"Travis Jordan?"

"Speaking."

"Mr. Jordan, my name is Elise Brenner. My maiden name is Harris. Dale Harris is my father."

I sank onto the couch, more than a little intrigued. "The Dale Harris? Pastor of The Cathedral of Life?

"One and the same. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No, no, no, I'm free, I'm okay."

"I understand you visited my dad's church a little while ago."

"That's right."

"Did you talk with my father?"

I broke into a grin and hoped she didn't hear me chuckle. "No. He was unavailable."

"But you did talk to Miles Newberry."

"Uh, yeah, that's, that's right. I, uh, talked to Miles-uh, Pastor Newberry."

"About a mutual acquaintance? Justin Cantwell?"

I leaned forward, pressing the receiver to my ear. "That's right. He, uh, he was going to get back to me."

"He won't. None of them will. Mr. Jordan, it's only by a fluke that I heard about your meeting with Miles. They weren't about to tell me. They don't like this sort of thing getting out."

"Why are you calling me?"

"Because I know Justin Cantwell and I can tell you about him, which means I have to tell you about him. It would be wrong not to. The others-my father included-don't want anyone to know about him because it would be too embarra.s.sing."

I grabbed a notepad I kept by the phone and flipped to a clean page. "So . . . you understand who I am and what my needs are?" "Mrs. Fontinelli told me. You remember her, my dad's secretary?" "Oh yes, Mrs. Fontinelli. She seemed like a nice lady."

"One of the nicest. She's like a second mom. She told me about your visit and how the staff handled it. She's a professional and she does her job, but she's a friend too. She wasn't going to tell me unless I asked her, but I asked her, so she told me."

"Okay."

"This conversation is going to be confidential, all right?"

"All right."

She took an audible breath. "I'm married to one of the a.s.sociate pastors at the Cathedral, Tom Brenner. I used to be the head of the music department at the church. I directed the choir, ran the worship team, organized the Christmas and Easter pageants, all that sort of thing. Three years ago, Justin Cantwell auditioned for the choir and we put him in the tenor section. That's how I got to know him. To make a long story short, we ended up having an affair."

I tried to keep my voice from betraying my wide-eyed facial expression. "I see."

"Now, you have to consider who my father was. He had a monstrous church with three services on Sunday morning, a book deal with a major publisher, a television ministry, a tape ministry. He was a district presbyter for our denomination and serving on the board of Horizon Bible College. He had a professional, big time booking agency to line up his outside speaking engagements and another company managing annual vacations to the Holy Land with his name in the logo. He had a well-trained professional pastoral staff and we had ourselves an efficient, smooth-running church with a multimillion dollar annual budget. Mr. Jordan, I guess I've made it clear, my dad was successful in . . . well, the popular word is, the ministry."

"Oh yes. Anybody can see that."

"So, next thing you know, his daughter, married, with three kids, has an affair with a stranger from the teeming ma.s.ses of that congregation. The, uh, powers-that-be-the board, the pastors, and my father-feared it would mar the image of the church and the pastor. They thought it could snarl the ministry's momentum- let the church roll on, as the song goes. I was ashamed and felt foolish. My husband's ministry was going to be in jeopardy as well. So we got together, prayed about it, and then, to put it simply, we covered it up. The church kept me on staff through Christmas- hey, it was the big Christmas pageant, they couldn't let anything jeopardize that-and then they let me take an indefinite leave of absence in January. My husband went right on serving as an a.s.sociate pastor, doing all he could to act normal, to keep the College and Career department rolling while we worked things out. The official word was that I'd worked very hard and needed a rest and time to be with my family-which was true. It just wasn't the whole truth."

"What happened to Justin Cantwell?"

"He vanished like he was never there. I've read a few things in the paper about Jesus showing up in Antioch, but I didn't have a clue it was him, not until you came down here asking questions."

"So how are you and your husband doing?"

"We're still working it out. It hasn't been easy."

"Does he . . . does he know you're talking to me about all this?"

"I told him I was going to call you today."

"And what was his response?"

