“How could I forget him. He punctuates every statement by cracking his knuckles.”

  “I’ve never noticed.”

  “Please.”

  “Anyway,” continued Bram, “if you recall, Lavinia died somewhere between eleven and four in the morning. But… get this. Her room wasn’t torn up until sometime after six.”

  “How on earth could they know that?”

  “It seems that, while Lavinia was staying at the hotel, she’d ordered the St. Paul Pioneer Press to be brought up to her room every morning. The paper is delivered around six A.M. But on Sunday, the paper was already inside the room with some of Lavinia’s belongings tossed on top of it. That means whoever ransacked the room didn’t do it until after six on Sunday morning. They must have picked it up on their way in the door.”

  Sophie sat up straight. “That’s … amazing.”

  “The police agree. It’s an odd set of circumstances, but undoubtedly significant. Did you know Lavinia’s jewelry was missing?”

  “Peter told me.”

  “Okay, so if the point of the murder was to get her out of the way so that the murderer could search the room for valuables, why didn’t they do it right away?”

  “I… don’t know.” She gave herself a moment to think it through. “Maybe they’re separate issues — the killer and the thief weren’t the same person.”

  “But it had to be someone with a key, Sophie. Other than Peter, the only person with access to one was Lavinia’s murderer. He or she could have easily removed it from her purse after she was dead. Remember, there was no sign of breaking and entering.”

  This was fascinating, thought Sophie. And frustrating. “Lavinia called the front desk for a wake-up call around midnight.”

  “If it was Lavinia who made the call. Think about it, Soph. It could have been her killer who called.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “But why?”

  “Simple,” said Bram. “They needed more time. Lavinia asked for a noon wake-up call, right? That ensured that the hotel staff wouldn’t make any attempt to clean the room until after lunch. It gave the killer all morning to get back and search the place — without someone going in and discovering a dead body first.”

  “This is incredible.”

  “I agree.”

  “But let’s backtrack a second,” she said, picking up her pencil again. “You mentioned that Peter probably has a key.”

  “Most likely.”

  “But if he was the killer, what was he searching the room for? It couldn’t be the diary. He didn’t kill Ginger.”

  “I don’t have the answer.”

  She hesitated, and then continued. “Do the police really think she was murdered for her jewelry?”

  “A1 didn’t say anything about that directly, but it hardly seems likely. If you ask me, whoever took those jewels did it as a cover.”

  “So, we’re stuck with the same question. The room was obviously searched. What was being sought?”

  “I hate to admit it, Sophie, but your diary theory is, so far, the only one on the table that makes any sense.”

  “Bingo!”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, dear. I’m sure other theories will develop.”

  “Well,” she said, tossing her pencil on the desk once again, “all I can say is, I’ve had about as much sleuthing as I can take for one day.”

  “Really? Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  She let his annoyingly amused tone slide past her. “We’re short one person on the front desk this afternoon. I think I’ll spend the rest of the day helping out.”

  “A good way to put your finger on the pulse of the hotel,” agreed Bram. “I’ll see you at home later. We can continue our discussion over dinner.”

  “Fine. I’ll pick up some take-out Chinese on the way. Oh, and don’t forget to stop by the cleaners to pick up your shirts. They should be done by four.”

  “I need a wife.”

  “Me, too,” she said, grinning. “But we can’t afford one. They’re very expensive. Later, sweetheart.”

  For the next two hours Sophie answered phones, checked guests in and out, and generally handled whatever problems came her way. Even as a teenager, she’d always liked working at the reception desk. Right now, however, she was particularly glad for this respite from the murder investigation. She needed some time to think, to mull over the facts of the case, at least as she knew them so far.

  Around two, she saw a familiar face emerge from the elevator and head her way.

  Isaac Knox, flanked by four gray-haired men in expensive business suits, approached the marble counter. Before another clerk could offer assistance, Sophie stepped up to them, a friendly smile on her face. It took a moment for the significance of his entourage to sink in. When it did, she realized she was facing four of the highest-ranking ministers in the Church of the Firstborn. She hadn’t seen them in years, which probably accounted for why she didn’t immediately recognize them.

  “Good afternoon,” said Isaac in his deepest register. “I’m sure you remember my friends here.” He swept his hand to the men with more than a little grandiosity, almost as if he were introducing royalty.

  “Of course,” said Sophie, nodding pleasantly. It was a stretch. “How can I help you?”

  “They each need a room for the next couple of nights.”

  She tried not to act surprised, though the more she thought about it, the screwier it all seemed. On Sunday morning, Sophie had seen three evangelists with Isaac Knox. Today, here were four more. Counting Hugh and Isaac, that made nine evangelists in one place at one time. She couldn’t help but wonder why.

  “Do you have rooms available?” asked Isaac, the impatience showing.

  Sophie knew she better stop gawking and get down to business. “I’m sure we do,” she said, typing the appropriate codes into the computer. Most of the members of the D.O.S.S. convention had left on Monday, leaving the hotel fairly open for the next few days.

  “If you have suites available, that would be our first preference.”

  “Of course.”

