Lousiana Hotshot

go back in her shell. She started wandering.
    It was amazing how things came back to her. She knew exactly where to find the downstairs powder room, the social hall, the Sunday school rooms, and that indispensable repository of records— the church office. Mailing lists and tithes were probably computerized now, but they hadn’t always been. Talba was hoping for some old-fashioned file cabinets. Unfortunately, the office door was locked.
    Could she unlock it with a credit card? Getting caught would be ugly, but what the hell.
    She gave it a shot, but couldn’t make it work.
    There was always the window. She could heave a rock through it.
    She heard footsteps. Quickly, she knocked, to give the appearance of innocence. An old woman came into view, a woman who looked at least ninety. She was wispy, thin like old people get, and the kind of short that has once been tall. Her skin was light and her wiry white hair was cut in an ear-length bob and parted on the side. She walked with a cane, but that didn’t stop her from wearing two-inch heels. She looked elegant with her white hair, navy dress, and spiffy shoes. She was the sort of old lady who’d probably bury all her friends and die with her funeral perfectly planned, right down to the hymns.
    “Hello, Sandra Wallis,” she said. “I heard you were looking for me.”
    Talba was speechless. She’d never seen the woman before in her life. Maybe she was the church ghost.
    “I know ya,” the apparition said. “Been knowin’ ya all ya life.” She waved an encompassing arm. “All those sisters out there— they know ya. This a Christian church, girl. Once you in it, ya in it forever.”
    That wasn’t Talba’s understanding of the way the thing worked, but she understood that that was a technicality— Miz Clara had raised her in this church, and no matter what kind of heathen she’d since become, they were always ready to take her back— even if she didn’t remember them.
    She gave her new pal a great big granddaughterly smile. “I know your face— I just can’t recall the name.”
    “Lura Blanchard, dollin’ You axed for me, didn’t ya?”
    Talba put out her hand to shake, but to her surprise, the woman gathered her up in a hug. “Welcome back, child.”
    “Why thank you, Miz Blanchard. I was just wondering if anybody’s in the office.”
    “Well, I used to be— every day of my life.”
    The same face, much plumper and smoother, appeared on Talba’s mental screen. “You were the church secretary.”
    “Tha’s right, dollin’. For thirty-odd years. See, ya do remember.”
    Talba was starting to worry about the old lady. She looked around wildly, hoping for a couple of armchairs. “Is there anyplace we can go to sit down?”
    “Sho’ honey. Got my key right here.” Lura Blanchard reached in her elegant dress and pulled a key from her bosom. “Never gave this up for just that reason. Every now and then, I like a quiet place to sit down.”
    Without an apparent second thought, she broke into the church office. Talba must have been showing her amazement. Lura Blanchard said, “It’s all right, dollin’. What belongs to the church belongs to all of us.”
    Sure enough, there were a pair of good chairs in there. Each of them took one. “I understand you looking for Reverend Scruggs.”
    “Yes, ma’am. I wonder if you know where I can find him?” Talba hoped she didn’t sound too phony. The effort of behaving genteelly was getting to her.
    “You want him or ya mama?”
    It was a tough one. Talba didn’t know which was the preferred answer. She decided she’d better not lie. The whole thing was going to get back to Miz Clara, if it hadn’t already. She had no idea these people kept such close tabs on one another. “It’s for me,” she said. “I need to ask him about a bit of church history.”
    “Is that right, now? Well, I might be able to help. I been here longer than anybody but God.”
    “Miz Blanchard, are you a close friend of my mama’s?”
    “Clara Wallis? As fine a Christian woman as I’ve ever met in my life.” That didn’t actually answer the question, but it was rhetorical anyway.
    “I’m asking because I thought she might have told you about my job. I’m doing some confidential investigating for a security company. I’m afraid it involves something I’m permitted to talk about only with those who’re directly involved.” She babbled on, to cover the awkward moment. “I’m awfully sorry— for
me,
I