were capable
“Don’t waste your breath. Nothing short of a heart attack will stop that tongue from flapping. But since my vicar told me this morning to make nice with my enemies, I guess I’ll have to stop wishing for that.” She marched away to assume her duties as the Wednesday Morning Bible Study Organizer.
Dan Quarles, a worried look on his, face approached him.
“Father Fisher—”
“Just plain Blake will do, Dan.” Quarles stood an inch less than six feet but looked taller—like most thin men whose body proportions include shorter than normal arms. He had a broad forehead with tufts of hair sticking out at the temples. His face came to a point at his chin. His mustache made the whole look like an upside down A. Blake had been told Dan attended seminary briefly and still affected black suits and an air of piety that made Blake uncomfortable. He wondered if the clothes and attitude were a seminary leftover, or the habits of a lifetime. He smiled at his own pun.
“I just wanted to give you a heads up. Everyone is upset about your sermon. I don’t know how I’m going to straighten this out.”
“Who’s everyone, Dan?”
“Well, everyone.”
“Names, Dan. Who are upset and, more importantly, why did they tell you and not me?”
“Well, I am the chairman of the Mission Board, so naturally they would. I don’t think I should name names.”
“Then we are not having this conversation. I have one simple rule. If you have something to say to me, you say it to me . You do not go to a third party and file an anonymous complaint. Either you believe strongly enough in what you have to say to be up front about it, or you keep it to yourself.”
Blake heard his words and thought they must have come from someone else. What had gotten into him? First the sermon, now he just told off Dan Quarles, the chairman of the Mission Board. Dan stood absolutely still, his jaw slowly descending toward the floor. Finally he recovered.
“Now look here, Mr. Fisher—”
“Blake.”
“You need to be clear about one thing. Some of us have been here for a long time. We have put a lot of sweat and tears into this church and by golly we think we’ve done a pretty fair job. We will not let you, or anyone else your pal Bournet sends down here, destroy what we worked so hard to create.” Quarles spun on his heel and stalked away.
Blake watched him rejoin a group of men in a corner, and then felt the white heat of scorn from their eyes as Quarles repeated their conversation. He sighed, caught sight of Mary Miller leaving, and waved a goodbye. Mary gifted him another beautiful smile.
***
The phone rang. Blake walked to his bedroom and picked up the extension. He’d forgotten how much psychic energy Sunday mornings required. He needed a nap.
“Hello, Blake.” He knew the voice but could not identify the speaker.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Oh Blake, how soon you forget. You broke my heart and now you pretend you don’t know me.” Blake’s heart sank.
“Gloria? How did you get my number?”
“The Reverend William Smart had it in his Rolodex. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
“Smart gave you my number?” Blake worked for Smart in Philadelphia, at Saint Katherine’s, a lifetime ago.
“Well, not exactly. I found it on his desk when he stepped out of the office and so I just, you know, took it.”
“Gloria, you have done enough. I have nothing to say to you, and you can take it as Gospel this number will be changed.”
“Don’t hang up, Blake. I have something important to tell you that I know you are dying to hear.”
“I doubt it.”
“I talked to the Picketsville sheriff’s office, to your nice Mr. Schwartz. I told him everything.”
“Told? You had nothing to tell, Gloria.”
“Don’t I? There is a difference of opinion on that. My side is borne out by the fact that I am still in Philadelphia and you are not. Who will they believe? By the way, he asked if I thought you were capable
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