The truck in front of them turned off and wove its way around toward the back of the building. Several smaller trucks and vehicles sat directly in front of the entrance. The exterior lights blazed, blotting out the December night. Noah found an empty space to park and they both got out. Several sets of glass doors lined the entrance of the building. They walked over to one that had been propped open with a shiny chrome trash bin. As she and Noah stepped inside, heat rushed at Josie’s face, a welcome balm to the biting night air. What used to be a concrete floor dotted with food and beer stains was now a plush, wine-red carpet. Another set of doors greeted them. Josie was relieved when she pulled the handle and it opened easily.
The lobby was awash in the soothing glow of soft golden light pouring out of evenly placed sconces along the walls. Josie’s feet seemed to sink even deeper into the dark red carpet – or maybe it was just that the lushness of the room gave that impression. What used to be the ground-floor concourse still curved around the inner sanctum of the building, but it was no longer filled with food and beverage counters or hockey merchandise booths. Its concrete walls had been covered with textured wallpaper showing golden vines snaking up and down a paler yellow background. Tufted benches, the same color as the carpet, sat at regular intervals. Between them were small teak tables which held brochures. Josie stopped at one and eyed them. Thatcher Toland’s face beamed from each one, although he was dressed differently in every photo depending on what the brochure called for: a youth program; a community outreach program; summer camp; various support groups; and even offerings to hold weddings and other “important life events” at the Rectify Church. As they walked around the lobby area, Josie noted the expected array of crosses and photos of Toland lining the walls. There were also glass display cases with framed photos, news articles, and awards celebrating Toland’s journey and success as a minister.
“Can I help you?” said a male voice.
Josie and Noah turned to see a man dressed in pressed black slacks and a maroon polo shirt with the words “Toland Ministries” embroidered in gold letters over his left breast. He was in his mid-thirties, Josie guessed, with blond hair brushed back from his wide face. One of his hands held a clipboard and the other a cell phone which he wielded as though it were a weapon. Josie could see the glow of the screen, his thumb hovering over something—likely the send button. She wondered if he had 911 queued up in case they were there to cause trouble.
Noah stepped toward him, giving that charming smile that almost always put people at ease. He held out his police credentials. “Lieutenant Noah Fraley. This is my colleague, Detective Josie Quinn.” Josie stepped over and flashed her credentials as well. Noah went on, “We’re from the Denton Police Department. We’d like to speak with Mr. Toland.”
The man didn’t move, although when his phone screen went dark he made no move to power it up again. Warily, he said, “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all,” said Josie. “We just have a few questions for him.”
“About what?”
“We’re not at liberty to say,” Josie replied.
The man tucked the clipboard under his arm and cupped his phone in both hands. His fingers brought the screen to life once more. “I’m sorry. Mr. Toland isn’t here right now, but I can take your numbers if you’ll just tell me what this is about.”
Nice try, thought Josie.
Noah said, “We’ve already left him some messages. We thought we might catch him.”
“Well, like I said, he’s not here. I can ask him to call you if you would just tell me—”
A woman’s voice interrupted him. “Paul? Where are you? I’ve been calling for you. There are still some chairs that need to be replaced—” As she drew up behind him, she saw Josie and Noah and stopped speaking. Josie immediately recognized her as Vivian Toland. Although she preferred to let her husband have the spotlight, she had done some press alongside him. In her late fifties, she was tall, slender, and imposing with short, sandy hair that was usually teased, curled, and hair-sprayed a couple of inches off her head. Now it fell in short waves, held back from her face by a black headband. Instead of her usual matronly skirt suit she wore jeans, boots, a long-sleeved black shirt and a down vest over it. In person, wearing less formal clothing, she looked much younger than her age.
Extending a hand to Josie first, she smiled. “Vivian Toland. You look familiar. Have we met?”
Josie shook her hand. “No, we haven’t. I’m on the news a lot. Detective Josie Quinn of Denton Police. Also, my twin sister is Trinity Payne. She’s a journalist.”
A look of surprise and delight lit up her features. “Oh my! I am such a fan of Miss Payne’s! I saw the preview of her new show the other night on television. What a great pleasure to meet you.” Turning to Noah, she repeated, “Vivian Toland.”
He shook her hand as well. Both Noah and Josie showed Vivian their credentials while Paul stood behind her, shifting his weight from foot to foot and scowling at them. When the introductions were over, he said, “They won’t tell me why they’re here.”
Vivian looked back toward him. “Maybe you’re not the person they have business with, Paul. I’ll handle this. Could you go inside and look at the first row of chairs in section 209? They need to be replaced, I think.”
His scowl loosened only slightly. For a long moment he simply stared at her. Then he spun on his heel and stalked off. Turning back to them, Vivian rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry! That’s our Paul. He’s worked with us since we were just a tiny congregation in Collegeville. He’s such an asset to the ministry, but sometimes he can be very suspicious of newcomers.” She laughed. “Imagine that. We’re a church! I’ve asked him time and again to be more welcoming. Anyway, I apologize. What can I do for you two?”
Josie said, “We need to speak to Mr. Toland.”
Vivian’s genial smile didn’t waver. “I would love to make that happen for you, but Thatcher is speaking at a Christmas children’s charity event in Philadelphia this evening. He’ll be back late tonight. I can have him call you first thing in the morning. Unless of course there’s some way I can be of assistance.”
Noah said, “Earlier today, a witness saw Mr. Toland knocking on the door of the home of a woman named Amber Watts. Do you know her?”
Vivian shook her head. “Amber Watts, you said? Isn’t that your press liaison? I’ve seen her on TV. She does a fabulous job. I’d love to have someone like that working on PR for us. You said Thatcher went to talk to her? That could be why.”
“At her home?” Josie asked.
Vivian shrugged. “Who knows? Thatcher does what Thatcher wants to do.”
“Really?” Josie said. “Because I ran into him at a coffee shop this morning and he was in disguise. He said you’d be very upset if you found out he’d made an unscheduled appearance in public.”
At this Vivian clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh my!” she said. “He’s so dramatic. I do manage his schedule, and yes, I can be quite strict when he’s got events coming up, but that’s only because he gets easily distracted. People wait a long time to see him, and I want to make sure he’s on time. He thinks I’m nagging him, but really I’m just trying to get him places on time. He thinks I’m such a harsh taskmaster but that’s just him being melodramatic. He does love making mountains out of molehills. Let me guess: he was wearing a pair of work boots that never touched dirt and a Carhartt jacket that looks like it should still have the tags on it.”