Five minutes later she was still driving around. Where was that church? She’d passed it at some point since her arrival. Taking a right onto Central Street, she followed it until it intersected with High. The church with its soaring steeple sat in the pie-shaped spot carved out of the community by the angled intersection of Central and High Streets.
The house nestled next to the church, she assumed, was the minister’s home.
Only one way to find out.
She parked in the church lot and took her time strolling toward the house next door. The parking area as well as the nearby sidewalks had been cleared of snow. Proud stained-glass windows flanked the church’sdouble-entry doors. The church looked about as old as everything else around here.
The house, too. Cedar-shake siding, and six-over-six windows.
Two wide steps up put her on the stoop. She pressed the doorbell and waited. A car sat beneath a carport at the side of the house. Hopefully someone was home.
The door opened and a teenage girl peeked out. “May I help you?”
Brown hair and eyes. A little plump. Dressed in the expected preacher’s-daughter attire. Loose-fitting jeans and a bulky sweater.
“Hello.” Sarah produced that pleasant smile folks expected. “I’m Sarah Newton, and I’m here to see Father Mahaney. Are you his daughter?”
“No, I’m his niece.” The girl blinked, seemed to consider her options, then opened the door wide. “Come in. I’ll let my aunt know there’s a visitor.”
At least Sarah was through the door.
“Wait here, please.” The girl gestured to the sofa.
“Thank you.”
As the girl walked away, Sarah took in the decorating. Simple. Wood floors, the occasional colorful rug, subtle blue flowers in the wallpaper. Fireplace blazed, making the room overly warm. Homey.
“How can I help you, Ms. Newton?”
Sarah turned to the woman who’d entered the room. Middle-aged. Same brown hair as the niece except sprinkled with gray. Different eyes. More green than brown. That she wore gloves indoors seemed odd.
“I’m here to see Father Mahaney.” Sarah thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Deborah Mahaney.”
The woman barely touched Sarah’s hand, but even for that fleeting moment Sarah felt the gnarled digits hidden by the gloves. Arthritis?
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said without the slightest remorse, “but the reverend is out visiting an ill member of our congregation. Is there something I can help you with?”
Father, reverend, whatever. Sarah could never keep up with that stuff. “Actually, you might be able to.” Sarah paused, expecting the invitation to sit. Didn’t come. “I was hoping to learn a little more about Valerie Gerard.”
The lockdown couldn’t have been any plainer if the reverend’s wife had closed her eyes and taped her mouth shut. “What would you like to know?”
In her peripheral vision, Sarah got a glimpse of the niece peeking around the doorframe leading into the hall.
“It’s my understanding,” Sarah said, refocusing her interest on the wife, “that until about a year ago, Valerie was a long-standing member of your church. Can you tell me what happened that prompted her to leave?”
“Every congregation suffers losses, Ms. Newton. Now and then one loses faith and falls away, lured by the sins of this old world, I’m afraid.”
Sarah paid particular attention to her eyes now. “Is that what happened to Valerie?”
A glance to the right, then a blink. “It’s difficult to say. The reverend urged her to cling to her faith, but sometimes the best counseling and most earnest prayers aren’t in alignment with God’s intentions. Our view is limited, and we must rely on His. He always has His reasons, and ours is not to question why.”
As expected. One of those. “So nothing happened in church,” Sarah redirected. “Maybe with one of the other members or with the reverend?”
Deborah’s eyes widened a fraction. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Sarah gave a little shrug. “You know. A falling-out or a misunderstanding of some sort. Things happen. People react.”
