Oh, yes. Find the pills right away, I thought.
"Please excuse us, Abby." She smiled, showing off bleached, perfect teeth to match her smooth, lovely skin—the kind you can only get from plenty of pampering. She was concerned, however, and I didn't blame her.
I picked up my purse and left, closing the door as softly as I could. That whole interview had been bizarre, and what had I learned? Zip. I was about to head back in the direction I'd come in when I saw a sign pointing the opposite way that read CHURCH LIBRARY. I decided this little visit wasn't over yet. The library in the church I'd attended as a child kept a history of everything, so maybe this one did, too.
When I entered, I was immediately reminded of the Hearst Castle library. There were shiny, walnut floorto-ceiling shelves, a ladder on a slide to reach items on the top, thick pale peach carpet and soft overstuffed chairs where you could sit and read. Above me was a stained glass dome that, if I'd been paying attention, I could have probably seen from the parking lot. Guess I'd been too dazzled by gold roofs.
The library was magnificent and peaceful. But I hadn't come here for peace. I closed the door behind me and began scouring the shelves. I soon found what I was looking for in books that had been bound in identical leather volumes with gold engraved numbers—all the saved copies of newsletters, prayer lists, articles about special members of their congregation, church trip journals. I even got to climb that cool ladder. A few minutes later I found the years I wanted—'86 and '87. The volume with an '86 newsletter had a picture of a very young Pastor Rankin and his wife flanking their youth group.
I climbed down and laid open the book on a study table and took out my phone. I'd only clicked off one picture before the door opened.
It was Mrs. Rankin. She flashed her brilliant smile again and definitely looked more relaxed than when I'd left her. "I thought you'd gone, but I'm so glad you found the library. Isn't it wonderful?"
"The whole building is amazing, but I think this room is my favorite."
"Did you find anything helpful?" she asked.
I closed the book. "A photo of Lawrence. Funny how he hasn't changed all that much since he was sent to Huntsville."
"You've seen him recently?"
"Yes."
"He's the one who hired you, then?"
"No, not Lawrence." I wasn't sure she needed to know about Will. Not right now, anyway.
"You're keeping a confidence," she said. "That's something we understand very well here. I have prayed for Lawrence often over the years and am so glad he has an advocate. This is a sign God doesn't want us to forget what happened." She stepped toward me, still smiling, her diamond stud earrings blinking in the sunlight coming through the tall velvetdraped window behind me. "Did he seem in good health when you visited?"
"As far as I could tell."
"He always said he didn't kill that girl, and frankly, I believed him. Told the police as much. Even though he was a very competitive young man, an athlete, you know, he had a soft spirituality about him. We were so lucky to have known him."
I came around the study table to stand between two armchairs. "But you haven't gone to see him?"
"Andrew went to the prison, then I tried, but Lawrence struck everyone from his visitor list quite early on."
"I didn't know that. By the way, is the pastor feeling better?" I was feeling a tad guilty about playing up to folks I didn't exactly like.
"He is better. You had no way of knowing what an emotional man he is, always has been. He's off to practice his sermon, so no harm done."
"Would you have time for a few questions now rather than later?"
She lowered onto the edge of a chair. "If Lawrence needs our help, of course. Though I'm not sure what I can offer."
I sat opposite her. "You met with the young people in his group every week, right?"
She nodded.
"Did Lawrence have a special attachment to anyone?"
Noreen Rankin smiled knowingly. "You mean was there a teenage romance going on? I can't speak to that, but you know adolescents. They wouldn't share that information with me. During our meetings we focused on our purpose, which was for those young people to become generous, God-loving adults who'd become assets to their church home. We read the Bible, we discussed the Bible. Anything that went on between them that didn't involve God stayed outside of our meetings."
"I was hoping that since Lawrence was the only African-American in your group at the time, maybe you could recall a little more about him than the others."
"I wish that were so, but Andrew and I both had such a difficult time that year. We thought surely Sara would be safe on that mission trip and—" She bit her lip, took a deep breath. "Anyway, perhaps if you can get in touch with someone in Lawrence's group, they could better help you."
"If I knew who they were. I need more information. Can I spend a little more time in here?"
She licked her glossed lips, thought for a second. "Our library is open to everyone, but we do have our church historical society meeting here in about... " She checked the thin silver watch on her wrist. "Oh, my goodness. They'll be here any second and B.J. hasn't set up the chairs. Would you mind returning? Say, tomorrow?"
I stood. "Sure. Thanks so much for your help. Let me put this book away before I go."
"B.J. will take care of it." She gave me another one of her clutching handshakes and gleaming smiles. She really was attractive and warm and all the things you'd expect of a pastor's wife, but she reminded me too much of Aunt Caroline and her rich friends. I was not feeling the love, but then maybe that was because I was so focused on getting what I needed.
At least I have one picture, I thought, as I walked out to the parking lot. With my luck, the library would probably be ransacked tonight and every single thing related to Lawrence Washington would be gone when I came back.
When I started to pull out onto the freeway feeder road, a church van was just driving in. The woman made a wide turn and nearly hit my front fender. She offered an apologetic wave as she steered right and drove into the lot. I noticed in the rearview mirror that the van was wheelchair-equipped, and I thought of Thaddeus. He could use wheelchair-equipped anything, and I might have to do something about it.
19
On my way home, I decided I had to face Joelle with the news about the break-in and the stolen files. This wasn't something I could do over the phone, and now was as bad a time as any. I called first to make sure she was home, and she sounded so excited to hear from me, I felt even more guilty about losing the files. I also made a call to Will's mother and updated her, told her I had spoken to Will and what I had learned so far. Mrs. Knight's concern was for Will and how he was handling this news, but she told me she was still behind him one hundred percent. If he wanted me to continue my work, then that's what I should do. Her commitment shored me up for the unpleasant task ahead.
I drove on to Joelle Simpson's, and she welcomed me wearing baggy jeans and an oversize cotton shirt. If she paid a little attention to her appearance—kept her hair dyed, wore clothes that fit—Joelle would be a pretty woman. Perhaps in her mind she was still married to Frank and being frumpy was a way to protect her relationship with her dead husband by keeping any interested male at bay.
If dressing down didn't work, a house filled with grief-filled photographs sure could scare suitors away. This time a shiver climbed my spine as I walked that hallway to her living room and passed those haunting photographs. She offered iced tea and I refused. I needed to get this over with.