  “Nonsmoking,” he added, leaning toward her over the counter.

  As she was about to suggest rooms on the tenth floor, she glanced over his shoulder and saw another familiar face enter through die glass front doors. Howell Purdis, wearing a pair of furry blue bedroom slippers with bright yellow tassels dangling off the tops, paused briefly next to die bell stand, waiting as three other men, each carrying several pieces of luggage, caught up to him. Making sure they were safely in tow, he steamed resolutely across the carpet, heading straight for the desk. Sophie recognized this new group as more evangelists. This growing assemblage of top brass at a single holy-day site was getting stranger by the minute.

  Isaac squared his shoulders and straightened his back as Howell moved up next to him.

  They glared at each other for several long seconds and then Howell turned to Sophie and announced, “I’ve already arranged for three more rooms. We’re here to get the keys.”

  “Certainly,” said Sophie. Since these ministers had known each other for years and were supposedly great friends, their lack of eye contact not only surprised, but baffled her. “I’ll be done here in just a second.”

  Howell seemed more than aggravated that he had to wait.

  As the men all stood staring straight ahead, Bunny approached the counter cautiously and leaned her elbow next to Sophie. “When you’re done, maybe we could have a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure,” said Sophie, returning her attention to the computer. “I’d love to. Just give me a couple of minutes.”

  “No problem.” She turned to one of the ministers, eyeing him curiously. When he glared back at her, her expression turned angry. “Sorry. Did I forget to wipe the triple-six off my forehead?”

  A couple of the ministers glanced at her dismissively, but no one made a move to comment. Silence seemed to be the order of the day.

  As Sophie typed away, getting everyone set up with a room, she was dying to know what was going on. Everyone seemed not only ill at ease, but also, interestingly enough, on different sides of some great divide. The four men Isaac had brought with him were careful not to connect in any way with the three men accompanying Howell Purdis.

  After requesting some help from one of the other clerks, Sophie finished with all the check-ins, handing everyone a key.

  “Thank you,” said Isaac formally. He turned to Howell.

  “Our meeting is scheduled for four tomorrow afternoon. We should be done in time to announce the results at Bible study.”

  “Fine,” said Howell, his tone curiously subdued. “We’ll be there.” He padded doggedly off toward the elevators, followed at a suitable distance by his Three Stooges. Sophie knew it was an unflattering characterization, and she loved every inch of it.

  “Looks like you’re lining up for a battle,” said Bunny, still leaning on the marble counter. Her casual body language was as much of a comment as her amused look.

  Isaac’s frown deepened as he muttered, “It’s none of your business. Come on,” he said to the four men standing next to him. “I need some fresh air.”

  The tension surrounding them traveled like a miasmic cloud, floating with them and disappearing out the front door as they made their hasty exit.

  26

  From two to four every weekday afternoon, the Maxfield Plaza served a proper St. Paul tea in the hotel’s atrium, a rear court tucked snugly between the two towers, enclosed under an ornate glass-block-and-steel skylight. Small round tables were covered with the finest Irish linen. Amid the tinkling of teacups and soft classical music played by a young man seated at a grand piano near the garden entrance, the rich perfume of freshly baked scones and cakes wafted through the crowd.

  Afternoon tea at the Maxfield was a St. Paul tradition. Though it was usually packed with Twin Citians seeking a respite from a hectic business or shopping day, the subdued conversations lent an easy, comfortable air to the open courtyard.

  “With all these ministers milling around,” muttered Bunny, making herself comfortable on one of the brocade armchairs, “I feel like I’m back at college. Except my face doesn’t hurt from all that eternal smiling.”

  Sophie laughed as she sat down next to her, glad for the opportunity to talk. “Do you know what’s going on? How come so many of the evangelists are in town right now?”

  Bunny shrugged. “Adelle told me Isaac Knox is making a play to replace Howell Purdis as head of the church.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Don’t you think it’s about time somebody challenged that old bag of wind?”

  “Sure, but they’re all cut from the same cloth — all those ministers spending their lives poring over ancient texts, strangling some new meaning out of two or three words. They’ve spent their whole lives boring deeply into twigs.”

  “Well put,” said Bunny, crossing one leg casually over the other. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? That church is still going strong — still ruining people’s lives.”

  “You really feel that way?” asked Sophie. Nobody had said much about the church at the reunion the other night, although she pretty much assumed Adelle’s presence had caused the reticence.

  “Of course I do. Don’t you?”

  “You better believe it. I don’t have anything against morals and values, but the way Howell Purdis uses religion to control people’s lives, well, all I can say is, it’s destructive. I spent many years hating that man, and everything and everyone associated with the church.”

  “Especially after Norm got custody of your son.”

  Everyone in her old group knew the story. “I wanted nothing more than to have a hand in raising him, but Norm — in his infinite wisdom — wouldn’t allow it. Since he’d been given full custody, he was in charge. As far as he was concerned, if I wasn’t a member of the church, I was unfit to even be around Rudy.”

  “I’m really sorry, Sophie. It must have been terrible.”

