Jeffrey looked up and saw that the man was gone. The old woman who had been praying had also left unnoticed. “He was polishing the table.’’
“We didn’t have anyone in today to do volunteer work, as far as I knew.’’ He turned to his nephew. “Juno, did you schedule anyone?’’
“No, I didn’t. The people from the school are always scheduled because they need to be supervised,’’ he explained. “They usually come in groups. The volunteer parishioners come and go as they please.’’
“Did either of you see the man I saw?’’ Jeffrey asked Morrow and Lydia. Both shook their heads. “Morrow, can you go take a look out the door?’’
“Sure,’’ he said, rising and walking to the entrance.
“Father, can we get a list of names, addresses, and telephone numbers of your congregation and volunteers?’’ Lydia asked.
The priest hesitated. “I don’t think I’m within my rights…’’
Morrow returned, overhearing the priest’s reluctance.
“Father, this is a murder investigation. If you would like me to get a warrant, I can do that,’’ said Morrow, respectfully but with authority.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary.’’ He rose. “I’ll just get what I have from my office. Of course, not all of the people who attend mass give their addresses.’’
“Of course. What you have will be good enough for now,’’ Jeffrey answered.
When the priest had left, Morrow turned to Jeffrey. “I didn’t see anyone out there. There are no vehicles except for ours and the church van.’’
“I wasn’t aware of anyone else being here today, except for Mrs. Mancher who walks here to pray nearly every day,’’ said Juno.
“Did you notice any other vehicles when we came in?’’ Jeffrey asked Lydia and Morrow.
“No, the lot was empty,’’ Lydia answered, and the chief nodded his agreement.
The priest returned with some xeroxed pages and handed them to Jeffrey.
“Thank you, Father. Lydia, is there anything else you need from Juno and Father Luis at this point?’’
“Just one thing. Father, have you noticed that any of your parishioners, or any of your volunteers, drive a green minivan?’’
He let out a small laugh. “Well, in fact, I drive a green Dodge Caravan.’’
All three of them looked at him.
“But it’s been in the shop for the last week, and I’ve been using the church van for all my business. My minivan is an older model and the transmission is slipping,’’ he said; then added uncomfortably, “It’s a fairly common vehicle.’’
“What service station is it at, Father?’’ Morrow asked. “No disrespect, of course, but we’ll need to take a look at it.’’
“It’s at the Amoco station in town. I’ll call and let them know you’ll be dropping by.’’
“Anyone else you can think of?’’ asked Morrow.
“No, but I’ll certainly keep my eyes open.’’
The priest was kind and eager to help, but Lydia was sure he had something to hide. The fact that he owned a green minivan had thrown her a bit. She turned the possibilities around in her mind. Was he protecting someone? Was he involved in some way? She looked at him, his eyes filled with emotion and empathy, his large soft hands, the slight paunch of his belly. It didn’t seem likely.
“Father, have you noticed anyone strange lurking about the church? Someone who has recently started coming to mass but that you haven’t met before?’’ she asked. “Someone whose behavior has struck you as odd?’’
Lydia saw something in the priest’s eye – a thought he considered voicing but dismissed.
“No, all my parishioners have been coming here for years, many of them as children themselves.’’
“The man I saw today?’’ said Jeffrey. “He was large-framed, with sandy-blond hair. He wore beige coveralls. He appeared to be…you know, a bit on the slow side. Does this sound like anyone you know to be a volunteer here?’’
“Well, there is Benny. He doesn’t go to the school I mentioned. But he is somewhat impaired. According to his mother, he has the intelligence of a twelve-year-old. He does come by occasionally and do some work for us. He loves to work in the garden. In fact, his name and number are on the list I gave you. Benjamin Savroy.’’
“Thank you for your time, Father, Juno,’’ said Jeffrey, shaking each hand. “You can expect us to be stopping by again.’’
Lydia said her good-byes as well. “Father, Juno, if you think of anything – no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to you, please call us.’’
The three left and the church was quiet and peaceful again. The air still tingled with her essence, even as Juno listened to their cars pull away. Lydia’s scent still lingered, mingling with the odor of wood, candle wax, and incense.
Juno had remained silent throughout his uncle’s interview. He felt strongly that something horrible had befallen all the missing people. He had little doubt they had met with a fate similar to Maria’s. Juno was not an emotional person by nature and though he was deeply saddened by these events, they failed to move him to tears, as they did his uncle. Juno possessed an unflappable inner peace. Though he had great empathy, and a tremendous capacity to feel, the core of him, his faith in God, in the order of His universe, remained solid. No matter how horrible a tragedy occurred, no matter how people suffered, Juno knew in his heart that he and all people were part of a plan, God’s plan. After death, all suffering would fade from memory and the plan would be revealed. This is what his Bible and his heart told him.
And as he had listened to their conversation, something had begun to tickle at the edge of his consciousness. Like a whisper from a distant place, he caught the scent of lavender, of rose, of Lydia. His thoughts had turned to her many times since they had met. To touch her was like an electric shock, blue heat. He had seen her so clearly that first day – her power, her emotion, her fear and vulnerability. The different shades of her, the black and white of her soul and the internal battle that was waged there, intrigued him, excited him. It was so unlike anything he known in his own inner life.
He realized that his uncle was sitting in the pew in front of him but hadn’t said a word since they had been alone. “Uncle, will you be all right?’’
The pause was pregnant with sorrow, and when the priest spoke, his words were taut with tears. “Yes. But it is not for myself that I am afraid.’’
“Of course.’’
The priest rose and left Juno alone in the church. In the silence Juno contemplated Lydia and Jeffrey. The rising temperature in the church told Juno that it was nearing noon. Jeffrey’s tone had been quiet and professional but the sound of Lydia’s name on his tongue was liquid with love. In the way Jeffrey’s lips touched those three syllables, Juno could feel his passion for her, taste Jeffrey’s painful restraint.
At wedding services, Juno often played guitar. Seated on his wooden stool, he perched at the altar, to the right of Father Alonzo. He could hear the bride and groom exchange their vows, and could sense almost instantly who married for money, for fear, for lack of any better opportunities. On only a few occasions had he heard the sound of fierce, tremulous love in the voices of both being joined before the eyes of God. Only rarely had he heard the melodic pitch of two souls bound long before they had reached the church to exchange their earthly vows.
He detected such a bond between Lydia and Jeffrey. But the chorus of her fears was louder.
Lydia dragged on her cigarette, face like stone, eyes staring at the road in front of her. She drew smoke into her lungs, its drug soothing her, cooling her agitation like ice water in her veins. Jeffrey rolled down his window as he watched her slender arm move from the steering wheel to her lips. It was a graceful, sensuous movement – more so because it was unconscious.
“I want to stop by the station and see what they’ve come up with on that list of park visitors. I want to cross- check it against that list of volunteers,’’ Lydia said, again driving too fast up the winding road away from the church.
“And I want to go talk to that slow kid,’’ said Jeffrey, forever politically correct.
“So, what do you think?’’ she asked him.
“I’m not sure. That priest has something to hide, though.’’
