happen, it will be done for him.’ And hence, Brother Hog can’t argue he didn’t cause the fire without going against his own beliefs. I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to do that.”
“ Then it is his fault,” said Nancy.
“ Probably not,” said Pete. “But he can’t say that it’s not. If he does, he’s finished at New Fellowship.”
“ Yep,” I said. “Right now, he’s riding high. Of course, if the church is found liable, his stock is likely to go down considerably.”
“ Why would the church be liable?” asked Dave, who’d joined us as well.
“ Russ Stafford’s position is that Brother Hog was acting as the church’s agent,” said Pete. “One thing’s for sure. Those Baptists are getting pretty steamed at ol’ Russ. Why don’t you ask them about it? I saw a couple of the elders working at the Bible Bazaar.”
“ I think I will,” I said.
Nancy looked over at me. “Hey, I just thought of something. You and Meg are probably going to be called as witnesses. You were the only ones there who weren’t part of the protest.”
“ Yeah,” I said.
“ We’ve already gotten our subpoenas,” Meg added glumly.
The cowbell on the door jangled, and two men in their mid-twenties came in, looking around like they needed some help or at least some information. They spotted Nancy’s uniform and walked over to the table. They both were sporting the requisite three-day beard stubble, LL Bean pre-faded polo shirts, mock-baseball caps, distressed jeans and expensive hiking boots. Designer sunglasses hung around each of their necks on leather lanyards.
“ Hi, there,” said the taller of the two. “We’re looking for the place where the diamonds were discovered.”
“ You’re the third group of prospectors today,” said Pete. He pointed out the window and across the park at St. Barnabas. “They were found right over there, under the church, about a hundred years ago.”
“ No,” said the other man. “The diamonds that were found in the cave. You know, it was in all the papers.”
“ Ah,” I said. “Also a hundred years ago. Sorry boys, but that land is privately owned. All the mineral rights are held by one person.” I looked over at Noylene. She just smiled and kept clearing one of the dirty tables.
“ The paper made it sound like the cave was in a national forest,” said the first.
“ Well, it might be,” I said. “Nobody’s ever found the cave. Pisgah National Forest is huge—over half a million acres from south of Asheville all the way to Virginia. There are a couple of big wilderness areas, but most of it’s privately owned. The particular property mentioned in the AP report is one of those.”
“ Quail Ridge?” said the first man.
“ Yep,” I said. “Private property.”
“ So, even if we found the cave?” asked the second.
“ Anything on that property belongs to the owner,” I said. “And last I heard, she wasn’t in the mood for claim-jumpers.”
“ Oh, well,” said the first with a shrug. “At least it’s a good day for a hike. How ’bout some breakfast?”
“ Grab a seat,” said Pete. “Noylene will be right over to take your order.”
•••
The theological discussion had ebbed, and we were all heading back to our respective morning activities. I was standing outside the Slab on the sidewalk, surveying the square and counting my blessings that we’d decided not to give out any parking tickets to out-of-towners. Noylene suddenly appeared at my side, wiping her hands on her apron and looking distraught.
“ Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. “I have a problem.”
“ Sure. What’s up?”
“ Russ Stafford has been after me since Christmas to sell him the back forty on Quail Ridge. I think he wants to do some sort of deal up there.
“ Wormy said something about it. He said you weren’t interested in selling.”
“ I’m not,” said Noylene. “But since Sunday, he’s really been putting the pressure on.
“ Then it is his fault,” said Nancy.
“ Probably not,” said Pete. “But he can’t say that it’s not. If he does, he’s finished at New Fellowship.”
“ Yep,” I said. “Right now, he’s riding high. Of course, if the church is found liable, his stock is likely to go down considerably.”
“ Why would the church be liable?” asked Dave, who’d joined us as well.
“ Russ Stafford’s position is that Brother Hog was acting as the church’s agent,” said Pete. “One thing’s for sure. Those Baptists are getting pretty steamed at ol’ Russ. Why don’t you ask them about it? I saw a couple of the elders working at the Bible Bazaar.”
“ I think I will,” I said.
Nancy looked over at me. “Hey, I just thought of something. You and Meg are probably going to be called as witnesses. You were the only ones there who weren’t part of the protest.”
“ Yeah,” I said.
“ We’ve already gotten our subpoenas,” Meg added glumly.
The cowbell on the door jangled, and two men in their mid-twenties came in, looking around like they needed some help or at least some information. They spotted Nancy’s uniform and walked over to the table. They both were sporting the requisite three-day beard stubble, LL Bean pre-faded polo shirts, mock-baseball caps, distressed jeans and expensive hiking boots. Designer sunglasses hung around each of their necks on leather lanyards.
“ Hi, there,” said the taller of the two. “We’re looking for the place where the diamonds were discovered.”
“ You’re the third group of prospectors today,” said Pete. He pointed out the window and across the park at St. Barnabas. “They were found right over there, under the church, about a hundred years ago.”
“ No,” said the other man. “The diamonds that were found in the cave. You know, it was in all the papers.”
“ Ah,” I said. “Also a hundred years ago. Sorry boys, but that land is privately owned. All the mineral rights are held by one person.” I looked over at Noylene. She just smiled and kept clearing one of the dirty tables.
“ The paper made it sound like the cave was in a national forest,” said the first.
“ Well, it might be,” I said. “Nobody’s ever found the cave. Pisgah National Forest is huge—over half a million acres from south of Asheville all the way to Virginia. There are a couple of big wilderness areas, but most of it’s privately owned. The particular property mentioned in the AP report is one of those.”
“ Quail Ridge?” said the first man.
“ Yep,” I said. “Private property.”
“ So, even if we found the cave?” asked the second.
“ Anything on that property belongs to the owner,” I said. “And last I heard, she wasn’t in the mood for claim-jumpers.”
“ Oh, well,” said the first with a shrug. “At least it’s a good day for a hike. How ’bout some breakfast?”
“ Grab a seat,” said Pete. “Noylene will be right over to take your order.”
•••
The theological discussion had ebbed, and we were all heading back to our respective morning activities. I was standing outside the Slab on the sidewalk, surveying the square and counting my blessings that we’d decided not to give out any parking tickets to out-of-towners. Noylene suddenly appeared at my side, wiping her hands on her apron and looking distraught.
“ Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. “I have a problem.”
“ Sure. What’s up?”
“ Russ Stafford has been after me since Christmas to sell him the back forty on Quail Ridge. I think he wants to do some sort of deal up there.
“ Wormy said something about it. He said you weren’t interested in selling.”
“ I’m not,” said Noylene. “But since Sunday, he’s really been putting the pressure on.
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