Someone peered out of the mini-blinds of the storefront church’s window, following our progress into the parking space. All I could see were heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. Within moments, Pastor Bob opened the front door and walked out to greet us. His eyebrows needed a trim, but his smile was as blinding as a Hollywood actor’s. And just about as authentic. The work in his mouth had surely financed a brand-new luxury car for some dentist somewhere.

The pastor raised his hands skyward. “Isn’t this a beautiful morning, ladies? It’s a gift from God.’’

Not to be sacrilegious, but if God had asked me what kind of day to send, I’d have requested a break from the summer swelter. It wasn’t even nine o’clock, and already the sun was baking the VW’s roofless interior. The temperature on the Big Lake Bank sign read 94 degrees. We peeled ourselves off the sticky car seats and joined Pastor Bob on the sidewalk.

He escorted us through the entrance, by the card table of DVDs, and past folding chairs now stacked against scuffed walls. When we came to a small office to the side of the pulpit, he motioned us into two steel-frame chairs, thinly upholstered in a black, scratchy fabric. Then he took his seat behind a tidy desk, his small frame nearly disappearing in a leather chair befitting the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He leaned toward us, elbows on the desk, and straightened the monogrammed cuffs on his powder blue dress shirt.

“Now,’’ he said, showing us a mouthful of teeth, “what can I do for you this morning?’’

Mama and I looked at each other. Maybe he had us confused with a mother-daughter counseling appointment. Not that we couldn’t use it.

“We’re here about Emma Jean,’’ Mama said. “You called and asked me to come by?’’

“Oh, my goodness gracious! Rosalee! I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to bring someone else along.’’

“This is Mace, my middle daughter.’’

I nodded hello as I tried to place his accent. Flat, Midwestern, a bit nasal. Ohio, maybe, or Illinois.

“You’ll have to forgive me, ladies. Last night was such a muddle. And I’m still having a bit of trouble placing everyone in the congregation.’’

Mama smiled sweetly and said, “Perhaps you should ask your lovely wife for help. Delilah seems to know all the lambs in your flock quite well.’’

I pinched her on the leg to stop her from being catty. She pinched me back.

“By the way,’’ Mama continued, “where is Delilah? I was expecting her.’’

Pastor Bob pressed his lips together. He started fidgeting with one of his silver cufflinks. His eyes did a quick scan of his desktop. Then he looked at the ceiling, like maybe his wife was hanging up there behind the fluorescent light. Before he got up and lifted the Persian rug to look, I figured I should say something.

“My mother’s just asking because we spoke to her last night before all the trouble started. And then the two of you seemed to work together as a team, the way y’all got Emma Jean quieted down and hustled out the door. We’re a little surprised Delilah’s not here, too.’’

He leaned back and turned his fingers into a steeple, which he rested against his chest. “Well, it’s always something when you’re a minister’s wife,’’ he said. “She was called away suddenly. A member of the church has taken ill.’’

“Really?’’ Mama asked. “Who?’’

“You’ve got me there, Mrs. Deveraux.’’ He showed his teeth again. I thought of fairy tales and wolves. “I’m just awful with names. But even so, it’s a confidential matter. I’m sure you’d appreciate the same treatment if you came to us about a health issue or for counseling.’’

Mama looped her wrist through the strap of her purse and set it squarely on her lap. “I’m not much for counseling.’’ She held onto the purse with both hands, like she was afraid Pastor Bob might ask her to pony up for psychotherapy.

“Well, people seem to want that kind of thing these days. I’m going to offer another DVD: Ending Emotional Pain with Pastor Bob. What do you think, Mace?’’

I thought he wasn’t setting any sales records with his first DVD. The only time I saw them move was when Emma Jean stumbled into the display table.

“I don’t know much about marketing,’’ I answered.

He flushed. “ ‘Marketing’ sounds so crass. I’m talking about helping people.’’

“In that case, why don’t we see how you can help in this situation?’’ I put my hand on Mama’s shoulder. “You may have heard my mother was briefly detained in connection to the murder of Emma Jean’s boyfriend. We’ve been trying to find out who really killed him. But somebody doesn’t seem to want us to do that. Some strange things have been happening.’’

I filled him in on the stuffed dog and the warning note. I mentioned there’d been another threat, but kept things vague since we still hadn’t told Mama about my narrow escape on the highway. She thought my Jeep was just in the shop—again. I summed up Emma Jean’s behavior.

“You both know her. Do you think Emma Jean could be behind any of this?’’ I asked.

The minister tapped together his fingers. Mama picked at a piece of lint on her pantsuit.

“Is she violent?’’

Pastor Bob said, “She did look awfully comfortable with that tire iron.’’

Mama scowled at him. “Well, I don’t believe it.’’ She shook her head. “I think what Emma Jean needs right now is some proper Christian charity, not condemnation.’’

“I’m perfectly willing to render that charity, if only I could find her, Rosalee.’’ More teeth. “Delilah and I called several times after services last night, and again this morning. We didn’t reach her. I was hoping you had.’’

That’s when I repeated what I’d said in the car about Emma Jean calling, but not showing up. This time, I had Mama’s complete attention.

___

A half hour later, we’d about exhausted the topic of Emma Jean’s troubles. Sitting on that itchy black chair in the pastor’s office, my mind started to wander to work and the day ahead. I needed to stop at the poultry plant and buy a dozen whole chickens for Ollie. That alligator was about to eat up the annual operating budget for Himmarshee Park.

I shifted my wrist to get a look at my watch. Pastor Bob caught me. He must get a lot of practice at that from the pulpit. Clearing his throat, he stretched his toes to the floor and pushed back the leather chair.

“Ladies, it’s been a pleasure speaking to you both. I only wish the circumstances were better. I’m praying for Emma Jean. I hope you are, too.’’

He seemed to stare extra hard at my lapsed self as he said that. It was my turn to look down at his desk.

He walked around and enfolded Mama’s right hand in both of his. “Don’t worry, Rosalee. When we find Emma Jean, we’re going to take care of her. The Bible tells us to help up a companion who falls.’’ He pulled Mama up from her chair, acting out the verse.