Chapter Forty-Two
At Congregational, Midge finds the parking lot completely empty, and the building has an air of desertion about it. She parks and walks up to the door anyway, knocking and ringing the bell. No one answers.
She looks at the lockbox, and then over at the cornerstone.
Circumstances don’t warrant her using the code to access the offices. This isn’t an emergency, there’s no evidence a crime was committed, and the custodian isn’t authorized to consent to a search.
She pulls out her phone.
Again, she checks the website for the Monticello church led by a Joseph Nielson who bears no resemblance to the Joseph Nielson she met here yesterday.
But what if there was an online headshot mix-up?
That happens. It happened to her. Someone had updated the MBPD website to reflect her temporary status when she stepped in for Walt but simply put Midge’s photo above the caption with Walt’s name and title. Someone caught it, and it was immediately remedied.
Maybe something similar happened with Joseph Nielson and no one caught it. This has to be the right pastor—he has the same name, and it’s Monticello.
She calls the number listed on the site.
A pleasant-sounding female voice answers, “Northeast Congregational.”
“Hello, may I please speak with Reverend Nielson?”
“I’m sorry, he just stepped out for a few moments.”
“This is Detective Sergeant Imogene Kennedy with the Mulberry Bay Police Department. I want to confirm that he’s filling in for Reverend Parker at the Congregational church here in town?”
“He is.”
“He is,” Midge echoes. Mystery solved; she’s tracked down the pastor. “Can you please have him give me a call?”
“Of course.”
Midge provides her phone number and hangs up, glad to finally be getting somewhere. Now she just has to wait for him to respond.
She heads slowly back toward the car, scanning the surrounding area. Her eyes return to the spot near the rock garden, where she saw the deer grazing yesterday.
Again, she notes the slight parting in the branches.
Again, she makes her way toward it.
Today, she sees an indentation in the grass.
She didn’t notice it yesterday. Maybe it wasn’t here.
It’s nothing major—just a small patch where the blades are flattened in the same direction, away from the woods, and bare dirt is showing. It looks as if an animal pawed across it in an attempt to dig or perhaps dragged its prey out into the clearing.
Stepping closer to the wooded border, she sees that there is indeed a narrow pathway of sorts. It isn’t clearly marked and mulched with wood chips like some forested trails in the area. The ground is thick with dead leaves.
Midge ventures in, wondering if Sarah might have done the same yesterday.
It’s cooler here, beneath the thick canopy of trees. Peaceful, not a sound but the birds singing in the trees and a squirrel nosing around a fallen acorn branch.
It’s slow going, picking her way around rocks, roots, fallen branches. Her foot catches on a vine, and she stumbles, nearly losing her balance.
Sarah, too, could have tripped. She could have hit her head on a rock or one of the fallen trees along the path. She could be here somewhere, injured.
“Sarah?” Midge calls. “Sarah!”
All is still.
She keeps moving, watching for tripping hazards, poison ivy, snakes . . .
Her phone buzzes loudly, startling her. She pulls it from her pocket and sees that it’s from the church in Monticello.
“Detective Sergeant Kennedy.”
“Hello. This is Pastor Nielson, returning your call. I understand there’s an emergency at Congregational Memorial?”
The voice is unfamiliar.
Taken aback, she clears her throat, trying to corral her thoughts.
“Hello?” he says. “Did something happen to one of the congregants?”
“Pastor, were you here yesterday? At the church?”
“No, I wasn’t. I’m on call for emergencies, and I’ll be leading services on Sunday, but . . .”
“But you weren’t here? We didn’t speak?”
“No . . . is everything—”
“I’m sorry. This is regarding a young female congregant who was at the church for Bible study yesterday.”
“Bible study was canceled. The air-conditioning system was down. I spoke with Al, the custodian. He was there with the repairmen.”
“He was there?”
“Yes.” On his end, she hears voices in the background. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment? I have someone here, and I just need to—”
“No, that’s all right. Go ahead. I’ll call back in a bit if I need anything more. Thank you, Pastor.”
Hanging up, she stares absently at a patch of ferns, thinking about the man she met yesterday.
She has no doubt now that he has something to do with Sarah’s disappearance.
He lied to her, to Al, and to the HVAC repairmen.
He’d almost certainly impaired the air-conditioning system to render the building unusable because he didn’t want anyone coming around while he did whatever he was there to do.
Who is he? What is his connection to Sarah?
Does he have one to Junia Stanton as well?
Pondering that, she realizes that she’s looking at a disturbed area where the ferns are crushed or trampled, stems snapped.
She quickly pulls on gloves and turns on the flashlight from her duty belt and steps closer. Training the beam, she catches a glint of gold amid the green fronds.
It’s a delicate necklace, broken, bearing a small cross.