CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 5 Under the Willow

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 5

Under the Willow

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)

  When Ginnette finally got off the phone Sarah was still sitting on my lap but she was no longer crying or emotional. I wanted to question her more, but I felt the Lord prompting me to leave. So I said my “good-byes”, but before I left, Ginnette took me into the bedroom and offered me $20 “for my troubles”. Of course I declined and the desire to spit out the words, “Save it for buying more bunnies when you can’t be bothered to find out what’s troubling your daughter.” came over me. But I kept my mouth shut.

A couple hours later I was at the town bus depot where I had arrived only 4 long days ago. This time to welcome the “reason” I was in town. My “gentleman caller” (which is the word that we older ladies use for “boyfriend”) got off the bus and I swept him into a big hug. He doesn’t believe in public displays of affection, but he must of missed me because when I tried to disengage myself from his arms he held me tight for an extra couple of heart beats. 

This is the town where my Marc had grown up and I was here to meet the only remaining family he still had left, an Aunt and Uncle, their 3 children and their families. I hadn’t contacted them since I got into town (basically because I was too afraid to face them alone), but with Marc here my courage reappeared as suddenly as one of Sarah’s bunnies. Marc and I had been “keeping company” for several years and I know that the “meeting of the family” signals a shift towards marriage, but the idea of marrying Marc made me very nervous. Yet he convinced me that he merely wanted all the people he loved to get to know each other and he was not going to pressure me into something I wasn’t ready for (although at my age you think I’d be more than ready for it). Added to his persuasive argument to come here were  his big, brown, pleading, puppy dog eyes, so it was inevitable that I would eventually give in and come to this small town that I had never even heard of before I met him.

I gussied myself up the best I could and met his family, all 11 of whom had come to town just to see me. As a group they possess the same qualities that Marc possesses singularly, so after a couple tense moments meeting everyone in the front hallway, I slipped into my place in that family as effortlessly as I slipped into my chair at the dining room table. Perhaps it was so easy because Marc was behind me holding out my chair, both literally and metaphorically.

After supper Marc and I took a stroll and I related to him the events of the past few days. He remained silent and thoughtful as I talked, nodding his head occasionally. When I was finished, he asked a couple questions to clarify my story and then settled back into his usual quietness. We walked side by side and hand in hand for several minutes (apparently the “public‘s” opinion of our hand holding wasn‘t foremost on his mind at that moment).

Marc eventually broke the silence by asking me what “little church” I was referring to. I told him the one I meant and he responded with, 
“Oh. That’s why I couldn’t figure out which one you were talking about. We call it ‘the Cathedral’ ”.

“Why ‘the Cathedral’? It’s not very cathedral like.”

“Well it was at one time.” he responded. And I could sense he was about to tell one of his “Oh-so-rare” stories. I was right and he continued.

“The Cathedral has been in this town almost since the beginning. This place originally started as a boom town. It sprung up fast and grew rapidly. And everyone was making money. It was back at the end of the 1930’s and the beginning of the 1940’s.”

“During World War II?” I interjected.

“Exactly. Back at that time, almost everyone attended church and the town’s founding members wanted to show that they were prosperous not only financially, but spiritually as well. With a great edifice, they could display to the world that Jesus had blessed them in every way and on every level.”

“Really humble” I remarked sarcastically

I waited for Marc to say more, but he didn’t. I finally could stand it no longer and burst out with, 
“Well! Don’t leave me hanging. What happened next?”

A smile split his face as he looked down at me and said tenderly, “Immediate Mai.” which is his nickname for me because patience is not one of my biggest virtues.

“Did you notice that big empty field not too far from the church you attended?” 
I nodded in affirmation.

“Well, that was once a big ammunition factory. During the war it made all sorts of guns and ammunition, but when the war was over it was converted into a Fireworks factory. Some people thought it should be a canning factory because they were morally uncomfortable that their blessed, spiritual town could be responsible for the death of a lot of people, even if they were 'just a bunch of  Nazi’s and Japs'. But money talked the loudest and in the end we could make more money with fireworks than canning. They modified the factory to make fireworks and only 4 days into full production the entire thing blew up. It killed everyone that worked there except for 5 people who were in the washrooms at the time. Although the Cathedral was some distance from the factory, the wind was blowing in that direction and the Cathedral caught fire as well. There are no traces of the factory left, just that empty field. It was obliterated. As for the Cathedral, only a portion was saved. The part left standing was where the Sunday School took place. The remains stood vacant for years but in the mid-80’s it was renovated into the building it is now. But those of us who grew up here still refer to it as ’the Cathedral’. Many people think the factory explosion and subsequent burning of the Cathedral was God’s judgement on the town because we made ’instruments of death’ during the war. People still debate it to this day.”

