Murder in the Magnolia StateEpisode 3: Gimme That Old Time Religion
By Rachael Robbins
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Episode 3: Gimme That Old Time Religion
Subscribers can catch up by reading Part 1 and Part 2
First Baptist Church of New Jerusalem was an imposing brick structure of little character in the middle of an extended block on Main Street. A middle-aged usher with a bad toupee gave us a program and an unctuous greeting as we walked in; his eyes strayed only once to my legs. Frenchy hadn't wanted to come, and she faced the ordeal with poor grace.
"Come on," I told her, "Maybe you'll get saved and be healed of your terrible sexual affliction." She didn't favor me with a reply.
As we moved up the aisle, I could feel all eyes on us. Maybe it was the fact that we were strangers in town, or that they were in awe of my status as a private detective. But personally, I think it was because I looked smashing in my Donna Karan suit and matching pumps.
Baptists clearly believe that suffering is good for the soul, because the pews were as hard as a rock. Or maybe they just figure that the faithful need help staying awake. At any rate, my padded butt gave me an advantage over Frenchy -- she began squirming the moment she was seated. I glanced over and saw Carl Parker sitting on the right side of the church, beside a plain woman in her mid-twenties that I assumed was Merilee's sister. Although I'd never been in a Baptist church before, I knew I'd better not tell anybody my true sex in a fit of confessional ecstasy -- tolerance of men in pantyhose was probably not their strong suit.
After seemingly endless prayers and hymns came the announcements. The Baptist Women were meeting on Wednesday night to view a videotape entitled "Obedience in the Christian Marriage," Emma Karp was resting comfortably at home after gall-bladder surgery, and the Jimmy Turner revival began in three weeks. Counselors were needed for all the souls sure to be saved. Then came yet another prayer, and the pastor stepped up to the podium. Brother Floyd was a large, florid man seemingly poured into a shiny gray suit. His hair was poofed up into a huge pompadour, making him seem top-heavy; I was surprised he didn't fall over from its weight.
"Brothers and Sisters," he said, "I want to read to you from the Book of Leviticus, the eighteenth chapter, the twenty-second verse." He drew himself up behind the pulpit and held the Bible out before him. "`You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.' And over in the twentieth chapter of the same book, verse thirteen: `If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their blood is upon them.'" I glanced over at Frenchy -- an amused smile played at her lips.
"No mention of women lying with women," she said. "What a relief -- I guess I'm absolved. Praise the Lord!"
Brother Floyd closed the Good Book with a slap and stepped to one side, where he leaned on the pulpit and fixed us with a fishy stare. "I think the Lord is mighty clear about his views on homosexuals, don't you, brothers and sisters? He calls them abominations. Abominations! " A chorus of amens erupted from the congregation. I glanced over at Frenchy -- an amused smile played at her lips.
Brother Floyd assumed a sorrowful look. "But there are those in our society, brothers and sisters, some misguided souls, who don't call them that. No. They call it normal -- normal.  As if it's normal  for a man to lie with another man, their hairy bodies obscenely intertwined. As if it's normal  for folks to have oral sex, anal sex and every other kind of filthy, perverted sex." He was breathing heavily, with sweat pouring down his flushed face, and a strange, fanatical light in his eyes.
Frenchy leaned over and whispered "Looks like Brother Floyd knows a bit more about oral sex than his congregation thinks, doesn't it?"
"And now," he continued, "They hold `Gay and Lesbian Day' at Disney World. Disney  world! The home of Mickey, Goofy and Donald Duck! I tell you we have been betrayed,  brothers and sisters, betrayed by this so-called `keeper of family values.' Betrayed by the folks we have entrusted with the hearts and minds of our children. I say shame on you, Walt Disney Company. Shame on you!" Cries of Amen! and Shame on you! rang out in the sanctuary.
Brother Floyd leaned forward over the pulpit and spoke in a conspiratorial stage whisper. "I hear tell that Disney World is aflame with sin! That after visitors go home -- folks who have paid their hard-earned money for decent, family entertainment -- the workers engage in orgies of all kinds of kinky, decadent sex!" He paused for effect, or maybe so everyone could contemplate kinky, decadent sex. "Why, they say Minnie Mouse is played by a man!"
There were gasps and murmuring in the audience. "And we know what the Lord thinks of trans-vest-tites, don't we? `A woman shall not wear a man's apparel, nor shall a man put on a woman's garment; for whoever does such things is abhorrent to the Lord your God.'" Frenchy and I looked at each other in wonder; Brother Floyd's harangue had taken on the surreal quality of a Dalí painting.
"Damn -- he's good," she whispered.
"Four weeks ago," he continued, his face reflecting a terrible sadness, "one of our own returned home to New Jerusalem. I'd like to tell you, brothers and sisters, that he came home triumphant. I'd like to say that he returned to the bosom of his family a success, and a credit to our town. I'd like to say it, but I can't. No, brothers and sisters, he came back dressed up like a woman, wearin' a skirt and heels, and painted up like a harlot!" He banged the flat of his hand on the pulpit. "And what happened to that misguided sinner? He met with a frightening, bloody end."
I looked over at the Parkers. Carlton was staring down into his hands, with a flushed face and empty eyes. Lori glared straight ahead, eyes boring into Brother Floyd mouth drawn into a grim line.
"I'm not sayin', brothers and sisters, that the murder of Andy Parker was right. But I can't help thinkin' that you reap what you sew, that the Lord has exacted a terrible justice."
With that, Lori Parker stood up, leaned over her father and murmured something in his ear, low and insistent. He just sat there looking up at her, not moving, misery etched into the lines of his face. Nodding her head once, she turned and fought her way out of the pew to the center aisle, and stalked out of the sanctuary. Brother Floyd watched her go with a peculiar light of satisfaction in his eyes. I stood and followed, stumbling my way over the legs and feet of my fellow congregants.
