The church warned her the world was full of wolves. It never mentioned the ones in the pews. When their family grocery is going under, Phoebe Sahay and her husband, Dev, accept an invitation to Maranatha Independent Baptist Church. Almost overnight, the lonely outsiders have a church family: casseroles, hunting trips for their son, sewing days for their daughter, a pastor who knows their names. Dev is ordained a deacon. Phoebe throws herself into becoming the perfect deacon's wife, long skirts and all. Then they buy a bakery route through the rough side of town. Every week Phoebe sees the sins she hears preached against on Sunday, only out in the open. A man overdoses in a parking lot. A pimp hits a woman in broad daylight while nobody moves. And every week she's welcomed by store owners the pulpit calls lost, people who hand a struggling family a loaf of bread without being asked. Back at Maranatha, the sins wear Sunday clothes. The church's biggest tither dies in hospice faster than his nurse expected. Within weeks his widow marries Amos Boyd, the respected widower who sat beside the dying man to the end. Amos's own wife died just as suddenly. Phoebe was in that sickroom. She noticed things she told herself meant nothing. Now she's holding records that shouldn't exist. Her daughter is being courted by a church golden boy. Her husband has learned something about the new piano player that the leaders want forgiven and forgotten. The pastor's grandson has been sent away to a camp to be made right. And Maranatha has a word for anyone who raises a warning: unforgiving. A deacon's wife must not be a slanderer. If Phoebe goes to the police, she loses her church, her standing, and maybe her daughter. If she stays quiet, someone else could die. Welcome to the underbelly.
