Josie and Noah parked in the municipal lot behind police headquarters. Josie left Noah there and walked to Komorrah’s Koffee which was only a block away. She would never make it through this day without copious amounts of caffeine. Noah had given her one of his old winter coats to wear until she bought a new one for herself. It was large on her, and the freezing December air flew up beneath it, chilling her torso. The warm air pressing in from all sides inside the café was a relief, as was the realization that the line wasn’t very long—only two people ahead of her. The scents of coffee and pastries filled her nose. Her stomach gave an enthusiastic growl. The man in front of her turned and offered her a bemused smile from beneath his baseball cap. Josie felt a jolt of familiarity but she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t know him. He was older, probably in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper stubble lining his sharp jaw and white hair curling from under his green Philadelphia Eagles hat.
“Rough morning,” Josie mumbled.
She looked up at the television playing in the corner of the room. On WYEP, the reporter they had seen last night stood in the Russell Haven Dam parking lot, giving a report on the body recovered from the river. The news cut back to its national morning show. Thatcher Toland’s face filled the screen. He sat in a chair across from one of the network’s morning show co-hosts. Wearing a navy sweater over a collared shirt, tan slacks, and brown dress shoes, he looked relaxed, at home in front of the camera. Thick, wavy gray hair covered his head. Blue eyes sparkled as he talked. Josie knew from the extensive press he had been getting that he was in his early sixties, but the lines around his mouth and eyes only served to make him look more handsome.
“Your ministry has exploded in the last year,” said the news anchor. “What do you think it is about your message that has resonated with so many people?”
Toland smiled. “It’s God! I owe all of this worldly success to God. I’m just the vessel he uses to convey his message. To answer your question, that message is very simple: faith is there for all of us. It’s waiting for us to open our eyes to it.”
The anchor gave a practiced smile. “You’ve often said that a person can change their lives by ‘waking up’ to faith in God. What do you mean by that?”
Toland’s expression grew earnest. He scooted to the edge of his chair a little, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the anchor intensely. “When you embrace faith in God, you surrender to him. It takes a great burden from you. Opening your eyes to what God offers means relieving yourself of the burden of our earthly existence. When you wake up to your faith, you begin to see the damage you’ve done to others throughout your life.”
“Yes,” agreed the anchor. “I’ve heard you say often that the most important thing a person can do is make up for the wrongs they’ve committed.”
“I believe that wholeheartedly. When you begin to take responsibility, to hold yourself accountable for the sins you’ve committed, God will set you on the path of atonement. You need only follow. Even the worst of us can be reformed in God’s eyes if we do this.”
“Next!” called the barista.
Josie’s eyes jerked away from the television. The man in front of her stepped up and gave his order. The barista tapped away on the tablet that served as a register as he spoke. Then she asked for his name, and he hesitated. “Uh, um, it’s…” His uncertainty made her look up at him. She stared at him, then looked at the television screen, and back to him.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re that famous preacher, aren’t you?”
He waved both hands in the air. “No, no.”
“You are! That’s you on TV!” She pointed to the screen where Toland was now talking about how to use faith to reform your life. “My mom read your book!”
From behind him, Josie could see his posture stiffen beneath his tan utility coat. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re mistaken. My name is John. Just put John on there, would you?”
Josie looked down at his feet and saw brand-new boots over the top of pressed jeans. This was a guy trying to blend in as an average Joe in Central Pennsylvania. Given his attire, he could be a hunter, some kind of laborer, a skilled tradesman, or even a truck driver. He was dressed for warmth, comfort, and to protect his feet from getting wet or injured. Except the look was not natural for him. He looked like he was wearing someone else’s clothes.
“You can tell me,” said the barista in a conspiratorial tone.
Josie stepped up beside him. “You’re talking about Thatcher Toland, aren’t you?”
“That’s it!” exclaimed the woman.
Josie looked up into the man’s now-pink face. Giving him a wink, she turned back to the barista. “This isn’t him.”
The woman raised a brow. “What? Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. What would Thatcher Toland be doing here? He’s on the television being interviewed.”
Lines appeared on the woman’s forehead. “It could be prerecorded, you know. They do that on TV.”
Josie smiled tightly. “Well, my sister told me he had an interview with her network’s morning show this morning in New York City, and there he is on television, so I’m pretty sure this is live.”
Distracted by the mention of her sister and the network, the woman asked, “You’re Josie Quinn, aren’t you?”
“You’re new,” replied Josie.
She gave a weak smile. “Sorry. But they left me a note about what you guys usually get. Anyway, I’m sorry, Mr., uh, John. Your order will be right up.”
She left the counter to make his drink. In a barely audible whisper, Thatcher Toland leaned over and said, “Thank you, Miss Quinn.”
“Detective Quinn,” she responded.
He gave a half-smile. “Detective? Impressive.”
Josie shrugged. “Is there a reason you don’t want to be recognized?”
The barista returned with his drink. He handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “This is for mine as well as whatever the detective would like. You keep the change.”
She stared at the bill for a beat and then looked back at him. “Are you sure?”
“My pleasure,” he replied.
She looked to Josie for approval. Josie didn’t really want Thatcher Toland paying for her coffee—she didn’t even know him, and she was naturally suspicious of random acts of kindness given what she saw on the job each day—but she didn’t want to cause a scene. “Sure,” she told the barista.
“I’ll be right back.”
With that, the woman snagged a piece of notepaper from the other side of the register and went off to make more drinks.
“It’s silly,” said Thatcher. He studied her. “The reason I prefer not to be recognized. Your sister. She’s Trinity Payne, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Josie.