"He had to leave. The College and Career department has a meeting this morning. But that's . . ."

"Yes?"

"I don't know if you'll be able to understand this, but it's part of the story so I'll tell you. I almost couldn't help being drawn to Justin Cantwell. He was the first man in my life I could really talk to. He understood me, he understood my pain, he took the time to talk with me and, you know, just share his feelings about things." She took a breath to clear her mind. "I did not know my father. I can't say that I know him now. We never really talked, never spent time together- unless it was in church. Hey, as long as I played the piano or led the choir or worked in the church office, we had a relationship. It was mostly professional, but at least we had something."

I could feel my insides twisting a little. "I, uh, I think I do understand."

"That's what people don't realize: On the surface, it's a wonderful church and we have a happy, Christ-filled family. Dad likes to brag about his kids in public, but my sister, Judy, is divorced and bulimic and my brother, Sam, is an alcoholic. My oldest brother, Dale Jr., turned out pretty well, but that's because he's just like Dad. He's in the ministry, pastoring a church in Oklahoma. As for me and my husband, Tom . . ." She dropped off in midsentence.

"Did Tom go to Horizon Bible College?"

"Yes." She sounded surprised.

"And he talks and thinks like your dad."

Now her voice carried her amazement. "Have you met him?"

"No. But he's on the pastoral staff, isn't he?"

She laughed. "So you've been to our church."

"I've seen how it works."

"Dad handpicks every a.s.sociate. I love Tom. But he's Dad's kind of man. All church. They fuel each other. It's all they talk about. I should have seen it coming. It's as if you can't love and serve the Lord by being with your family, you have to be doing church stuff."

Ah yes, the stuff. "I'm sorry." I really was.

"Again, I don't expect you to understand, but in our home, you had to be involved in the church to feel like part of the family. Dale and I could play the game, Sam and Judy couldn't." She gave a bitter chuckle. "I was always at the church, so Dad used to talk to Sam and Judy through me. He'd say things like, *Tell Sam I like that paint job on the house,' or *Tell Judy she should sell that car and get an automatic.' Sam used to brag about being a pagan just to send a message. Dad never picked up on it. Maybe the affair was my way of sending a message to Tom. Sometimes I think he may have received it, but sometimes not."

"What about your mother?"

"The same rule applied. So they'd fight a lot. Then she'd run into the bedroom to cry and he'd go out and cut the gra.s.s. Nothing ever changed that I could see. She threatened to leave him once, but then she felt so guilty about it that she ended up asking him to forgive her. I wanted to scream."

"And . . ." Pieces were coming together in my head even as I formed the question. "Justin Cantwell knew all about this, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He could tell you all about it, just like he'd been there."

"Just like he'd been there. So, we just clicked, you know what I mean? Our hearts touched and he showed compa.s.sion and love and warmth-and it didn't have to be church related!" Then she asked, "Is he doing the same thing to someone up there?"

I was too blown away to answer. I had to think.

"Mr. Jordan?"

"Oh yes. Definitely."

"You have to warn whoever it is. Don't let him do it. Listen, he'll come on at first like he's-well, like he's Jesus himself."

"Right."

"But he's not a healer, Mr. Jordan-I don't care how it looks. He knew about my hurt, but he didn't heal it, he just brought it out and made it worse. I think he looks for people to share his anger and his hurt and then he brings out the worst in them. He uses them."

"Do you know anything about his background, where he's from, who his family are?"

"Once I saw a letter he got from Nechville, Texas, just the envelope. He told me it was from his mother."

"Nechville . . ." I asked her to spell it and wrote it down. "Did you catch his mother's name?"

"Lois Cantwell. He wouldn't talk about her, or any of his family, for that matter. He's bitter, and having known him and the way he knew me, I can guess where the bitterness came from. He knows the Christian language. When he joined our choir, he already knew the worship songs. He could raise his hands and praise the Lord. He could pray and quote from the Bible. He talked about Jesus and used Jesus' name just like a real Christian. He's been there."

"But it didn't go well for him."

