Pretty is as Pretty Dies

Chapter One-4

THE METHODIST MINISTER, Nathaniel Gluck, summoned all his Christian patience to deal with the early-morning visitor in his church office. Kitty’s hair was pulled up in a bun, but in her agitation, some hair had come loose, giving her a most disheveled look. Seminary covered weddings, funerals, and board meetings. He was quite sure there’d been no mention of hysterical church ladies with mascara rivers running down their faces.

Kitty sopped up her misery with two brand-new boxes of Kleenex and now Nathaniel rummaged desperately through his desk for a travel pack he knew was hiding in there. Kitty trumpeted into the last remaining tissue and Nathaniel fumbled frantically through the drawer until his long fingers grasped the travel pack. He feared Kitty might soon be in need of a hug and the gangling man felt ill-equipped to handle the puddling mess she’d become.

What had Kitty been talking about before the floodgates opened? “So summing up your concerns, Kitty?”

“Parke is mean. Parke is bossy. Parke tells me they do it better in New York. Parke hates my flower arrangements. Parke says my chicken casseroles make her puke.”

“I understand.” Nathanial cut off her litany of loathing and affected a spiritual glow he hoped would transfer to his wretched visitor. She opened her mouth again and he sighed. The glow hadn’t worked. He’d have to resort to prayer.

“And her Cecil got my Brian into drugs. Now Brian’s at reform school and Parke’s son is living high on the hog. It’s not fair.” Kitty swabbed her face with one of the travel tissues, succeeding only in smearing the mascara across her cheeks. “Since Parke moved here, everything has changed. My church work is just as important to me as breathing. You know that. The only time I feel good about myself is when I’m arranging flowers on the altar, or cutting up communion bread. I don’t get that feeling at home with Tiny.”

Nathaniel repressed a shudder at her husband’s name. Tiny was the massive, Neanderthal-like redneck who mowed the church lawn. Yes, she needed to escape her home life as much as possible. But it presented him with quite a dilemma.

Kitty’s face puckered up and a few fat tears squeezed out. “She’s the prettiest woman in Bradley. But Mama always said ‘Pretty is as pretty does.’ Parke Stockard would be revolting if she looked like she acts.” She heaved a hiccupping sigh and gave a malicious smile at the enticing thought of a disfigured Parke.

No question about it: Kitty was a valuable resource. She plugged away at humdrum church chores that no one volunteered to do. But Parke Stockard had her own good points—deep pockets. Not only did she donate new hymnals, plush carpet, and fresh paint, but she had the skills and drive necessary to energize successful fundraising campaigns. The church could use a fresh approach and some younger faces in the congregation . . . and Parke was channeling lots of money into church coffers. He sighed.

“Nothing was ever proven, though, was it?” he asked gently. “About Parke’s son introducing your son to drugs? And it’s good to get a dedicated volunteer in God’s house, isn’t it? You were doing so much for us, single-handedly, that I always worried about you. Maybe you could take the higher ground and befriend Parke. She’s just a newcomer looking for her niche, after all. Won’t you prayerfully consider reaching out to her?”

Kitty looked at him sadly. He winced, guessing she must realize the influence Parke’s money exerted on him. Kitty pulled her battered pocketbook towards her and stood up. “Brian never used drugs. Never. Not until he started hanging out with Parke’s son. Having a new volunteer is one thing—having a dictator is another.” She stomped out of his office, ignoring his entreaties to sit down. Nathaniel wrung his bony hands together. There would be trouble. Of that he was sure.