  “It was. When a church plants itself between a parent and a child, I think it’s wrong. Worse than wrong. It’s evil. Adults can argue all they want about truth and error, but separating a mother from her child is unforgivable, and I’ve never — nor will I ever — forgive any of them.”

  “You know,” said Bunny, her unblinking eyes holding Sophie’s, “you did everything right. You knuckled under, succeeded in college, and married a minister. Yet in many ways, you were screwed worse than any of us.”

  Sophie looked down at her hands. “It’s only been the last few years that I’ve been able to talk about that time in my life with any degree of rationality. I suppose it’s why I never wanted much contact with you, or any of the others from Terrace Lane. Keeping up with the gossip, rehashing old times — it just hurt too much.”

  Bunny nodded, looking up as a waiter arrived with a menu.

  “I think we know what we want,” said Sophie, forcing her voice to sound something other than grim. She was glad for the interruption, and for the change of subject she hoped it would bring. “By the way, tea is on the house.”

  “Hey,” said Bunny, a delighted look on her face. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.” Sophie smiled.

  “What kind of tea would you like?” asked the waiter. “China or Indian?”

  Bunny shrugged.

  “Let’s have the Indian,” said Sophie. “And a mixed tray.” As he walked away Sophie noticed Bunny examining the skylight with great curiosity. “Is this the first time you’ve eaten in the atrium?”

  Bunny nodded. “I spent a little time in the garden the other day. I sat with Adelle and had a cup of coffee. But this is the first time I’ve been in here.”

  “Just for the record, teas are a lot like wines,” said Sophie. “The soil, altitude, and climate influence the final flavor, and no two vintages are exactly alike. We have our teas blended by a local distributor to ensure a consistent quality and taste.”

  “You know something, Soph?” She folded her arms over her chest. “You haven’t changed in over twenty-five years. You’re still fascinated by anything that has to do with food and drink.”

  “At least I’m consistent.”

  “That you are.” Bunny smiled. “As I think about it, none of us has changed all that much. Take Adelle for instance. She still has all the warmth and charm of a rattlesnake.”

  “But look where it got her,” said Sophie. “She married the second most powerful man in the church.”

  ‘True. But is she happy? I may be way off base, but I don’t think so.” She removed her glasses and, for a moment, rubbed her eyes. “And then, of course, there’s me. I just wanted to be left alone to think and read. It’s perhaps an understatement to say I wasn’t the minister’s-wife type.”

  “Were you always attracted to women?” asked Sophie, hoping she wasn’t asking too personal a question.

  “As far back as I can remember. I fought it with every ounce of strength in me, but in the end, I couldn’t stuff my sexuality back into the bottle, not even for God.”

  “I’m sure it must have been hard for you. I know it was tough for my son.”

  “You have no idea. A lesbian and an introvert among the fundamentalist elite. Talk about not fitting anywhere.”

  “None of us felt like we fit, Bun.”

  “Maybe. But you … you always seemed to be exactly what they were looking for. On top of your studies. Committed. Good-looking.”

  Sophie’s eyebrow arched upward. “I was?”

  “Sure. You know, I never understood why the dean of women put you on die Terrace Lane diet. You were just round, what some might call voluptuous.”

  Sophie felt herself begin to blush. “I think I passed the voluptuous point long ago.”

  “That’s nonsense. You look great. You’re an only child, right?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s what I thought. It’s probably why you’re such an overachiever.”

  “Coming from someone with a doctorate, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.” Her smile was warm. “You know, it was as if Howell Purdis had this team he was building. All the guys had to be quarterbacks and all the women had to be cheerleaders. If you deviated from the image, you were either punished, or relegated to some menial position.”

  An apt description. “Are your parents still in the church?”

  “Dad is. So are my two brothers. Mom died about ten years ago. She had a bad heart. Actually, she was sick pretty much all the time I was in college. In a way, I suppose, that’s why I never left. I thought about it more than once, but I knew if I took off, the embarrassment and the worry would kill her.”

  The waiter arrived with the tea. He placed the china cups and saucers on the table in front of them and then lifted the round metal teapot onto a trivet. After lighting the spirit lamp underneath it to keep it warm, he set the milk and sugar in front of Sophie.

  Bunny closed her eyes. “It smells wonderful.”

  Sophie poured. “When I have the Indian, I usually use milk and sugar. It has a rather hearty malt flavor.”

  “Just milk for me,” said Bunny. “It’s really amazing to think you own this hotel now. But… it must be awful for you — having Lavinia die here.”

  “Awful for me, but worse for her.”

  “Yeah. You know, I talked to the police this morning. They had some questions about Ginger’s diary, among other things.”

  “Really. And what did you tell them?”

  “The same stuff you probably did. Oh, they wanted to know if I was mad at Lavinia for anything. Apparently they’d already talked to Cindy. She told them I was furious about the exercise video.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. I thought Lavinia had lost her marbles. I can’t conceive of why she’d want to attach the D.O.S.S. name to something like that. I mean, our intent, as an organization, is to focus women’s energy away from their bodies. Did you hear about that recent study McGill University did?”

  Sophie shook her head.