French Silk(39)
"You took care of the details for me?"
"No need for concern. There's no record of your having been here that night."
"Has anyone interrogated you about … about it?"
"The police," Andre replied with distaste. "I also spoke with a man named Cassidy."
"Cassidy's questioned you?"
"Twice. But don't worry. I answered only specific questions and didn't elaborate."
"Did my name come up?"
"No! And, naturellement, I wouldn't mention it."
"I'm certain you didn't," the caller said. "It's just that … well, no one needs to know I was there."
"I understand."
"I rely on your confidentiality. It's enormously valuable to me."
"That's the highest compliment you could pay me. Merci."
"I need to ask one more favor, Andre."
"I would consider it an honor."
"If Cassidy, or anybody else, asks about me directly, will you notify me?"
"Certainement. Immediately. Although I assure you, your fears are unfounded."
Almost inaudibly, the caller replied, "I hope so."
* * *
Chapter 8
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Ariel Wilde had a captive audience in the board members of Jackson Wilde Ministry. They were bound by deference to her recent widowhood, by reverence for the man who had been interred only yesterday, and by their own fear that a very lucrative enterprise was about to collapse following the demise of its leader.
Ariel was holding court from the head of the long conference table in the boardroom on the top floor of the ministry's office complex in Nashville. Garbed in black, she looked thin and wan, almost incapable of lifting the translucent china cup of virtually colorless herbal tea to her chalky lips. Her weepy eyes, which had contributed largely toward making her the patron saint of the hopeless, seemed to have receded into her skull. They were surrounded by violet shadows of fatigue and despair.
No one except Ariel knew that these evidences of grief washed off with soap and water.
She replaced her cup in its saucer. That tiny clink of china against china was the only sound in the room. The indirect lighting, dark paneling, and plush carpeting encouraged a hushed atmosphere similar to that of the funeral home where Jackson Wilde had, for two days, lain in state inside a sealed casket. Those seated around the conference table waited in breathless anticipation for the widow to speak, sympathizing with her while at the same time trying to conceal their personal anxieties.
"Gentlemen, let me begin by thanking you, individually and collectively, for the support you've given me—and to Josh, during these dark and troublesome days following Jackson's death. You're a living tribute to him. The way you've rallied around me is … well…" Emotionally overcome, she dabbed at her eyes, letting her tears speak for themselves.
Recovering her composure, she continued, "When Jackson was at the helm, he expected you to give one hundred percent of yourself in dedication to him and to doing the Lord's work. In his absence, you've maintained that tradition. I know I speak for him when I say how proud you've made me."
She gave each of them in turn a gentle smile, then took another sip of tea before cutting to the heart of the matter.
"Unfortunately, none of us expected Jackson's tragic demise. It's caught us unprepared. Who could have predicted that a madman would silence one of God's most effective messengers?"
That earned her a few mumbled amens.
"The Devil expects us to surrender and retreat to lick our wounds. He expects us to buckle beneath the burden of our grief. When he silenced Jackson, he figured he'd silenced us all." As rehearsed, she paused strategically. "But the Devil underestimated us. We're not going to be cowed and silent. The Jackson Wilde Ministry will continue as before."
A dozen dark-vested chests relaxed. The escaping tension was as palpable as steam rising from a simmering kettle. Sweat began to evaporate off furrowed brows. Sighs of relief were sensed if not heard.
Ariel could barely contain her smug smile. She now had them in the palm of her hand. They might consider themselves men of God. No doubt a few 'of them genuinely believed in their mission. But they were still men, subject to the foibles of every descendant of Adam. They had feared for their futures. Fully expecting her to announce the dissolution of the ministry, they had prayed for a miracle. She'd just handed them one.
Of course, there was always at least one skeptic.
"How, Ariel?" the doubting Thomas asked. "I mean, without Jackson, how can we possibly continue? Who's going to preach?"
"I am."
Everyone gaped at her, flabbergasted. It was obvious that they all doubted her abilities. She gave her head a small shake that sent her platinum hair rippling across her shoulders. It was a gesture of resolution and supreme confidence.
"I—that is, we … we thought we'd bring in another evangelist."
"Well, you all thought wrong," she said sweetly. "That's why I called this meeting. So I could explain my plans to everyone at once and save having to repeat myself."
She clasped her hands together on the edge of the table. Her recent frailty had been supplanted by a quivering vitality. The spark of life in her eyes, so faint just minutes ago, had grown into a conflagration.