The Rector: A Christian Murder Mystery

by Michael Hicks Thompson

Overview

Combine a suspenseful murder mystery with theology (the study and explanation of religious faith, practice, and experience) and you have The Rector—with an allegory of Christ’s ministry!

Martha McRae is a widow living in a small Mississippi Delta town in the 1950s. She’s obsessed with the sudden death of her Episcopal church’s young rector. A murderer could go free if she doesn’t investigate. But Martha is torn. If she pursues the suspect, her Bible study friend’s awful secret could be revealed. It would be devastating, and life-changing. When the new rector arrives, she encounters a new puzzle--one that takes her into Parchman Penitentiary, where she comes face to face with evil.

“Michael Thompson offers a tantalizing murder mystery filled with chilling explorations of hypocrisy, true faith, and small-town secrets. It’s about sin and redemption. It’s about the search for truth, in both the physical and spiritual realms. And it’s all wrapped up in a puzzle that keeps even skeptics on their toes. The writing is compelling with a plot that grows ever thicker and offers even ardent mystery fans delightfully unexpected twists and turns. The intrigue is well developed with well-placed clues and cliffhangers. The characters are multidimensional and fascinating. The faith themes are so masterfully woven in that those who aren’t religious should simply find the novel to be top-notch suspense.” Diane Gardner, ForeWord’s Clarion Review.

The Editor-in-Chief, Southern Writers Magazine, writes: “Michael Thompson is an author who takes you by the hand and leads you down unexpected paths. His ability to create believable characters instantly draws you into their world. You will find yourself rooting for goodness to prevail as you follow the twists he so brilliantly weaves in this story.”

Richard L. Pratt, Th.D., Harvard, professor of Old Testament theology: “The Rector penetrates the facades of southern cultural Christianity to take us to the true gospel … There is no Savior but Jesus and no salvation from the judgment of God but faith in Christ alone.”

“Michael Thompson has brought to life the Mississippi of my youth, complete with small town scandals, murders, prison, and the powerful southern female. Sit back, put your feet up, and enjoy a glass of sweet tea and a romping good tale.” ~~ Carolyn Haines, author of 68 mysteries and the on-going Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780984528264
Publisher:	Shepherd King Publishing, LLC
Publication date:	12/07/2015
Series:	Solo Ladies Bible Study Group , #1
Pages:	342
Product dimensions:	5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.76(d)

About the Author

MICHAEL HICKS THOMPSON was born in his mother's own bed. Raised on a farm in Mississippi, he claims to know a thing or two about small towns, strong women, and alcoholic men. And Jesus.
He graduated from Ole Miss, served in the military, then received a masters degree in mass communication from the University of South Carolina. Married to Tempe Adams for forty-four years, he lives in Memphis, Tennessee. He's the father of three Christian men, grandfather of four, and mortgage holder of a home full of toys.
The Rector is his sixth novel.
Michael founded an advertising agency in 1977 that grew into a multi-city, multi-service marketing organization with 87 employees, which he sold in 2011.
Michael has written movie scripts and novels, is a self-taught artist of religious works, a licensed offshore sailor, and scuba diver.
He's traveled to Cuba twice on door-to-door evangelism mission trips, is a member of Kairos prison ministry, and member of IPC Church for 36 years.
(That has to be enough about me. There's more on my author site.)

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

The First Rector

Here's what the coroner told me.

"It's true, Martha. He died of a massive heart attack. My assistant was here during the autopsy. The little twit must've run out and told everybody in town."

Word spreads fast in Solo, Mississippi.

Our rector, Pastor David Baddour, was found slumped over his plate at Charlie's Place in Greenlee, thirty miles north.

Mighty young to die of heart failure, I thought.

*
"Yeah, he'd been in here before," Charlie Parker told the police. "Always sat right there at the counter. The man loved my barbeque ribs. Didn't know he was some sort of priest, though.

Never wore one of those white collars ... you know?"

None of the locals knew him, or had any idea what he was doing in Greenlee.

I had an idea why he was in Greenlee, and I knew him well.

Goodness, the man was only thirty-two, healthy as a mule — one reason why his death didn't sit right with me. I had my own reasons to believe he was murdered. And my suspicions of who did it — just not how it was done.

*
I was in my newspaper office the next morning, ready to write Pastor Baddour's obituary when Oneeda Mae Harpole strolled in. She was my friend and Solo's busiest gossip.

She plopped down in my creaky guest chair and proceeded to stare at me — her usual way of letting me know she wanted to talk. I paused to learn what gossip or opinion she'd brought.

