A Sounding Brass (18 page)

* * *

THE EARLY BIRD
might not get the worm, but he certainly got the coffee, the menus, and a hefty dish of sliced fruit. Judging from the goofy
smile on the waitress’s face, Claire figured that last item wouldn’t be showing up on the bill. She slid into a chair opposite
Luke, and the waitress came back to pour her a fresh cup of java.

“Nice outfit,” Luke said as she put her purse on the floor beside her chair.

“Thanks.” The soft periwinkle-blue jacket and the matching flowered skirt were the farthest from black she’d been able to
come. So far. Experiments with color were turning into a community event—on the female side, anyway. Some were disastrous,
such as Linda Bell’s orange wraparound dress, and some were great, such as this little number. But when you’d never worn anything
but black, how were you to know what looked good with your personal skin tone and hair color unless you tried?

She ordered an omelet with everything—even at this hour, breakfast was her favorite meal. Then she realized that Luke’s gaze
lay on her, as warm as a comforting hand.

Except that she didn’t feel very comfortable.

She sipped coffee and wondered what was on his mind. “So.”
Just dive right in
. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Luke forked up a couple of banana slices and a purple grape from the fruit dish. “After last night, I think you know.”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll spell it out for you. The Elders approved the design for the worship center unanimously, with a few
little tweaks that I’ll take back to Anton Amato today. After the sale goes through, thanks to Mark and Owen, we’ll come to
the fun part—the actual clearing of the land and building. That’s where you come in. I’m going to need you to—what?”

Claire set her cup down carefully enough so that it only rattled a little. “The worship center?”

“Yes. What else?”

Would she ever learn? Had she really dressed in her very best to hear about the worship center? Not that that wasn’t a worthy
cause, and one she was probably about to devote most of her working hours to, but she’d expected . . .

Come on, Claire, admit it.

Okay. She’d expected him to read her a little lecture on the dangers of kissing in parking lots, and then tell her that the
reason he cared so much was because he was interested in her himself.

You are so lame.

Who did she think she was? Did she seriously believe that every eligible man in town—and some who were the farthest thing
from eligible—was going to fall at her feet just because she was feeling alone and achingly available?

“Claire?”

Could she just hide in the diner’s restroom for the rest of her life, please? “Nothing, Luke.” The waitress brought their
plates and she dug into the steaming omelet. “Go on about the plans. I’m dying to hear.”

“The Elders and I are meeting with the Realtor to finalize the sale. Whatever money we bring in this week is dedicated to
the down payment. I’m going to change the prayer program so that for a gift of a hundred bucks, the listener can not only
call, but can send in a written prayer and have it read on the air. It’ll be more than what we were doing before—every quarter
hour around the clock. Toby’s going to cover his shift and we might even ask you to take a shift, too, until God gives us
what we need.”

Four hundred dollars an hour times eighteen hours a day times seven days a week equaled—well, glory to God is what it equaled.

Wait a minute.

“Me? Take a shift? Are you crazy? I don’t know anything about doing a show.” She put her fork down and stared at him.

He waved off her objections with one hand. “It’s a snap. One session and you’ll have it down. All you’ll have to do is play
the CDs, back-call them, then read the prayers on the quarter hour. Simple.”

“Luke, I’ve never played a CD in my life. I’m still getting used to having the radio on in the car and my kitchen.”

“I have every confidence in your brains.” He speared a sausage with gusto and pointed it at her. “Anyone who can crunch numbers
can work the CD decks.”

“What if something goes wrong and all I do is produce dead air?”

Dead air, she’d learned, was the disconcerting silence on the airwaves that indicated someone in the studio had forgotten
to slide up the lever on the mixing board that modulated the power to the microphone. Toby sometimes got distracted and forgot
to do it, but so far Luke had not. He was too much of a pro. Which was another reason this was crazy.

As if he’d heard her doubts, he leaned toward her. “Claire, we need to work together on this. Toby and I can’t put in twelve-hour
shifts, and with the amount of money that I suspect will be coming in, we can’t hire someone temporary. We need people onsite
that we can trust.”

