Luther sulked over to the Grubby Cauldron, encouraged he’d find no shortage of donuts, since many inhabitants of Dalton Springs were still engaged fighting the flooding catastrophe at the church. As predicted, he found the café barren of people, except for Gloria, the proprietor.
“Good morning, Luther,” Gloria greeted, setting aside an intriguing Clive Cussler novel. Pushing her wispy form upward from a metal stool, she moved towards the mute, flashing him a friendly smile.
Luther nodded, fetching a small notepad and mechanical pencil from his pocket.
They possessed an understanding, Luther and Gloria. She respected him, and in return, he didn’t judge her questionable lifestyle. Vegetarianism wasn’t a common personal choice in Dalton Springs, and certainly a middle aged woman who would forego hearty meats for leafy vegetables and delve into something as shameful as yoga and belly dancing in neighboring Brightan seemed unconscionable.
Luther settled in front of the counter, eying the pastry rack behind the polished glass. Motivated by his ravenous appetite, he managed a yearning moan. Quickly conveying his order via a written note, Luther grunted when Gloria politely acknowledged.
Spending the next several minutes chatting with the haggard mute while he devoured one sprinkled donut, followed by another, Gloria pressed forward, whispering some gossip. “The mayor has been acting awfully weird lately, Luther.”
His mouth convulsing to give strained utterance, Luther responded the best he knew how; one loud snorting eruption. Then he grew solemnly quiet.
As if looking for eavesdroppers, Gloria’s hazel eyes quickly swept the café—a necessary precaution she took before delivering an intended bombshell.
Contorting his face, Luther again listened intently. He lifted a heavy mug of black coffee to his lips, taking a sip.
“He’s messed up in something bad, Luther. Something real nasty.”
Luther nearly choked. Steadying his caffeine-induced trembling hands, he put down the mug, eying Gloria directly. Then he scribbled a big question mark on his little yellow note pad.
“I heard him talking the other day.” Pointing to the corner booth, Gloria explained, “He was sitting there, arguing on his cell phone. I was cleaning the table right behind him and I was shocked to hear what he said.”
Frustrated by his inability to bombard Gloria with questions, Luther pounded his fist on the counter. Since his tragic accident several years prior, it had been Luther’s misfortunate lot in life to be seen but not heard, except for his occasional groan or grunt.
As if reading Luther’s mind, Gloria continued, “The mayor said he wasn’t going to be threatened.” Shrugging and wide-eyed, Gloria asked, “Now why would the mayor say he wasn’t going to be threatened? He sounded afraid, Luther.”
Luther wrote the words SOAP FACTORY? in bold lettering.
Everyone knew of contentious issues raised by Purity Soap Factory, employer of over half the town’s inhabitants. The company was always looking for some sort of local governmental concession. Lately, they demanded an easement on adjoining city property for bubble holding tanks.
Gloria shook her head. “It has nothing to do with the soap factory. No, Luther. The mayor is being blackmailed. By who, I don’t know. For what, I can only imagine.”
Luther had heard enough. Removing his wallet, he paid the tab.
“What I just told you, Luther,” Gloria started, passing him some change, “is between us, our secret. So, don’t tell anyone.”
If he could have spoken, Luther might have sworn. Shaking his head, rolling his eyes, he departed the Grubby Cauldron feeling soiled.
Meanwhile, back at the church, Rev. Purpose finished listening to Sheriff Willis Sparks give a list of security recommendations as the congregation members finished mopping the basement floor. Already, Hank, from the hardware store, offered to replace locks.
“That means keeping the church locked when people aren’t here,” Willis explained to the minister. “Considering what we’ve experienced today with the flooding, it’s probably not good to leave the church unlocked when unattended. Not a good thing. Not a real smart thing.”
But there was the church bell that needed to be rung at the appropriate times by Lloyd Saunders, and various town folk who desired the freedom to wander into the chapel when their hearts were heavy, to pray. The very notion of barring his flock from the center of their community, their church, seemed abhorrent to goodly minister, Paul Purpose.
“No,” Rev. Purpose finally said, shaking his head determinedly. “If we lock up our church, we give up the very essence of who we are as a body of believers. That’s not what Dalton Springs Christian Church is about. Rather we must remain open and welcoming.”
Though Willis Sparks’ mind refuted Rev. Purpose’s logic, his heart was swayed, for he had been one who had taken advantage of the chapel, finding refuge and solace when Lillian, his boisterous wife, had undergone brain surgery to remove her threatening tumor. How could the lawman possibly deny others the same peace of mind in their troubling circumstances?
“You’re right,” Willis responded slowly. “I guess we’ll all have to be more diligent in watching the church.” Before he could utter another remark, the sweet voice of Mrs. Nelson summonsed everyone to come upstairs and eat.
© 2005 by author. All rights reserved.