She leaned so close I could smell her Juicy Fruit gum. "Martha, I hope you're not writing some puff-pastry story about the preacher. You should tell the truth. Father Baddour was seeing a married woman."

"What? We don't have any facts, Oneeda. Only rumors."

"Remember? Betty told us in Bible study. She saw him go into that Alamo Motel with some woman," Oneeda reminded me.

"And you trust everything Betty says? People see what they want to see. Besides, this isn't some feature story about Father Baddour's death. It's his obituary."

Oneeda brushed make-believe lint from her skirt and stood to leave. "Well, I believe he was seeing some woman."

I watched Oneeda walk out, knowing she was right. Betty Crain had told me privately, after one of our Bible studies, she happened to be in Greenlee one Saturday and saw Pastor Baddour drive into the Greenlee Alamo Motel with a woman — a woman who looked like Mary Grater, one of our Bible study regulars married to the wealthy Capp Grater.

"It was Mary, I'm telling you, Martha, it was her," Betty had told me.

Me? I prayed it wasn't Mary. And I couldn't tell Oneeda any of this. The phone line would be jammed for days.

*
Returning to his obituary, I hit a snag. What title should I give the man? Preacher, pastor, rector, priest, father?

As old-school Southern Episcopalians, we called him "Father" in conversation with him. But when talking about him we used "pastor," or "preacher."

I decided to go with "Rector David Baddour." More appropriate for an obituary, I thought.

*
Close to ten o'clock, not yet finished, I locked the Gazette's doors and walked home to change into something black for the funeral.

I was on the roadside when a car sped past, leaving a cloud of dust and cotton lint hanging thick in my face, smelling like harvest season. It made me think of life in Solo. What a forgotten little place — center of the Delta, nothing but flat land for miles and miles in every direction. Our views were of corn and cotton fields and roads that hadn't been repaired in years.

Only 310 souls called Solo home. We'd always been a speck of a town — too small for any stop signs, much less a stoplight.

We did have one claim to fame. Solo was the closest town to notorious Parchman Farm Penitentiary, ten miles south. For our entire lives Parchman remained a mystery. We'd all heard unsettling stories about the hardened criminals there. And their publicized escapes.

Growing up in Solo, I remember the older boys taunting, "Those bad men are gonna break out and come straight for you, Martha!"

Believe me, a young girl can have nightmares from such teasing.

*
The diocesan bishop usually officiated a rector's funeral, accompanied by a cadre of priests in tow to pay their respects. But I didn't see any flowing vestments at Pastor Baddour's funeral.

Finding Oneeda, I asked her about it.

"They're all in Hawaii for the national convention," she said.

I knew she would know.

Still, plenty of people attended the graveside service. We had all circled around the casket for the final rites when Capp Grater, our church warden, stepped through the crowd, placed a hand on the wooden casket and announced, "We gather today to put to rest Father David Baddour, a man who loved this congregation so much he wanted to be buried here, in Solo, next to his beloved Calvary Episcopal Church. Father Baddour came from the world of big city life, yet he visited our sick, our hurting, and yes ... our lonely."

Capp Grater paused, looked to the sky as if speaking with God Himself, then turned a noticeable scowl toward his wife, Mary.

I peeked. Mary's gaze never left the orange and yellow fall leaves beneath her feet.

Poor Mary, I thought.

Me? I'd rather die a widow than be married to Capp, wealthy or not. 'Course he was never interested in me anyway. Mary was a looker. She had a figure. I had hips for the two of us. Put on some lipstick and makeup and she looked like a million bucks while I couldn't care less about cosmetics.

My gift was writing. I studied English at Ole Miss for two years, but dropped out to marry Shorty McRae, my high school sweetheart. That's when I began writing stories — social goingson, obituaries, weddings, those sorts of stories — while Shorty sold ads and handled the printing for our Bethel County Gazette weekly newspaper.

Neither of us knew he was born with a heart defect. Shorty passed four years ago. We had a good twenty-one years together (never could have babies), then he was gone. I was a devastated thirty-eight year old widow.

My Bible study friends pulled me out of a long, two-year self-pity party. Life goes on.

Thank goodness Shorty left me with some insurance money. And there was the Gazette newspaper and our two-story brick home, which I turned into a boarding house for extra income.

Most of my renters were come-and-go Mississippi officials visiting Parchman for one reason or another.

Having Pastor Baddour as a full-time boarder was a Godsend. Not one for chitchatting, it was still nice to have a man around the house. Then he was gone, too.

