“Let’s wait.” Jenna knotted her scarf around her throat. “I don’t like leaving her here alone.”
“She’s not alone. Oliver’s here.”
“Oh, and a fine lotta protection he is.”
Rinda wasn’t listening to any of Jenna’s arguments. “Lynnetta will be okay. I’ll lock the dead bolt so no bogeyman can get in.”
“It’s serious—you know that two women are missing, another one found dead.” Jenna didn’t like it. “I think we should stay.”
“Knowing Lynnetta, she could take another half-hour or so. Don’t worry about her. She only lives a couple of blocks away, and she always calls her husband to come over and walk her home after dark. The reverend is quick to oblige and I think it’s damned romantic.”
“But this town isn’t safe anymore.”
“I’ll lock the door, okay?” Rinda put a hand on Jenna’s arm. “Really, it’ll be all right. Relax.”
“If only I could.”
“Look, she’ll call her hubby and Romeo will come escort her home.”
Jenna had trouble thinking of Lynnetta’s husband doing anything the least bit romantic. “Just let me double-check.” She yelled toward the staircase near the stage. “Are you sure you’re okay, Lynnetta?”
“Yes! Please. I’ll be fine.”
Rinda tossed Jenna an I-told-you-so look. She arched a knowing eyebrow and whispered, “Maybe she wants us to vamoose because her husband comes over here and they do it center-stage.”
“You’re awful,” Jenna said, thinking of Reverend Derwin Swaggert, barely forty yet a serious, long-faced preacher with a full black beard, bushy eyebrows, and a voice that boomed as he delivered fire-and-brimstone sermons.
“This was a church not all that long ago, remember? Sex where the altar once stood would definitely have appeal.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before the conversation sinks to an even lower level.”
“Is that possible?” Rinda’s laugh was low and totally irreverent.
“Probably not.” Jenna yanked open one of the twin double doors. A rush of brittle winter wind swept through the vestibule. Outside, she gazed up at the starless night and shivered. “God, when is it gonna warm up?”
“Never,” Rinda predicted as she locked the dead bolt behind her and pulled on the door handles, double-checking that they were secure. “No end in sight, according to the weatherman at KBST.” They headed down the exterior steps. “Time to think of moving south before the play opens and we get panned by the local press.”
“Has anyone ever told you that the cup is half full some of the time?”
“Never,” Rinda said as they followed a cement path to the nearly empty parking lot where their two vehicles waited beneath a solitary lamppost. It shed a weak blue haze over the cars, making them shimmer under a thin glaze of ice. The wind swept through a back alley and rushed over the lot, cutting through Jenna’s heavy down jacket as if it were made of gossamer lace.
“Got time for a beer?” Rinda was fumbling with her key ring. “I’ll buy. The least I can do for your donation today,” she said, mentioning the clothes, shoes, and purses that Jenna had brought to the theater.
“Don’t worry about it. A tax deduction, you know. My C.P.A. will be thrilled.”
“Then you buy.”
Jenna giggled. “Better not tonight. I’ve got to report in,” she said, and with a gloved hand, pulled her walkie-talkie out of the pocket of her jacket. “Besides, I’m beat. Haven’t slept that well since I got that fun little missive from my ‘friend.’” Not sleeping well was an understatement. Ever since discovering that her bedroom had been violated, Jenna had been unable to relax. She’d been hearing things—strange noises, or footsteps, and she’d felt all the while that someone was watching her every move, that someone not being Jake Turnquist. Just knowing that someone had been in her home, sneaking through the corridors, pawing through her things, had made her jumpy and anxious.
“Hey, you’ve got the bodyguard now. Things should be better, right?”
“I know, that should help, but…” Jenna glanced up at the steeple rising high, piercing the low-hanging clouds. “…I’m still a little uptight.”
“All the more reason for a beer or glass of wine. Besides, I think we need to discuss the play. I’m sure you noticed that Madge hasn’t really grasped the role of Mary Bailey,” Rinda said. Her car door unlocked with a loud click.
Jenna agreed, but said, “She’s getting there.”
“And when is she going to arrive? In the next millennium?”