Free Good Day In Hell by J.D. Rhoades Page B

the roof. A lighted sign out front named the building as the FIRST CHURCH OF GOD OF PROPHECY. Below were words spelled out in black plastic letters that slid into runners on the sign. FRIDAY PRAYER MEETING. 7:00 P.M.
    Stan braked to a stop in front of the church’s broad wooden doors. He killed the engine. He could hear a faint drone of sound in the stillness. After a moment, he recognized the sound of people singing. The sound was quickly drowned out by the metallic rattle of Laurel taking the guns out of the burlap that they had wrapped them in to mask them from people looking in. Stan heard the ratchet and click of the weapons being cocked. He looked at Roy, saw that flash of white teeth in the darkness. “Showtime,” Roy said.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The Shelby house was a one-story modular home on a one-acre lot. There were a dozen similar modular homes on similar one-acre lots around a long loop of road off the main highway. All of the houses were neatly kept, with perfectly trimmed yards and shrubbery.
    Shelby greeted them at the front door. He had swapped his coat and tie for faded jeans and a light blue sport shirt. “Come on in the house,” he said as Keller and Marie mounted the steps.
    Inside, the house was well lit and comfortable. The furniture was old but looked sturdy. There were sounds of barely controlled chaos coming from the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans and the murmur of female voices.
    “Supper’s almost ready,” Shelby said. “Y’all want somethin’ to drink? Iced tea? Coke?” They both chose the tea and Shelby disappeared into the kitchen.
    It was Barbara Shelby who came out, bearing the tall iced glasses. Marie was surprised to see that she seemed considerably younger than Shelby, no older than her early thirties, pretty and blonde. “Hey” she said, smiling brightly, “Warren didn’t say if y’all wanted lemon, so I left it out.”
    “That’s fine,” Marie said, taking the glass from her. “I’m Marie Jones.”
    “Oh, hon, you don’t need to tell me who you are,” Barbara said. “Warren’s been talking about you practically nonstop. Sounds like you’ve got quite a future.”
    Marie was wary for a moment; since coming to North Carolina, she had dealt with her share of Southern women who could fill just such friendly words with enough venom to knock over a buffalo, but Barbara Shelby seemed totally open and sincere. “And this,” Barbara said as she turned, “must be Mr. Keller.”
    “Jack,” Keller said, taking the tea glass with one hand and shaking hands with the other.
    “Nice to meet you, Jack,” she said.
    Shelby came back into the room. “Honey,” he said, “somethin’s boilin’ up on the stove.”
    Barbara gave a comically exaggerated eye roll. “And you, of course,” she said in a teasing tone, “couldn’t figure out that the thing to do is turn it down?” She turned to Marie. “I swear, sometimes I think if it wasn’t for us women, they’d burn the house down.” She gave Shelby an affectionate peck on the cheek.
    “Anything I can do to help get things ready?” Marie asked.
    “Sure, hon, c’mon,” Barbara said. “Whoever said too many cooks spoil the broth never had to feed this crew.”
    Marie followed her into the kitchen. Once they were there, Barbara lowered her voice. “Girl,” she said, cutting her eyes back toward the living room. “He is gorgeous. Where’d you find him? How’d y’all meet?”
    “Actually,” Marie said, “I was arresting him.”
    Barbara’s eyebrows shot up and she grinned delightedly. “No,” she said, laughter bubbling under the words. “You have got to tell me that story.”
    Marie laughed. “Maybe someday,” she said. She found herself beginning to relax. In the kitchen, two girls were putting out plates and utensils on the round dinner table. One was a teenager, with long red hair braided halfway down her back. The other looked to be about seven or eight. She was blonde and blue-eyed like her