Hugh couldn’t help but think of his own son, a remarkable young man whom he loved inordinately. One day Joshua Purdis would lead the Church of the Firstborn. Hugh believed with all his heart that Joshua was the best of them all. If there was hope for the church, it rested with him. Joshua had none of Hugh’s weaknesses. He didn’t see the world in confusing, infinitely frustrating shades of gray. Perhaps, even more important, Joshua wasn’t always second-guessing himself, forever uncertain. “For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed,” whispered Hugh, quoting a favorite scripture. He had complete faith that one day that verse would be his epitaph.

  “Quit mumbling to yourself and get out here,” called Howell. “I don’t have all day. We have to discuss this report, and we have to do it now.”

  Hugh splashed some cold water into his face and then grabbed a towel. Returning to the bedroom, he said, “I’m sorry, Father. I don’t know what report you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t. Nobody does — except the man I commissioned to write it. Do you remember Arthur Lebrasseur?”

  “Sure. He worked in the Canadian office for several years. You ordered me to send him to St. Louis a couple of months ago to help Isaac Knox. You said it was about time Arthur got some firsthand field experience.”

  “Exactly. Isaac’s been in St. Louis now, for what? Four years? In that time he’s developed a tiny congregation into the largest local church area in the country.”

  “He’s done a wonderful job.”

  “Has he?”

  “Of course he has, Father.”

  Howell nodded to the chair opposite him. “You’re supposed to be the man monitoring the local church areas for problems. I put you in charge of the field ministry because that position is vital. I needed a man I could trust.”

  “And I’ve done my best. You know that.”

  “I know nothing of the kind. And Isaac Knox is living proof!”

  “Look,” said Hugh, sinking into the chair. “I told you from the first that I refused to use my authority within the church to conduct witch-hunts. It’s bad for morale.”

  “Making sure the ministry remains doctrinally pure is not a witch-hunt. Now, I’ve heard rumblings about Isaac for nearly six months, but never from you. Why is that?”

  “Rumblings about what?”

  “Heresy!”

  “Oh, Father, please. Isaac is one of our best ministers.”

  “What have I always told you, Hugh? Satan is wily. He appears as the angel of light. Perhaps in this case, he’s even taken you in. I want you to look at the report Arthur Lebrasseur prepared for me. You may be surprised.”

  Hugh had no stomach for this conversation right now, but sat back in his chair and slipped on his reading glasses. He took the report and began to read through it.

  “I’ll tell you what it says,” said Howell, tapping his fingers impatiently on the arm of the chair. “It says that Isaac Knox is a traitor. He’s turned his back on God’s truth and is preaching error!”

  If did seem that Isaac was allowing his congregation a great deal of doctrinal license. Hugh was aware of some of the irregularities, but nothing like this. The first page of the report suggested that Isaac no longer insisted that his congregation adhere to the Levitical laws of clean and unclean meats. Also, he’d begun to look the other way while some of the membership openly celebrated birthdays. He even allowed women to come to church wearing makeup. On the second page, however, the situation deteriorated even further.

  It appeared Knox had given up the preaching of God’s law and the imminent fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, and instead gave sermons almost exclusively revolving around relationships, how to have a more productive, happier life/marriage/career, and better, more rewarding friendships. His sermons were upbeat. Inspirational. Peppered with quotes not only from the Bible, but from famous men and women. As Hugh turned to the third page he found himself staring at the words in utter disbelief. He looked up, seeing his father’s grim face.

  “Read on,” said Howell. “It gets worse.”

  According to the report, Knox had spoken privately with one of his deacons, telling the man that within the next month or two he was planning to announce to the entire congregation that they need no longer send their tithes and offerings to the headquarters church in Altadena. Instead, he would start collecting the money locally. In the next year the Church of the Firstborn in St. Louis would break ground on a new youth center. It was Knox’s dream to build a space that not only the young men and women of the church could use, but one that would become a resource for any young person in crisis, or in need of guidance.

  Hugh adjusted his glasses, and then placed the report down flat on the table. He had no idea Isaac had gone this far. There was no doubt about it. This was a bombshell. No minister of God had ever defied Howell Purdis like this before. And yet, no pastor had ever achieved quite the following or the popularity within the church that Isaac Knox had. Everyone loved him. This was a touchy situation, requiring a great deal of thought before any action was attempted. “What are you going to do?” asked Hugh.

  “Do? I’m going to fire him! Disfellowship him! Throw him to the dogs of eternal damnation!”

  Even though it might seem crass, Hugh felt it was important to point out to his father some realities they might have overlooked. “But… he may take a great many of our membership, even our ministers, with him if he goes.”

  Howell Purdis heaved himself up and stood looking down at his son, his face red with rage. “Not if I have anything to say about it!”

  “But you may not. We have to think about this, Father. We can’t act rashly.”

  Lately, Hugh found himself listening to his father’s conversations for the off notes, the clues that would tell him whether or not his dad was truly losing his grip on reality. From Hugh’s point of view, his father’s bizarre behavior could just as easily be explained as an explosive, idiosyncratic personality altered by age and the perception of absolute authority. In other words, he wasn’t crazy, he was just so old and powerful that he did what he pleased and didn’t give a rip what anyone thought about it.