We walked in silence for a while longer, passing small houses, each one with a flower garden, until we ended up near the edge of town in a small meadow forested on two sides and peppered with various species of trees. I stopped walking to take in the view and then asked Marc,
“So exactly what Christian denomination occupies that church right now?”

“To tell you the truth.” he responded, “I don’t really know. Not many of us ‘lifers’ have anything to do with it.”

“Why not? Does everyone think it’s still under God’s judgement?”

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I haven’t attended it myself, but several of my friends that live here have gone for awhile and then just stopped. My friend Bert, you’ll meet him soon, he thinks they’re a front for selling babies because their nursery is always so full.”

“Do you think that’s possible?“ I asked attentively, while scanning Marc’s face.

“Not really. Bert thought our high school was the head quarters for a teen-age prostitution ring. So I don’t take all of what he says completely serious. But he’s got a big heart. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

“Can’t wait to meet him.” I said rather absent mindedly.

Suddenly Marc chuckled and I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “What?”

Marc said, “I was just remembering another conspiracy theory that Bert had. When a new store opened in the 70's that sold special herbal teas, Bert thought they were putting something in the teas that chemically lobotomized the drinker and as a side effect made men impotent.”

“He sounds like a real character”

“Oh that he is. That he is.”

We continued walking and Marc took my hand again. He took a big breath, which he usually does when he’s about to draw a conclusion.

“I don’t think the people who attend the Cathedral are into anything criminal. The consensus in town seems to be that they are just a little weird. But who isn’t?”

At the word “weird” I stopped walking for a moment. Marc turned and looked at me. All sorts of things were running through my head, but I didn’t want to get into them at that moment, so I just started walking again. We approached an ancient old willow tree and both of us instinctively ducked under it’s cascading branches and leaves that fell to the ground. We both relaxed our backs against the trunk and Sarah came to my mind. I was wondering how she was doing. I was wondering how I would proceed with the investigation into these stuffed bunnies. I knew caution and cunning were called for, but I usually don’t investigate things secretly. When I am looking for someone or something, I walk up to people and ask questions. But this was different. There might be subterfuge and deception going on and if I went blundering into it like a bull in a china shop, I could put Sarah or maybe even Ginnette at risk.

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, “Oh Lord. Don’t let me make things worse. I don’t know what I’ve stumbled upon, but I know you do. Just don’t let me make things worse or get someone hurt.”

I sighed my “Amen” and opened my eyes when I realized Marc was near. I saw that he was leaning on the tree with his left arm resting on the trunk just above my head. He was watching my face very intently. He must have been doing it while I was praying.

“Having a talk with the Lord, are you?”

I nodded my yes.

“Good.” he said matter-of-factly. “Because you’re keeping some things from me and Somebody should know what you’re up to. Or maybe you could just tell me more.”

“No. Not yet. I’ve got to sort out more of my thoughts.”

“Is it about the little girl with the stuffed bunny?”

I nodded again, then reassured him, 
“But it’ll keep for awhile. There’s nothing to be done right now, and I’m too old to not appreciate a peaceful, perfect moment like this”

I was studying Marc’s face too: his bright brown eyes and that smile that is never very big, but almost always present, his animated eyebrows that rise in surprise, lower in concern and wiggle to make me laugh and his eternally tussled hair whipping around in the wind.

Suddenly rain began to fall and I was grateful for the tree that sheltered us, the love of someone who would stand by me, for the Lord who knows me better than I know myself (and loves me still) and a Bible verse came to my mind, so I spoke it out loud.

“I will be a shelter and shade from the heat of day and a refuge and hiding place from the rain.” 

We lingered under that old willow for another 10 minutes or so until the rain abated and since it was growing dark, we decided to walk a quicker pace to get back to Marc’s Uncle and Aunt’s home. Marc was fussing over me, trying to get me to button my sweater because of the “night chill”, so I agreed. He was also telling me that there would probably be hot chocolate and cookies waiting for us when we got back to the family, so I made a joke about maybe running instead of just walking faster.

He grabbed my hand again and we started across the meadow, walking with a purpose. Thinking about Marc’s family and friends and the hot chocolate I suddenly asked him, “What store did your Aunt get the cocoa from?”

He turned to me, “What?”

I smirked, “It wasn’t the same one as the lobotomy tea is from, is it?”

Marc actually laughed out loud.

“I don’t think so.”, he said as we were marching through the tall grass. “She’s been shopping from ‘Kendall’s Grocery’ for 30 years, so I don’t think we have to worry. If Mr. Kendall wanted to poison us, he would have done it a long time ago.”

We turned to each other and smiled.

“But if Bert’s right," Marc added,  "I’d stay away from ‘Harker’s Dry Goods’.”

