but no one disrespects my wishes. There, there.” Embracing her again, Madeleine ran her hand over Bay’s back in slow circles as though calming a high-strung thoroughbred. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.
“Now in this envelope are keys, phone numbers I felt you might need, a bit of cash and a checkbook with a modest deposit to get started. It’s not charity. I know you too well. We’ll take it off what you’ll bill me for the Maiden. You’ll also find the hours for church services in there.”
Bay handed back the padded envelope. “I don’t do church.”
“You have to attend, dear. I’ve talked you up to the entire congregation, and I should tell you that our membership contains some of the most influential people in the city and beyond. Why do you think there aren’t vans from either of the local networks parked outside my property right now? Don’t you realize that as soon as you got into my car back at Gatesville, they knew where you were going? In any case, seeing your sweet face and how some things turn out for the good will provide sustenance to our congregation’s faith.”
Bay thought that was the longest stretch in any rationale Madeleine could have tried on her. “I’m sorry if this disappoints you, Mrs. Ridgeway, but I’ve never been religious.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a service and guessed it was her mother’s funeral. Her father had been lucky she’d arranged for a graveside prayer for him.
“Madeleine,” her benefactress intoned. “How often am I going to have to tell you? Having witnessed your art and your courage, I consider you an equal. As for religion—”
A knock at the door stopped her. Releasing Bay, she stepped around her to greet the newcomer. “Martin. Your timing is divinely inspired. Help me assure your newest lamb that she’s as wanted as she is needed.”
Into the room stepped a short man with the merry eyes and chipmunk cheeks of a fairy-tale elf. Although his fifties-style pompadour barely reached Madeleine’s choker, he grasped her hand between both of his and bestowed a kiss to rival any gallant performance in a royal court. Before Bay could worry she was about to suffer the same greeting, he patted her hand. “Praise God for this day. Madeleine has worked tirelessly to bring you out of Satan’s den. Welcome, child. Welcome home to where you will be loved and nurtured.”
Somewhere on the south side of his fifth decade, the auburn lights in his lush hair suggested he used a stylist for more than a good cut and blow-dry. His summer-gray suit also spoke of attention to detail and complemented Madeleine’s silk suit. Accident or had they color-coordinated over the phone?
“Don’t be shy, dear,” Madeleine said. “Martin is as genuine as his smile. At our Christmas gala more children want to climb onto his lap than Santa’s.”
“Merely due to besting his girth, Maddie.”
Charming as the self-deprecation was, Pastor Davis could hardly hope to squeeze Saint Nick or the Pillsbury Doughboy out of a TV screen. He was simply, pleasantly plump.
“And you know better than to push,” he continued. To Bay he said, “We’ve always succeeded because we don’t pressure. Our message speaks for itself.”
Madeleine’s skepticism came out in a ladylike sniff. “If only I had half that success with some of the politicians in this city. The cold hard truth, Bay, dear, is that aside from the gift Martin’s sermons present, you need to understand that you’ll meet business contacts through your affiliation that wouldn’t necessarily be accessible to you elsewhere.”
Pressing a hand over his heart, Martin Davis groaned. “Maddie! How many times do I have to tell you that you’re my earthbound angel, not a networking guru?”
Bay held her breath wondering how her benefactress would take this, even gentle, scolding. Astonished, she listened to the older woman’s girlish laugh.
“You know me, Martin. I can’t just juggle two or four projects—lucky for you, too. In any case, it’s no fun if I don’t have to dodge a few bullets now and again.” To Bay she added, “You have to let me show you off. I expect you to sit beside me in the family pew, and ignore what Martin says. Modesty is his vice. He’ll be wounded if you’re not even slightly curious to hear how he’s become the rudder of the fastest-growing congregation in the Southwest.”
As Bay stood between the two, she knew she was trapped. Worse, she had no energy—correction confidence—yet to fight.
3
After a small, but awkward pause, Martin Davis cleared his throat and leaned toward Madeleine. “Do you think she needs to see us looking wounded and fearful?”
“Oh, no.” Embarrassed that they must see her as an ungrateful bitch, Bay caved in. “I’ll come. I mean, thank you…for the invitation. For everything. Really.”
With a satisfied nod, her champion directed her toward the door. Bay thanked Madeleine Ridgeway again and let the shy Lulu show her the rest of the way out.
As promised, Elvin was waiting. The process of being handed off from person to person and passing through doorways triggered another unpleasant sensation, one she quickly reasoned away. There was no comparing this to prison, especially when she eyed the sprig of mint dangling from Elvin’s mouth.
A scan of the landscape had her gaze settling on the thigh-high brick flower box on the far side of the portico. Amid the sea of red and white geraniums, she spotted lavender, parsley, dill and basil. So Madeleine didn’t waste space any more than she did time or contacts. For a second, Bay wished the sprig was a cigarette so she could bum one. From someone who’d never taken up the habit to begin with, that spoke fathoms.
His hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, Elvin rocked back on his heels and grinned. “You’re looking like you did a few test rounds with a champ.”
Not willing to admit how right he was, Bay asked, “I guess you know where to go?”
“Spent virtually every waking hour there for the last two months.”
As he tossed away the wilting herb and headed for the driver’s side, his cheerful reply triggered a nagging something in Bay’s overtaxed, underfed brain. Then it clicked. “I only heard of the possibility of my release a few weeks ago,” she said from the back seat. She slammed shut the passenger door. “Even then I wasn’t certain it was a sure thing.”
Elvin shrugged as he keyed the engine. “So it felt shorter to you. I got through it by practicing my music. Speaking of—” he turned on the radio to another gospel station “—if you don’t mind, I need to listen. I’m trying to get these folks to consider my stuff.”
A frustrated artist, Bay mused, studying the back of his head. She noted that while his hair was similar in color to Pastor Davis’s, it lacked the neat cut and styling. At best Elvin’s shaggy mane seemed to be combed by his stubby fingers. Not great hands for a musician, Bay surmised. Nervous, too. They were always active, like his hazel eyes. “Go figure,” she murmured.
“What’s that?”
“I suppose you can’t study too much.”
With a nod, Elvin sped back to the Loop and turned left, this time passing the street that led into town and Bay’s old shop. Ignoring the pang
