Smiling Madonna - Chapter Twelve

the event
of this
morning is
tied directly to the killing

“Do you think we can get one more session in, before we go?” asked George. “Without trying to be too much of a nag, or mother hen, can I suggest if we pack up our things and load everything but the food for lunch, we could still have a good two more hours on top of a brief worship. What do you think?”
Looking around, George saw nods around, and both Stephen and Tim got up from their empty breakfast bowls saying “Yes. Sure.” George who had packed before his long walk, was washing his dishes and talking with Jack when Tim came up from the carport.
“You’re never going to believe this. The tires on one side of the van are completely flat.”
“What?!” said both George and Jack, sounding surprised or dismayed. “How? When?”
“Oh my gosh, when we got home it was fine. How could that have happened?” said George.
“George, I am afraid I have another idea: someone did it on purpose,” said Jack.
“No way,” Tim answered.
“Yup,” chimed in Stephen.
“You’re kidding,” said George.
“No. How else could it have happened so evenly?” said Jack.
“Tires don’t deflate all by themselves so quickly without a bit of help,” added Stephen.
“That’s crazy,” said Tim.
“Whatever, but I have to say that we need to call the sheriff to get a police report on the incident,” said Jack
“Well, there goes the lovely productive morning. I am sorry Jack,” said Stephen.
“It’s really okay. Apparently this is a bigger deal than we thought,” said Jack.
“So we’re sure this is related to the murder of our friend?” asked Tim.
“It appears that way doesn’t it? Otherwise we are victims of a random event, in a far away place. Which I suppose is possible, but not likely,” said Jack.
“Oh, come on. Listen to yourself. Just a moment ago, you were very willing to allow that our life in Seattle was totally separate from this space, and now you’re saying the event of this morning is tied directly to the killing of a friend - at a distance of about two hours driving, and a month ago in time. Talk about far fetched…” said Tim.
“Well, I suppose I’m the one to call James right away,” said George, with only a tiny trace of petulance. “Do you really think calling the Sherriff is necessary? In Seattle, they probably would chalk it up to strange coincidence. I bet we’ll only get a visit if there is a chance that it was done by a local tire deflating gang,” George said this last smiling a little. The comment broke the peanut brittle tension – not too bad for you, just a little sticky to work through.
James came out and pumped the tires, after a deputy came by and looked at the scene, because, he said, “tourism is a major income for the area.” He gave the area what looked like a cursory glance, but said there were no surfaces from which he could get any prints, not with the equipment that their department had anyway. From the deputy, they actually got a police report number, for any claims that the rental company might later want to file.
The four were much subdued, though more rested, as they piled into the newly evened out van.
George thought, “At least we were away from all the things we have yet to do around our place.”
The ride home passed uneventfully down the hill and then down I-5 to their Green Lake home.
They were greeted by a light flashing inside the house. The answering machine was trying to alert the four to several messages which they found later were about; how Sunday morning went, a couple questions about music that needed being answered, plus two hang-up messages.
Re-entry from retreats was always hard, remembered George, even when it is a weird retreat, perhaps more so. There was a strange dream that seemed to come back to George. It was something about meeting a truly nasty person. No, there was another word… peculiar, disastrous… Sometimes a dream was like that, hard to fully find release from unless there was something else to fulfill its place…

The rest of Sunday was a flurry of everything about to need getting done that coming week. Stephen was working with Jack on a presentation. Tim had a meeting to remind students of, so he spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening on the phone calling and “checking in” with them. George called Travis. Everything was fine in the congregation, a couple people went into the hospital, one for the second time in a month. Travis mentioned that he did not need to be the one who followed up with that family, since George had recently performed the second marriage of one of the daughters. (This was one point of negotiation in taking on pastoral responsibility which would likely end in a funeral in the not too distant future.)
George said he understood and thanked Travis for all his work, covering the whole congregation in George’s absence.
“You really helped us out, Travis,” said George.
“Was it a good retreat?”
Before responding, George found himself back in the place he was in as the four left to get some space from being the target of a murder. That was where he noticed his “junior” colleague was ministering to him and he had accepted it, allowed it to support his decisions and actions.
“Ahh. It was okay, I guess.”
“That sounds awfully vague, or uncommitted,” said Travis, trying a lighthearted approach to talk with his colleague.