Free Tara Holloway 03 - Death, Taxes, and Extra-Hold Hairspray by Diane Kelly Page A

“Let’s see what this tosser has to say.” He plunked the book onto the countertop along with the lure and addressed the cashier. “Add these to her bill.”
    I pushed the book and lure back at him. “Buy your own stuff.”
    Nick cut a grin my way. “This is your case, remember? I’m only along to help out.”
    Damn. My own words coming back to bite me in the butt.
    I handed the cashier my credit card.

 
    CHAPTER TEN
    No Old-Time Religion Here
    The overhead lights flashed off and on twice as I paid the cashier.
    “Power troubles?” Nick asked the woman.
    “No,” the woman replied. “The flashing lights mean the service will start in five minutes.”
    The service or the show? Though flashing lights were used in theaters to draw people back to their seats, I’d never seen the method used in a church.
    I handed Nick the copy of Fischer’s book and slid the small bag containing the lures into my purse. Nick and I continued on into the crowded sanctuary. Apparently you had to arrive early if you wanted a good seat. The first floor was packed wall to wall. Even the limited-view seats positioned behind the television cameras were full.
    The ushers directed us up two flights of stairs, relegating us to a back corner of the second balcony, what would be the cheap seats if this were a ticketed venue. Nick and I settled in.
    “Nice,” Nick noted, easing his seat back into a reclining position.
    The chairs were indeed comfortable, slightly smaller versions of the seats at stadium-style movie theaters. No hard, butt-numbing pews for these well-heeled parishioners.
    Nick rested his elbow on the armrest. I used my own to push it aside. “My case, my armrest.”
    He cut me a sideways glance and a grin. “Whatever you say, boss.”
    I looked down at the altar, which appeared tiny from our vantage point near the rafters. “If I’d known we’d be this far up I would’ve brought my binoculars.”
    “No need.” Nick pointed across the cavernous opening to three jumbo-sized screens. One was mounted on the wall directly opposite us, while the others flanked it at slight angles like the three-way mirrors in the Neiman Marcus dressing rooms.
    I glanced behind me to see a recessed pit of colored lights and the latest high-tech audiovisual equipment. A team of seven men sat at the consoles, headphones on their heads, ready to rock and roll. I hadn’t seen such an elaborate setup since Lady Gaga came to town.
    “Think they’ll be serving drinks on the Lido Deck after the service?” Nick asked. “I could go for a banana daiquiri.”
    I elbowed him in the ribs.
    Down below, the choir filed in, the members dressed in aquamarine robes the color of the Caribbean ocean. There had to be over a hundred singers taking places on the risers. An orchestra of near equal size filed in next, filling a wide pit in front of the choir. The musicians wore white shirts with aquamarine bow ties and vests. Not only did the group include the traditional brass, woodwind, and string instruments, but five electric guitars, three bass guitars, and two acoustic guitars were also in the mix. A shiny black grand piano sat off to the side, with two wide electronic keyboards situated next to it.
    Once they were all seated, a dark-haired man stood from the front pew and made his way up the five steps to the podium, his movements tracked by several television cameras situated off to the sides of the sanctuary. Though he was a mere ant when viewed with the naked eye, he was a giant on the jumbo screen. He had a plain but friendly face, a trim build, and a slightly pensive demeanor. He wore a basic brown suit and tie, along with wire-rimmed glasses. I half expected him to direct us to our lifeboats to perform a muster drill.
    He introduced himself as Associate Pastor Michael Walters, welcomed everyone to the service, and stated his hope that the service would be a source of inspiration and spiritual connection to a higher power. He quickly ran through a list