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“And what is it that you do for a living, Mr. Carpenter?” Doyle asked.
“I am, among other things, a man of the cloth, Mr. Doyle,” Carpenter said, and Agnes almost dropped her spatula.
“And what denomination would that cloth be of?” Doyle asked.
“I am a Spiritual Humanist,” Carpenter said. “We believe in helping others improve their conditions. In living, for example, Mr. Doyle, a life free of deceit.”
“So, how about those pancakes?” Agnes said. “I’ve still got Shane and Xavier to feed and then there’s Lisa Livia coming over, and you wouldn’t believe how she can put them away, so I’m thinking at least another batch. And then there are ribs for lunch. Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Carpenter?”
Carpenter kept his eyes on Doyle. “Why, thank you, Miss Agnes, I would be delighted to stay for lunch.”
“Well, then I’ll get these ribs marinating and perhaps you can man the grill?—”
The phone rang and Agnes answered it.
“Miss Crandall?” Reverend Miller said, pitching his voice deep for effect as usual, thereby sounding, as Lisa Livia had once said, like God making an obscene phone call.
“Good morning, Reverend Miller,” Agnes said, wondering what excuse the minister had come up with this time for barring Maria from wedded bliss with a Keyes under his watch.
“I was just wondering if Miss Fortunato is what you’d call a regular churchgoer?” Reverend Miller asked.
“Hell, yes,” Agnes said, having no idea. “Every Sunday. She wouldn’t miss. I’d love to chat about that, but I’ve got a kitchen full of people to feed, so if that was all you wanted ...”
“You’re sure about that,” Reverend Miller said. “Because I feel strongly?—”
“I do, too,” Agnes said. “You have a good day.” Then she hung up. Xavier came out of the basement, followed by Joey and then Shane. Xavier looked at Carpenter and said, “Who is this?”
“My business partner,” Shane said as he cleared the doorway. “And what business is that?” Xavier said. “Housework,” Carpenter said.
Shane introduced Joey to Carpenter, and Agnes grabbed Garth’s sleeve and pulled him close.
“When breakfast is done,” she whispered, “I’ll distract them and you get out of here. I’ll tell them I told you to go. It’ll be all right.”
Garth’s pale bony face looked stricken, his freckles standing out against the white. “But what about the ribs?”
“What?” Agnes said.
“And the paintin’?” Garth said. “I gotta help Mr. Doyle paint the house, right? And then have ribs. And this house needs a lotta work. You need help.” He was nodding at her, serious.
Agnes put her hand on her forehead. “Uh, Garth?—”
“I’ll work for room and board.”
“Garth—”
“Don’t send me back to the swamp, Miss Agnes,” Garth said, his voice pathetic. “I hate it there. I’ll sleep in the basement, honest.”
“You can’t sleep in the basement,” Agnes said, appalled. “You got a barn or somethin’?” Garth said.
“Well, yeah,” Agnes said. “Taylor turned it into a catering hall. It even has a loft apartment with a bathroom. But?—”
“It’s got a bathroom?” Garth said.
“Oh, hell,” Agnes said, and then her baser self took over and reminded her that she really did the need the house painted and God knew what else was going to turn up before the weekend. And with a Thibault on the premises, maybe the rest of the clan wouldn’t show up to shoot her. And he liked her cooking.
Well, he probably liked anybody’s cooking, but it was a real pleasure to see that boy eat.
“Yeah, sure, you can stay a couple of days,” she said, knowing she was going to hell for exploiting the bathroom-less and then thought about the rest of her day.