I froze in my tracks.

Marc also stopped and looked at me.

I looked up into his face, “I am anxious to meet your friend Bert. Very anxious. Do you think we could stop in on him tonight?”

LINK to Next Part # 6 "Seeing Bert"





Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 4 Some Bunny's Home

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 4

Some Bunny's Home

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)



 I looked around quickly but I was completely alone. Who had put that bunny next to me and why they did I had no idea. But I did know that there would be a little girl very happy to see her smiley-faced friend again.

I took Velveteen back to the hotel where I was staying and she kept me company for the next couple of days. I needed to get the address or phone number of Ginnette and Sarah but his town was so small it had no phone book and most churches completely shut down on Mondays because Sundays are the busiest day of the week for a Christian, especially those who work for the church. Early Tuesday morning I phoned the church office to discover how to get hold of Ginnette. At first I almost got hung up on, until I mentioned that I had found Sarah’s bunny. Then I got put on hold. Then a man, who’s name I didn’t catch, came on the line and told me to just drop the bunny off at the church. When I hesitated he offered to come and get it from me himself. I explained to him that I had made a promise to Sarah personally to find her bunny and return it to her. After explaining this, yet another man came on the phone to talk to me. This one was very insistent that I bring the bunny to the church and adamant that he would "give out no information about any church member". When he realized I would not change my mind about delivering the toy to Sarah directly, he blurted out her phone number and hung up without so much as a “good-bye“.

I immediately called Ginnette and Sarah’s home, but got a busy signal. I phoned a couple minutes later and got their answering machine. I phoned several more times, but kept getting the answering machine, yet each time I did not leave a message. I wanted to bring Velveteen to Sarah directly and as quickly as possible, but I still didn’t know where she actually lived. However, I am a professional investigator, so I did "my thing" and by 11:00 am I was standing in front of Ginnette and Sarah’s house, ringing their doorbell.
It only took a few seconds for the door to be answered, but in that brief time I looked the house over and realized this house was the “exception that makes the rule”. It was a typical middle class abode, right down the line.

Ginnette answered the door and I could tell she was not pleased to see my face again, but when I presented Velveteen she perked up and put an “I-told-you-so” expression on her face. As Sarah appeared from behind her mother Ginnette said, 

“Look. Velveteen showed up again, just like she always does.”

With her know-it-all attitude, I realized I was forming a strong dislike for Sarah’s mother. On the surface she seemed to be saying pleasant things, but beneath her words she made you feel like you were being scolded and about to be sent to bed without any supper. Just as I was beginning to think these un-Christian like things about Ginnette, they vanished as quick as a hummingbird in a hurry when I looked into Sarah’s face. I had handed Velveteen directly to her, but her initial look of joy and relief had completely vanished and replaced by an expression of … I don’t know what.

I had planned to leave quickly, but when Ginnette asked me to stay for a cup of tea I blurted out a “yes” with my mouth, even though my feet wanted to make a hasty retreat. I felt things had taken a step beyond “weird” and we were heading into the territory of “wrong.”

While Ginnette and I made polite conversation over our tea cups at the kitchen table, Sarah sat in a chair without saying a word, while a glass of milk and 3 cookies remained untouched on a plate in front of her. I was trying to catch her eye, but she just stared at the floor and wouldn‘t look up. By the time almost an hour had passed I was getting ready to leave but still hadn‘t been able to engage Sarah in conversation and her cookies remained untouched on her plate.

I was getting up to leave when the phone rang. I told Ginnette that I would be on my way, but she asked me to stay for a moment because she wanted a “private word” with me when she got off the phone. What she probably expected to be a short phone call took on a new tone and, as near as I could tell, Ginnette seemed to be debating with someone about which hymns she would play at the next service. I waved at Ginnette and started toward the door but she motioned me back and mouthed the words, “please wait”, so I settled down on their comfortable “shabby chic” sofa. Sarah came and sat next to me still carrying Velveteen and her downcast expression. Curiosity and concern got the better of me and I decided to use a direct approach to find out what was bothering her.

“I thought getting Velveteen back would make you happy, Sarah. Aren’t you happy?”

She just shrugged her shoulders. So I continued trying to be both sympathetic yet firm.

“Tell me, Sarah, why aren’t you happy?”

She was holding the bunny in her lap and clapping it’s little paws together and answered with a short, “I dunno.”

I’ve questioned many adults, some of them with criminal records and have been quite successful in getting at the truth, even if I have to trick them into telling it, but tricks and deception rarely work on children. They’re just too smart for that. But I had to get Sarah to open up and tell me what was bothering her and the only way to do that was to demonstrate  that she could trust me. and the best way to get someone to open their heart to you is to open your heart first. That and prayer. So I did both.
 I took Sarah (and Velveteen) onto my lap and began to talk to her until I felt her little body begin to relax a bit. At one point her mother took the telephone away from her face and whispered, “Sorry” and rolled her eyes. Sarah saw that too and, I suppose sensing time was short, she took a deep breath and finally blurted out the problem.

