“It’s” — Pearl’s eyes grew round with wonder as she looked from face to face — “a round-the-world trip!”

  “We’ll be gone four months,” said Henry, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “Four wonderful, relaxing months.”

  “But… how can you do that, Henry?” protested Cousin Sulo. “You’ve got a hotel to run.”

  Henry’s eyes gleamed at his wife. “Oh, I’m a resourceful man.”

  “Open your present now, Sophie,” suggested Pearl, smiling amiably.

  Sophie didn’t need coaxing. She slid a legal-looking document out of the envelope.

  “What’s it say?” asked Sophie’s son, Rudy. He was standing behind the bar, sipping from a can of Coke. John stood next to him, a look of intense interest on his face.

  As she read the cover sheet Sophie’s jaw dropped open. She looked up, handing it across to Bram.

  Bram studied it for only a second before his own jaw dropped. “I don’t understand, Henry.”

  “What don’t you get?” He flicked ash somewhat impatiently into an ashtray.

  “You’re giving Sophie and me the hotel?”

  “For tax purposes, I’m selling it to you,” he corrected. “For the sum of one dollar. You’ve got a buck between you, don’t you?” His smile was sly.

  “But, Dad?” said Sophie. “You can’t just —”

  “I can do anything I damn well please! I’m sixty-nine next January. I’ve got plenty of money in the bank. So I asked myself, what am I still working for? It’s time to retire. Your mom and I deserve to spend some time having fun. Kicking up our heels. Not that this hotel doesn’t still mean the world to both of us. That’s why we’re giving it to you two. Soph, you grew up here. This place is in your blood.”

  It wasn’t that she disagreed. It was just that the idea of owning the Maxfield was a little rich for her blood. She always assumed that when the time came for her parents to retire, they would sell.

  “You worked here until you went to college,” continued Sophie’s father. “And Rudy’s already working part-time in the kitchen helping our pastry chef. From what I hear, he’s a natural. Think of it as the family business. Bram will learn. Running the place will be a piece of cake. Besides, we’ve got the best staff in the business. I’ve talked to Hildegard O’Malley. She’s going to take over for me until you’re both up to speed.”

  This was so much like her dad, thought Sophie. Impetuous. Generous. Imperious. He always figured he knew what was best — for everyone.

  “Day after tomorrow, your mother and I are off for Helsinki. From there, it’s wherever the wind takes us.”

  “Ah, dear, I believe we go to St. Petersburg next,” said Pearl Tahtinen, glancing at the brochure.

  “Whatever,” he grunted. “I have absolute confidence that, if we keep this a family affair, the Maxfield will be in competent hands.”

  Sophie caught Bram’s eye. She wasn’t sure how he was taking all this, but his good humor seemed to be holding. Even so, he couldn’t help looking a bit bemused.

  “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” said Sophie’s mom in a kindly tone. “While your dad and I set up the projector so that we can show our slides of the trip we took to Florida last April, why don’t you two step outside for a breath of fresh air?”

  “Good idea,” said Bram, shooting to his feet.

  Sophie followed him out through the French doors onto a balcony that overlooked the Mississippi River.

  The evening air was heavy with the threat of rain. The sky had turned a funny yellow-gray, pretornadic light in Sophie’s lexicon of Minnesota weather lore. Severe weather this late in the year was rare, though not impossible. As she sank into one of the metal patio chairs, she could hear the rumble of thunder. The storm was close now. She waited a few moments more as Bram paced in front of her, giving him some time to think. Finally, she asked, “What are we going to do?”

  “Your father has quite a talent for turning lives upside down.” His good humor was gone.

  “I agree,” she said softly. “This doesn’t exactly fit into our dream of someday moving away.” She paused, then’ added, “You know, someplace romantic. Like the oil fields of Iraq. The crocodile-infested Everglades.”

  “Very funny.”

  “The peaceful hills and vales of Afghanistan?” Even her humor had grown tentative.

  He stopped and looked down at her. “We’d be crazy, Sophie, to turn this down.”

  “I know.”

  “Very few people have ever been handed a multimillion-dollar hotel.”

  ‘True.”

