Free Storming Heaven by Kyle Mills Page A

Great food, and enormous open bar with only top-shelf stuff, and man, were they friendly. At a minimum, twenty-five people had approached them and struck up a conversation. And thankfully, due either to the nice suit and glasses he was wearing, or the dim light and booze, not a single person had recognized him as the man who had been recently besieged by the press over Jennifer Davis’s disappearance.
    Of course, his anonymity had been helped along by the fact that he told everyone who approached him that he was hard of hearing and really only Carrie’s date. She was the one intimately acquainted with the bride.
    Thus had started a rather long and painfulevening for Carrie Johnstone. She’d delighted Beamon for the last hour with a string of confused lies and brief outbursts of nervous laughter as she discussed the bride from childhood to present.
    The blue-haired woman who had been chatting with Carrie through a smile that looked like it was held in place by fishhooks finally straightened up, waved a good-bye to Beamon, and began weaving though the crowd toward the bar.
    “Shrimp?” Beamon said, holding a cream-cheese-doused shellfish in Carrie’s general direction.
    “I’m going to get you for this, Mark. I don’t know how. And I’m not sure when. But I will.”
    Beamon slipped into his most innocent smile. “You’ve just spent an hour conversing with your test subjects, Carrie. I thought you’d be thanking me.”
    She held out her hand and scowled. “Give me the shrimp.”
    She popped it in her mouth, then sucked down half the glass of wine in front of her.
    “C’mon, Carrie. You can’t tell me this hasn’t been even more productive than the ceremony. I’ve learned volumes just sitting here. As venues for people-watching, wedding receptions are right up there with …” He was about to say “strip bars,” but caught himself. “Uh, public parks.”
    She took another gulp of her wine. “Well, what
I’ve
learned is that
you
can’t be trusted. I assume from my conversations that you’ve been telling people that you’re just my date and that you don’t know anybody here.”
    “Uh, I think I used the words toy boy, actually. Oh, and there was that deafness thing.”
    “Right, a few people mentioned your little hearing problem. You’ll be happy to know that I told them it was the result of untreated syphilis.”
    That probably explained the strange looks on the faces of a few of the people Carrie had spoken to and their furtive glances in his direction.
    “Touché,” he said, surprised at the depth of the relief he felt when her face broke into a beautiful smile. He’d had no idea how she would take his little prank. Some women seemed so perfect, but then you found out that they couldn’t laugh at themselves.
    Beamon scooted his chair closer to her and looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Serves you right. Getting the head of the FBI’s local office to aid and abet you in crashing a wedding. At least tell me what the paper you’re writing is about.”
    “It’s about the way religion affects people’s mental health.” Beamon could hear the excitement creep into her voice as she started to explain her work. Another mark in the Carrie Johnston plus column. He loved people who were passionate about something. Didn’t really matter what.
    “How do you mean?”
    “Well, if you believe very strongly in any particular religion, that dogma is going to affect your perceptions and therefore your mental outlook. Let’s compare a very devout Muslim woman with a devout Kneissian woman. Now, many Muslims have very strong beliefs that keep women as sort of second-class citizens. This might create, for instance, problems with self-esteem.”
    Beamon thought about that for a moment.Seemed to make sense. “And the Kneissian woman?”
    “Well, the Kneissians are at the other end of the spectrum. They are almost completely lacking in institutional chauvinism. On the other hand, they