Hollis Grant Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Joan Boswell
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for the book jackets, the room was starkly black and white. White shutters at the window, a hanging white Japanese lantern, and white rug contrasted with the black painted floor, black furniture and a score of black-framed black and white photos on the wall.
A notoriously bad housekeeper, she shuddered when she imagined the frequent dusting and vacuuming the black surfaces and white rug required.
Marcus carried in a black coffee pot and white china on a square black and white checkerboard tray. He set the tray on the table and poured two cups. Of course, he took his black—no colour allowed. She added a splash of milk, a cube of sugar and stirred, Marcus cocked his head to one side.
“Well?”
“The detective in charge of Paul’s murder interviewed me this morning. She asked about you. I didn’t tell her about your knock-down-drag-out battle with Paul, but other people must be aware of how much you hated him. I wanted to warn you.”
Expressionless, Marcus let several seconds elapse before he said, “Warn? Am I to assume you think I have something to hide?”
God. That was exactly what it sounded like. How could she have managed to be so tactless? “Of course not. But you did fight with Paul. At the manse before Christmas, I heard the two of you downstairs. I wasn’t eavesdropping—you were shouting.”
“Why didn’t you come down?”
“Paul hated interference. Later, I questioned him about your visit. He said it was nothing to do with me, so I never found out why you were angry.”
Marcus steepled his long elegant fingers and contemplated the structure. “It wasn’t a secret. For a year and a half, I’ve chaired a committee in our Church.” He paused. “It’s a gay congregation.”
Hollis didn’t comment that his sexual orientation wasn’t news to her.
“They gave me the job of locating a mainstream church where we could meet in regular church surroundings with an organ and all the trappings. Our congregation was familiar with Paul’s reputation as a man sympathetic to our cause, and we thought Paul might persuade his congregation to share their physical space. I warned them I’d had a run-in with Paul in the past and wasn’t the best person to represent them, but they insisted.”
“I was away the weekend of the congregational meeting. What happened?”
“First, I’ll tell you about the events leading up to it. The sorry story began after I phoned Paul and explained what we wanted. He said he’d lay the groundwork and organize an information session for his people to meet our representatives. He predicted that once they saw us as normal human beings—Christians anxious to worship in a Christian setting—the rest would be easy.” Marcus dropped his hands and contemplated them.
“Go on.”
“At the information session, the bigots stayed away and everything went well. Our success lulled us into a false sense of security. I’m sure you’re aware that although the executive council runs the day to day happenings at St. Mark’s, major decisions require the approval of a majority of the whole congregation. And, apparently, allowing our use of the church fell into the ‘major decision’ category.”
His tense stillness told Hollis the subject continued to upset him.
“At the congregational meeting early in December, all hell broke loose. The smell of blood drew the bigots from their dark little caves. Like a school of sharks, they worked themselves into a feeding frenzy. By the time they’d finished, they’d pictured us as a crowd of slavering, AIDS-infected deviants intent on defiling the young boys of St. Mark’s. It was horrible.”
“I can’t even imagine what you must have felt like.”
“Many people from St. Mark’s apologized. We felt used, felt Paul, familiar with the makeup of the church, should have anticipated the outcome. He could have spared us the pain and his congregation the division resulting from the decision. Of course the press happened to be there, and their coverage elevated Paul’s image as our enlightened spokesperson. I steamed for a week or more before I mustered the nerve to charge over and let Paul have it with both barrels. The more I ranted, the cooler he became. I think I finally shouted, ‘someday someone will kill you’.”
“Did other people in the City Church feel like you did about Paul?”
Marcus shook his head. “No. Most were glad to have a champion, glad he was working to legitimize gay ordination.”
“You don’t think Paul believed what he said?”
“He may have believed it, but he used the cause for his own ends.”
A talent of his. The more she learned, the more she realized Paul had specialized in furthering himself. “What exactly do you mean?”
“His crusading polarized people who initially didn’t care much one way or the other. Gay priests and ministers have existed in every church since the year one, but as long as they didn’t hold hands at church socials or flip limp wrists and lisp, congregations identified them as ‘confirmed bachelors’ and left it at that.” He paused, “I disliked Paul because he didn’t really care about us or view us as individuals. By adopting our cause, he gave people who disliked him a rationale for hating him and extending their hate to us. Homophobia doesn’t require any help. I’ve heard Paul adopted his position in order to advance his career with the influential left wing of the church.”
“You said you hated him long before the City Church debacle. How come?”
Marcus refilled their coffee cups. “It’s ancient history, and I don’t see what it’ll change, but . . .” His lip curled upward in a faint smile. “Because I don’t want you suspecting me, thinking I’m hiding anything, I’ll share my pathetic little story.” He crossed his legs at the ankle. “For years I wouldn’t admit I was gay.” He smiled. “You probably had your suspicions, but when we took the course and for a couple of years afterwards, I would have denied it.”
Hollis couldn’t imagine what her opinion had to do with anything and said nothing.
“When I went into teaching, I was in deep denial and, consequently, I was one giant emotional mess. One day after lunch, the teachers were sitting around the lounge at the Carlingstone school where I was teaching and one of the men, whose sister’s life was screwed up, told us she’d gone to Paul for counselling, and Paul had helped her. I was right at the point where I figured if I didn’t talk to somebody, I’d explode. Before I could change my mind, I made an appointment.”
Hollis wanted to reach out to him but forced herself to sit quietly and listen.
“I fault him for how insistent he was. He talked about honesty, confronted me with the reality of my sexual orientation and told me I should come out. He claimed he’d spoken to many gays and was convinced coming out was the right thing for me to do. He didn’t warn me what would happen if I did. He went on and on about facing truth, not living a lie et cetera, et cetera.”
“And.”
“I figured if he’d talked to others, and it had been okay for them, it would be okay for me. I did it.”
Hollis nodded.
“At Carlingstone, they reacted instantly. Most of the teachers, especially the men, shunned me as if I had a contagious disease.” His mouth twisted downward. “I’ve never, ever, had the slightest interest in boys, but after I admitted my orientation, the rest of the staff followed my every move. The principal arbitrarily decided I would not be allowed to accompany the boys on out-of-town trips. An impossible situation—I resigned. The principal wrote a good recommendation, but I didn’t try for another teaching job.”
“I remember asking you why you weren’t teaching, and you mumbled an explanation about better opportunities as a fitness instructor and personal trainer. And said it gave you more time for photography. I guess I sensed you weren’t keen to discuss the subject and dropped it.”
“Economically,