“You found the wrong bunny.”

“I don’t understand, Sarah. Is this your bunny, Velveteen?” I probed directly.

“Yes. But the wrong one.”

Then I heard the voice of her mother echo in my mind:
 “ Sarah loses that silly rabbit all the time. She loses it, complains and sulks for a couple days, then it either turns up again or I go buy her another one. They are only $5.00 at Harker’s Dry Goods down town. So you really needn’t bother.”

Then specific words repeated themselves: “She loses it … it turns up again … I buy her another.”

I felt there was an answer to this little girl's unhappiness just beyond my mental grasp, so I persevered.

“Sarah? How many times has your mother bought you a new bunny?”

She jerked her face up and looked directly at me.

“Five!”

She glared at me. Almost “willing” me to understand.

“When your mother said, ’it turns up again’ does she mean you find it, or does it show up like it did with me, just appearing out of nowhere?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s it!” She said loudly and then looked at her mom before continuing in a quieter voice.

“This is Velveteen Violet, not Velveteen Bow. Velveteen Bow is the one that left this time.”

Things were finally starting to break through my thick adult brain.

“You said, ’left’ not ’lost’. How do they ’leave’?”

Sarah’s bottom lip started to quiver as she continued, “I don’t know. They’re there and then they’re not. Sometimes they come back, but sometimes they never come back, so Mommy buys me another one. But now … but now …”

She stopped mid-sentence and the tears started to fall down her face, but I urged her to go on. Confusion creased her brow as she continued,

“ I don’t know. I don’t know. Now old Velveteens are coming back and I don’t know where they’ve been or why some come back, but others haven’t and they’re gone. I don’t know if they’ll come back or how they’ll get back to me and then I wonder”, she paused, “ I wonder, … I don‘t know. I just don‘t know.”

After another moment she regained her composure and I spoke gently to her,

“So you’ve named them? To keep track of them?”

She gave a huge sigh and she leaned her head on my chest and hugged my neck. I must admit at that time I didn’t comprehend all she was saying or what it all meant. In honesty, I was probably more confused than Sarah was. But I was starting to comprehend the nightmare this little girl was living in. A bunny would suddenly disappear and then after some time would just as suddenly reappear. When she tried to explain it to her mother, Ginnette thinking Sarah was just an absent minded child would buy her another one. Each time a Velveteen would disappear or reappear Sarah would become more frightened and confused, enhanced by her inability to communicate to her busy mother what was happening.
As I sat there with Sarah, gently stroking her hair, I knew that when I came upon her on Sunday, sitting on that step and crying it was no coincidence. I was sent here to help this little girl with her problems and try to solve the puzzle of her bunnies. A feeling of foreboding came over me and, I'm ashamed to admit, I tried to think of a theory that would easily explain away the situation so I could get out of it. But I couldn‘t.

I felt Sarah shudder as I continued to hold her and my sympathy for her drove away my own selfishness. If I wanted out of these circumstances, what must it be like for this 8 year old girl to be trapped in them?! 

As smart as I can be at times what I keep forgetting is that God knows exactly what’s going on and He has a plan to make things right. All I need to do is be attentive and available. So that’s exactly what I decided to do.
The Bible says "God chose the foolish things of this world to shame the wise." {1 Cor. 1:27}, but at that moment I didn't know which category I fit into.

LINK to Next Part # 5 "Under the Willow"





Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 3 Second Service

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part # 3 

Second Service

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)

After lunch I spent the afternoon just walking around this little town. I came here a day earlier than planned expressly with the hope of seeing some of it before I had to get to the real reason I was here. I walked up and down the little streets, looked at the little houses with their little flower beds and eventually found myself in it’s little down town area. I wasn’t exactly thinking of anything specific. I was just taking in the atmosphere. I had even stopped focusing on the strange little church I been to, at least I thought I had, until I rounded a corner and found myself staring at a big sign that said, “Harker’s Dry Goods”. Suddenly my entire morning came rushing back to me.

I crossed the main street which was practically deserted and looked in the front window of the store I had heard about that morning. Then I became aware of the fact that not only was this store closed, but all the stores were closed. Many years ago this would not have been unusual, because with the “Lord’s Day Act” in effect nobody would have had a business open on a Sunday. But these days people didn’t even know there was a time when places weren’t open 7 days a week. What a unique little town this was. Okay. I wasn’t thinking the word “unique”. I was thinking the word “weird” again.