I couldn't listen to Capp Grater groan on about Pastor Baddour without wondering if Capp had something to do with the preacher's death. That's what made me think about Mary — how she'd met Capp up north in Phillipsburg on one of his lumber mill business trips. When they married none of us in Solo were invited, even though we'd been dear friends of his first wife, June. She died of cancer several years back. Their two daughters lived out west with families of their own.

While Mary Magden Grater wasn't a true Southerner, she learned to conquer cornbread as well as any skillet cooker in Bethel County. Except that's not what bowled us over about her. It was her church attendance. If Calvary's doors were open Mary was there; and Capp, too, if he wasn't hunting some mammal or fowl in season.

Looking up as Capp concluded Pastor Baddour's homily I said a silent prayer for Mary, praying Betty was wrong about seeing our Bible study friend and our preacher walk into that motel room together. And I prayed for Pastor Baddour's family — whomever, and wherever they were. He'd never mentioned any kin.

When the service concluded, Capp announced we were all invited out to his house for the "after" lunch.

Most folks believed the best home cooking could be had after the body and the bereavements had been put to rest.

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "The Rector"
by .
Copyright © 2015 Michael Hicks Thompson.
Excerpted by permission of Shepherd King Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Editorial Reviews

"Michael Thompson offers a tantalizing murder mystery filled with chilling explorations of hypocrisy, true faith, and small-town secrets. It's about sin and redemption. It's about the search for truth, in both the physical and spiritual realms. And it's all wrapped up in a puzzle that keeps even skeptics on their toes. The writing is compelling with a plot that grows ever thicker and offers even ardent mystery fans delightfully unexpected twists and turns. The intrigue is well developed with well-placed clues and cliffhangers. The characters are multidimensional and fascinating. The faith themes are so masterfully woven in that those who aren't religious should simply find the novel to be top-notch suspense." Diane Gardner, ForeWord's Clarion Review.

"Michael Thompson is an author who takes you by the hand and leads you down unexpected paths. His ability to create believable characters instantly draws you into their world. You will find yourself rooting for goodness to prevail as you follow the twists he so brilliantly weaves in this story." ~~ Susan Reichert, Editor-in-Chief, Southern Writers Magazine.

"Michael Thompson has brought to life the Mississippi of my youth, complete with small town scandals, murders, prison, and the powerful Southern female. Sit back, put your feet up, and enjoy a glass of sweet tea and a romping good tale." ~~ Carolyn Haines, author of 68 novels and the on-going Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series.

"This novel is a superbly written story involving spiritual victory in spite of murder, deceit, and lust in a small town in the 1950′s. High stars for a Christian story that reads like a thriller."
~~ D.S. Hale, author of YA Christian spec fiction
"The Rector penetrates the facades of southern cultural Christianity to take us to the true gospel ... There is no Savior but Jesus and no salvation from the judgment of God but faith in Christ alone." ~~ Richard L. Pratt, Th.D., theologian, author, and founder of Third Millennium Ministries, Orlando, FL.
"If you love Southern gossips and party lines and communal mail, you'll feel right at home in Solo, Mississippi ... Biblical in its proportions, with a revolving Episcopal pulpit, a moonshine-swilling postmaster and a murdering villain. Jesus, Martha, Mary Magdalene, John the Baptist, Satan-what a place!"
~~ Rheta Grimsley Johnson, Enchanted Evening Barbie & the Second Coming, and other books
"The murder mystery in Solo, Mississippi unfolds like a classic Agatha Christie novel. Rich with colorful characters in an unforgettable era, Michael Thompson masterfully blends the essentials that transform readers into detectives."
~~ Steve Bradshaw, Author - The Bell Trilogy
"Excellent. I never suspected the ending. I particularly like the way the author wove religion and mystery together without over doing the dogma. I'd say this is a new genre of writing!"
~~ Douglas J. Wood, author, Presidential Intentions and Presidential Declaration
"Michael Thompson has written a southern story with unpredictable twists and turns and genuine characters that provide comic relief in the midst of malevolent schemes ... a page turner ... we loved it."
~~ Janet and Reverend John Sartelle, author and pastor
"I am in awe. I loved the book. I will miss my friends Martha, Oneeda, Mary, Annie and Freddie as I feel they are like family. That is the sign of a good book! It was inspirational for me, also, as Father Davidson gave me insight into things I wonder about constantly. It fed me spiritually and I want to be more like Martha. Already looking forward to Martha's next mystery in The Solo Ladies Bible Study series."
~~ Emily Kay, ARC Reader

From the Publisher