Turnabout's Fair Play Read Online Free PDF

Just sitting here for forty-five minutes without her phone ringing was a rarity—
    Flannery looked down at the smartphone clipped onto her purse. Her eyes widened. “Big Daddy, I hate to do this….”
    “It’s the agent, isn’t it?”
    “It is.” She dug around in the large satchel for her keys. “Are you still planning on going to the game night for the seniors’ group at church tonight?”
    “Don’t worry about me. I know you have responsibilities this weekend. I can entertain myself. There are so many new things to see and do in Nashville, I could spend every day here for six months and still not see it all.”
    Flannery leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll meet you at the hotel for breakfast tomorrow at nine.”
    “I’ll see you then.”
    After paying the lunch tab—and wondering for the hundredth time why Flannery insisted on ordering a salad when all she ate off of it was the fried chicken—Kirby left the restaurant and drove from Brentwood back into downtown Nashville.
    He missed the farm already, even after only a few hours away. But getting away from the farm—and getting involved in a new church—would be good for him. He’d spent so much of his life as Pastor McNeill and not enough as just plain Kirby—always a part of what was going on, but always apart from the people.
    He spent the afternoon at the Country Music Hall of Fame, enjoying the displays on the beginnings of the musical style that made the city famous—and the music he’d listened to for so many years.
    After a light supper at the hotel, Kirby dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt and headed over to Acklen Avenue Fellowship. Game night sounded a bit juvenile to him, but he couldn’t miss the opportunity to fellowship with others and start getting to know them.
    The fellowship hall—community center, this church called it—was in a separate building across a small plaza from the back entrance of the main part of the church. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the ultra-modern community center contrasted greatly with the traditional red-brick exterior of the rest of the church complex.
    He’d no more than stepped into the cavernous fellowship space than an older lady with red hair—dyed, obviously, but looking quite natural with her porcelain skin and smoky-gray eyes—looked up from the name-tag table. Her red lips split into a wide smile.
    “Kirby McNeill, isn’t it?” She extended her right hand, the knuckles slightly bent and bulging.
    Kirby took the arthritic hand and exerted gentle pressure on it. “Mrs. O’Connor.”
    Her smile widened. “Yes, but you must call me Maureen. I’m impressed you remember—you must have met so many people Sunday.” She handed him a felt-tip pen to make a name tag for himself. “We’re so happy you decided to come back and socialize with us.”
    Being able to put faces and names together after one meeting was a gift—one that apparently had passed on to Flannery alone of all his offspring. “After so many years of being the one in charge of these types of shindigs, it will be nice just to be able to take it all in for once.”
    Maureen came around the table, a slight hitch in her giddyup. “It’s early yet, so not a lot of folks have arrived, but let me introduce you around a little bit.” She looked up at him, almost craning her neck to do so. “You said you were accustomed to leading these types of gatherings. May I ask why?”
    “I’m a pastor—or, I was a pastor. I’ve recently retired. Again.”
    “Again?”
    He rubbed the back of his neck. “I officially retired two years ago. But I’d been at the church for nearly thirty years. It was the church that supported me through losing my wife and through…many other difficult times, so I figured I’d stay on as a member. But when they couldn’t find an interim they liked, they asked me to fill in until they found a new pastor.”
    “And after two years, they’d