  “You’re a weak sister, Hugh. How a son of mine could have ended up with no backbone is beyond me. Thank the good Lord I’m still alive. I may be on my way out, but I’m not frightened of any man. Especially Isaac Knox. The work God began through me is my only concern. I made a mistake when I named you, Hugh Abraham. You’re not the father of nations. You’re the father of indecision. ‘A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways.’ “

  “But — you’re just going to walk up and fire him?” Hugh couldn’t even imagine it.

  Grabbing his feathery fedora, Howell gave his son a disgusted look and then jammed the hat down on his head. “What I decide to do will be between me and the Lord. He will advise. He will lead me in the path I should go. I suggest you get down on your knees and ask for a little guidance yourself. As of this moment you are no longer in charge of the field ministry.”

  7

  Lavinia shut the door to her suite and then hurried down the hallway to the elevator. She’d spent the last half hour rushing through her morning coffee and jumping into her clothes, all in an effort to make it to a very important meeting. If everything went as planned, fifteen minutes from now, on a bench in front of the Mississippi River about two blocks away, she’d finally find the answers to a mystery that had haunted her for the better part of a year. Meeting away from the hotel was imperative. There were simply too many curious eyes around the Maxfield.

  She’d been planning this particular meeting for months, going over in her mind all the questions she needed to ask. No matter what happened today, she was determined to discover the truth. Not that Lavinia didn’t already think she had the truth. What she didn’t have was proof.

  After pushing the down button, she stood quietly readjusting her jewelry, gazing up at the light above the doors. She’d waited for the elevator last night for almost ten minutes. If it took that long this morning, she was in big trouble.

  As she pushed the button several more times she felt someone move up next to her. Turning her head slowly to the side, she saw a paunchy, balding, middle-aged man standing very close to her, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Since he was fidgeting with his watch, she assumed he was also in a hurry. Normally, she wouldn’t have given his presence another thought, except that he was standing so close. She didn’t like to think she was a complete snob, but he wasn’t the kind of man who looked as if he should be staying at the Maxfield. He was wearing jeans and an old polyester shirt, the middle button missing. Lavinia always noticed details like that. It was the curse of her profession.

  She inched away.

  Clearing his throat nervously, the man leaned in front of her and tapped the button. “Damn these hotel elevators. You never have enough of ‘em. I got a friend who fixes elevators for a living. He says the old ones are the worst. They break down all the time.”

  “Really?” She covered the distaste in her voice with a cheery lightness.

  “Yeah. Say.” He shifted his weight toward her again. “There’s a service elevator right off the main stairway. It ain’t far. The only people usin’ it are kitchen staff.” He glanced at his watch again.

  Lavinia’s eyes rose to the light above the elevator, willing it to turn red.

  After another minute he said, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m gonna take the other elevator down. I know it’s off limits to guests, but I used it last night and nobody arrested me. What do you say? You wanna join me?”

  Lavinia was torn. If she was late for her appointment, she was afraid the person she was meeting would leave. She couldn’t have that. “Okay,” she said tentatively. “Why not?”

  The man walked so quickly Lavinia had a hard time keeping up with him. From the back, he was even more of a mess than he appeared from the front. The heels of his boots were worn and lopsided, and the bottoms of his jeans were badly frayed. Worst of all, walking in his wake, Lavinia became aware of just how much he needed a bath.

  Finally, after following him down several long hallways, they reached the small service elevator. Lavinia looked up at a sign above the doors: hotel staff only.

  The man pushed the button then turned to look at her. “The name’s Morton,” he said, grinning and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  She had no idea if it was a first or last name, and he didn’t elaborate. She smiled at him briefly, and then returned her attention to the elevator doors. For whatever reason, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the feeling that something about this guy was a little off. Oh, stop it, she told herself. You don’t need your New York City radar here. It’s the Midwest “Here she comes,” he said, continuing to grin. His teeth were yellowed by centuries of tobacco smoke.

  Finally, the doors opened.

  “Your carriage awaits, madam,” said Morton with a slight bow and a wave of his hand.

  Feeling a bit put off by his silly attempt at chivalry, Lavinia stepped on. Inside, the light was garish, the interior utilitarian. Still, it would get them where they wanted to go.

  “The lobby?” he asked, his hand poised over die controls.

  “Yes, thank you.” She moved to the rear, her eyes drawn to her shoes. She should have worn her blue pumps. She could walk more quickly in those. Checking her watch, she saw that she was already five minutes late for her appointment.

  Suddenly the elevator lurched to a stop.

  Lavinia looked up and saw the man with his hand resting on one of the buttons. “What’s going on?” she said, feeling her body tense.

  “Don’t you know?” he said, all innocence.

  Oh, God, he was a crazy person. She could see it in his eyes. Why hadn’t she listened to the alarms going off inside her head? “Know what?” she said, backing into the farthest corner. Her heart began to race.

  “Didn’t you recognize my name?” He repeated it again, this time more slowly.

  “I’ve never heard of you,” she said defensively, staring at a stain on his undershirt.

