Gregson drove his gold BMW Z3 to Sunday Church. Fall was in the air. It felt like death—it was a warm feeling—a welcoming sensation—like his soul was floating above him—it might leave, just like the leaves, breaking from their branches.
Every believer was dressed differently. There were Sunday suits and casual clothes, tennis shoes, and black boots. The pastor was wearing white leather loafers. Gregson’s dad had warned against this—never trust a man wearing white-leather shoes.
The women wore dresses—there were so many flowers to choose from—Gregson was overwhelmed by their smell. He didn’t just want to smell one—he wanted to sniff them all.
A sign hung on a power pole. Hit and Run. 25,000-dollar Reward. Gregson got ready to cross the street—a Semi barreled past. He thought about the afterlife. Hopefully, there would be Chinese food in heaven.
“Welcome to New Life!” An enthusiastic bald man said, shaking Gregson’s hand.
These people are friendly, Gregson thought. And they have free coffee. There was a woman standing in the middle of the foyer—all business. She looked like a lawyer in training. Maybe it was how she stood—all dominance—and Gregson liked to be dominated, but before he decided to talk to her, he noticed another woman. This one smiled at him, like she was up to something, and it wasn’t the kind of smile easily conquered. Gregson couldn’t choose. He could tell a gossip from a mile away, so he ordered a coffee. “Miss, could you tell me about the sign out front?”
“The church is offering the reward. She was the pastor’s secretary. It’s so awful. She was smooshed like a tomato. I shouldn’t talk about it. Nobody does. There’s a lot of mixed feelings about her. Some say, she was trying to seduce the pastor, like a harlot, but nobody knew her too well.”
“Thanks for the coffee,” Gregson said. The foam was thickening, like the plot, dissolving into his murky drink.