2 - Secrets: Ike Schwartz Mystery 2 by Frederick Ramsay

the foreseeable future. He wondered what he could say to them that would make them care. He looked into their faces. The regulars, the Old Liners, were all in their pews. SOFITSOP—Same Old Faces in the Same Old Places. They sat, Sunday after Sunday, in exactly the same spot—same pew. It seemed the center of the church, the spaces nearest the aisles, were filled with regulars. Some of them had been coming for decades and had staked out a proprietary claim on their places, and God help the poor visitor who had the temerity to commandeer it. Newcomers and visitors filled in at the back, or if they were very brave, the front, and along the periphery.
    He remembered someone once telling him that people who failed in business tended to concentrate on the wrong things, on the negative. “Their eyes are not on the doughnut, but on the hole.” Blake looked again at the stony faces centered in the middle of the church and then at the new families, the young people, and the visitors spread around the edge and made a startling discovery. He had been looking at the wrong thing. He had been looking at the hole when he should have been concentrating on the doughnut. If the church was ever to reach its potential, it would do so with new people, not with the old. They’d had years enough to move forward and failed. Now it would be up to the newcomers.
    Normally, Blake would have climbed into the pulpit to preach his sermon. Today he did not. He abandoned his notes, pulpit, and routine, stepped to the front of the church and began to speak. He had no real idea what he would say, but he decided to start over and aim his remarks at the eager faces in the “doughnut,” not at the frozen ones in the “hole.”
    “Good morning. I want to make a general comment before I say a few words about today’s lessons. First, I want to tell those of you that may not have heard it already that we experienced a dreadful tragedy here Thursday night. Our organist, Waldo Templeton, was brutally murdered in the church. The fabric you see behind me is to seal off the sanctuary, which the police still insist is a crime scene. I do not have any details to tell you beyond that. I suspect many of you may be better informed than I. No funeral services have been arranged. We are still trying to find his family. Our condolences go to them, and to his many friends here.” Blake glanced in the direction of the choir.
    “Second, I want to welcome Ms. Mary Miller, who has graciously agreed to fill in as our organist until we can get sorted out. Mary is a parishioner at Saint Anne’s, our sponsoring parish, but lives over in the Westerfield section not far from here.” A smattering of applause.
    “Tomorrow is, as you know, Labor Day. I want to wish you all a safe holiday. If you are traveling, be careful on the roads. It is also the traditional starting time for us to resume our regular routine. Sunday school begins next Sunday.
    “Finally I want to give you a heads-up on the investigation. I am afraid the police will be in and out of the church for quite a while. Sheriff Schwartz, whom you all know, is the lead investigator, and I hope you will give him your full cooperation. I have pinned his card on the bulletin board. If you have any information that might help solve the crime, please call him.
    “As you know by now, it is my practice to preach on the Gospel, but today I want to depart from that and call your attention to our second lesson. I know you just heard it, but let me reread just a few lines—‘Let love be genuine. Hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good and love one another with brotherly affection . ’
    “That is the essence of Christian living—we turn to one another in love. I know that it is not always easy to do so. Jesus directs us to love our neighbor as ourselves, and we reply, ‘You’ve never met my neighbor.’” A few smiles from the doughnut—nothing from the hole.
    “And he goes on to say, ‘and as I have loved