  He seemed offended. “Sure you have. I sent you all them letters tellin’ you how much I was lookin’ forward to meetin’ you in person when you got to the Twin Cities. I been a fan of yours for years. I use your cookbook all the time.”

  She swallowed back her fear and said timidly, “Do you? How … nice.”

  “Didn’t you get my mail? Or the gifts?”

  She rarely read her fan mail. She’d hired a secretary for that. And anything from potential weirdos went into a special file. Her lawyer took care of all those. “What gifts?” she said, steeling herself for the worst.

  “The bonsai trees. They’re my hobby. I just knew you’d like ‘em.”

  “Oh … sure.” She tittered. “The, ah … bonsai trees.” Her voice sounded more strangled than thrilled as her eyes darted frantically around the small chamber. There was simply nowhere to run. She had visions of him chasing her around in a circle, like a couple of cartoon characters. “I… love bonsai trees.” She lied.

  “I knew it.” He moved closer. “I could tell from your picture that we had lots in common. That’s why I invited you.”

  “Ah … invited me?” She clasped her hands in front of her breasts, ready to scream her bloody head off if he made even the slightest move to touch her.

  “Why, to my apartment, Lavinia. I can call you Lavinia, can’t I? I feel like we been pals for years.”

  “Your apartment,” she repeated.

  “Sure. Tonight. For a late-night candlelight dinner. In my note I said that if you couldn’t come, you should just write and let me know. I’m a reasonable man. We could of rescheduled. But since I ain’t heard from you, that means you’re comin’.”

  “It does?”

  “Say,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not toyin’ with me, are you? I hate women who toy with men’s affections. My first wife did that, but” — his expression turned sad — “she ain’t around no more, poor old gal. It was a terrible accident. I’ll tell you about it sometime. You wouldn’t never treat me like she did, would you, Lavinia?”

  “Of… of course not.” She added, gritting her teeth into a smile, “Morton.”

  He returned the smile. “That’s good.”

  “So … would you push the button for the lobby again? I have an important meeting I need to attend and I’m already late.”

  “Oh?” he said, his head dipping in disappointment. “I thought we might grab a cup of coffee downstairs. My treat.”

  “I’m sorry, Morton. But —” She took a chance. “I never agreed to that, you know. That wasn’t on our schedule.”

  “No,” he said, his eyes cast down. “But you don’t wanna disappoint me too often, Lavinia. You wouldn’t like how I get when I’m disappointed.”

  She began to inch ever so slowly toward the control panel. Squeezing her body against it, she reached behind her back and pushed the lobby button. She had to get the elevator moving again.

  Still staring at the ground, Morton said, “Don’t you want to know where I live?”

  She watched the numbers above the door change as the elevator began to descend. “Well, sure I do,” she said, realizing as she said the words that it was very important information. When she filed the police report, they’d be able to pick him up that much more quickly.

  He looked up at her and grinned. “Nah. I’m gonna come get you in my car tonight, just like I said I would. I’m not havin’ you takin’ any crappy cabs. They can be dangerous. We wouldn’t want nothing to happen to you.”

  “No,” said Lavinia with heartfelt conviction. “We certainly wouldn’t.”

  As the elevator doors opened and she edged away from him into the lobby, Morton said, his voice meek, “Did you enjoy your dinner last night in the coffee shop?”

  “What?” She whirled around. “What did you say?”

  “It was just a simple question. I heard the food’s pretty good.”

  “But. .. you saw me?”

  “Sure. I been watchin’ you ever since you checked in. I loved what you were wearin’ yesterday, Lavinia. It was” — his eyes took on a faraway look — “very sexy. I like big, sexy women.” Grabbing a baseball cap from his back pocket, he said, “Eleven tonight. Don’t forget.”

  In an instant he was across the lobby and out the front door.

  Lavinia collapsed against the wall, her pulse racing. She took deep breaths until her breathing returned to normal. 5he had to inform the front desk about this right away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time a fan had gotten out of land. But this was a close call. Even though he hadn’t heartened her, or hurt her in any way, the encounter wasn’t one she wanted to repeat. Lavinia had made up her mind years ago — after her first fan mishap — never to allow her Fear of such rare occurrences to rule her life.

  Glancing at an antique clock on the far wall, she suddenly remembered her appointment. Damn! If she talked to hotel security now, she might as well kiss that meeting goodbye. But what should she do? Feeling terribly conflicted, her mind raced ahead to the information she needed so desperately. She had to resolve this mystery. It had been eating away at her far too long.

  Set priorities, she told herself. At this moment which was the most important?

  The answer was obvious. Since she wasn’t in any immediate danger, she would simply have to file her report when she got back to the hotel. Squaring her shoulders, she took one last deep breath, and then marched resolutely across the lobby and out the front door.

  8

  ‘Time for a toast,” called Sophie, pouring the champagne into the last of the glasses. Handing the delicate flute across to Lavinia, she moved in front of the hearth in the Maxfield’s Fireside Room and held her own glass high. ‘To our reunion,” she said, her eyes washing affectionately over the small group. ‘To friendship and, as always, to good food.”