Then something else jumped into my head; the houses. They were just like the fashions I’d seen at the church that morning. All the houses were well kept but they were either tiny homes of the poor or huge old mansions of the rich, with no "in-betweens". There seemed to be an absence of middle class homes. Everywhere I looked this place was populated with the “haves” and the “have nots”. Where were the “kinda gots”?

That evening I was not late for the church service. It was to begin at 7:00 pm and when they unlocked and opened the doors, I was standing in the exact same place I was when the doors were shut behind me earlier that day. But the Minister that opened the door for me was not the same Minister who shut the door behind me. That Minister, Reverend Wright, wasn’t there at all that evening. The night service was in the hands of the junior Pastor, Reverend Fortier.

All in all it was a pleasant service and I enjoyed myself much more than during the morning one. I was less distracted through this service and although there were fewer people in attendance, everything seemed to be a little more “together”. For instance, when they put a Bible verse on the screen at the front they actually got it‘s location in the Bible correct. The two men who had been fidgeting in the morning were back, but they seemed less animated and were actually sitting together and not at opposite ends of the sanctuary.

Pastor Fortier helped guide us into Jesus‘ presence with deep sincerity and good old fashioned loving-kindness. It was a time of quiet contemplation, rejoicing and spiritual refreshment. Exactly what I needed to calm my agitated nerves that had been present since attending this same church in the morning. It’s interesting how a different leader can make things so different. But it wasn’t only that. Few of the people that had been there in the morning were there in the evening so the entire service had a different feel to it.

As the service came to an end and Pastor Fortier dismissed us, he also encouraged anyone who felt like lingering in prayer to stay and take some time to “wait upon the Lord.” Most of the people quietly left, but I got off my pew, turned around and knelt on the floor with my elbows resting on the pew seat. I bowed my head to have a good, long talk with the Lord and just let His peace replace the events of the day in my heart and mind. It felt good  to spend some focused time with the Lord, but the troubled face of little Sarah did pop into my heart and mind a few times, but without all the worry this time. I knew it was a definite sign that Jesus was near.

Pastor Fortier said we didn’t have to rush so I lost track of time a little, but every few moments I heard some rustling and concluded it was somebody else finishing up their prayer time and leaving. Yet I had my eyes closed the entire time and didn’t take any notice of anyone or anything specific. Then things got completely quiet, inside and outside of me, and I decided it was a good time to depart.

I gently opened my eyes to discover that the entire Sanctuary was empty except for one inhabitant other than myself. Sitting on the pew only a few feet away from where I was resting my elbows, I looked into a bright face with wide eyes and full red lips. Her head was tilted to one side and she had the expression of one who has an amusing joke to tell. She was wearing a burgundy velvet dress which was partially covered with a green polka-dotted apron and she had one ear tilted toward me.

I spoke, "You must be Velveteen. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

LINK to Part # 4 "Some Bunny's Home"




Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

Church Lady P.I. Part # 2 Ginnette

CHURCH LADY P.I, - Part #2

Ginnette 

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)

As Ginnette, Sarah and I strolled down the church aisle towards the door, Sarah explained to her mother that I was going to help her find Velveteen. Ginnette looked at me suddenly and asked with some amazement, “You are?”

I told her that I didn’t mind helping to find Velveteen and didn’t think it would take long because I am a professional Investigator.

She repeated herself with the same amazement, “You are?”

This reaction I’m used to. I’m a grey-haired, dowdy Christian lady. Not exactly the Philip Marlowe or Thomas Magnum type and few people have heard of Miss Marple these days.

So after Ginnette glanced me over, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “You know, there’s really no need to go through all that trouble”.

I looked down at Sarah who was starting to get a bit of a panicked look in her eyes.

I looked back up at Ginnette and continued, “Oh, it’s really no bother. I’m sure it won’t take longer than a few minutes”.

All three of us had arrived in the foyer and Ginnette turned to me purposefully. She began to explain in a tone you would use on a rather stupid child, (probably a tone Sarah was used to), “You don’t seem to understand Miss, uh, May was it?“

“No. Mai is my first name. It’s actually Miss Breeze. Mai Breeze.“

“How charming” she responded condescendingly. Then she continued,

“What I mean is, Sarah loses that silly rabbit all the time.” (I heard Sarah mutter “Bunny. Not rabbit.”) while Ginnette proceeded in her bored tone,

“She loses it, complains and sulks for a couple days, then it either turns up again or I go buy her another one. They are only $5.00 at Harker’s Dry Goods down town. So you really needn’t bother.”

Then she dismissed the issue with a casual wave of her hand and I knew the topic was closed as far as she was concerned. But from the defeated look on Sarah’s face I knew it was far from closed for her.