  “Then why do I feel like I’ve just been hit by a truck?”

  She shook her head. “Ditto.”

  “Don’t say ditto. It gives me heartburn.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I won’t quit my job at the station, Sophie. You need to understand that up front.”

  “Of course not. You wouldn’t have to.”

  He stared at her. “You want this, don’t you?” It was less a question than a perception.

  Looking up into his deep green eyes, she realized how much she really did want it. “Yes,” she said, taking hold of his hand. She left it at that, waiting.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her up into his arms and whispered close to her ear, “Maybe this is our adventure. We’ll never know where the train is going unless we hop on for the ride.” He nuzzled her hair. “I love you, Sophie. Happy birthday.”

  She hugged him with all her might, then stood back and gently brushed a lock of his chocolate-brown hair away from his forehead. “How did I get so lucky?”

  “You paid your dues with your first husband, remember? Anybody would look good compared to Norman Abnormal.”

  “Not true.” Again, she eased into his warm embrace, feeling his strong arms wrap around her. They were good together. Both of them smart, able to stand alone, but both also knowing the value of tenderness, of someone to lean on when times got rough. As she looked over his shoulder toward the north tower, she saw a figure move out onto the balcony directly across from them. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized it was the same man she’d seen coming out of the Maxfield only a few hours before.

  “Bram, look!” she said, drawing away from him. She stepped over to the railing.

  Bram walked up beside her just as a lightning flash illuminated the man’s face.

  “It is Howell Purdis,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it.”

  “The head of that church you used to belong to?”

  “Yeah. This is too amazing.”

  As the thunder cracked loudly over their heads the man, his expression austere and unsmiling, lifted his hat in greeting.

  3

  Across the way, inside one of the luxury suites at the top of the north wing, Adelle Purdis emerged from the bathroom wearing a thick white cotton robe — compliments of the Maxfield Plaza — and drying her long red hair on one of the equally thick bath towels. The flight in from L.A. had been tiring. Now, moving slowly about the elegant living room, she noticed her father-in-law, Howell Purdis, standing outside on the balcony. From the sound of thunder, she assumed the storm that had been threatening for several hours was just about on top of them. Perhaps it was already raining. Adelle had no confidence at all that Howell Purdis had the sense to come in out of the rain. As far as she was concerned, the old guy was losing his marbles. She found it a pity that not one of the spineless wonders who called themselves ministers in the Church of the Firstborn had the guts to point that little problem out to him.

  As she passed in front of the sofa on her way to the wet bar, there was a loud rap on the door.

  “Will you get that?” called Hugh Purdis. Her husband was sitting on the bed in the bedroom typing something into his laptop computer. It was a standard issue. All evangelist-rank ministers were given the same one. Although Hugh looked like he was working, he was probably playing one of his many computer games. It was what he did for relaxation these days — and for escape. She couldn’t blame him. Over the years the stress of being Howell Purdis’s firstborn son and heir to the church leadership had taken its toll. While Adelle wanted her own firstborn son to one day assume his rightful place as spiritual head of the church, she’d developed a plan to shield him from the worst of the pressure.

  The Church of the Firstborn was clearly the work of one periodically egomaniacal man. Even so, deep in her heart, where only God the Father could enter, she’d felt the hand of God. For all the evil and human weakness inherent in this worldwide work, she truly believed she’d found God’s one true church on earth.

  Since its beginning in 1933, Howell Purdis had created a stunningly Machiavellian organization, full of secrets and ever-changing alliances. The governing principle was power: hierarchical, authoritarian, absolute. The members of the ministry, from lowly church elders all the way up to evangelist-rank ministers, were constantly vying for favor and status. As far as Howell Purdis was concerned, he was die Church of the Firstborn. He set the tone, made the rules, and meted out the rewards and the punishment. Yet as he had begun to sink into a kind of madness, so had the organization.

  Pulling open the door, she was surprised to find Isaac Knox, pastor of the church in St. Louis, standing before her, a furious look on his face.

  “I need to speak to your husband,” he said curtly. He didn’t wait for an invitation but instead pushed past her into die room.