I found Lori in the nave of the church with her back to the sanctuary, head bowed and shoulders shaking. She turned around when I called her name.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice catching. "I'm a little upset right now. You're the detective investigating my sister's death, aren't you? My father said you wanted to talk to me." She hugged herself as if she were cold.
"My name's Dawn -- I'd like to ask you some questions. But if this isn't a good time . . ."
"Oh, I'm okay . . . it's just that those intolerant, self-righteous assholes make me so mad sometimes. Why don't we sit down over there?" She indicated a group of stuffed chairs clustered around a coffee table. When we were seated, she sat watching me, and I watched her back, marveling at how much she looked like Merilee. The same elegance, the same dignity shone from her eyes, and a lump formed in my throat as I thought of my lost friend.
"What can I help you with?" she asked.
I shook myself out of my reverie. "Tell me about Merilee's visit."
A far-away look came to her eyes. "It was . . . difficult. The first time, nobody knew what to say, least of all Merilee. We just sat around the dinner table like the family from Hell. Daddy would kept reminiscing about Merilee's childhood, like reminding her of the good times would change her mind. Problem is, I don't think Merilee had many good times -- she just couldn't be Daddy's little man. My father's a sports nut, and just couldn't get over the fact that his son didn't like football or baseball."
"Your father says that he was resigned to that. Says he would've been happy if his son were a scholar."
She snorted. "Revisionist history. Fact is, he beat Andy more than once when he caught him playing with my dolls."
"What about your mom? How'd she deal with Merilee's visit?"
"Oh, she was in major denial. She fluttered all around the house as if nothing was wrong, chattering away about the women's auxiliary and all. You could tell she was hurting, though. And she cried every night when Merilee went back to the Hotel."
"Why didn't she stay at your parents' house?" I asked.
"Daddy thought there'd be too much conflict, too much stress on the whole family. For once, I think he was right."
I said "I hear your brother took it especially hard."
She smiled wryly. "I guess you could say that. He sat through that first family dinner and never cracked a smile. Hardly said two words to anybody. Then, just as Mama was bringing in dessert, he got up and stomped out. As far as I know, they never saw each other again."
"Looks like you're the only one in the family who took it well."
She was silent for a long time. "Bringing in the Sheaves" echoed in the sanctuary, and somewhere in the cavernous building the air conditioning rumbled to life. "I didn't take it as well as I should've, I'm ashamed to say."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, after I learned about Merilee's condition, I ran around looking for any information I could find on the subject. And let me tell you, there's not a lot around in a small town like this. Then I got on the internet and there was a ton of stuff. There was this essay on transgenderism by some feminist philosopher who talked about how men who dress up as women are taking female power. How they revert to their traditional patriarchal role when the going gets tough." She paused, and I hoped she didn't notice me squirming. "And you know, I sort of agreed with that. I mean, things are rough for women in this society, especially here in the South. It kind of pissed me off to think about men playing at being women, reaping what few advantages we have without having to stick around for the consequences."
I wondered to myself if it was getting hot in there or if it was just me. "What made you change your mind about Merilee?"
"Well, I started talking to her. And the more we talked, the more I realized that she wasn't just playing. All the pain she went through . . . You know what she told me?" I shook my head. "She told me that she would have given anything to have been born either one way or another. Either fully male or fully female. She said she'd lived a `half life' for thirty years, caught in the middle between the sexes." She was silent for a moment, brow knotted thoughtfully.
"You know," she said, "I could tell she was happier than she'd ever been as a guy. And she was completely at home in that role -- as if she'd been a woman all her life." She looked at me speculatively. "I can see the same thing in you . . ."
"Me?" I said, startled. "What makes you say that?"
"Well, I just assumed . . . since you were a friend and all . . . oh, Lord, I hope I haven't offended you."
"No offense taken," I said, reaching over to pat her hand. "But I'm not a transsexual." I didn't want to go into exactly what I was, given her earlier indictment of men playing at being women, so I changed the subject. "I need to know if there were any threats on Merilee's life in the days leading up to her death."
"No . . . not to speak of."
"What exactly does that mean -- `not to speak of?' It seems to me that either there were or there weren't."
"Well, there was the usual macho crap by the local rednecks. You know, talk about dirty queers and all. Bobby Ray Hobbes yammered on about killing faggots, but I'm sure it was just hot air . . ."
"You probably right, but I'd better talk to him anyway. You know where I could find him?"
"Most nights, Bobby Ray hangs out over at LeRoy's. That's a cowboy bar over in Mortimer County. They can sell beer on Sunday over there, so he'll probably be there tonight."
After church, Frenchy and I went shopping at the Wal Mart on the edge of town. She bought toothpaste and a razor (amazingly, she was going to shave her legs), and I bought an outfit for that evening's foray into country-and-western hell. When we left the store, the sky was gunmetal gray and a stiff wind plastered my skirt against my legs. I felt the first fat drops plopping on my forehead when we got back to the hotel. Across the street at the Bank of New Jerusalem, the clock told me that the temperature had dropped five degrees -- to eighty seven. it was practically sweater weather.
In our room, I modeled my new outfit for my Frenchy. I'd bought a denim miniskirt, cowboy boots and a western shirt with fringes slashed across the breast. I wore the long, dark wig I'd brought along for undercover work.
"Who the hell do you think you are," said Frenchy. "Dale Evans?"
"I've gotta blend in with the natives at LeRoy's, you know."
"Yee ha."
"Help me practice my Southern accent. `Howdy, you all, mah name's Loretta and ah'm from Joe-jah.' How's that?"
"Sounds like you got a mouth full of peanut butter."
"So what's your point?"
Next: Dawn Gets Line-dance Lessons