Chapter 8 - Walking into the Sanctuary
The organ music was swelling to a triumphant crescendo as the choir finished the opening hymn.
The main sanctuary was packed to capacity—nearly six hundred people filling the polished mahogany pews beneath the stained-glass windows depicting the saints. In the front row sat the church elders, local civic leaders, and Trevor, sitting alone in the family section with an empty space beside him.
On the raised altar stage, seated in a velvet-upholstered chair of honor, was Bernice.
She looked regal, her head held high, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the image of Christ. Pastor Wayne stood at the golden pulpit, smiling broadly as he adjusted the microphone.
“Brothers and sisters,” Pastor Wayne began, his voice echoing warmly through the acoustic perfection of the sanctuary. “Today, we gather not merely to celebrate longevity, but to honor selfless devotion. In the Book of Proverbs, we are asked: *‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.’* For four decades, this congregation, this city, and the vulnerable children of our region have found that virtue in our sister, Bernice Calloway.”
A polite, respectful murmur of applause rippled through the pews.
Bernice bowed her head with practiced, theatrical humility, pressing a hand to her pearl-draped chest.
At the back of the sanctuary, the heavy double doors clicked open.
The sound was subtle, but the sudden draft of cool autumn air caused several ushers in the rear vestibule to turn. Head Usher Miller frowned, preparing to scold the late arrival, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me.
I didn't sneak in. I walked straight down the center aisle.
My heels clicked rhythmically against the center stone runner: *clack, clack, clack.*
The sound cut through the silence following the applause. Heads began to turn.
In the front row, Trevor stiffened. He whipped his head around, his eyes going wide with pure horror as he recognized me. He half-rose from his seat, frantically mouthing, *“Sit down! What are you doing?”*
I didn't look at Trevor. I kept my eyes fixed entirely on the woman on the stage.
Bernice’s smile froze. Her posture remained upright, but her knuckles whitened as she gripped the armrests of her velvet chair.
As I walked, I reached into my tote bag. With calm, measured precision, I began laying the blue-bound dossiers on the end of every third pew.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of the younger deacons whispered hurriedly, rushing toward me from the side aisle. “You cannot distribute unauthorized literature during service!”
“You might want to read page four before you touch me, Deacon,” I said in a clear, carrying voice that reached the first ten rows. “Unless you want to explain to the county prosecutor why you assisted in concealing the misappropriation of three hundred thousand dollars from the children’s oncology fund.”
The deacon froze. His hand hovered in the air, his eyes darting down to the title on the cover: **SPECIAL AUDIT & INTEGRITY REPORT**.
Parishioners in the middle rows began picking up the packets. Whispers spread like fire through dry grass. The rustle of turning pages began to drown out the organ.
“Kelsey!” Trevor hissed, lunging into the center aisle to grab my arm. “Stop this right now! You’re insane! You’re ruining everything!”
I stepped back smoothly, avoiding his reach.
May you like
“Do not touch me, Trevor,” I said, loud enough for half the church to hear. “Your mother had plenty to say to an eight-year-old boy in private. Let’s see how she speaks to the people who give her money in public.”
***
