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something really important for him. Please have him give me a call.”
    Kiki read my card. “Porter Investigations and Process?” He raised his finger. “You get the hell out of here before I have you arrested.”
    “No problem,” I said. “I’m running late anyways.”
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” Angie was starting to register what had just happened, and perhaps the fact that she’d come on to a guy who’d rejected her. She didn’t look happy about that. “You’re an investigator?” There was no hiding the southern twang now.
    I nodded, and told her it was good to meet her. “I had a great time.”
    As confused as ever, she glanced at Kiki and then stared me down again. “Where are you going?” she asked, as though my answer might somehow explain what had just happened between us.
    I picked up my pace and smiled politely. “Sorry, but I’m late for church.”

CHAPTER THREE
A Mighty Fortress

    I found a seat in the back of the sanctuary, almost ten minutes after the hour. I was late because I’d driven by Rico’s to see if I might catch him at home and avoid coming here in the first place. I spent a good five minutes knocking on the door. You could never tell if Rico was home because he didn’t own a car. He lived within walking distance of his gym, which was closed on Sundays, and his church, Seminole Heights Church of the Redeemer, which was not. Rico didn’t answer, so I made the short drive to the church.
    The pew creaked when I sat down in the back row. Whatever wood it was made from was rigid—excellent for lumbar support if that was your thing, but not so much if you had a tender rump or had attempted an 800-pound deadlift the day before. It had been a while since I’d sat in this church, or any other for that matter. I was hoping to get in and out unseen—not only because of the Scalzo job, but also because I had neglected to return a few calls recently from the church’s pastor, James Evans, inquiring about my prolonged absence. I was sure Pastor Evans had already seen me as he addressed the congregation that morning. It’s hard to hide when you’re my size and sport a beard larger than the average human head.
    I scanned the sanctuary for Rico, who would also stand out in this crowd. I started first to the right of the aisle where he usually sat, and then worked my way westward. Rico was nowhere to be seen. A few of the parishioners turned and looked at me. I nodded back to them as Pastor Evans led the congregation through the liturgy. He would speak, and then they would respond in unison. I didn’t have a bulletin, so I couldn’t follow along.
    I was certain Rico wasn’t there, but since he wasn’t known for his punctuality—his gym was rarely open on time, and he missed the bus the last time his powerlifting team had a meet—I decided to wait a bit longer to see if he showed. I hadn’t heard from him in days. All I knew was something wasn’t right between us, and I hoped the good news about paying the bank off would repair whatever our rift was.
    I was dozing off, staring at the pew Bible in front of me, when the congregants stood in unison. I stood up, too. Then a blast of the pipe organ shook the sanctuary windows, not to mention my eardrums. I would have reached for the hymnal, but I didn’t hear the page number. I tried glancing at my neighbor’s hymnal, but the elderly woman with purple hair was keeping a safe distance from me. I had never heard this hymn before, but the congregation seemed to know it well, as they sang it with majesty and passion. The harmony was actually rather catchy, like an anthem you might hear sung at a ball game. I couldn’t follow the lyrics, but I caught something about a mighty fortress and a bulwark never ending, and again I thought of Rico, and his nickname for me: Fortress .
    I liked the song, but I don’t care much for crowds, and I realized I’d been in this one now for nearly fifteen minutes. That’s how it starts. Just a