I watched the two of them get into their jackets and then head for the door and the Minister with his out stretched hand. Just as Ginnette took the Reverend’s hand, I said rather loudly from where I stood planted, “You don’t mind if I keep looking, do you?”

Ginnette, Sarah and the Minister all quickly turned to me and stood frozen for a moment as I observed their reactions.

Ginnette finally shrugged her shoulders and said in a throw away fashion, “You can do as you wish.” And was about to saunter out the door with her daughter when I rushed over, grabbed Sarah’s hand and led her quickly downstairs as I called over my shoulder, “Good! I just need Sarah to help me for a few minutes downstairs. We’ll be right back.”

As soon as we got downstairs, we both instinctively looked up the stairwell to see if we were being followed.

Then Sarah turned to me and said in a excited whisper, “You’re going to help me. You’re really going to help me.”

“Yes. Of course, Dear. But your mother’s waiting so we have to be quick about this.”

And I immediately got to work doing my “Private Eye Thing”.

I had Sarah retrace her steps, as I interjected questions to clarify things and finally got her to give me a detailed description of the missing bunny. Just then her mother called her from the top of the stairs and I told her to go and not keep her mother waiting. Again that sad, defeated look took over her face.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep looking. And, I’m coming back for the evening service, so if I don’t find it now, I’ll find it then. She gave a big sigh and started to run up the stairs to her mother. After about 3 steps she stopped abruptly and turned back to look at me.

“She.” she said.

“I beg your pardon?“ I asked.

“ Velveteen is a ‘she’, not an ‘it’.”

“Oh." I replied, finally allowing myself a smile.

Sarah turned and hurried back up the stairs.

There were still a few people milling around the church basement, so I asked them about Sarah’s bunny, and poked around for a little while longer, but came up empty handed.
I must admit I didn’t look very hard at that time. I had the feeling that there was more going on underneath than merely a child’s missing toy. And also, I didn’t want to be found snooping around uninvited through a church I didn’t belong to and had never attended, in a town I had never visited. That’s how one can end up at the police station on the wrong side of the bars. I thought I would take the afternoon to think things through and come back for the evening service and decide what to do then.

About 20 minutes after Sarah had left with her mother, I wandered upstairs to leave. I was expecting to find the foyer deserted but was surprised to see the Minister of the church still standing at the door. He reminded me of the guards at Buckingham Palace. All he needed was a tall, black furry hat and red coat to make the image complete. If he was still waiting there to shake my hand, I figured he was one of the most dedicated and determined Pastors I had ever met.

I took a glance around the foyer to see if anyone else was there, but it was just him and me. As I walked over to the door he watched me, but didn’t say anything.

I decided to break the silence,

“If you’ve been standing here all this time just to shake my hand, I’m flattered.”

He didn’t respond at all to my little joke. He just held out his hand, I shook it, then he told me to have a nice afternoon, that he hoped to see me again soon and immediately shut the door behind me when I stepped outside.

I stood there on the steps of the church, blinking in the afternoon sunlight, as one thought repeated itself over and over in my head: “Weird. Weird. Weird.”

Every moment since entering that church had been a “weird” one, but I couldn’t exactly place my finger on what was wrong.  I suppose that’s what makes something “weird”.

I did know one thing for sure, wild horses couldn’t keep me from coming back. No matter how many wild horses they had.

LINK to Part # 3 "Second Service"





　

Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

CHURCH LADY P.I. Part #1 Sarah

CHURCH LADY P.I. - PART #1

Sarah

REMEMBER: This is a mystery and it must be read in order, including the  Introduction, then Part 1, Part 2, etc. due to the fact clues are everywhere. (L-L)

Drawing by me of Church Lady, PI. LLR

I should start by saying that as long as I can remember I have been attending church. In fact, my first memory is in a church. My big brother was being baptized and I got loose from my mother’s grasp and headed to join him for his “bath” in the baptismal water. So, it should come as no surprise that when I found that I had to travel to a small town for a few weeks on a personal errand, when Sunday rolled around, I found myself in the lobby of the nearest Bible-Believing Church.

The building was of a medium size and as I entered into the crowded lobby of mingling Christians, I was met by an Usher who welcomed me, handed me a bulletin and pointed me toward the door into the main sanctuary. As I arrived at that door, I was handed off to another Usher who asked if I would like to have help finding a seat. It was all very slick and extremely familiar to me. I’ve been in so many different churches in my tenure in the “Body of Christ” that I can instantly tell a church that has a good administrative team. All the staff were in their assigned places and knew their assigned duties. Very impressive indeed.

I knew that I would not be meeting the Minister at this time because this close to the “Main Event” (the church service) he and his team would have taken themselves away somewhere quiet and private to pray before they stepped in front of their congregation and guided them through the worship service.

