Free Gideon - 03 - Religious Conviction by Grif Stockley Page B

theological spin on early Christianity (St.
    John, for example, was influenced by Greek philosophy). As accounts of the life of Jesus, according to the article, they contain very little history.
    “Either you accept the entire Bible as the written word of God or you don’t,” she says flatly, her eyes fierce.
    I wonder if poor Chet is cutting the mustard as a con vert. The hypocrisy of people never fails to amaze me.
    Now that this Miss Ice Bitch is back home, she’s holier than the Pope. It hasn’t been very long since she was doing some serious backsliding of her own. According to the file, she had practically dropped out of the church by the time of the murder. I swallow a mouthful of moist cake to keep from saying that I’d rather be inter viewing a boa constrictor. Get a grip, I tell myself. Murderers aren’t usually Miss Congeniality material.
    Actually, behind this frosty facade, she may be scared to death, and that accounts for her snottiness. I decide to kill her, if not with kindness, at least with my own hypocrisy.
    “It looks like events are conspiring,” I say in my friendliest voice, “to get me to see what Christian Life is all about.” Briefly, I tell her about Rainey’s apparent conversion and my conversation with Chet’s stepson. I conclude by saying, “I’ll be there Sunday.”
    Leigh Wallace’s face softens a bit. Stories about women and children get women and children every time.
    “Don’t expect to get everything from the Sunday service,” she warns.
    “The place where you change is in your family, if you choose to participate.”
    “That’s what Rainey says,” I gladly acknowledge.
    “Can I ask you something about it?” I ask, feeling at last that the bait is set.
    “What bothers me about religion is that it seems like a feast-or-famine proposition. For example, Mr. Bracken says that after you were married your participation at Christian Life dropped way off. It seems like people get excited about Christianity and then drift away from it. Is that what happened to you?”
    For a moment she does not speak, as if I have asked a profound question that demands reflection.
    “There really is such a thing as evil in the world,” she says, without smiling.
    If she weren’t so serious, I’d have to laugh. It’s not that I disagree, but the evil I know comes in human form. Her tone makes it clear that it might not be a bad idea to check under the beds when I get home tonight.
    Peeling as if I were auditioning for a part in a soap opera, I ask, “Was your husband a part of that evil?”
    Perhaps realizing she has sounded a little more dramatic than the situation warrants, Leigh gets up to cut a slice of cake for herself.
    “Art really wasn’t interested in Christian Life. He joined just to get me to marry him.
    I quit going regularly to please him.”
    I’d like some more cake, but feel I ought to wait until I’m asked.
    “Wasn’t that a natural thing to do for a while?” I ask, sympathizing with the lust of a dead man.
    Who wouldn’t want to skip church to stay home with a woman who looks this good?
    The piece she has cut for herself hardly seems worth the trouble. She moves some crumbs around on her plate. “There is always a choice about how a person lives. I let myself be lulled into believing I could be a Christian outside my family at Christian Life;” So far I haven’t learned anything I didn’t already know, but at least she’s talking. So long as I stay on the topic of religion, she feels safe, but sooner or later, we are going to have to begin talking about his murder.
    “Do you feel somehow guilty about his death?” I ask.
    “I mean, if he had been interested in the church, maybe this wouldn’t have happened?”
    For the first time, Leigh recoils as if she had been hit.
    Ah, guilt. What would we do without it? I have wounded her, but she won’t admit it.
    “Art had every opportunity to stay involved,” she says mechanically.
    “He never intended