“Are you accusing me of something?”‘ Bianca asks.
“I’m not accusing. I’m stating observations and facts. If there’s any chance something else could have happened to Gloria that doesn’t have anything to do with the other missing children, time is being wasted. You need to be honest with us.”
“How dare you? Sam, are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
“Bianca…” he starts.
Her eyes widen as she realizes he’s not going to jump to her defense.
“I trusted you. I thought you cared about Gloria.”
“I do,” he tells her.
“Just not enough to leave the past in the past. I guess once you get an FBI bitch sniffing around after you, it’s easy to just throw other people away.”
She climbs back into her car. Her wheels screech as she drives out of the parking lot to disappear away from the church. I let out a breath.
“I’m sorry she said that. And that I wasn’t upfront with you from the beginning,” he says to me.
I shake my head. “She doesn’t bother me. I’ve been called worse. A lot worse. Now, the comment about me sniffing around after you I could have done without.”
I snicker, and Sam relaxes slightly. “You know you are. You’ve always been so impressed by me.” He smiles and heads for the car. “Come on.”
My gaze moves over to the front entrance of the church.
“Actually, let’s go inside.”
“Why do you want to go in the church? Are you having a nostalgic moment?” he asks.
“Not exactly. Let’s just say I think we might benefit from a little bit of spiritual guidance.”
We walk into the church, and it immediately hits me that it smells the exact same. Churches hold onto the impressions of moments, much like crime scenes do. You can walk through them and feel what has happened long before you were there. The church building is silent, but every step radiates with the energy of the countless people and life moments that have touched this space. Assuming the layout of the building hasn’t undergone any drastic changes since the last time I was here, I follow the path of the hallways by memory to end up at the door to the pastor’s office.
“What are we doing here?” Sam asks.
“I just want to talk to Pastor Robins for a minute,” I tell him.
Before Sam can protest, I knock on the door. The pastor opens it, looking more casual with his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his tie loosened slightly.
“Hello,” he says.
“Pastor, my name is Emma Griffin.”
“Yes, Ms. Griffin. I know who you are. I’ve been following the news pretty closely. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I just had a few things I wanted to ask you. As the spiritual leader for much of Sherwood, you might have some insights that could prove helpful,” I say.
“I’m not sure if I can be of any help, but I’ll certainly try. Come on in.” Sam and I follow him into the office and wait while he clears his desk of papers that were spread across it. “I’m sorry. I was just going over some counseling exercises. Just give me one second.” He sets the papers aside and sits down. “Alright. What would you like to know?”
“Did you know Alice Brooks well?” I ask.
I watch how his face reacts to hearing her name, but don’t notice any major changes.
“Yes. Her mother does a lot of volunteer work around the church, and I got familiar with Alice when she would come in with Ms. Brooks.”
“So, you would know if she was an impulsive child? The type of child who might just walk off in the middle of the night or follow a dare from other children?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t describe her as impulsive. She was a very quiet child, shy and usually very content to just be with her mother or even by herself with her books.”
“Usually?”
“She seemed to me like she was starting to grow up a little and was looking for some independence and friends, but maybe wasn’t ready to say that for herself. That’s why Ms. Brooks sent her to camp. She wanted to help her break out of her shell a little more,” the pastor explains.
“So, she might have enjoyed the newfound freedom and been compelled to do something out of character.”
“Possibly.”
“And what about Caleb Donahue? His mother tells us he and your son became good friends over the last couple of months. Did you notice anything about him that was unusual the day he left your house?” I ask.
He pauses for slightly longer after that question, but still seems unfazed.
“No. He was the same active, happy boy he always was when he came over. The boys camped out in the living room the night before, then that day hung out inside for the morning. They were throwing a baseball around when Caleb said it was time to head home.”
“And he walked?” I ask.
“We don’t live very far away from the Donahue’s neighborhood, and I was under the impression he was getting picked up a few blocks away.”
“By one of his family members?”
“That would be my guess. It happened several times before.”
“And Eva. She was supposed to go on a youth group trip the morning she disappeared, is that right?” I ask.
He nods. “Yes. I lead the youth group for her age, and we were planning a day trip to a nearby park for some swimming and waterslides. It was a celebration for them finishing a volunteer project they had been working on for several months. She was very excited about it.”
“As the leader of the youth group, does that mean you were driving the van that was supposed to pick her up?”
“Yes. I drive for all of the youth group activities. I arrived at her grandparents’ house at exactly the appointed time, but she didn’t come out. I had already picked up a few of the other children and couldn’t leave them unattended in the car, so I beeped the horn for her. But she wasn’t there.”
“What did you do?”
“I called her grandparents to find out if there was a change in plans or if she was somewhere else. They rushed home from work, and I took the rest of the children on their trip,” he says.
“The same question as with Alice. Did Eva seem impulsive? Or prone to make poor decisions?”
“Not at all,” he insists. “She thrived under her grandparents’ care. She was always extremely well behaved and polite. She followed the rules, was respectful. Even when the other children acted up, as they sometimes do because they’re children, she didn’t go along with it. That’s why it’s so surprising she would go against the plans we made.”
“Interesting.” I stand up and smile at the pastor. “Well, thank you very much for your time. I won’t keep you any longer.”
“Absolutely. I hope I was of some help to you.”
He reaches for the papers again, and I point at them. “Did you say you were going over counseling exercises? I actually just started getting very interested in self-improvement through counseling.”
“It’s always good to see someone willing to do the work to achieve their best self. These exercises aren’t personal use, though. I do some spiritually-based counseling for couples, and this is a favorite exercise of mine to help them communicate more effectively. People often feel vulnerable when they are expected to express themselves face to face. Writing each other letters helps them to open up and think through what they want the other to know. It gives some time for them to really think about what their partner told them and what they want to say in return. It can make some extraordinary progress in couples struggling to connect and encourage those just starting out to create a strong foundation in their relationship.”