  “Hello, Isaac. It’s nice to see you again, too,” said Adelle, her smile a little too cheerful to be anything other than snide.

  “Sorry,” said Isaac. “This is important.” The years had treated Isaac Knox rather badly, thought Adelle. Gone was die lean build and rugged face. At fifty-one, he had the ancient, weary eyes of a man who had seen far too much strife in his life. Even though most women would probably find him attractive, even distinguished, Adelle saw only wreckage.

  Hugh Purdis breezed out of the bedroom, his smile at high beam. “Isaac,” he said, moving into his deep ministerial voice. “Great to see you again. It was good of you to stop by. I left a message for you at the front desk just after we arrived. I don’t think you’d checked in yet.” His gaze swept over the room. “This is a wonderful place. Father’s very impressed. I’m glad you suggested this hotel and set everything up. You did a wonderful job. Top-notch. The adjoining suites are quite large and comfortable.”

  Isaac didn’t move. Instead he whispered, “Where is your father?”

  “He’s out on the balcony,” said Hugh, looking confused. “Why?”

  Isaac took a few steps farther into die room. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  “What about?” asked Hugh.

  “About what happened this afternoon!”

  Adelle assumed by his tone that her presence had already been dismissed as meaningless. As a woman in the church, she was used to being invisible. Stepping over to the bar, she quickly selected a bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch, pulled up a bar stool, and poured herself a drink. She might as well be comfortable as she watched this latest drama unfold.

  “Just keep it down and tell me what happened,” said Hugh, perching on the edge of die desk. He was a large, barrel-chested man, much taller and heavier than his dad.

  Isaac lowered his voice. “Your father talked to a woman named O’Malley here at the hotel this afternoon. He insisted she give him the meeting room for the Sabbath festival free of charge. She left a message for me which I received as soon as I got here. She was ready to cancel die entire event!”

  Hugh put a hand on the back of his shaggy gray mane. “I don’t believe it.”

  “He’s going to ruin us,” said Isaac, sinking into a chair. “He can’t pull a stunt like that and expect people to just go on as if nothing’s happened. You can’t bully people into believing the way you do.”

  “I agree,” said Hugh, narrowing his eyes in thought.

  Adelle had seen her husband’s concerned act before — and she wasn’t buying it “Say, Isaac,” she said sweetly. “Did Hugh tell you what his father did last week?”

  Hugh shot her a cautionary look.

  “No. What?” said Isaac.

  “I don’t think we need to hear that right now, Adelle.” Hugh gave her another hard look.

  Adelle ignored him. “He walked into a car dealership in Glendale and demanded that the owner give him a brand new luxury sedan. He is, after all, the head of God’s church on earth. When the man said he’d call the police if he didn’t leave, he stood his ground, cursed the dealership, and threatened the man with eternal damnation.”

  Isaac closed his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Be sick somewhere other than our bathroom,” said Adelle, adding some club soda to her drink. If Isaac was going to treat her as if she wasn’t in the room, she was hardly going to view his discomfort with much sympathy.

  “I won’t accept that there’s nothing we can do to put a stop to this kind of behavior,” continued Isaac, erupting out of his chair.

  “What behavior?” demanded a voice from the balcony. Howell Purdis pushed through the French doors just as a crack of thunder rumbled across the sky behind him.

  Yup, thought Adelle, watching him drip water onto the carpet. No sense at all.

  Both of the younger men attempted to excise the guilty looks from their faces.

  The strained silence was finally broken by Hugh. “Well, ah” — he stammered, smiling at his dad — “it seems one of the deacons in St. Louis has been creating some problems. Isaac was just asking me what he should do about it.”

  “Problems?” repeated Purdis, easing his elderly frame onto the sofa as if he were trying it on for size. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

  “He throws temper tantrums,” said Adelle with a completely straight face. “And he’s obnoxious. He goes around threatening people.”

  “Sounds like a matter for the ministerial committee,” said Purdis absently, switching to one of the shopping channels. “Point him out to me at Sabbath services.”

  “Will do,” said Isaac, jumping visibly as the phone on the desk next to him gave a sudden, jarring ring.

