I’ve met Blue a handful of times over the years, mostly at LaDonna’s Diner, where I stop in for coffee some mornings or dinner if I’m working nights. Usually we exchange a nod or smile, or maybe we comment on the weather as we pass. Until now, that’s been the extent of my contact with the self-made preacher. I have a feeling I’m about to get to know him a lot better.

I park in a gravel lot that’s demarked with railroad ties. There are two other vehicles in the lot: a pickup truck that looks as if it won’t be running much longer and a vintage Mustang, which I recognize as Blue’s. I get out and start toward the front door. A huge cross constructed of railroad ties stands sentinel in the front yard. In the flower bed at the base, I see the pointy green tips of irises peeking out through a layer of mulch.

Double wooden doors open to a large room with a cathedral ceiling and exposed beams that have been painted white. Mullioned windows usher in a meager amount of natural light. Pews line either side of a wide aisle. Ahead is a raised stage with a podium at its center bearing an inscription: WE DON’T CARE WHERE YOU’VE BEEN; WE JUST CARE ABOUT WHERE YOU’RE GOING. There’s no mike, but then I’ve heard Blue doesn’t need one. To the right of the stage, a door stands open. I hear voices from inside and head that way.

I find Blue and another man seated at a rectangular table. Blue’s looking down at some type of register that’s open in front of him. Dozens of corrugated boxes line the wall to my left, and I see that each is packed with foodstuffs: canned goods, cereal, sugar, flour, packaged pasta, Sam’s Club–size jars of peanut butter and coffee.

I tap on the jamb. “Looks like you two are conspiring to feed everyone in the county.”

The men look up. I see surprise on their faces when they notice my uniform.

“A lot of hungry families out there, Chief Burkholder.” Taking his time, Blue hefts his substantial frame from the chair. He’s got a commanding presence and seems to fill up all the space in a room. He stands somewhere around six-four and probably weighs in at about 250. His thick gray hair is combed straight back from an interesting face with a broad forehead and high cheekbones. Deep grooves on either side of his mouth add yet another layer of character to an already compelling persona. His goatee is black and trimmed with razor precision. He’s wearing his trademark clothes: Black sport jacket. Crisp white shirt that’s open at the collar to reveal a large silver cross on a chain. Dark slacks and oxfords polished to a high sheen.

“It’s our aim to feed them until they can feed themselves.” He extends his hand to me and we shake. “Welcome to Crossroads.”

His grip is firm, but not excessively so, and his eyes are level on mine. “I hear you do good work here at the church,” I tell him.

“We do our best.”

I nod at the man sitting at the table and then address Blue. “Can I speak with you in private?”

“There are a dozen or so pews out there could use some more breaking in.” He looks at the man he’s with. “Box up the rest of the canned goods, and I’ll help you load them.”

Blue ushers me through the door, and we walk into the main room of the church, our shoes echoing against the high ceilings and unadorned walls.

“I understand you built this place yourself,” I tell him.

“Never picked up a hammer until I got the calling. Once I did, I couldn’t put it down. Didn’t have much capital, but we made do. A few volunteers lent a hand.…” He shrugs, as if the feat is inconsequential. “Spreading the word of God doesn’t require anything fancy. With your being Amish, I’m sure you probably already know that.”

“I do.”

He motions toward the first pew, and I slide onto the hard surface. “I need to talk to you about Dale Michaels.”

His gaze sharpens on mine as he lowers himself to the bench next to me. His eyes are steel gray beneath heavy brows. He’s got a kindly, grandfather’s face, one that’s full of adventure stories and love for his grandchildren. But there’s something darker behind those eyes, too. Scars, I think, left by a harsh past.

“I heard.” He hangs his head, and his body seems to sag for a moment. “He was a good man. Any idea who did it?”

“Not yet,” I tell him. “How well did you know him?”

“He came to services on occasion.” He chuckles. “Not often enough to suit me, but that’s the way it is sometimes.”

“How long have you known him?”

“We went to high school together. Never knew him well, but I do remember him.”

I purposefully delay asking him about the call and the text, giving him the chance to bring it up first. “When’s the last time you spoke to him?”

“At church probably. A few weeks ago. Just to say hello. See how he was doing. That sort of thing.”

“How did he seem? Did he mention any problems he was having?” I ask. “Or any people he was having problems with?”

“He seemed fine. Upbeat. Warm, as always.”

I nod. “Do you know who his friends were?”

“He usually came to church alone. I’m not sure about his friends.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Blue?”

His eyes meet mine. I see something I can’t quite read in their depths, and I suspect he’s just realized I know about the call. “He called me a couple of days ago. Late. I thought that was a little odd.”

“What was the purpose of his call?”

His facial expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t look upset by the fact that he got caught withholding information from me. “Just to talk. I think maybe he was a little lonely. He’s divorced, you know. Children are grown. Not every parent adjusts to those things well.”

“Were you surprised to hear from him?”

He nods. “My first thought was that he was sick. Found out he had cancer or something. I asked him about it, but he assured me his health was fine.”

“Is there some reason why you didn’t bring this to my attention when you found out he’d been murdered?” I ask. “Or maybe when I first arrived?”

“Look, Chief Burkholder, I don’t have anything to hide. There wasn’t anything unusual or suspicious about the call. Dale just wanted someone to talk to.” He sighs again. “We welcome everyone at Crossroads. As you probably know, some members of my congregation have troubled pasts. Honestly, I didn’t want my church involved in this murder investigation.”

“Who was he meeting with that night?”

He stares at me a moment and then shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I pull out my notes and read the text message to him. “‘Meet is on. Will call 2 let you know outcome.’” I make eye contact with Blue. “Dale Michaels sent you that text shortly before he was murdered. In fact, you’re probably the last person he communicated with before he was killed. I need to know who he was meeting with and I need to know right now.”

“I wish I could help you, Chief. But I don’t even recall receiving that text.” He pulls out a sleek little smartphone and begins to scroll with his index finger. “To tell you the truth, I’m still learning how to use this thing.”

“Mr. Branson, I feel the need to remind you that it’s against the law to withhold information from the police in the course of a murder investigation.”

“I haven’t lied to anyone.” He turns the phone so I can see the screen. Sure enough, there’s a small icon for unread messages with a small 2 next to it. I watch as he thumbs a button and the text from Dale Michaels appears, along with the date and time.

Blue stares at it, grimacing. “As a pastor, it’s disturbing to know he needed me and I wasn’t there for him.”

“The content of that text makes it seem as if you had previous knowledge of the meeting,” I say.

“I can assure you, I didn’t.”

I wait, saying nothing, reestablishing eye contact, looking for a chink in his righteous armor.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t mention the call,” he says, “but as you must know by now, I’ve got a past, too, and I’m not exactly proud of it. I didn’t want it dredged up and I didn’t want to involve the church. You know how folks are around here. They like their gossip, and they’ve got long memories when it comes to that sort of thing. Some people in this town still look at me like I’m a criminal.”