Larry Broadfellow is a world-renowned televangelist whose charisma has built The Church of God’s Love into a multi-million-dollar empire. When Larry parades across the stage before the camera, exhorting his devotees to follow him on the glory path to salvation, they assume he knows the way. In fact, he is floundering, doubting the very words that pour effortlessly from his mouth.

Though Larry is the star of the church, Reverend Patrick Brannigan and his wife, Gillian, are its foundation. Larry lost his family to a fire when he was just five years old. The Brannigans have become his surrogate parents, and Larry is in love with their daughter, Fiona.

Gillian Brannigan’s pending death prompts her to write Larry a letter saying she suspects that his performances are less than genuine. She asks Larry if he is a charlatan. Already insecure and shocked that Gillian would suspect that of him, Larry is plunged into a spiral of self-doubt and depression.

Thousands upon thousands of times he has preached the significance of sacrifice, devotion and trust in God, but he must now learn what those words truly mean.

Marlene Baird writes diverse novels, the common thread being that dramatic experiences cause her characters to examine their lives. Three of her short stories have been published, and she has won numerous honors in nationwide writing contests.

A transplanted Canadian, Marlene became an American citizen in June 2001 and lives in Arizona with her husband Bob. She served on the board of Professional Writers of Prescott for three years and is a member of the Arizona Authors Association. The Filigree Cross is her second published work, the first being a mystery titled Murder Times Two.

IN 1948 REVEREND PATRICK BRANNIGAN and his bride, Gillian, arrived at Trinity Church in Chicago eager to embrace Patrick's first congregation. Typically, their day began with breakfast as the sky lightened, the meal timed to coincide with delivery of the morning paper. Within a few months they learned that sharing toast and coffee would provide their only private time until well after the sun had set.

Patrick spread the paper open, covering the table setting that had served a dozen ministers before him. Leggy blue herons pranced around the edges of the milky plates--a design Patrick felt inappropriate for a clergyman's table. He would have preferred no embellishment at all; nothing should compete with whatever God had provided for a meal.

Patrick scanned a report of a devastating apartment house fire which included several photographs. His eyes locked onto a picture of a young boy. Fear had stretched the youngster's face into a flat mask. He appeared mesmerized by the flames reflected in his bulging eyes. Straight, skinny legs poked out of underwear, and his arms hung by his sides with the palms turned outward.

"Gillie, look at this poor young boy," he said. "I've never seen such a look of hopelessness."

Gillian left off pouring the coffee to peer over his shoulder. "Dear God, he couldn't be more than five or six." Resting a hand on her husband's back, she read the article.

"This fire was only a few miles from the church," she said. "His family might be among our parishioners." In one movement she peeled off her apron and grabbed up her purse. "I need to find out who this boy is."