Tess stepped to the murder board she’d started the night before and filled in her timeline with what she had so far. There were still a lot of blank spots and questions. And suspects? She put a big question mark. Same with the questions “Where did Glen get the money?” and “Where is Tilly?” As she considered the board, she realized that she’d have to end her open-door policy. There was no need for the whole town to know what progress had been made on the investigation.
Progress? The most promising tidbit from today was the slug recovered from the dog. It would be useful to match with a gun. If she ever uncovered the murder weapon.
22
“Get help. Get help.” The voice in Tilly’s head kept repeating, but fear muffled it and it grew fainter and fainter.
Tilly wrestled with herself. She knew that her friend needed more help than she could provide, but if the police didn’t believe her and she was taken to jail in Medford, even if they let her right back out, it would take her forever to get back to the Hollow. That would not help her friend.
The angel was gone, and no matter what she said or did, she couldn’t bring it back. After doing everything she could—tending wounds, changing clothes—Tilly ventured out. She scored some meth and it calmed her jitters and made her bold enough to believe she could handle everything on her plate by herself.
She tried to think of what Glen would have done if he were still alive. Glen didn’t trust many people. Tilly had been hurt enough in her life to believe that “trust no one” was a good overall philosophy. She was positive he wouldn’t have gone to the police. He might have gone to Pastor Mac. But Tilly was in a place where she couldn’t even trust a man who’d only been kind to her. Glen was the only person she could trust, and he was dead.
But her friend needed her and she had to help.
She returned and checked on her friend. There was no change. She made sure she drank some water, then pulled on Glen’s hoodie and left her hiding place one more time.
Maybe she couldn’t go to the police or Pastor Mac, but she would do something.
–––
After breakfast Oliver walked back to his house, debating whether he should call Chief O’Rourke or work on his Sunday sermon notes. The text from Anna still troubled him and he was deep in thought. But the minute he reached the porch, he knew something was wrong. His door was half-open and he clearly remembered closing it. He rarely if ever locked the door, but he had closed it.
Through the opening he saw chaos. Anger flared as he shoved the door wide and stepped into the house.
He heard a crash and realized the burglar was still in the house. Without thinking, he rushed toward the noise coming from Anna’s sewing room.
“Who’s there?” He burst into the room and saw a blur of movement and blue color on his left.
As he turned, he had a brief view of the person, a woman, but before he could react, she lowered her head and charged, ramming into his midsection.
Oliver’s breath fled and he fell backward, stumbling over a pile of something on the floor, even as he tried to grab the woman. A split second before she was in his grasp, she raised her head and gave him a solid head butt, catching him under the chin. The impact made him bite his tongue, and as he fell onto his backside, he saw stars.
When his mind cleared, he found himself on the floor, entangled in a pile of Anna’s fabrics. Rubbing his chin, tasting blood in his mouth, and sucking in air, Oliver sat up to get his bearings. After a second he pushed himself up to his feet and found his legs a little wobbly. He’d not been sucker punched in ages. The last time had been when he was a new pastor and an abusive man had gotten angry that Oliver had counseled his wife to leave him.
This woman’s ram to his midsection had caught him totally by surprise. He hurried to the front door in time to see a flash of blue disappear into the bushes at the far end of the property. He did not feel up to giving chase. He steadied himself in the doorway before turning to take total stock of his messed-up house.
It was trashed. He moved back into the living room and saw that books and papers littered the floor, along with the contents of a chest Anna used to store fabric and small blankets. As he walked around, he could see the vicious ransacking extended through the living room and Anna’s sewing room. His thoughts cleared and the identity of the woman who attacked him popped into his mind. He had to stop, the shock of recognition almost as sharp as the head butt. But in that brief instant when he’d seen her, he knew who it was. Tilly Dover. And Oliver knew she was Glen’s friend.
Glen is dead. Does she know that? Did she know Glen had given Anna a bag of money? Even though it was a week ago, that had to be what she was looking for. He and Anna didn’t have expensive possessions. There was no reason for anyone to break in here.
His balance returned and he made a quick survey of the downstairs before rushing upstairs. There was damage there as well, but mostly to Anna’s stuff. All their drawers were open, but it was Anna’s clothing that was strewn about. This gave Oliver pause. Was Tilly looking for something to wear? Fuming and feeling the unpastor-like desire to grab Tilly and shake her and ask her why she’d had to tear his home apart, he slowly walked back downstairs, breathing deeply and counting to ten. He stood scratching his head, debating his next step: to figure out if anything was missing, or call the police?
The flashing message light caught his eye. The phone had been knocked to the floor but not before someone had left a message. It was the landline that demanded attention first. He picked the phone up, set it back where it belonged, and played the message. His anger fled, replaced by naked fear, and his legs turned to water. The personal attack on him lost all importance.
He had to sit down and play it again and then sit and think about the significance of the call before he realized what he had to do.
He phoned the police station, surprised when the chief herself answered.
“Ah, Chief . . . O’Rourke, I . . . uh, I guess I expected someone else to answer.”