I peeked into the Sanctuary and came to the conclusion that I could fit in a quick trip to the washroom to “powder my nose” and tidy my appearance and still have time to find a good seat before the service started.

I smiled and “Good Morning”-ed my way to the washroom where I took care of “business”, fixed my hair, pulled up my south-travelling pantie-hose and made sure I had extra Kleenex tissues on hand. (I’m not called “The Church Crier” without cause! It seems to be the one place I feel I can let my emotions out for a while. )

From inside the washroom I heard the congregation begin singing and knew that was my cue to get myself into a seat. I was hurrying out of the bathroom and up the stairs out of the basement, when I came across a little girl sitting on the bottom step with tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Since I had just made my tissues handy, I stopped to offer her some.

She took them from my hand and look up into my face with such a forlorn look that I just couldn't rush past. So I asked, "Do you mind if I just sit here next to you for a minute before going in with all those strangers?”

She nodded her consent, and we sat side by side on the bottom step in silence for a couple minutes.

Finally, I introduced myself and she told me her name was Sarah. I asked her why she was crying, which only brought forth a new flood of tears. Through her nose blowing, mumbling and crying, I was able to piece together why she was upset. She had lost her “best friend in the whole wide world.”, a stuffed bunny answering to the name, “Velveteen”.


I told her that I was a Private Investigator and “found things” for a living. She looked up at me with a look somewhere between hope and scepticism. Her sceptical look was what started sounding warning bells off in my head for the first time. It is a strange emotion to see in so young a child. But I continued to engage her trust by saying, “If you let me sit next to you during the Church service so I‘m not alone, then I will help you find your bunny after it’s over.”

A frown creased her forehead so I continued, “I’m pretty good at finding lost things. In fact, it’s what I’m best at.”

I was waiting for her look of acceptance but it still didn’t come. This was definitely no ordinary child or situation.

Finally she broke her silence and asked me, “How much?”

“How much what?” I asked her back.

“How much money do I have to give you for you to find Velveteen?”

She said it so business-like, as if she was negotiating a merger, that I had to actually fight my urge to chuckle. She was so innocent and sweet and small, but she was behaving like she should be sitting behind a big oak desk with a big cigar sticking out of her mouth. But I knew enough to wipe the "isn't-she-cute" look off my face. Often what we adults interpret as adorable, is deadly serious to a child and absolutely NO laughing matter from their point of view!

I told her that due to the serious nature of her problem, I would do it for free.

“I simply can’t stand to see best friends torn apart” was my explanation.

Once she led me to our seats near the back of a quite full Sanctuary, I asked her where the rest of her family was. She pointed at the lady sitting at the piano. The pianist was her mother and the only family she had.

It was a typical Church service. The worship music was lively, but the sermon was only mildly interesting. However, I must confess I might have found it slightly boring because my new tiny friend sitting next to me was taking up a great deal of my brain‘s attention. And of course, I’ve actually heard thousands of sermons in my lifetime and sometimes they can seem to blend into one another. As I look back in my mind, the only thing that stood out about that particular sermon was that a couple of Bible verses were misquoted. They were put on the screen for everyone to read, but the verses’ location in the Bible were inaccurate. I didn’t think much of it at the time and just chalked it up to human error.

But as the sermon continued, my mind wandered all around the room and around the facts. The deductive reasoning that makes me such a good Private Investigator, also caused my attention to switch to other things while in the sanctuary. I observed, made deductions and drew conclusions. It’s what I do. I could no more stop thinking that way than I could stop from burping after drinking a glass of Ginger ale.

The mistakes about the Bible on the over head screen brought me to the realization that, besides myself and four other people, nobody else sitting there that day had brought a Bible to church with them. And that is a very strange thing for a church that actually makes a point of advertising that they are a “Fundamentalist, Bible Orientated Church".

I also noticed there seemed to be a big difference in the way people had dressed for the service. A few peoples’ attire just screamed money, while the majority of the people there seemed to be dressed according to meagre means. The poorer families were clean and orderly in appearance, but a lot of their clothes didn’t seem to fit properly. As if they had been bought for someone else, or they had gotten them at the local Thrift Shop. But it wasn’t only that. According to their fashions, there didn’t seem to be anyone who fit into a middle class category. There were the poor and rich and nobody in-between. But I’ve never exactly been a “slave to fashion”, so I figured there might be another reason for this vast difference and I just hadn’t comprehended it.

But there is one thing I do know and that’s how to interpret human behavior. And because of that, I couldn’t keep my eyes from two men who were both fidgeting fiercely, even though they were sitting at opposite ends of the church. I actually found their constant movements quite distracting.

