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candlesticks. When I reached the front, I realized I was not alone. There was a man; the priest, it had to be, although he was dressed in grey slacks, and a white dress shirt. He was sitting in the front pew, on the far side of the altar, watching my progress toward him.
    “It’s a beautiful church. Precise workmanship. Was it built by the members?” I asked quietly, as the heat rose in my face and neck. It was the only thing I could think to say after he had watched me fondle his church.
    He smiled kindly from behind silver-rimmed glasses, and nodded a mostly-bald head. “Much of it was. Although the walls you were admiring were done by professionals.” He stood, and came to meet me on my side of the altar. His handshake was firm, but a bit clammy, as if he was also nervous to meet me.
    “Father Felix?”
    “Yes, Miss Taylor. It’s a very great pleasure to meet you. Forgive me. You are not quite what I was expecting.”
    “I’m my father’s daughter, not one of his flock. I don’t blame you for being surprised.”
    “Ah,” he said, before studying my face with unusual intensity. He seemed sad, and at once expectant. Which unsettled me. So I returned to the only subject I had on hand.
    “In the round. You don’t see many churches built like this. Not at all what I was expecting to find in a small town in Kentucky.”
    “It is unusual. The priest who oversaw the construction was a very devout and traditional man. There wasn’t really room on the lot for the more traditional cruciform configuration. So this is what they landed on.”
    “I believe this priest did them a very great favor. The family, together, all focused on Christ. It’s a very beautiful lesson. Wonderful to be able to build it into a sanctuary.”
    “Are you Catholic, Miss Taylor?” he asked with a certain light of hope in his eyes.
    “Oh, please call me Keziah. I’m Lutheran now. Raised Unbridled Holiness, of course.”
    “Synod?”
    “Missouri.”
    “I’m sure there is quite a story as to how that came about,” he said, his tone indicating that he wouldn’t mind if I shared the story. I blew past the implied question, sure it was simply the tone he had adopted over years of listening to people’s stories, whether he wanted to or not.
    “It sounds as though you have quite a story to tell me, too. What happened here this morning? Do you have any idea why he would try and take over your service?”
    Bottomless sadness seemed to fill his eyes. “Does the last name Felix mean anything to you, Keziah?”
    “No, I’m sorry. Should it?”
    He sighed. “Your father and I have been competitors for many years. His crusades always sweep through any town where I serve. Every summer — for years — he has dogged my tracks. I admit this year was an escalation, but not a wholly unexpected one. He has often threatened that he would stop my poison from spreading. I’m not that surprised he took direct action.”
    “How many years has this been going on?”
    His grey-green eyes seemed to search mine as if his words would have impact. “Just over twenty, now.”
    This meant nothing to me. “Did he do any damage?”
    “Some dinged communion vessels, some stained linen, one slightly dented candle stand. Nothing to worry about.”
    “I’ll happily pay for the damages,” I said, opening the checkbook I had brought in with me from the car.
    “Keziah, you don’t have to do that. It’s not your responsibility.”
    “I do, and it is. You certainly won’t be seeing a penny in damages from him. Frankly, I think he’d rather serve jail time than replace a single shred of linen for you. After all, Holy Mother Church is clearly the enemy.”
    He chuckled. “Not exactly news to me. But there was no serious damage done. I can’t have you paying us for damages you didn’t do. It wouldn’t be right. We are not in need of your money.”
    “Dry cleaning for the linen. How badly is the candle stand damaged?” I asked, starting to do the