  “I’ll get it,” said Hugh. He picked it up and said hello. Listening for a moment, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s for you, Isaac.”

  “Me? That’s odd. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming up here.” He took the receiver, turned his back to the room, and walked toward the balcony doors. “Yes,” he said, his voice regaining some of its confidence.

  Adelle sipped her drink, retreating into her own thoughts. She couldn’t help but conclude once again that ministers were a strange bunch. Since she’d spent her entire life around them, she’d had a lot of time for intimate observation. Early on, when she was a student at Purdis Bible College back in the early Seventies, she was much too awed by the thought of their spiritual status to even view them as human. But, over the years, she’d come to the conclusion that they were very human indeed. Some of them were good, some bad. Some weak and some strong. Some committed to the work, and some, more than a few, embarrassingly lazy. Yet to a man, they all craved flattery, attention, and when they could get it, even adoration. If they had an Achilles’ heel, that was it.

  “Speak up,” said Isaac testily. “And slow down. I can’t understand you.” He stuck a finger in his other ear and lowered his head.

  Popping a pretzel into her mouth, Adelle wondered who was on the line.

  “No, I don’t. And this isn’t a very good time for —” He paused, listening. After almost a minute he said, “I see. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” As he turned around, Adelle noticed a slight loss of focus in his eyes. “Yes … I, ah, won’t forget.”

  Everyone was now watching him.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” Nervousness rose off of him in waves. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later. Yes … thank you. Goodbye.” He replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  “Problems?” asked Hugh curiously.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” said Isaac. “Just a little local church matter. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Good.” Hugh smiled.

  Isaac reached for the handkerchief in his pants pocket and wiped the sweat off his face. “Well, I guess I’ll get going. I suppose I’ll see you both tomorrow. Everything’s all set for the beginning of the festival on Saturday.”

  “Thanks,” said Hugh, nodding cordially.

  “Night,” called Isaac as he got to the door.

  “Good night,” repeated Howell Purdis from the couch. “Oh, and one more thing. I want that limousine kept at my disposal for the entire weekend.” His attention was so caught by the jewelry being advertised on the shopping channel that Isaac’s rather sudden departure had barely registered. Still, he had enough brainpower left to issue an order.

  “I’ll see to it,” said Isaac. He gave Adelle a last, uncertain look, and then left in such a hurry, he forgot to shut the door.

  4

  Lavinia Fiore struck a dramatic pose in front of the mirror in her hotel suite, critically appraising the evening dress she was planning to wear to the opening ceremonies of the Daughters of Sisyphus Society’s annual Upper Midwest convention tomorrow night. Her mahogany hair was piled carelessly on top of her head as she gazed admiringly at the lush image she would present. As founding mother of the organization, and author of the best-selling D.O.S.S. Cookbook, she was expected to give the keynote address. Lavinia wasn’t the least bit concerned about the speech. She was a good public speaker. Some might even call her inspirational. Yet tonight she felt jumpy, a ball of unfocused energy.

  Normally, when she felt agitated, she would try on every piece of clothing in her closet just to get her mind off her problems. Eyeing the graceful lines of the hand-dyed silk gown, she did feel better. She smiled at her stylish image, knowing the dress she was wearing was one of her own creations.

  After graduating from Purdis Bible College back in the early Seventies, Lavinia spent a short time as a secretary in the registrar’s office. Every morning she would attempt to squeeze her square-peg mind and body into a very uncomfortable round hole. And every night, she came home to her tiny apartment, bruised and depressed. Finally, after a particularly nasty run-in with the assistant registrar, a man whose hair always struck her as so bizarre that the only way she could figure he achieved the look was by sleeping with a funnel on his head, she switched off her typewriter, threw the report she was working on in the trash, grabbed the jelly doughnut she was hiding in her bottom desk drawer, and stomped out. Forever. In a matter of days she was packed and on her way back home. Lavinia was a New York woman, born and bred. California, with all its crazy inhabitants, might have seduced her temporarily, but they could never keep her permanentiy. Still, it was a big step. She’d not only left her job behind, but for all practical purposes, her faith as well.