“Okay,” Joanna told Tica. “I’m almost there, too.”
When Joanna arrived at the parking lot for St. Dominick’s Catholic Church, she found Father Matthew Rowan, one of St. Dom’s two resident priests, standing at the gate directing traffic. He pointed Joanna toward a clutch of official-looking vehicles. Tucked in among the collection of patrol cars sat a 1960s-era VW. The chaplain sticker on the VW Bug’s back bumper explained its odd presence among the other official vehicles. The vintage VW belonged to Joanna’s friend and pastor, the Reverend Marianne Maculyea, who in the past month had been certified as a chaplain for the local police and fire departments. It was no surprise to Joanna that, if first responders were on the scene, Marianne would be, too.
Pulling into the open spot next to the VW, Joanna stayed in the car for a moment, taking in the scene. The hustle and bustle might have been part of something as innocuous as a church bazaar. Cars came and went. The center of activity seemed to be a hastily erected eight-by-ten-foot canvas canopy. Some enterprising soul had used several matching sawhorses and a piece of plywood to create a massive makeshift table on which a six-foot-long paper map of the city had been tacked down. Surrounded by teams of officers and volunteers, Chief Bernard was bent over the map, assigning people to the streets and neighborhoods they were expected to search.
Twenty yards away from Chief Bernard’s command center, a clutch of ladies from several nearby churches were setting up a refreshment buffet complete with a coffee urn, stacks of Styrofoam cups, and a surprising selection of store-bought and homemade baked goods and cookies. A blond teenage boy, someone Joanna didn’t recognize, sprinted past her. Carrying a thermal coffee carafe in one hand, he waved in Joanna’s direction with the other. Looking at her rather than at traffic, he came close to stepping into the path of another arriving vehicle.
“Look out!” Joanna called out, and he jumped back just in time.
Another stranger, a woman Joanna had never seen before, shouted after him, too. “For Pete’s sake, Lucas! Watch what you’re doing! Pay attention.”
Joanna turned to the woman, a harried-looking thirty-something. Her long dirty-blond hair was pulled back in a scraggly ponytail. “He’s yours?” Joanna asked.
When the woman nodded apologetically, a faint whiff of booze and an even stronger scent of cigarette smoke floated in Joanna’s direction.
“My son,” she answered, “fourteen years old and full of piss and vinegar. Once the coffee was ready, he wanted to be the one to take it to Chief Bernard.” Then, glimpsing the badge and name tag on Joanna’s uniform, the woman’s eyes widened in recognition.“You’re Sheriff Brady?”
Joanna nodded.
“I’m Rebecca Nolan. Lucas is my son. My daughter, Ruth, Lucas’s twin sister, is over there.”
The woman nodded toward the refreshment table. Following Rebecca’s gaze, Joanna caught sight of a teenage girl who, with her mouth pursed in concentration, was laying out straight lines of treats in a carefully designed fashion. Rebecca had said the girl was Lucas’s twin. True, they were about the same size—fair skinned and blue eyed—with features that were almost mirror images. They were also dressed in matching bright blue track suits. When it came to hair, though, the two kids weren’t on the same page. Lucas’s dark blond hair resembled his mother’s. Ruth’s, on the other hand, was mostly dyed deep purple, with a few natural blond strands showing through here and there. A glance at the girl’s purple locks was enough to make Joanna grateful that her own daughter’s hair didn’t look like it came from a box of crayons.
“I hope you don’t mind the kids being here,” Rebecca added quickly. “I’m homeschooling them, and we’ve been doing a unit on community service. When I heard what happened, I told the kids to get their butts out of bed because we were coming down to help. I don’t know Moe and Daisy well, but we live just up the street from them. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
Marianne stepped into the conversation and handed Joanna a cup of coffee. “Good morning, Rebecca,” she said cordially. “So glad you and the kids could make it.”
Rebecca nodded. “I’d better go help,” she said, backing away.
“You know her?” Joanna asked as Rebecca melted into the refreshment crowd.
“I met them at Safeway shortly after they arrived in town,” Marianne said. “They’ve only been here a few months. Rebecca is divorced. Moved here from someplace in New Mexico with a boyfriend who disappeared almost as soon as they got to town.”
“What does she do for a living?” Joanna asked.