Ron Benrey - Grits And Glory

Published by Steeple Hill Books ™

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“It’ll take both of us to hold it against the wind,” he shouted.

“Okay,” Ann shouted back. “You push, I’ll pull.”

He managed to stay on his feet and, with Ann’s help, made it inside.

“Your head is bleeding!” she gasped.

“The church’s steeple fell on our truck when it blew off the roof.”

“You need a doctor,” she said, guiding him toward a chair in the small lobby. Sean sat down. He heard Ann say something, but he couldn’t make it out. Then he felt her shake his shoulder.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Ann said. “Keep talking.”

Sean gazed at Ann. Her hair was drenched and makeup had run down her cheeks.

“You’re pretty.”

“Now I’m sure you need medical attention.”

Sean chuckled, and then everything went black.

began writing romantic cozy mysteries together more than ten years ago—chiefly because they both loved to read them. Their successful collaboration surprised them both, because they have remarkably different backgrounds.

Ron holds degrees in engineering, management and law. He built a successful career as a nonfiction writer specializing in speechwriting and other aspects of business writing. Janet was an entrepreneur before she earned a degree in communications, working in such fields as professional photography, executive recruiting and sporting-goods marketing.

How do they write together and still stay married? That’s the question that readers ask most. The answer is that they’ve developed a process for writing novels that makes optimum use of their individual talents. Perhaps even more important, their love for cozy mysteries transcends the inevitable squabbles when they write one.

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.

—Isaiah 43:18

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

“I am the administrator of Glory Community Church, gentlemen.”

Ann Trask sat upright in her chair and spoke with determination. She hoped the rigid posture would make her look more formidable. “It is my responsibility to remain in the building in the event of an emergency—especially when Pastor Hartman is out of town.”

One of the two big men standing in front of Ann’s desk grinned at her. Rafe Neilson, Glory’s deputy police chief, was solidly in her corner. The other man scowled and made a disparaging gesture.

“We don’t need false bravery today, Miss Trask. There’s a major hurricane bearing down on our corner of North Carolina. Gilda is the proverbial ‘really big one,’ a mid-September wind machine strong enough to be a killer. Her outer rain bands are flooding Glory’s streets as we speak.” Phil Meade’s gaze locked onto Ann’s face as he spoke directly to her. “The outer rain bands are on the periphery of the storm, but they sometimes spawn tornadoes along with the drenching rain. They’re a taste of what’s to come. You don’t want to be here when the main storm arrives.” He crossed his arms. “I say that as Glory’s director of emergency management.”

Ann took a deep breath and prayed that neither man could hear her heart thumping. She knew to the depths of her queasy stomach that Phil Meade—a respected expert in disaster management—had spoken the truth. He even looked the part: late forties, tall, wide, florid-faced and gray at the temples, with a powerful bass voice that commanded respect. But right as Phil was, she couldn’t run away. Not again. This time, she would take control of her fears.

“What do you think, Rafe?” Ann said, as evenly as she could. She noted that he had stopped grinning.

Please don’t let Rafe side with Phil against me.

“Well, we all agree that Glory Community Church is one of the most solidly built structures in town. Moreover, it’s located on the highest patch of ground we have. That’s why we’ve designated it as an emergency shelter. If there’s anyplace in Glory that can survive a major hurricane, this is it.”

“Exactly—” Ann began, but Rafe kept talking.

“However, I feel uneasy that you’ll remain when virtually everyone else has evacuated Glory.”

“Dozens of people are staying,” she protested.

Phil Meade jumped back in. “Correct! Police officers, firefighters, a few medical professionals, the mayor, my staff, a handful of other essential personnel, and me.” He pointed at Ann. “We don’t need a twenty-four-year-old civilian putting her life at risk and making our work more difficult.”

“I’m almost twenty-five, Mr. Meade. There are younger police officers patrolling Glory, and some of them have spouses and children to worry about. I’m single—free as the proverbial bird. I don’t even have my mother to take care of. She’s across the state visiting my brother in Asheville.” Ann took a swift breath. “Someone has to be on duty in Glory’s emergency shelter—I’m glad for the opportunity to be useful.”

Phil turned to Rafe. “What are we going to do about this?”

“I’d have to put her in handcuffs to make her leave town.” He clapped Phil on the shoulder. “Like she said, someone needs to be on duty inside the church.”

“Pah! You deal with her. I have sensible people to worry about.” Phil strode toward the door to Ann’s office, and then spun around. “Miss Trask, make sure you give Rafe a phone number for your next of kin. Just in case.”

Ann camouflaged the jolt of anxiety she felt with a hollow laugh while she listened to Phil’s boot-shod feet clomp down the church’s hallway. He had said the perfect thing to push her panic button.

Please don’t make my mother deal with another visit from the police.

“Phil has a point,” Rafe said. “This may not be the wisest decision you’ve made.”

“Perhaps not.” Ann swallowed hard to clear the alarm from her voice. “But I have an important job to do.”

And this time people are going to see me do it properly.

“Well, if your mind is made up—”

“Good!” Ann said quickly. “Now that that’s settled, when will things get bad in Glory?”

Rafe’s expression became grim. “Gilda’s eye wall—and her strongest winds—will reach Glory at five o’clock this afternoon.”

“So the worst of the hurricane should be over before nightfall, right?”

“I’m afraid not. Gilda’s a massive storm. Her remnants could be with us until the wee hours of tomorrow morning.”

“Do you think the electricity will fail?”