Chapter Fourteen
Midge makes her way toward the church office, footsteps crunching on the gravel parking lot. There’s an electronic keypad on the door, and a handwritten sign taped on the glass window: Bible Study Canceled—AC Broken.
She knocks, then tries the knob. The door opens, and she steps over the threshold. Yeah, no. There’s definitely no air-conditioning here.
She’s standing in a small entry hall, furnished with a wooden bench and an enormous painting. It depicts Jesus standing on an altar, surrounded by angels. A veiled bride is before him, reaching for his hand.
Midge is reminded of the “purity ball” Caroline told her friends about at some point during their senior year.
She said it was organized by Reverend Bauer, and she made it sound like fun, reminiscent of a wedding: young women dressed in white gowns, escorted to the waiting pastor by their fathers, vows sealed with gold rings.
Midge, Talia, and Kelly were taken aback when she revealed that each girl was asked to pledge, in front of the congregation, that she’d preserve her virginity until her wedding night. They saw it as a bizarre ritual. Caroline was defensive.
She assured them that it wasn’t unique to this church, that she had no qualms about making such an intensely private matter public, that Gordy was completely supportive.
Yeah, sure he was. Caroline got pregnant within months of taking that chastity vow.
Midge hears a clanking like a hammer on metal from somewhere below.
A male voice calls, “Bro, grab the needle-nose pliers, will you?”
“Hello?” she calls. “Hello?”
“Yes?” someone answers from nearby, and a man pokes his head from a doorway.
Not an HVAC guy.
It’s . . . Reverend Bauer?
But then he steps out into the hall and she realizes that no, it can’t possibly be him. Reverend B would have to be pushing seventy by now.
This man appears to be in his mid-thirties. He’s clean cut with blue eyes, square jawed and fair complected. He’s wearing a short-sleeved white dress shirt, black slacks, and a worn blue bucket hat that doesn’t quite fit—his head, or the setting.
“Officer! Can I help you?”
Midge shows him her badge. “Do you work here?”
“I’m filling in this weekend for Reverend Parker,” he says, with a hint of a Southern accent. “He’s away leading a retreat.”
He introduces himself as Joseph Nielson, an associate pastor at a congregation in a neighboring county.
She gestures at the sign on the door. “I understand the teen Bible study group was canceled this afternoon?”
He nods. “There’s an issue with the AC, as you can probably tell.”
“And you’re the one who made the cancellation? You were here?”
“No. I was home, working on my sermon, and I got a call from Al.”
“Al?”
“He’s the part-time custodian here?”
It’s a question. Midge shrugs.
“He’s local. He said he lives nearby?”
“I don’t know him,” Midge says. “Go on.”
“Al’s mostly off this week because there’s nothing going on here. A lot of people are away.”
“Right,” Midge says. “The retreat. And . . . ?”
“And he came by to open up the building for the Bible group and found out the AC wasn’t working. He called me, and I told him to cancel the group and get someone in for a repair. He’d called around, but it’s been a busy day for HVAC.”
“I’m sure it has.”
“This is record heat so late in the season.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“It is. I heard that on the car radio.”
“Yeah, well . . . global warming,” she says, and steers him back on track. “So Al set up a repair . . .”
“Right.” He gestures at the floor, the workmen in the basement.
“He found these guys, but they said they couldn’t get here until after five.
Al couldn’t wait around because he has to coach his daughter’s soccer practice.
He has four children. He’s a good family man,” he adds, and pauses for her reaction.
She nods. Family Man Al. Four kids. Got it.
Joseph seems to be one of those people who meanders to the point.
In Midge’s experience, it’s a quality often found in liars and in creative storyteller types.
As a man of the cloth, Joseph would fall into the latter category, like her mother’s brother, a priest. Uncle Father Tom’s homilies are rich with detail, and Midge enjoys listening to them.
On the job . . . yeah, not so much.
“He didn’t want to leave the building unlocked after hours, so he asked me if he should give them the code for the door. I didn’t think that was a good idea, so . . .” He shrugs. “Here I am. And here you are. You were asking about Bible study group?”
“Yes. I’m trying to locate one of the students, Sarah Greene. Do you know her?”
“I don’t. But as I said, I’m just pinch-hitting for Reverend Parker. Is something amiss?”
Midge sidesteps the question with one of her own. “Do you know who might have been in charge of the group this afternoon?”
“I don’t.”
“Well, do you have any information about it? A list of participants, something like that?”
“There may be something around here someplace.”
“Would you mind checking?”
“Not at all.” He gestures her to follow him into the adjacent office. It’s furnished with the basics—desk, chair, shelves, file cabinets.
It’s a corner room with windows on two walls. They’re open. On an ordinary afternoon, there’s probably a nice cross breeze. Today, all is still, and stifling.
