Eileen hadn’t come back to town for Mason’s memorial service. She knew there’d be press if she showed up. There were too many memories she wanted to leave right where they were. Dredging them up under a cloud of grief in front of an audience hungry to make up their own stories about the genesis of her tears would be unhealthy. She intended to pay her respects at some point, but quietly and without alerting anyone ahead of time.
It seems odd looking back that she would have contacted Pastor Peterson when she was finally ready. The two had never met officially, although they were each aware of the other. They couldn’t have led more different lives, traveled in more opposite circles, or had more opposing histories. Eileen made her fortune writing about murder and blackmail and the abhorrent sins of man. She solidified her reputation bringing those details to life on the big screen, feeding the public’s appetite for salacious gore and deprivation.
Pastor Peterson, on the other hand, made a humble living seeing to the needs of a small congregation in a Southwest Texas town that prided itself on the wholesome devotion to Christian principles and righteous living. He preached sermons on love and forgiveness and the mercy of the Lord. In between the lines of those messages were subtle reminders that turning one’s back on the teachings of the church would surely lead to regret. If those sins were not confessed and forgiveness sought, regret could turn into something much more serious. Of course, Pastor Peterson was never ‘Hell, Fired, and Brimstone’. Brother Bob had that market all sewed up. But there was always an undercurrent of hope for the congregation at Almost United Methodist Church. Across town at Second Baptist of Fort Stockton the undercurrent was guilt.
Pastor Peterson liked to tell people he was never surprised by who might reach out to him. But when he picked up the phone in his study off the sanctuary and Eileen introduced herself, he was caught off guard. For her part, Eileen had never been caught off guard in her life.
“I think you might know where I could find the earthly remains of Mason McCullough. I would like to pay my respects. I didn’t get a chance to do so when he passed. We were close at one time. I would like to say goodbye.” Her voice was sultry. The pastor didn’t know if that was on purpose, an attempt to vex him into sharing the information she was looking for, or just how she normally spoke. He’d heard her speak years ago when she addressed the crowd at the dinner for “Parker McHale Day,” but couldn’t recall exactly the timbre of her voice from that night. He did remember how she looked.
Luckily, before he could provide an answer, Mrs. Jayton, the secretary who came in three days a week, came in to tell him he had an important call on the other line. “I’m afraid I have an important call I have to take. Might I be able to call you back?”
Of course Eileen Parker / Parker McHale did not give out her phone number. “Let me know when it will be convenient for you and I will call you back.” A time later that afternoon was agreed upon and both parties hung up.
In subsequent conversations, the pastor ended up revealing more than he intended to as to Mason’s final resting place, details that he’d only shared with Chad when he felt Chad would gain from the perspective. He knew Mason wouldn’t have minded in that case. He wasn’t as sure when it came to Eileen, but realized later she had a way of gaining information from anyone who had it, regardless of what their intentions may have been to keep it secret. When he described the phone calls later to his wife at K-Bob’s, she was appalled at how quickly he’d surrendered everything Eileen wanted to know.
“Apparently all it takes is a sultry voice and a poisoned past for you to break an oath.” Mrs. Peterson, usually fairly meek in her manner and careful with her words, didn’t hold back. The little waitress, who also happened to be in the youth group at the church, came to fill up their ice tea glasses, saving the pastor from any more of a tongue lashing from his wife.
“Anyway,” he said while pouring sugar from the paper packet into his tall ice tea glass, “she’ll be here next week and I told her I would take her out to Mason’s old place and show her where we scattered his ashes.” Mrs. Peterson looked over the top of her glass as she took a long sip. If looks could kill.
Eileen had made it clear she wanted her return to Fort Stockton to be “under the radar”. She’d become a controversial figure, somewhat decisive, and didn’t want to generate a lot of attention when she came back. Pastor Peterson was a man whose stock and trade was built on being able to be discreet. In hindsight, he realized that’s probably why she’d chosen him to contact.
He was hesitant to have her meet him at the church office upon her arrival, figuring a more public place might be appropriate. Folks in Fort Stockton were a lot more observant than they generally let on. His suggestion of meeting at the Grounds for Divorce was quickly batted back to him. “I’ll pick you up at your office, there at the church.” Eileen was not one who normally negotiated her wishes, she just made them known and waited for others to comply.
Pastor Peterson quickly acquiesced, not wanting to argue with someone he didn’t really know. He made sure Mrs Jayton would be working the morning of Eileen’s arrival. It would be much safer if Eileen and the pastor were not alone together.
The morning of her arrival, Eileen’s presence was announced before she ever entered the church. The rumble of 3,485cc Tipo 101 inline-six featuring an aluminum block and cylinder head, with the latter featuring hemispherical combustion chambers and dual overhead camshafts made Mrs. Jayton think a swarm of angels had landed in the parking lot of the church in preparation for the rapture. She grabbed her purse, closed her eyes, and waited for Jesus to walk through the front door.
Instead, it was Eileen Parker, about as far from Jesus as one could get.
Walking out from his study, Pastor noted Eileen standing in front of Mrs Jayson’s desk. Beyond, just outside, was the 1961 Maserati 3500 GT she’d driven into town. There was absolutely nothing “under the radar” about Eileen or her ride.
Before he could come up with a valid reason to decline her offer, Pastor Peterson was in the passenger seat of the Azzurro Vincennes silver-blue Maserati. The cabin had been re-trimmed during a refurbishment and featured Pelle Neutra upholstery over the 2+2 seating and door panels. Additional features included black dash trim and door caps, color-keyed carpeting, power windows, a lockable glove box, and tinted sun visors. An air conditioning unit had been added to the trunk and was delivering air to the cabin via vents in the rear package shelf.
Despite that fact, the pastor was breaking out in a sweat.
5 responses to “ONLY BY CHANCE, Part I”
Pastor Peterson isn’t going to know what hit him, and it won’t be the Maserati.
Eileen looks pretty hot for a woman ten years older than the now deceased Mason. If I have my chronology correct, would she be 84?
She’s from LA. She’s had work done.
It’s hard to pick up the pieces and go home.
It’s hard to do either. Both? Almost impossible.