Читать книгу Come Sunday Morning - Terry E. Hill - Страница 9

It was 10:50 A.M. Catherine Birdsong rushed to gather the information Hezekiah had requested.

Her office was small compared to others in the administrative wing. There were no pictures on the walls. Newspapers, magazines, and press releases occupied every available surface. A silver frame on the desk held a picture of her seven-year-old daughter, Sarah.

Catherine jumped when the telephone rang.

“Yes, Pastor Cleaveland. I’m on my way,” she said before the voice on the line could speak.

She hurried through the winding halls to Hezekiah’s office.

Without stopping at the receptionist’s desk in front of Hezekiah’s door, Catherine snapped over her shoulder, “He’s expecting me.”

Hezekiah was laughing on the telephone when she entered the room. He concluded the conversation with, “Don’t worry, Barry. Just let me know if you need me to call him. He’s good for at least another hundred thousand.”

Hezekiah hung up the telephone.

“Where have you been? It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

Catherine did not respond while handing him the reports. She stood over his shoulder and attempted to explain the numbers as Hezekiah studied the pages.

“Pastor, no one seems to have an accurate number on how much the project has cost to date. The figures range from twenty to twenty-five million. That would mean we have between twenty and twenty-five million more to raise. I recommend going with the lower number because of all the controversy surrounding the building project.” Catherine continued quickly before Hezekiah could ask a question. “The second page is a geographic breakdown of contributions to date. As you can see, the majority of our contributions are coming from the southern states. The Midwest is coming in at a strong second. It looks like we need to put more emphasis on the East Coast, though. For example, donations from Maryland, Rhode Island, and D.C. are falling short of what we projected for this final phase of fund-raising.

“The last page shows the donor demographics. Of course, women between twenty-five and sixty-five years of age are our most prolific donors. Followed by men thirty-five to sixty-five. The number of single white female donors has increased significantly in the last two months.”

Catherine refrained from offering further explanations as Hezekiah continued to scan the reports.

The intercom on his desk cut through the silence.

“Pastor Cleaveland,” said the receptionist, “Mr. Lance Savage is here for your eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Hezekiah said sharply.

Moments later Hezekiah and Catherine emerged from the office and Lance Savage jumped to his feet. Lance was a tall man of thirty-five years who never left home without a slightly wrinkled sport coat, thick corduroy pants, and a pair of well-worn suede shoes. His pale yellow shirt had gone several wearings without benefit of dry cleaning.

“Hello, Lance,” Catherine said as she approached him. “I’m going to join you in this meeting if you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t mind. I’ve just got a few questions for Pastor Cleaveland.”

Hezekiah approached Lance with a welcoming grin. “Lance,” he said, extending his hand. “You here to rake me over the coals again?”

Lance laughed and shook Hezekiah’s hand.

Hezekiah directed Lance and Catherine to attractive, yet uncomfortable, chairs in front of his desk. He sat behind the desk surrounded by plaques, awards, and framed magazine covers with pictures of the perfect Cleaveland couple which served to remind all who entered the room that he was one of the most famous ministers in the country.

Hezekiah spoke before Lance could settle into the chair. “Lance, I’ve pulled together some information on the new sanctuary and media center building project. The community is going to benefit greatly from the expansion of our ministry.”

“I’m sure the project is very impressive, Pastor Cleaveland, but I’m not here to talk about the new cathedral.” Lance retrieved a small notepad from his breast pocket and continued. “Pastor Cleaveland, are you familiar with a man named Danny St. John?”

With no discernible signs of surprise, Hezekiah responded, “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

Lance continued his questioning. “Is that so? Would it jog your memory if I told you Mr. St. John is a homeless-outreach worker with whom, my sources tell me, you’ve spent a considerable amount of time over the last year?”

Hezekiah’s face hardened as he felt the muscles contract in his shoulders. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know of anyone by that name. My ministry, however, is very concerned about the growing number of homeless people in Los Angeles.”

“Pastor Cleaveland, I have been given information by a reliable source that you and Mr. St. John have a relationship that…How can I put this? A relationship that goes beyond your mutual concern for the well-being of Los Angeles’s indigent population.”

“I’m a busy man, Lance,” Hezekiah said impatiently. “What is this about?”

“All right, sir. Would you care to comment on the fact that we have information which suggests that for the past year you’ve been involved in a homosexual relationship with Danny St. John?”

The chair bumped the bulletproof window behind the desk as Hezekiah leaped to his feet.

“What are you talking about? This is ridiculous! Who told you that?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I am not at liberty to say.”

“How dare you come into my church and make a libelous claim like that? I’ll sue you and the Los Angeles Chronicle if any word of this lie appears in it.”

Lance stood to his feet. “Pastor Cleaveland, there’s really no point in denying it. My source’s proof is irrefutable. I’m here to give you the opportunity to respond, even if that response is simply ‘No comment.’”

“I won’t dignify this nonsense with a response. Now get out of my office.”

“That is your choice, Pastor Cleaveland. However, please know that we will run this story within a week, with or without a quote from you.”

Hezekiah rushed from behind the desk to Lance and pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Catherine stood. “Lance, this is outrageous. Pastor Cleaveland said he never met this Danny St. John person!”

“Shut up, Catherine.” Hezekiah turned his anger to her shrieking face. “Stay out of this.”

As Lance walked to the door, he turned and said, “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

Catherine collapsed into the chair after Lance left the room. “Pastor, a story like this could ruin you. Would you like me to call our attorneys?”

Hezekiah’s eyes glazed over. He stood in front of her and slammed an open palm on the desk.

“No,” he snapped. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone, and especially not Samantha.”