Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

Not much of a laugh from the other two. It ought to have come off funnier than it did. But then they’d have had to forget that it was in this very room they’d all chipped in to send Billy Baldwin up to proposition Clara: They were so doggone sure she was running a house and maybe coaxing doves from among their women. So now you know why no one was talking about Billy Baldwin. Maybe I was the only man to know how he died, but every married man in town had a hunch why.

“The visiting preacher came by today, looking to do a baptism,” I said. “And I guess there’s going to be one. I put in a word with her for Pastor Barnes, but the evangelist got to her first. Don’t know what’s wrong with Barnes. Isn’t it his job to gather in the lambs?”

“He’s about to retire, Hank,” the barkeep said. “That’s what we were talking about when you walked in.”

“He’s getting kind of old,” Prouty said.

“I know what’s old and what isn’t,” I said. “When’s this going to happen?”

“Soon as we get a replacement. He’s going East. Him and Faith’s got a son out there and grandchildren they’ve never even seen.”

“And this Isaiah Teague — what kind of a name is that anyway? — he’s first in line. Is that what’s happening?”

“Big Mary’s been working on it,” Tuttle said.

“Tell me something I couldn’t guess. Is she running the church now too? Ain’t the bank enough for her?”

“Take it easy,” Tuttle said. “You’ll get your say when the time comes.”

“Looks to me the time’s already past.” I was getting myself madder all the time. “Prouty, you know what’s going on with the church. Is this all her doing?”

“She petitioned the Convention, him being a different kind of Baptist. They’re going to meet on it first of the year.”

“Hold on one damn minute,” I said. “I’ve supported the Webbtown church for over sixty years. What’s this petition you’re talking about? Who all signed it? I thought we were a congregation, not a Holy Roman Empire.”

Finally Prouty admitted, “Mrs. Prouty signed for both of us, signed it Mr. and Mrs.”

“And you let her do it?”

“Well, she didn’t exactly ask me. You’ve not been around much lately, Hank. There’s some who like him. They think he’s a good man.”

“And a good man’s hard to find,” I said, sour.

“ ’Specially when he’s still alive,” Prouty said, and pushed over his glass to Tuttle for a refill.

I went straight home from Tuttle’s instead of going back to the inn and relieving Clara. I was spending a lot more time at the Red Lantern than I was in my own house. I could write down a phone number in the dust on my hall table. I knew there was a lot of bluster in what I had said at Tuttle’s. My edgy feeling about the situation had to do with how Clara felt about Big Mary, and me telling her how Big Mary felt about Teague. Even so, when I went up the next day and she asked what was doing at Tuttle’s — she knew by instinct that’s where I went — I had to tell her about Pastor Barnes quitting and Teague lining up for the job. She’d have found out anyway.

You could have heard her cackle all the way to the interstate. “Queen Mary! Rattling the gates of heaven, ain’t that right, Hank?”

I hadn’t even mentioned the petition business. I didn’t say anything. I watched Jeremiah pee straight up in the air.

“Ain’t he a devil?” Clara said, busting with pride. “I hate to put a dappy on him.”

Sure enough, the following Sunday, Reverend Barnes announced he was going to retire in early spring. Retirement isn’t something we go in for voluntary in the Hills, but he was trembly again and Faith said at coffee hour, they wanted to spend time with the grandchildren while they were still children. Nobody asked what they were going to live on — or off — but everybody wondered. I wasn’t at church myself. I’m not regular, but I’m dependable when they need me. And when I heard that Parson had invited his friend, Reverend Isaiah Teague, to preach the next Sunday, I made up my mind to be there.

Reverend Teague preached as though he wanted to make us feel good about ourselves, and I must say that hit me just right. He told us about the Campbellite roots of our denomination and the pioneer spirit that brought them west and settled this evangelical Christian group in the Ragapoo Hills. We’d almost forgotten that. And I could see what he’d meant with that “Are you a Christian?” introduction. There was a time that’s what we were called, just plain “Christians.” I felt foolish for what I’d said back to him about being one when I needed to be.

“I don’t mind listening to sinners,” he said at one point in the sermon. “That’s what I’m here for. But like Jesus himself, sometimes I’d like to hear about these transgressions over a good meal. And by transgressions, I don’t mean fibs and nickel-and-dime meannesses. I want something I can get my teeth into before the devil gets there ahead of me.”