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She’s standing beside a charcoal suit that looks like an Armani. A white button-down and silver tie are on the single bed that has a patchwork quilt for a coverlet.
“You’re going to look mighty fine escorting me to church in this.” She grins, smoothing her fingers down the suit.
“Where did you get it?” I can’t believe my little old landlady just happened to have a suit exactly my size waiting around for me to show up and wear.
“Midge Henderson had a garage sale.” She waves her hand and starts for the front. “Services start in half an hour, so move your butt.”
I take the hanger off the closet door and scoop up the shirt. Only two things are missing. “I don’t have shoes.”
She’s back with a plastic bag. “You have pretty regular-sized feet for how… big you are everywhere else.”
I’m going to let that pass. “Okay,” is all I say.
“See if any of these will work. Mr. White had a weakness for shoes. Most of them are Italian.”
“I’ll take care of them.”
She waves a hand as I leave. “Wear them out. Shoes are no use to you when you’re dead.”
They sure come in handy when you’re living, I can’t help thinking. Back in my apartment, I dump everything on the bed. Sleek black loafers in exactly my size spill out along with canvas slip-ons and sneakers I know an old man would never wear. I squint an eye back toward the house and wonder what else Doris White has up her sleeve.
The church is a one-room wooden building that looks as old as Doris. She holds my arm as we slowly climb the concrete steps leading up to the white structure. We’re just entering as organ music blasts triumphantly. I feel her giving me a scowl and look down.
“You made us late,” she gripes.
“It wasn’t on my schedule for today.”
“As if you have a Sunday schedule.” She smiles to an elderly man in a suit handing out folded-paper programs.
“Good morning, Doris,” he says smiling at her. When his eyes move to me, the smile dissolves.
I don’t smile back. The last thing I need is to give these guys any ideas about my interest in membership.
“You must be…” he waits, and Doris hastily fills in the blanks.
“My nephew Kona. He’s visiting from the islands.”
It’s an internal struggle, but I keep my expression neutral. What the hell?
“The islands?” The old man frowns.
“We’d better get inside,” she says, giving my arm a tug.
“Nice to meet you,” I mutter, escorting her through the narrow door and down a skinny aisle.
She takes the lead, going straight to what I can only assume is her designated spot. I don’t make eye contact with any of the parishioners, but I do notice Jim sitting next to Sally at the end of our pew. She’s in a burgundy dress with little white flowers on it. Jim’s in a suit with his light-brown hair combed back, and I have to give him a second glance. He actually cleans up well. They’re both smiling way too much to be in church this morning.
A tug on my arm reminds me to sit down. My ass hits the pew just as everybody’s on their feet again, hymnals in hand. I don’t know any of the songs, but I hold the hardcover red book and do my best to follow along.
Finally, we seem to be finished sitting and standing, and an older fellow in a long, black robe with a deep purple sash ascends to elevated pulpit.
“Brothers and sisters,” he begins in an affected tone. “We’re entering that time of year when the conflict between good and evil grows more distinct in our midst.
“Ephesians teaches us our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against unseen enemies in the spiritual world…”
It’s difficult for me to sit through these types of sermons, as there’s so much more these well-meaning people don’t know. Still, the direction of this guy’s message sends my mind down the path of what I can do to track down the unseen enemy I encountered two nights ago.
I’m still thinking I encountered a powerful spirit from the underworld, only what would something like that be doing here? And what does it want with Mercy?