“I’m here working, might as well answer the phone. What’s the matter, Pa—Oliver?”
“I got . . . I . . . well, I received a disturbing phone message. I think you need to hear it.”
“At your home or at the church?”
“Home.”
“I’ll be right there.”
–––
Tess hesitated for a second at her cruiser and then kept going. Pastor Mac’s residence was on church grounds, right across the street from the police station. There was no reason to take the car. In Long Beach she would have taken the patrol car in case she got a priority one call and had to leave in a hurry. That was common in the big city, but here in Rogue’s Hollow, just about everything was within walking distance.
Besides, she’d not been keeping up on her workouts, the excuse being she needed to spend time familiarizing herself with the new job. The walk through town this morning had reminded her that she better start running again. Workouts usually helped clear her mind, helped her to think logically, but recently Tess didn’t want to stop and think logically. She was afraid her thoughts would revolt and dwell on the shooting that brought her here to this small town.
Tess crossed the street and started off at a brisk pace and reached the pastor’s house in a few minutes. She knocked on the door, taking a deep breath and putting on her game face. This was a police matter now and she knew how to handle police matters.
“Come in,” Pastor Mac’s deep voice bellowed from inside.
Tess opened the door but stopped short when she saw the devastation. She looked around the entire room, saw broken glass, ripped papers, and fabric and blankets. The mess was extensive, and Tess surveyed all the disorder until her gaze came to rest on the pastor, seated on the bottom stair, phone in his lap, glazed expression on his face.
“What in the world?” Tess asked.
He shook his head. “This happened while I was at the men’s breakfast.”
Tess continued inside, stepping over debris
to get to where Macpherson sat. His chin looked bruised, she thought but didn’t mention.
“They were looking for the money,” she said.
He nodded, his brow furrowed in worry, maybe a hint of fear. “I can deal with the mess, but this message . . .”
“What is the message?”
“First, I want to show you the text I just received.” He held up his phone and showed Tess the brief message.
I’m fine. I’ll call you later.
Tess looked up, an optimistic comment dying on her lips when she saw Macpherson’s face.
“I was relieved as well, until I heard this.” He punched the button on a landline answering machine.
“Hi, Anna, it’s Cora. Where are you, my dear? We were planning to work on the bedspread today. We wanted to finish it before fall. If we’re going to do that, we have to get moving. Call me.”
“The call came while I was at the men’s breakfast this morning. That’s Anna’s best friend, Cora. She lives up the road in Prospect. Anna never would have missed that engagement. Never.” The pain in his eyes radiated to Tess and took her breath away.
But why the text message? Tess thought but didn’t say. If she went down that road, it would lead to speculation that the text message was fake, and if the text message were fake, then Anna was in serious trouble.
She realized then that though she’d dealt with many crime victims in her career, delivered some awful news, more than she cared to remember, and always protected herself with a steel wall of professionalism, it was different now. She’d been here only two months, and wasn’t even sure she’d stay, but this small town, the place she wasn’t certain she could handle, had become more than a job. Pastor Mac was a big part of a larger family. She felt his pain maybe because she’d developed a certain amount of respect for him and not a little affection for Anna. And now the odds were high that Anna was most likely not coming home, and it broke Tess’s heart.
Retreating behind her uniform, Tess pulled out her notebook. “I’m going to need some information.”
Oliver nodded and Tess asked him all the questions she needed to have answered in order to complete a missing person report.
23
Tess went straight back to the station to enter the information on Anna Macpherson into NCIC, the national crime database. She was missing/endangered in NCIC lingo. Even her license plate was noted. If an officer came across her vehicle and ran the plate for any reason, the missing/endangered label would pop up. Any officer who came into contact with her and had reason to enter her information into the computer would see the flag and at least contact Rogue’s Hollow and let them know.
Unless, of course, Anna wanted to be missing.
There was no crime in an adult running away. If Anna was fine and in her right mind and told the officer she didn’t want to go home, there would be nothing anyone could do to bring her back against her will. But Tess’s instincts were telling her that Anna was not missing voluntarily.
And the text messages were a sinister wrinkle.
That twisted Tess’s gut with dread. Nice people like Anna Macpherson didn’t flake out like this or taunt their husbands with vague messages.
Even if they were despondent about a cancer diagnosis.
Tess had pondered that wrinkle for a long moment. She barely knew Anna but felt that she understood the woman’s pain. Yeah, it was a tough pill to swallow, but at least she had a faithful husband to lean on. Oliver was adamant that Anna was not suicidal.
“Yes, she was angry, but suicide would go against everything Anna believed.”
But then that question nagged: Was Oliver Macpherson all he seemed to be?
Tess had not heard anyone speak badly of the pastor. She knew his church was usually packed on Sundays; she could see the lot from her hotel room. He ran three full services. And another service on Wednesday nights was likewise well attended.
But then O. J. was popular before Nicole.
Tess wondered if it would be better to turn this case over to the sheriff. She certainly felt personally involved. Anna was a friend. But after reflection, she decided not to delegate the case to another department.