Record heat. Yeah, she doesn’t doubt it.
She wonders whether Joseph’s sermons are as inspiring as her uncle’s. Probably not. Uncle Father Tom, for all his verbosity, is a bighearted, loving presence.
Something about this man is giving her pause.
As he riffles through papers and folders on the desk, she tries to put her finger on what it is she doesn’t like about him.
Maybe it’s because he vaguely reminds her of Reverend B., whom she definitely found off-putting.
Or maybe it’s because he’s here, at Caroline’s old church.
Midge has nothing against organized religion. She herself was raised Catholic, and though she’s far from diligent about making it to mass, when she does go, she still finds comfort in the familiar rituals.
Caroline was bolstered by her own faith for most of the years Midge knew her, but toward the end, especially after that purity ball, her church’s influence over her seemed more and more oppressive. Repressive.
Or maybe that was just Reverend B., along with Caroline’s parents, more than the church itself. In Midge’s memory, they’re all intertwined.
She really needs to let that go. As a detective, you have to compartmentalize, set aside preconceived notions and pay attention to the details as they present themselves. The Winterfields’ connection to Congregational has no bearing on Sarah Greene’s whereabouts, or with this man.
She turns away, reminding herself that a lot of people rub her the wrong way. That’s on her, not them. For all she knows, Joseph Nielson is as competent a temporary pastor as Allie is running the desk at the MBPD.
Beyond the window that faces the backyard, a pair of deer are grazing on what’s left of the flowers in the rock garden. From here, the opening in the undergrowth is barely visible.
“Sorry, ma’am, I don’t see anything here about Bible study.”
It’s not ma’am. It’s Detective Sergeant.
Swallowing the impulse to correct him, Midge suggests, “Maybe it’s in one of the cabinets?”
“Maybe.” He opens a drawer and starts thumbing through file tabs. “Can I ask why you’re looking for this young woman? Is she not where she’s supposed to be?”
“She’s not home yet. Her mother asked me to look into it. She has some concerns.”
“Right. Well, you know how teenagers are. I’ve got a few myself.”
“A few concerns?”
“A few teenagers.”
“Wait . . . you have teenagers?”
“I do. I’ve got two. But I’ll have four in October when our twins turn thirteen.”
“You have four kids? Just like Al, huh?”
“Al has four. I’ve got six.”
“Six! Wow. You seem too young for that.”
“And you?”
Midge deliberately misinterprets the question with a wry, “Oh, I’m not too young for anything anymore.”
“I meant, how many children do you have?”
“None at all,” she says, informing a stranger that she’s childless for the second time today.
This time, however, the response catches her off guard.
“I’m sorry,” he says with a slight frown.
Sorry he asked? Or sorry she doesn’t have kids?
She shrugs, hating that she feels obligated to say, “No regrets here.”
Hating even more the long look he gives her in response, followed by a thoughtful nod, as if he’s drawn his own conclusion on the matter.
She almost wishes he’d say something else, something infuriating and judgmental, so she can tell him that he shouldn’t make assumptions about other people’s lives.
But he goes back to his file drawer without comment.
Midge checks her phone and is surprised to see a text from Nap Moreau, the medical examiner. Maybe the test results are back. Ordinarily, he calls, but . . .
Oh. It’s not about the tests. It’s about . . .
What, exactly, is it about?
Hey, Midge. What are you up to?
That’s it.
She frowns, wondering what it means and why he’s asking.
“Ah, here we are. Youth Bible study.” The pastor pulls a folder from the drawer. “Here’s this year’s file.”
Midge quickly pockets her phone and holds out a hand. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Of course not.” He gives it to her.
She opens it and glances through the contents, disappointed to find that it’s mainly pamphlets and handouts. The only document specific to the current group is a schedule that lists the meeting dates.
She closes the folder and returns it to him. “Thanks. I don’t see anything I can use. Sorry to make you do all that digging.”
“It’s no problem.” He gives her a closed-lipped smile. “You wanted a list of group members, is that it? So that you can ask them to help track down the missing girl?”
The word hangs in the air.
Missing.
“She’s just late getting back, and her mom wanted to see if she’d gone to a friend’s house or something.”
“Has she tried calling her?”
“She didn’t answer calls and texts.”
“She probably lost her phone and she’s afraid to go home and face the music. My daughter’s done that.” He shakes his head. “Kids that age . . . You wouldn’t know, but trust me. Even the straight and narrow ones run into a scrape now and then.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Midge agrees, and heads for the door. “Thank you for your time.”
“No problem, ma’am. Good luck!”
She offers her parting words without a backward glance. “It’s Detective Sergeant Kennedy.”