“I used to be a cop. A homicide detective with the Denver P.D.” I wait for the inevitable recoil. Or the other extreme, the fascinated eyes, the request for anecdotes.
But Claire does neither. She looks at me speculatively, continuing to wipe the already clean bartop. “You said, ‘used to be.’ Does that mean you’re not a cop anymore?”
“Not at the moment.” I take a long malty swallow of my beer. “Maybe not ever again.”
“Burned out?”
“You could say that.”
Maybe I don’t want to leave the conversation on that pity-me note, or give her the wrong impression, that my leaving is some political statement. In any case, what I say next is almost as big a surprise to me as it is to her. “I’m going to be a private investigator. Just have to complete the process.”
“A private eye? That sounds interesting.”
I nod like I know what I’m talking about. “I’ve got all the qualifications. Lots of experience as a police detective. Solving murders, robberies, missing persons. The works.”
Claire nods, looking thoughtful, and moves down the bar to greet some new customers, and I enjoy my meal in peace. It had been easier than I’d hoped. She hadn’t asked any awkward questions, and I hadn’t had to lie.
Except for making up the whole P. I. thing.
What’s to make up? I do have all the experience I need.
Yay, digging up dirt on people’s spouses. Chasing down deadbeats. Sounds like a party.
I can work for private individuals. Lawyers.
There’s something to look forward to.
I succeed in shutting down that persistent inner voice and work on cleaning up my remaining French fries and draining the last dregs of beer from the glass.
When Claire finishes with her orders, she comes back. “I think things happen for a reason. Do you believe that?”
“Sometimes.” Uh-oh. Was I going to get a dose of New Age philosophy?
She leans forward and speaks in an undertone. “Would you consider looking for a missing person? It’s not a real case, not yet.”
“You mean Pastor Harkness?”
“Yes. I’m worried about her. Daniel — my husband — says it’s unreasonable to call the cops. She was an adult, free to go off on her own if she wants to. And it’s true she’s only been gone for a day. But I can tell you, she would never leave the church. It was — is — her calling. Her sacred role. Something is wrong. I know it. And I can check with Daniel about paying you something. Maybe we can draw on the church’s general operating fund.” The entry bell rings as a group of three men walk in, fresh off a fishing boat by the state and smell of their clothes.
“Hey Claire, set us up with a round of Buds, will you?” one calls as the three sit down.
“Back in second,” she says, as she hurries to the taps.
A job, even before I’d hung out my shingle. Well, why not? It’s probably nothing, like most MisPers cases. It feels a little squirrelly to be going in under the radar of the local detectives, but they most likely wouldn’t be making much of an effort anyway. I recall my encounter at the police station, Candide’s suspicion and Olafson’s disdain, and enjoy the thought of putting a dent in their smugness by taking a case away from them. Because a little revenge is balm for the soul.
Not to mention a little money in the pocket. And independence from the Man.
Plus, something to focus on besides my own head trip.
When Claire comes back, wiping her hands, I pay my bill and agree to work for the Church of the Spirit. We set an appointment to meet tomorrow morning so she can give me more information about the missing pastor.
When I get back to my little yellow house, I unfold my laptop on the card table and bring up the Church of the Spirit website. When I’d been poking around before my visit, I’d noticed an archive of past services, and a link to a radio show Harkness had been featured on. Now I click on the link, turn up the volume, and walk over to stand by the windows. Lights from small fishing boats sprinkle the river, crisscrossing the channel. Something must be out there in droves, tempting the locals to cast their lines and dip their nets.
The sound of the broadcast begins to percolate into my awareness. It’s an interview from a weekly program called ‘Matters of Faith.’ The moderator explains that every week he talks to local religious leaders about their churches. His voice is pleasantly gravelly, and the interview begins with a flourish of organ music.
Moderator: Today we welcome a preacher who’s relatively new to the faith community, Pastor Victoria Harkness of the Church of the Spirit. Welcome, Pastor.
VH: Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be on your show.
Victoria’s voice is a rich contralto. I can imagine her filling her sanctuary with a heartfelt service, the tone of voice as much of an attraction as the content of her message. Outside, the sunset has thinned to a ribbon of orange above the long narrow strip of the Clatsop Spit that splits the river from the sea.
M: Let’s dive right in. I understand the Church of the Spirit is non-denominational, is that correct?
VH: Yes. We utilize the Bible in our teachings, but I encourage my congregants to branch out and seek inspiration directly from the Holy Spirit through their own creative works.
M: Interesting. What exactly do you mean by that?
VH: God — or Goddess, or the Great Mystery, however you prefer to think of them, in whatever tradition — is always named as the Creator. In fact, that’s how I always refer to the Deity myself. How better to reach a depth of understanding and spirituality than by engaging in the very activity that characterizes the divine?
Ye gods, I think.
M: So you encourage your followers to emulate the Creator?
VH: Well, on a lesser scale,
