Free The Bastard Hand by Heath Lowrance Page A

Oldfield said, “Most of the church events are held right here in the hall. You’d be amazed how many folks can fit down here.”
    Upstairs was a private bathroom with a small shower, and two furnished rooms. Automatically, the Reverend claimed the larger of the two by sitting on the bed and bouncing up and down on it a couple times. His windows looked out over High Park Lane and the park on the other side of it. My room had a view of the dumpster and the parking lot, but I wasn’t complaining. After all, this was the Reverend’s gig. I was just along for the ride.
    We went back downstairs and Oldfield showed us the industrial-size coffee maker. He brewed up a pot, and the three of us sat at the tall food prep counter to go through the shooting-the-breeze portion of our tour. Oldfield, who just happened to be a member in good standing of the Baptist Church, covered a few of what he considered the major points of the town. There were a few reserve officers in town, he told us, but mostly the only law around was him and Captain Forrey, whom we’d meet tomorrow. The mayor in Cuba Landing for the last nine years was a man named Bishop Ishy—another personality to meet on the next day’s itinerary. The Reverend perked up a bit only at the prospect of meeting the members of the Ladies Club.
    Finally, Oldfield got around to asking the question that had been on his mind. He’d been looking at me speculatively, hem-hawing, wondering how to approach the subject. Sipping his coffee, he went for it. “So, Mr. Wesley . . . if you don’t mind my asking . . . what exactly is your, uh, official capacity?”
    The Reverend jumped in before I could answer. “Charlie’s been my personal assistant for going on three years now. Wherever I go, he goes. I just couldn’t get anything done without him, I tell you.”
    “Oh,” Oldfield said. “Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose. I imagine church business can get down-right burdensome, can’t it?”
    “Amen to that,” the Reverend laughed. “I get so caught up sometimes in God’s work that I tend to forget the everyday stuff that needs to get done. Charlie helps me stay on top of it, don’t ya, Charlie?”
    “Well,” Oldfield said. “Good thing we have two rooms up there, eh? Although, I gotta tell you, I’m not sure what the church budget is like. The pastor’s salary is always pretty small anyway, you know, and a second person . . .”
    “That ain’t nothing to worry about,” the Reverend said. “I’ve always paid Charlie outta my own pocket, and as long as we got food in our stomachs and a roof over our heads, God will provide. He always has.”
    Oldfield nodded wisely. Finishing his coffee, he stood up, said, “I reckon you folks are pretty dogged after your trip, so I’ll be on my way for now. If you need anything, you just call down the police station any old time, I’d be happy to help.”
    We stood with him, and the Reverend stuck out his hand. “Kind of ya, Officer Oldfield. Good to meet ya.”
    “Likewise,” Oldfield grinned. He shook our hands in turn, and we followed him upstairs to the back door.
    Oldfield paused right outside, turned back around as if a thought had just occurred to him. He said, “Oh, yeah, something I forgot to mention that you might want to know, just so you’re ready for it.”
    “Do tell,” the Reverend said, smiling.
    “Tomorrow night, at this shindig they got planned, you’re probably gonna meet the old pastor’s mama. A lotta folks been giving her a hard time for a lotta years now, saying just all kinds of ugly things about her, but to her credit she’s been good to the church for years now, ever since her boy became the pastor. Heck, even since he took off, she’s been here every Sunday, come hell or high water. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you.”
    The Reverend said, “What kind of ugly things do people say about her?”
    Oldfield shook his head. “I ain’t one much given to gossip. She’s had it pretty