Free A Sounding Brass by Shelley Bates Page A

her own driveway a couple of nights ago, as a
     matter of fact. It was parked across the street, and a shape was slouched behind the wheel. She leaned over a bit more and
     waved a little hesitantly. Maybe he was waiting for someone. Or taking a nap. Maybe he thought she was the world’s worst conversationalist
     and was even now thinking,
Oh no, she wants me to talk to her again
.
    “Um, never mind.” She turned back to Luke. “So, I’m going to go back and tackle that computer and make some sense of your
     yellow and blue receipts.”
    “Want me to play you a song when I come in tonight?”
    “Sure.” She grinned. “How about Willie Nelson? ‘Just As I Am.’”
    “You got it. And hey, I’m going to launch a couple of new gigs. People can phone in, and for a gift toward God’s work, I’ll
     broadcast a prayer for them. I’m going to start a book club, too, maybe next week. What do you think about ‘Hamilton Falls
     for Books’? Catchy, huh?”
    A reading club sounded relatively normal, but Claire’s views on prayer were getting all stretched out, like a picture from
     the Sunday comics impressed on Silly Putty. Payment for prayer? Sure, it would be used for God’s work, but prayer was supposed
     to be private. Certainly not something to be lowered to the level of a transaction. “I—um—”
    “Promise you’ll call in a prayer. It’s bound to be a little slow at first, so I could use some help. Owen and the kids said
     they’d call in.”
    Owen was treating this as though it were normal. Maybe outside the Elect it was and she just needed to get with the program.
     “What would I ask for?”
    He shrugged. “Anything you’d pray for in private. People. Things. Attitudes. Anything.”
    What, and spill her most closely held secrets and needs on the radio? Not likely. “I’ll think of something. Maybe I could—”
     A cat’s paw of a breeze tickled the back of her neck, and goose bumps spread across her shoulders.
    “Hello, Miss Montoya.”
    At the sound of that controlled baritone, Claire turned around and looked straight into the narrowed hazel eyes of Investigator
     Raymond Harper.
    Who seemed to be deeply unhappy about something.
    * * *
    RAY KEPT HIS TONE polite and noncommittal, in contrast to the slow boil of emotions rolling around his solar plexus. He could hardly believe
     his own eyes, but here she was, standing on the sidewalk chatting with Luke Fisher after a cozy lunch
à deux
. Whatever happened to the rule Julia had told him about the Elect keeping themselves separate? “In the world, but not of
     it,” was how she put it. What a crock.
    It was just plain bad luck that had made Claire spot him. If not for that, he could have followed Fisher to his car and taken
     the plate number, easy as pie. But he couldn’t take the risk that Claire wouldn’t mention him sitting there. It was better
     to act normally and hope she didn’t give him away.
    “Luke, this is Investigator Ray Harper of the Organized Crime Task Force.”
    Or not.
    “He’s the one who arrested Phinehas. Ray, this is Luke Fisher, my new boss.”
    Ray’s mind churned, trying to come up with Plan B: What to Do When Your Cover Gets Blown. He held out a hand, watching Fisher
     closely. “Nice to meet you.” If he expected Fisher to give a guilty start and a few furtive glances out of his beady eyes,
     he was disappointed. The guy was all sunshine and smiles as he shook hands. Not a care in the world.
    Ray turned back to Claire. “I thought you worked at the bank.”
    “I did. But I got fired, and Luke hired me to do the books at KGHM.”
    “You work at the station?”
With Fisher? Together, day in and day out?
    “I sure do. At the moment, I’m just getting the place cleaned up and organized, but starting Monday I should be able to get
     a handle on the accounting software and start contributing.”
    “You already have,” Fisher said with a smile that probably charmed little old ladies and dogs, not sensible