“What about a premade tape?” Oh, good thinking. Surely technology would get her out of this predicament.

“We’ll be doing those, too, for when we all have to be offsite or doing other things. But tapes have time limits. Come on,
Claire. You’ll be fabulous. Your voice is made for radio. In fact—” He sat back, looking as inspired as if a light had gone
on in his mind. “—why don’t you guest with me this morning? After you’ve counted the gifts, of course,” he added hastily.
“I don’t want to hinder you from doing your part of God’s work.”

“Why don’t we wait and see how that goes,” she suggested. Even if only five dollars came in, she’d make sure she was so absorbed
in entering it in the database that there wouldn’t be time for him to teach her how to operate the microphone.

She glanced at her watch. “Luke, look at the time! It’s nearly eight.”

If she’d expected him to leap to his feet and dash off to work, she was mistaken. He shrugged. “Toby will stay on duty until
I show up.”

“But people expect your show to start at eight. You said yourself you like people to start their day with praise.”

“Relax, Claire. Don’t be so anal.” His grin flashed. “Besides, this is all work-related. Technically, your day started at
seven. Charge the station for the overtime.”

“I can’t do that. And I’m not anal.”

“Okay. You’re conscientious.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. In the bank, a person would lose her job if she wasn’t.” Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe
it was coming this close to totally embarrassing herself. Or maybe she was just a tiny bit confused about his attitude. “Besides,
people are depending on you.”

“It’s radio, Claire, not life support.”

“But you said—”

“I hope you don’t memorize everything I say. I’d hate to think what might come back to haunt me later. Here, have some more
coffee and let’s talk.”

She didn’t want to talk. His lighthearted attitude stung. She had walked in here with anticipation, feeling fairly cheerful
despite her lack of sleep. Now she just felt confused and a little annoyed and, yes, a bit let down and defensive.

“No, thanks. I’m going by the post office and then to work.” She found her purse and pulled her wallet out.

“Don’t even think about it.” He stood and pulled his own wallet out of his back pocket. “The station is picking it up. Here,
I’ll walk out with you.”

But by the time he’d taken care of the bill, she’d already escaped out the door.

At the post office the clerk had to bring the station’s mail in a plastic bin instead of just handing it to her. “What are
you guys selling, lottery tickets?” she asked as she pushed it across the counter.

“Listen to KGHM sometime and find out.” Claire dredged up a public-relations smile, tossed her purse in the bin, and lugged
everything across the street to the station. Luckily, Toby met her at the door and held it open.

“Looks like the junk mail people finally found us,” he said, peering into the bin as she squeezed past him.

“It’s not junk mail. It’s money.”

He took the bin from her and carried it into her office. “What, all this?” Together they sorted the contents into piles. He
took the FCC and radio-geek stuff, which hardly made a dent, and Claire stared at the rest, hands on hips.

“I guess I’ll just start at the top and work my way through it. At least I won’t be guesting on Luke’s show.” She glanced
at Toby as he stood in her doorway, thumbing through his little pile of envelopes. “I assume he’s talked to you about the
changes to the prayer program?”

“The every-quarter-hour thing? Yes. People have seemed pretty receptive to it so far.”

“He wants me to do a show.” She still felt a little incredulous. “I don’t even know how to turn the mic on.”

“If things keep up like this, you won’t have time to do a show.” He looked up from his mail. “Just take one thing at a time.
We don’t have to fall in with every single thing Luke suggests, you know. This isn’t a dictatorship.”

“But he’s the reason the station came back to life.” Then she realized how that must have sounded to Toby, who had been manning
the mic for years before anyone had even heard of Luke. “I’m sorry, Toby, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“It’s okay, I know what you mean. He has revitalized it. He’s tapped into a need I didn’t even know was there.”

“Has he come to speak to your church?” she asked. “Attendance has gone up at our Gatherings. Of course, that might be because
things have loosened up a bit.”

Toby turned toward the door. “No, he hasn’t.”

