shirt and a bolo tie, turned from the small group he was with to face the priest. He held out his hand. 'JeffHaught .'
Father Andrews shook his hand. 'I'm glad to meet you.'
The man turned to Mrs. Murphy. 'Were you talking about that street preacher been around town the past couple days?'
She nodded, her hat bobbing up and down in assent.
'Did you hear what he said?'
Mrs. Murphy sniffed. 'I heard enough.'
The man faced Father Andrews. 'That preacher's crazy. I was just stopping by the Circle K yesterday to buy some ice, and I saw this crowd gathered around the side of the building. I went over to investigate, and there was this preacher, wearing a heavy gray suit, in the hottest part of the day, standing on one of those empty wooden spools they use for telephone line. I stood there listening for a while and,' the man shook his head, 'I never heard anything like it. He started off like Mrs. Murphy said, regular fire and brimstone fundamentalism, but then he started on this .. . weird stuff. He started saying how Satan and God were going to fight it out here on earth and how we'd better start gathering up our weapons to fight. He said some people were going to be fighting on God's side, but some were going to be on Satan's. Then he started pointing out specific people in the crowd!'
Father Andrews smiled. 'That's not unusual. A lot of these evangelists use such techniques to fire up the crowd and get people to listen to them.'
'He said God and Satan were going to fight here, in Randall. Next week.'
Father Andrews' smile faded. Mrs. Murphy laughed out loud. She let go of the priest's arm and grabbed the other man's. 'Oh Jeff. You don't mean to tell me you actually believe that nonsense?'
He shook his head, smiling. 'Of course not. But a lot of other people seemed to.' He looked at Father Andrews. 'That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Father. Do you think maybe you could give some kind of warning during your sermon Sunday? Tell people not to listen to this jerk?'
The priest slowly shook his head. 'No, I can't really do that. It is not my place to criticize other religions, particularly on the pulpit.'
'I understand. I just thought that maybe as a kind of public service ...'
Father Andrews smiled. 'No.'
Jeff nodded. 'That's okay.' He started to go, then turned back around. 'You know something, though? When I was leaving, he was starting to make predictions.'
Father Andrews frowned. 'What kind of predictions?'
'The only one I really heard was the first one. He said the churches in town were going to be struck down, one by one, by the devil's fire.
Then I went to get my ice. He was still talking, but I didn't hear what he said.'
'That is a little more serious,' Father Andrews said. He was silent for a moment, thinking, but conscious of the two pairs of eyes on him, he forced himself to smile. 'Of course, he probably just heard about the vandalism and what happened to the Selways and was trying to make the most of it,' he said.
Jeff nodded. 'Probably.' He shook the priest's hand again. 'I really enjoyed the meeting, Father. I just wanted to tell you that. I hope you're going to be around here for a while.'
'I hope so, too,' Father Andrews said laughing. But he stopped laughing almost immediately, aware of how callous and flippant that sounded in the wake of what had happened to the Selways .
Though he had never met his predecessor, everyone here had been on close terms with him, and they had all liked him a lot.
But neither Jeff nor Mrs. Murphy noticed his faux pas, and he did not dwell on it, turning his attention instead to the excited chattering of Mrs. Murphy, who was filling him in on the details of everyone in the room. He watched as Jeff and two of his friends left by the front door. A few moments later, several other elderly ladies came up to talk to him, to tell him how much they'd enjoyed the meeting. He kept the conversation on a light tone. There was something in the story of that preacher that bothered him, and he found himself coming back to it, thinking about it, and not concentrating on the conversation around him.
By ten o'clock, everyone had left, even Mrs. Murphy, and he put away the leftover carton of punch, storing it in the church refrigerator, and picked up the crumpled Dixie cups left on the tables around the room. He gave the room one last cursory glance, and turned off the lights, locking the door behind him as he stepped outside.
He felt a smothering cloak of dread settle about him the second he stepped out of the church. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, hard to breathe. He thought instantly of the preacher.
From the center of town, he heard a siren, loud in the still evening.
Afiretruck , Father Andrews thought. One of the churches is on fire.
But he pushed the thought from his mind. He was overreacting, still hyped up from his talks with the sheriff. He was jumping at shadows.
He could not allow his emotions to run away with him. If he was going to be any help at all to the sheriff, he would have to think things through logically, reason everything out.
He got into the car just as it started to drizzle. The light rain and the windshield wipers cleared the small flecks of soot and cinder from the glass.
Jim sat in Ernst's office, squirming in the uncomfortable plastic chair the fire chief had filched from the elementary school last year when the cafeteria had caught on fire. Ernst nodded slowly, not looking up from his desk. 'It's arson,' he said. 'We haven't had time for an official investigation yet, of course. But after a while you can spot these things. It's arson. I'd bet money on it.'
Jim stood up and started pacing around the room. 'Damn it, I knew it would be.' He hitched up his pants. 'That's the last thing I need right now.'
Natalie Ernst stuck her head in the open doorway. 'You two want anything to drink? Coffee?'
The fire chief shook his head, waving her away. 'Not now, Nat. Maybe later.'
She smiled cheerfully at her father-in-law. 'Okay.'
Ernst picked up a short stubby pencil from the top of his desk, turning it over in his hands. 'This is the fire season, you know. The rangers do most of the work, but we have a pretty full load ourselves.'
Jim nodded. 'I know.'
'But the monsoons have come,' Ernst continued. 'And if you and your men need a little help, we'll be glad to help you out. I can spare a few men, as long as things don't get too crazy around here.'
Jim shook his head. 'Thanks, but--'
The staccato clanging of a loud fire bell sounded throughout the small building. Ernst stood instantly up, punching the intercom button on his desk. 'What is it?' he asked.
'Church,' Natalie said. 'First Southern Baptist. Over on east Main.'
Ernst stared at Jim. 'Want to come along?'
The sheriff nodded. He followed Ernst out to the garage, where four other men were already putting on fireproof uniforms. Ernst quickly got into his suit and hopped into the truck. Jim jumped into the passenger seat, and the other men found places on the back of the vehicle. The fire chief nipped on the siren and pulled out onto the street.
'It's a hot one,' Ernst said as they pulled up to the church. Jim saw multicolored shards of stained glass littering the church parking lot.
The windows had exploded outward, and thick white smoke was billowing from the open holes. Small orange flames were licking out of a hole in the roof.
Ernst stopped the truck and jumped out. 'Anybody inside?' he yelled, approaching a young man standing in the parking lot watching. The young man shook his head. The other firemen were already hooking up the hoses. 'How long ago did it start?' Ernst demanded.
The young man shrugged. 'It was alreadygoin ' when I got here.'
'Did you call it in?'
'No.' He pointed toward a teenage girl standing nearby, holding her hands over her mouth. 'She did.'
The firemen had hooked up the hoses by this time, and two of them grabbed axes from the back of thefiretruck . Ernst hurried across the asphalt to join them, and Jim approached the sobbing girl. 'You're the one
