Do Unto Others

Adam Hufnagel looked suspiciously at me. What was I-Herod hunting down innocents? “Why would you want that?” “I’m curious as to who donated to the church. Surely you keep a list of contributors.” “I do, but I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” “Look, Adam. You can play this the easy way or the rough way. Beta Harcher had an unusual amount of money in her banking account, enough to overflow most coffers. She hadn’t had that money long. It hasn’t been traced yet, so I don’t think she got it from stock options or winning the lottery. She was getting it from someone.” It took a moment for it to register with Adam. “Blackmail? Beta? That’s absurd.” The music of his voice was slightly off-key. “No more ridiculous than her trying to burn the library. I’m just curious about who she dealt with in the past two weeks. It wasn’t just the folks on the library board. It was people in this church.” Adam looked uncertain. I stood. “That’s okay. I can just take my story to Junebug. He doesn’t think I killed her. He’s just itching to have someone else to hand over to Billy Ray Bummel. He can get a warrant to search every record in this church.” Tamma interrupted us. She stepped inside her husband’s office, not seeing me at first, but deciphering the look on her husband’s face. Her eyes, so downcast yesterday, found me and weren’t happy. “Jordy. What are you doing here?” Her voice showed anger. “Talking to your husband,” I answered. I’m a stickler for politeness. “Bothering him, you mean. I wish you’d leave him alone.” The mouse was now roaring. I ignored her.

Adam held the power in that relationship, so it was him I dealt with.

“That list, Reverend?” He weighed it in his mind. A tongue, used to spouting Scripture and metaphor, fell silent. He walked out of the office. Tamma glared at me. “Why are you doing this? Why are you bothering us?” she demanded. Her hands balled into fists, unsuitable for prayer. “I didn’t realize looking for truth was a bother to you.

Isn’t that why we have churches?” “I used to think nicely of you, Jordy. But you’re a thoroughly unlikable person. Leave us alone.” Adam returned with a file. He sorted through the papers, found one, set the file down, and walked back out. I heard his footsteps stop, the hum of a copying machine, and the crisp sound of paper sliding into a tray.

His footsteps resumed and he entered, brandishing a paper at me.

“Here. I hope you don’t bother these people too much.” He glanced at his wife, who wouldn’t look at me. “I can’t see how this has anything to do with Beta’s death.” “Thanks. Good day, Reverend. Mrs. Hufnagel.”

I nodded to the unfriendly Tamma, and left. Walking out into the morning sunshine of the parking lot, I scanned the list quickly. It was interesting that two of the names matched two of the names on Beta’s list. I changed my plans. I went home. Sister sat in the living room, watching Mama sweep the back porch. Mama loved to do that; repetitive actions hold a fascination for Alzheimer’s patients.

It’s almost as if their repertoire of tasks is so limited, they get a sensual pleasure out of repeating endlessly the few actions they can still do well. Mama swept even the microbes off that porch, weaving back and forth for hours if uninterrupted. We didn’t want her to do it at first, but her doctor said it was decent exercise. It was better than the walking in circles that she also favored. I decided to try out a theory. No more taking folks at face value. I picked up the kitchen phone, cleared my throat, and dialed Matt Blalock’s number.

“Hello, Blalock residence.” “May I speak to Matthew Blalock, please?”