His voice sounded muffled, but Claire couldn’t figure out why he looked so uncomfortable. “Why not? He’s a great speaker.”

He hesitated, then came back in and closed her door. “How close are you to Luke?”

Close? Did he mean as in working relationship or as in . . . something more personal? “Um . . .”

“You seem pretty loyal.”

“Well, I am. But I’m just as loyal to you. We’re all in this together, aren’t we? The station doesn’t succeed without all
of us.”

“I wonder.”

She reached under her desk to turn the computer on, and when it hummed into life, she turned back to him. “Toby, what’s the
matter? Don’t worry about me saying anything. I used to work for the bank, remember? There, even going to the restroom is
confidential.”

His smile was a brief stretch of the lips. “My wife says I’m crazy, and maybe I am. What do you think of Luke? As a person.
As a godly man.”

Claire gazed at him while she tried to come up with an answer. What did she think? Or was she too busy being dazzled by his
talent and leadership to think?

“He’s very good at what he does,” she said at last.

“I won’t argue with you there. And it looks as though changes are afoot in your church, though I don’t know if that has anything
to do with Luke.”

“It has a lot to do with him. We’re allowed to wear color now. And listen to music. And Luke is always talking about widening
our horizons to include other believers.”

“Like me?” He smiled at her.

“I hope so.” What would it be like if Toby were invited to speak at Mission? The Elect were capable of change, but that would
probably stretch them so far they’d snap.

“But what about him, personally?” Toby pressed. “What’s your opinion there?”

If she answered him, maybe she’d get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him. Of course, that meant she actually had to
have an answer. “I don’t really know. I like him. He’s entertaining and never boring. He’s good-looking, of course. But other
than that he was raised Elect, I don’t actually know all that much about him.”

“Exactly.” Toby brought a gentle fist down on the corner of her desk for emphasis. “We don’t know a thing about him. Not his
religious history, not his radio shows, not his hometown, family, nothing. All we know is what we’ve seen, starting on the
day he arrived.”

“He must have given you a résumé when you hired him,” she pointed out.

“Yes, and when I called his references, they checked out. But he says he’s been on national radio shows. When I researched
them, I couldn’t find anything.”

“But if you were looking on the Internet, stuff goes out of date and gets archived all the time.”

He twinkled at her. “I thought using the Internet was discouraged among the Elect.”

She lifted her chin. “The bank is online. It was part of my job.”

Laughter lurked in his eyes, but as always with Toby, it was never directed
at
you, but
with
you.
Unlike Luke
, she thought suddenly. That was what had been wrong this morning. He hadn’t said anything mean or unkind, but it was the
way he said it. As though he couldn’t be bothered to think about whether it would hurt her feelings or not.

“What’s on your mind?” Toby must have seen her thoughts turn inward.

“I’m just being oversensitive.” Which was another word for
self-centered
, which was a sin.

“I doubt that. Tell me.”

She shrugged. “It’s nothing.” It was almost as if he had been off duty, and didn’t have to be . . . as Toby had said . . .
a “man of God.” But it didn’t work that way. Either you were godly, or you weren’t. It wasn’t a part-time job.

“I’d better get back to work.” Claire glanced at her computer screen and with the mouse brought up her receipts database.

Toby opened her door, and Claire gathered their meeting was over. “Me, too,” he said. “But I’m going to take the advice of
Jesus, and watch and pray.”

Praying she could understand. Claire reached over and scooped up the first batch of envelopes. But watching? What for? And
whom?

A
T ONE TIME
, Ray had liked his truck. It was sleek, unobtrusive, and had the horsepower to get him where he was going in a hurry. But
now that he was spending inordinate amounts of time sitting in it, staring at the radio station’s windows from various vantage
points up and down Main Street, he was discovering its faults.

Its legroom was shrinking by the day, for one. He shifted around and hung his left arm out the open window. Part of the problem
this morning was probably due to the four point five hours of sleep he’d managed to get when he wasn’t staring into the dark,
thinking about Claire Montoya.