Calvinist Conniving: Blood Under the Altar, a Novel. Mark W. Stoub, Bald Angel Books, Bay City, TX, 2011. Available at around $20 from Amazon or Barnes & Noble, or through the web site: www.bloodunderthealtar.com

Here is a rip-snorter of a South Texas murder mystery, with a Presbyterian flavor, by a parson who knows both Presbyterians and normal folk. It's the first published work by Mark Stoub, pastor in Bay City, Texas. He tells us of mystery, murder, connivings, and the dark (and lighter) sides of human nature among small-town Presbyterians in Shoestring, Texas, right down the road from Lockhart. To make the book even more unusual, it features a functionary called a "General Presbyter" as its protagonist; I can hear a swell of response from out there, "Ah, the villain!" --No, Pastor Stoub avoids that stereotype: The Rev. Angus McPherson is a Scotsman who immigrated to Texas for university study, and wound up as a pastor and puzzle solver and presbytery staffer. He's the hero. He serves a council named "Mission Presbytery," which may or may not resemble one of the same name and some of the same real estate, in ways that mirror reality: they fish in "tanks," not "ponds" or "lakes;" and Tex-Mex Spanglish is frequently heard (or written).
The Scottish stereotype ends quickly, as Angus is married to a foxy Hispanic lass from South Texas; Angelica delights in Angus' charming her in elementary Spanish in his Scottish brogue, and that ought to be enough to warm the cockles of your corazon. However, she in turn fits into another Calvinist stereotype: she's at least as smart as her husband, and humors his delusions of relevance.
A major problem with the Shoestring church is that its pastor has gotten himself murdered, in a bizarre but thoroughly Reformed dastardly deed: clocked by a falling Celtic Cross. The plot weaves and winds through Shoestring's typically venially and mortally sinful congregation, soon involves the associate pastor, Beth McKinley, and quickly spreads to include everyone from the custodian (Jesus, of course) to the Interim Search committee.
Angus cannot stand not be involved in the murder of one of his flock, as "pastor to pastors." He teams up with the chief of police, Hector Chavez, occasionally steps over the line of propriety into meddling, and has worries like most other presbytery staff I know of.
It works. The combination of patience, keen observation, and blind luck -- attributes known ecclesially as the "perseverance of the saints" -- triumphs, and the perp is undone. You'll be surprised, and glad.
Stoub has a penchant for comparisons, chiefly similes. "Penchant" is mild: "fixation" or "obsession" is closer. He loves 'em, corny or clever, old or older. They may begin to grate on you, but they're worth watching for. He sprinkles them on nearly every page, sometimes three in the same paragraph, as active as an Amarillo antbed in August. My favorites are, "sunset like a geisha's fan," "a little white ball that sailed through the atmosphere like a miniature moon;" and "an organ with pipes like a golden eagle." There are plenty to choose from, and it's no wonder some miss the mark.
There are lots of hat-tips to conventional cop-yarns: plot twists, false clues (and true clues), suspense builders. The novelist invents dozens of typical South Texians in launching his tale, and frequently fills in their back-stories with life-like details about their lives. There are a number of extra-marital attractions en route, and an unexaggerated number of examples of parishioners misunderstanding their pastors.
Along the way Teaching Elder Stoub earns his title by tossing in some lessons in rudimentary Presbyterian polity. We learn the meaning of Maundy Thursday, that two people are supposed to count the offering, and that (despite the book's title), Presbyterians don't have altars. Angus is frequently apt to muse on topics theological or Biblical, in his quest for the clever killer, giving some insight into the mental processes by which sermons are birthed or adopted. This could be a great gift to someone just being ordained, with some good advice like: "Never trust the first people who invite you to dinner!"
The book isn't perfect, shows the marks of the pickaxe with which it was hewn from the Texas limestone bedrock. There are some typos, kind of fun to try to spot, and an occasional unexplained time-lapse, as when Maundy Thursday is said to be two weeks ahead, and then instantly becomes "tomorrow night." A Dr. Pepper from the drive-in burger joint is transubstantiated into a chocolate shake as it's being consumed. There's even an unexplained name-change for one of the major characters, the choir director, who is introduced as Charlie Applewhite, then later shows up -- same guy -- as Charlie Cosslett. Dr. Stoub says he's already come out with a improved second version, a clear benefit of the new "print on demand" publishing method, so there's not a large stock of outmoded, flawed copies of the book around. A side-story is that I'm tickled to have one of the "first original" copies, complete with the flaws, a contemporary version of the Great She-Bible containing a goofed "she" that should be "he" in Ruth 3:15, so that the misprinted copies outprice the flawless.
The production of the book is first-class, which adds to its attractiveness. Author services are credited to Pedernales Publishing LLC, and they did excellent work in typesetting, binding, and the cover.
This book is a pleasant romp through the psyches of church folk in hilly South Texas, and a worthy first essay at novel-craft. As this review was under construction, Pastor Stoub wrote that he was starting "a new Angus." I'm glad; when it comes out I'll jump on it like a hawk on a junebug.
--Houston Hodges, Huntsville, AL