Free Dead Run by Erica Spindler

hello.” He smiled warmly, stood and waved her inside. Liz realized with some surprise that he was quite tall, over six feet, and built more like a professional football player than a preacher. “And please, call me Pastor Tim. Everybody else does.”
    â€œI will. And call me Liz.” She returned his smile and crossed the room. After shaking his hand, she took the seat across from his. “Your church is lovely.”
    â€œThank you.” He swept his gaze over the study, his expression one of pure pleasure. “Paradise Christian is the oldest church on the island. It was actually St. Stephen’s until 1936, when the Catholic archdiocese sold the property to build a larger facility on the other side of the island.”
    â€œIt’s amazing it’s survived,” she murmured, recalling the things Rachel had told her about the church. “Didn’t I hear that it was destroyed by a hurricane and had to be rebuilt?”
    â€œPartially rebuilt, twice actually. The first after the hurricane of 1846, then again after the one in 1935. The present building dates from 1940.”
    â€œI love old buildings. I might try to hook up with the tour later.”
    â€œIf you miss today’s, we offer them every day but Sunday.”
    â€œHave you been with Paradise Christian long?”
    â€œJust a few months. My predecessor left rather suddenly and after only a short time with the congregation.”
    Liz’s heart skipped a beat. She fought to keep her reaction from showing. “How strange. I can’t imagine just up and leaving a place as beautiful as this.”
    â€œNot everyone is cut out for island life,” he murmured, then changed the subject. “You said on the phone that you’re a family counselor?”
    â€œYes.” She straightened. “As I explained then, I’m a licensed clinical social worker, which is a fancy way of saying I’m a social worker who is certified for private practice. I specialize in adolescent counseling and, as you know, am new to Key West. I’m trying to get the word out that I’m here.”
    She dug several business cards out of her wallet and handed them to him. “I thought you might know of some within your congregation in need of counseling and that you might send them my way.”
    He paused as if searching for the right words. “My congregation isn’t a wealthy one, Liz. Yes, there are people of great wealth on the island, but many more of moderate means. Our main industry is tourism and the majority of the island’s year-round inhabitants service that industry.”
    He stood and crossed to his window. Sun spilled through, drenching him in golden light, making him look younger than the thirty-five she had originally guessed him to be. “As I’m sure you’ve already discovered, Key West is a very expensive place to live. Costof living here exceeds that of Miami and is, in fact, one of the most expensive places to live in the continental United States.”
    â€œThat surprises me.”
    He turned and met her eyes. “We’re so isolated here. Three and a half hours from Miami, with only one road leading out. Everything has to be shipped in. Power, most food, tap water and nearly anything else you can think of. We’re landlocked, so property, even rentals, go for a premium.” His mouth lifted. “Not many of my flock can afford fifty to ninety dollars an hour for counseling, no matter how much they may need it.”
    The pastor had a rich, melodious voice and a way of looking at her when he spoke that made her think he really did care about her. That he really was a man of God.
    â€œWhich is why,” she responded, “I’m willing to waive or reduce my fees for those in need. I believe that it’s often the ones who need help the most who can least afford to get it.”
    He glanced at her business card, then back up at her, eyebrows arched.