"That would be an understatement. But Mr. Jordan, think twice before you pity him. He's not just a wounded soul. He's a destroyer, with a destroyer driving him. He never did miracles while he was here. A little prophetic insight, maybe, just enough to carry out his agenda. But if what I've read is true, that demon is still growing, and now it's in your town. Better be prayed up."

24.

NANCY BARRONS stared at the image on her computer monitor, then sighed, dropping her gaze. She wagged her head, her face despondent.

Kim Staples didn't notice. She was busy at her own computer, tapping keys and moving her mouse, pasting and a.s.sembling Tuesday's paper. "Uh-oh, I've got a problem."

"We've all got a problem," Nancy replied.

Kim turned from her monitor, hoping Nancy would look her way. "See here? Kiley Hardware's full-page ad landed right opposite Anderson Furniture's full-page ad at the center spread. You think that's too much ad all in one place? Nancy?"

Nancy rested her forehead on her fingertips, and gave her screen a less-than-enthusiastic glance. "I can't run this story."

Kim pushed with her feet, propelling her wheeled chair across to Nancy's desk. "But it's news."

Nancy waved her off, a little angry. "No, no, no, I don't want to hear that excuse anymore. We've been using it for weeks." On her monitor was the headline, A BETTER HOME FOR THE MESSIAH. Underneath was a full-color photo of the new public restrooms and showers under construction at the Macon ranch. "What in the world are we doing? This isn't a news story. It's another full-page ad!"

Kim shrugged. "He's employing local workers, buying materials from local businesses, drawing pilgrims from all over the country who spend money here. That's news for this town. People want to know about it."

"But we're helping him. Knowing what we know, we're still helping him!"

Kim nodded forlornly. "When I was up there to take the picture, Nichols's people told me they wanted five hundred copies when the story ran."

"Yeah, free publicity. More clippings to put in their PR package.

An endors.e.m.e.nt, if you ask me! He's using us just like he's using everyone else in this town!"

"What if we toned down the headline and didn't call him the Messiah?"

Nancy leaned back, folding her arms. "I notice we've never run a story on Mary Donovan."

Kim snickered. "Or Michael Elliott."

"Our own Virgin Mary and John the Baptist. Kind of like meeting Mickey Mouse and Goofy at Disneyland."

"So why haven't we? The big papers have."

"Because . . ." An animated, geometric screen-saver started up on Nancy's computer. She let it run. "We live here and we don't want to hurt our friends-not to mention we're covering our own rear ends. If we ever did an honest story about any of this, we'd be right alongside the big papers in showing how ludicrous it all is." For the first time, Nancy looked at Kim. "But it's going to blow up. Adrian Folsom's talking to an angel, but have you seen how paranoid she's gotten? And the other night, Rod Stanton and Mark spent a couple of hours looking for a ghost Brett says appeared in his living room: that hitchhiker he picked up months ago."

"You're kidding!"

"We've got all these people and all this money coming into town. There's building going on. Businesses are expanding and sticking their necks out, and for what? For this supposedly upgraded version of Jesus Christ who performs miracles but has a thing for women, is probably a crook, and-" It was a difficult realization. "And have you noticed how n.o.body's really better off? Business is better, sure, but Matt Kiley's nothing more than a thug, Norman Dillard looks at you everywhere but in the eye, Penny Adams is stealing again, Adrian's paranoid, Brett's, I don't know, seeing things, and Don Anderson-"

"Him too?"

"Well . . . he's not entirely there when you talk to him."

"Maybe he's been playing with his toys too much."

"It's going to blow up, and when it does, where's this town going to be? We should've gotten a clue when we first talked to Nevin Sorrel-who's now dead, of course."

"Definitely not better off. But what can we prove?"

"No, take it to the next step. Say we can prove something. This late in the game, how's the town going to react? We're talking wallets and purses here, a mighty big balloon to pop, and we helped, Kim. That's the sad thing. We beat the drum for this guy. We contributed to the problem."

Kim nodded. "I think I'm feeling scared."

"You and me both."