She e-mailed a be-on-the-lookout to all of her personnel, then sent out a county- and statewide BOLO. After that, she wrote out a list of those people she needed to talk to about Pastor Mac and his wife. Her own landlords would be a good start. Klaus and Addie were close to the pastor. The quilt group as well; she’d heard a couple of them were founding members of the church. And she’d have to talk to the mayor.
Tess tried to remember all she’d learned about tactful leadership.
–––
After Chief O’Rourke left, Oliver made the call he’d been dreading, to Anna’s parents, and wrestled with the fact that he’d not told the chief he recognized Tilly. He didn’t know why he withheld that bit of information and was a little unsettled by the omission. But Tilly was a lost soul and he believed she needed some protection. She must have had a good reason for doing what she did. After all, Glen, her only advocate, was dead.
Anna’s parents resided in an assisted-living home near Portland, about five hours away. Another aspect of collateral damage from the cancer was that because of Anna’s iffy health, they’d not been able to bring her parents to live with them. It had been Anna’s fervent prayer that somehow they could do it, but her father was fading rapidly into dementia and her mother had two bad knees. Moving them into a two-story house was not wise without a full-time caregiver. Anna couldn’t be that caregiver and had conceded as much, but Oliver knew that was a blow to his wife.
Oliver had spoken to his mother-in-law the first morning Anna hadn’t come home. He’d only called to surreptitiously figure out if Anna was there. When Esther asked to speak to Anna, Oliver got his answer. Now, with this call, he did his best to tell Esther the truth gently, but he could tell the woman was completely unsettled by this news. After he hung up, he called the nurses’ station at the home to let the head nurse know that Esther and Richard might need some extra care until Anna was located.
After speaking to the nurse, Oliver made a call to one of his assistant pastors, a rock of a man named Jethro Bishop who oversaw the prayer ministry. He was also the man Oliver had called to check out the cabin in Union Creek. He’d confirmed Anna was not there.
Five years a widower, Jethro volunteered in the prison ministry, working with hardened criminals. A onetime boxer, he reminded Oliver of an old football legend, Dick Butkus. He was as broad as the man had been in his playing days, and had a nose that had been broken so many times it lay flat on his face. But Jethro was the definition of a gentle giant and a formidable prayer warrior. Even though gossip was a no-no, Oliver knew that as soon as Anna’s disappearance was on the prayer chain, word would spread through the whole town and probably the whole valley. Was he ready for the onslaught of questions?
He punched in Jethro’s number and prayed that he was.
He’d just hung up after talking to Jethro when Travis May, the church youth pastor, knocked on the doorframe. Oliver hadn’t yet closed the front door, for no particular reason other than he just hadn’t thought about it.
“Wow.” Travis’s eyes went wide when he saw the destruction to Oliver’s home. “What happened?”
“Long story,” Oliver said, putting the phone down and facing the young man. Travis wouldn’t be knocking at his door without calling unless it was important.
“Maybe you’re not up for this, but Frank Devaroux is dead. His wife found him unresponsive in his recliner a little while ago. She called the church office. She’s a mess.”
Oliver closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. This was a blow. Frank was a founding member of the church, a stalwart deacon and a man Oliver considered a good friend. He could only imagine how Sonya, his wife, was doing.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Travis. “This just happened?”
“Yeah, Sonya panicked and ran to a neighbor, who phoned 911, and then she called t
he church.”
Oliver didn’t hesitate. “I’ll head out there.” He searched around for his car keys.
Travis grabbed his arm, concern in his eyes. “You sure? It looks like something is going on here.”
“Travis, I think someone was looking for that money from last week, remember? Anyway, Frank and Sonya are good friends. I need to be there for her.”
“Can I at least call some folks to help clean this up?”
“Sure. I’d appreciate that, actually.” He found his keys and his phone and started to leave.
“Where’s Anna?” Travis asked. “Is she feeling okay?”
Oliver turned and faced Travis. “I’m not sure where Anna is at the moment. I’ve spoken to Chief O’Rourke about it. I’d appreciate your prayers. I explained a lot to Jethro. Call him.”
He turned away and hurried for his car, leaving Travis with a shocked expression on his face and feeling bad about that. But Oliver’s thinking was churned up like the water at the bottom of a waterfall. He couldn’t grip on to anything except the fact that Sonya needed some support immediately. That was a lifeline—doing his job, providing her with a little bit of comfort, and leaving Anna in the arms of God because Oliver had no idea where to put his arms around that problem.
–––
Tess finished all the details with Anna Macpherson’s missing person report and the report about the Macpherson house being burglarized and ransacked. She wished Oliver could give her a better description of his attacker but was very glad the burglar just wanted to get away and Oliver was not hurt badly in the attack. She notified Mayor Dixon.
“Missing? Anna Macpherson? My heavens. Do you have any leads?”
Tess told him what they had, which was nothing. He surprised her by being helpful and not trying to micromanage.
“A sweeter person never walked the earth!” He seemed genuinely shocked and dismayed by the news. Tess heard his voice break.
Crisis Shot Page 14