Then, as I continued to scan the members of the congregation, I caught sight of something sparkly out of the corner of my eye. There was a woman near to my right side who had several diamond rings on her fingers. In fact, they were on almost EVERY finger except for her thumbs. I immediately assumed they were cubic zirconium or rhinestones because if they had truly been diamonds she would have needed a body guard detail 24/7 just to watch over them.

With the final prayer said, the final hymn sung and the final doxology pronounced, the Minister dismissed us and raced toward the front door of the church to take up the usual “Ministers’ Position". This is something almost all reverends do in order to say “good-bye” to everyone leaving because they were unable to say “hello” to everyone arriving.

I took Sarah by the hand (or rather she took me) and we went up the aisle to see her mother who had been playing the piano during the service and was now gathering up her music.

I introduced myself and the young mother eyed me suspiciously before introducing herself back. From the expression on her face the thought rushed through my mind, “like mother; like daughter”. I felt I was seeing a younger and older version of the same suspicious nature. We shook hands and she said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah’s mother, Ginnette. Has she been making a nuisance of herself with you?”

The way she said this statement irked me. Her tone seemed sweet, but she made sure to proclaimed her authority over Sarah by emphasizing the word, “mother” and then criticized her daughter by referring to her as a “nuisance“, all in less than 5 seconds. I had been in this church for only 90 minutes and already the strange occurrences were stacking up extremely fast. And the vibes were all wrong.

LINK to Next Part # 2 "Ginnette"






Copyright 2015 "The characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer." LR

Church Lady P.I. INTRODUCTION

INTRODUCTION: Church Lady P.I.

“M-A-I”

It’s the French word for May, as in “The merry, merry month of _____.” It also happens to be my first name. First name, “Mai”. Last name, “Breeze”. I was born in 1960 and I think my parents always had aspirations to be hippies, but my father was an accountant and my mother was just a regular, suburban house wife and much too practical to be a "flower child". As she would always say, “It’s all well and good to ‘drop out’ of society until someone needs a Dentist!”

But besides my name, I am a very ordinary person. Yet quite recently, I’ve had some rather unusual events take place and I feel motivated to record them in writing. I want to share my story but I’m having some problems with publishers. Apparently, my story is too short to be a book and too long to be an article. I suggested maybe publishing it in a magazine in installments but I’m told that there are very few venues for that anymore.

When I told Laura-Lee these recent events, she responded by saying, “It’s such an amazing story I’m sure it will eventually be published, become a big hit, be turned into a Pay Per View movie and you will become immensely rich. But after all that happens and you have all the money you need, can I have your story to post on my blog?”

It was at that moment that it struck me, “Of course. Put it on the Internet!”

I don’t care about the money, and I’m quite sick of waiting for some publisher who barely knows me to decide what is or is not worthy for the public to read. I think I'll let you decide that for yourself.

Laura-Lee helped me complete my story by prompting my memory with questions, as well as polishing and editing the final edition and even picking the title for the story.  She has kindly turned this blog over to me so I can tell my story and if you will lend me your attention, I will happily share with you a story of what happens when an ordinary person surrenders to an extraordinary God. How can anything but an adventure occur?

Oh, one more thing, I'm told that for legal purposes I must say: “the characters and events in this story are not meant to represent any persons living or dead and are entirely a product of the imagination of the writer.” And since I always like to ere on the side of caution, I suppose I should also add: “I do not exist and you are not reading this.”

So please follow me through the blog posts of what NEVER happened to me.

~ Mai Breeze, 2013
"Church Lady P.I."



UPDATE  (December, 2015)

If you have not read the Blog Post: "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I." at my "Laura-Lee Was Here" Personal Blog, you will need to do so. (Follow Link Provided)

When I originally began writing this story years ago it was mere weeks after the death of my Mother. I knew all the facts of the case and had them written down in point form, with long hand on loose leaf paper. All of which I lost.

When I came to rewrite it, all the facts and events of the case were revisited and it was decided that the things left out for brevity's sake were put back in for clarity's sake. And, also for the fact they were just too amazing to omit. So what was originally a story in 9 parts has become a whopping 18 chapters! 

If you have not read the "companion" blog post from my personal blog, "Laura-Lee Was Here", I urge you to do so. (Click on LINK provided)

 Without any further [years of] delay, I give you (FINALLY) "The Church Lady P.I." 

  Sincerely, Laura-Lee Rahn


Laura-Lee Was Here Blog "FINALLY FINISHED: Church Lady P.I."


NOTE: All direct Bible quotations come from the New International Version (NIV) of the Bible. 

There are some instances where the characters quote partial Bible verses or paraphrase the Bible into their own words. In these cases, where the actual Bible quotation is from is placed within these brackets {   } for the personal reference of the reader. They are not meant to be part of the story, but to remain true to the accuracy of the infallible Word of God.

LINK to Next Part #1 "Sarah"