Southern Bound - A Paranormal-Mystery (Max Porter Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Stuart Jaffe
steak to force a pause. Even as he discussed Winston-Salem's history with more enthusiasm than he realized he had for the subject, he found Modesto's attitude disturbing. Perhaps that's what the man wanted — he clearly did not like Max. Yet something else gnawed at Max.
"Surely you've come across at least one example?" Modesto said. "Our employer would be unhappy if your research was so superficial."
"I have examples."
Modesto ordered a cup of coffee and said, "I'm waiting. Just one example, please."
Like a bull let out of the shoot, Max barreled into a verbal assault. "In 1829, there's a man with the ironic name of Thomas Christman who decides to become a Baptist. He takes his son with him in this move away from the Moravian beliefs. Christman is ordered to leave town, but he refuses. This is considered a spiritual problem, so the Elders Council is called. They decide not to evict the man — they don't want to go through the North Carolina legal system. Instead, they buy the house from under Christman. He can still live there, but he owns nothing and has nothing for his son to inherit. They've effectively removed him from their world, though he still occupies its space."
"I see."
"You don't. It's not how strict, vengeful, or even creative these people can be, but rather how patient. They wanted a man who had betrayed their beliefs to be driven from their town, and they were willing to wait a lifetime in order for it to occur. Compare that to the Christians or the Muslims — two groups of many that are prone to act now in order to achieve their goals as soon as possible. The kind of patience displayed here is an amazing quality of the Moravians."
Modesto let out a sly grin. "You seem to be very excited about our little city in the South."
Not sure how to take the comment, Max sat back and spread his hands. "If I can't get interested, I wouldn't do a very good job at the research, would I?"
"That is beyond my expertise. Excuse me a moment," Modesto said as he stood. He placed his briefcase on his chair and inched by a waiter as he walked toward the restrooms.
Max looked at the briefcase and wondered at the point of this display. Was Modesto testing Max's trustworthiness? Was this an order from the boss or just a game from a jealous employee? And Modesto was jealous, Max had no doubt. The condescension oozing from Modesto's words could not be mistaken. Somehow he felt threatened by Max's presence. In fact, this entire lunch may not have been ordered by the boss.
Peeking over his shoulder, Max checked to see that Modesto was not heading back. Could this be some sort of probe into his work by Modesto? Max envisioned the arrogant prick groveling at the boss's feet, presenting Max's information as if it were his own.
As he considered this possibility, Max noticed the tip of a paper poking from the front sleeve of the briefcase like a teasing leg-shot on the cover of an old girlie mag. Checking once more that Modesto was not on his way back, Max leaned closer and made out a logo — the letter H in a blockish style, colored blue, with a white rectangle on the right leg as if it were a door or window.
When Modesto returned, he said, "I just spoke with our employer. He's pleased with your work."
"Good," Max said, and then part of what bothered him finally discovered its form. "Everything I've told you today was not difficult information to find. Rather basic, actually. Why would our employer want —"
"Our employer recognizes that you need a little time to catch up on the foundation before you can do the more serious studies. After all, you're still talking about the Moravians. You haven't even begun to look into the Reynolds family which made this city noteworthy. So, your immediate job is to catch up. Our employer does not want to waste more than another week, if even that. I've hired an assistant for you to help you along. We particularly don't want you bogged down with the busy work of the reports."
"An
"Surely you've come across at least one example?" Modesto said. "Our employer would be unhappy if your research was so superficial."
"I have examples."
Modesto ordered a cup of coffee and said, "I'm waiting. Just one example, please."
Like a bull let out of the shoot, Max barreled into a verbal assault. "In 1829, there's a man with the ironic name of Thomas Christman who decides to become a Baptist. He takes his son with him in this move away from the Moravian beliefs. Christman is ordered to leave town, but he refuses. This is considered a spiritual problem, so the Elders Council is called. They decide not to evict the man — they don't want to go through the North Carolina legal system. Instead, they buy the house from under Christman. He can still live there, but he owns nothing and has nothing for his son to inherit. They've effectively removed him from their world, though he still occupies its space."
"I see."
"You don't. It's not how strict, vengeful, or even creative these people can be, but rather how patient. They wanted a man who had betrayed their beliefs to be driven from their town, and they were willing to wait a lifetime in order for it to occur. Compare that to the Christians or the Muslims — two groups of many that are prone to act now in order to achieve their goals as soon as possible. The kind of patience displayed here is an amazing quality of the Moravians."
Modesto let out a sly grin. "You seem to be very excited about our little city in the South."
Not sure how to take the comment, Max sat back and spread his hands. "If I can't get interested, I wouldn't do a very good job at the research, would I?"
"That is beyond my expertise. Excuse me a moment," Modesto said as he stood. He placed his briefcase on his chair and inched by a waiter as he walked toward the restrooms.
Max looked at the briefcase and wondered at the point of this display. Was Modesto testing Max's trustworthiness? Was this an order from the boss or just a game from a jealous employee? And Modesto was jealous, Max had no doubt. The condescension oozing from Modesto's words could not be mistaken. Somehow he felt threatened by Max's presence. In fact, this entire lunch may not have been ordered by the boss.
Peeking over his shoulder, Max checked to see that Modesto was not heading back. Could this be some sort of probe into his work by Modesto? Max envisioned the arrogant prick groveling at the boss's feet, presenting Max's information as if it were his own.
As he considered this possibility, Max noticed the tip of a paper poking from the front sleeve of the briefcase like a teasing leg-shot on the cover of an old girlie mag. Checking once more that Modesto was not on his way back, Max leaned closer and made out a logo — the letter H in a blockish style, colored blue, with a white rectangle on the right leg as if it were a door or window.
When Modesto returned, he said, "I just spoke with our employer. He's pleased with your work."
"Good," Max said, and then part of what bothered him finally discovered its form. "Everything I've told you today was not difficult information to find. Rather basic, actually. Why would our employer want —"
"Our employer recognizes that you need a little time to catch up on the foundation before you can do the more serious studies. After all, you're still talking about the Moravians. You haven't even begun to look into the Reynolds family which made this city noteworthy. So, your immediate job is to catch up. Our employer does not want to waste more than another week, if even that. I've hired an assistant for you to help you along. We particularly don't want you bogged down with the busy work of the reports."
"An
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