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warmth than was wise, told him to have a good one and hung up, feeling unjustifiably proud of my virtue.
    * * * *
    Simply driving into the multi-acre parking lot for Abundant Life and Gospel Ministry Church was a reminder that religion was also a business. I figured there were spaces for at least three thousand cars, and the soaring white structure looked like it could hold twice that many people.
    Attached to one side of the church were the offices, with a separate entrance. I checked in with the concierge a little before eight.
    At ten minutes after, a trim, young short-haired Hispanic woman dressed in a gray business suit and modest black heels strode into the foyer, and headed directly toward me. I stood. Marianna Stokes was polite as she introduced herself, but offered no social niceties. Her wedding band was her only jewelry. She was all business.
    She led me to the mailroom, describing the in-house mail system as we walked. By the time we arrived, she’d told me pretty much everything I needed to know. It was a generic open system and nearly anyone in the building could have put the first letter into it or even dropped it off directly in the mailroom without raising any question marks in anyone who noticed.
    Even before eight-thirty, three people were busy in the mailroom. One of them was running copies at a huge machine on one side of the room, the other two were sorting baskets of mail for delivery. Marianna saw nothing unusual in any of that. It was always a busy place. In fact, use of the copier for big jobs had to be scheduled.
    I asked her if we could go to her office and talk for a moment. I promised I would take no more than ten minutes.
    We took stairs to the second floor, where I was amazed to encounter a maze of easily two thousand square feet of offices, cubes, and conference rooms. The place was bustling.
    She led me to her office, motioned me into a chair and sat behind her desk. “I have a meeting in a few minutes, Mr. Morgan,” she said, giving me fair warning.
    I nodded, wondering why office managers always had shelves of three-inch black plastic ring binders with hand-printed labels lined up behind their desks. Maybe it was a badge of office.
    “I have only a couple of questions,” I said. “This won’t take long.”
    I pulled out my notebook. “Do you know of anyone on staff whose spouse, girlfriend, or boyfriend might object to him or her working for the church?”
    She shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not. Commitment to the ministry is number one priority for us. If someone was feeling pressure from family or loved ones about working here, they would speak up and ask for support. I’m certain of that.”
    I nodded. “One of the letters I’m investigating was taped to the shower door in Reverend Richardson’s private bathroom. Is it possible that someone other than an employee could have stuck it there? The janitors? Some other contractor?”
    “No.” She shook her head again. “No one but an employee gets into the building without being cleared first at the front desk, twenty-four seven.” She looked slightly apologetic. “Not everyone is as enthusiastic about the work we do as we are, Mr. Morgan. There are even those who would do mischief to us.”
    “As evidenced by the letters.”
    She gave a curt nod of agreement and glanced down at a handwritten page of notes on her desk. She was well prepared for me.
    “Reverend Richardson asked about the janitorial service the day he found that letter,” she said. “Shining Kingdom Janitorial does all our on-site work. They weren’t scheduled the night before the letter appeared. They do the rest of the building as well as the offices, but they wouldn’t have gotten into the office that night at all, even if they’d been on the premises. And they weren’t.”
    And that was that. I stood, and so did she. “Thank you, Mrs. Stokes. I appreciate your time. If you’d have someone point me toward Gladys Everton’s office, I’d be