Page 79 of The Witch's Orchard
“Not what you want to find out about the shepherd of your faith.”
“No,” I say. “But it was a long time ago.”
“You gonna talk to him about it?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go by first thing this morning.”
“I’d better start getting ready for work,” he says.
I’m still watching him scratch his chest when he smiles at me again and says, “Something on your mind?”
“Just thinking there are other ways to get a workout in besides running.”
He chuckles, his big shoulders bouncing, says, “Don’t even have to leave the house.”
“That’s right,” I say. I kick off my shoes.
An hour later I’m in the shower and AJ’s gone. I give my hair a quick blow-dry and then slide it up into a ponytail, still damp. I find a clean pair of jeans and look them over with vague distaste, mourning the pair I lost yesterday. I eat some of Shiloh’s leftover pastries and some bacon that AJ left for me and drink two cups of coffee. Then I lace up my boots and head out the door.
I drive to First Baptist but only Rebecca is there. I interrupt as she and a flock of ladies who look like her fill grab bags for the coming festivities.
“Bob is visiting a parishioner of ours,” she says, pulling me aside. “In the hospital.”
“I’ll come back later,” I tell her. “I need to talk to him about something.”
She nods and goes back to bag stuffing.
Back in the parking lot, I run Honey’s heater and look through the files AJ brought on my phone. I find the report from the day of Molly’s disappearance and, while the witness statements are missing, there is a record of Dwight Hoyle’s being there, along with the name of his employer.
“Mack’s Pipe and Plumbing…” I mutter. “Maybe Dwight told this guy something.” And I find the address and put Honey in gear.
Mack’s Pipe and Plumbing is housed in an old brick building on the backside of Main Street. When I go in, there’s an old man sitting behind a desk doing a crossword puzzle in a book. He wears Coke bottle glasses and his black hair has gone mostly white and mostly away.
I tell him who I am, what I’m doing there. He tells me that he is, in fact, the eponymous Mack.
“Heard about you,” he says.
“What’d you hear?”
“That you’re looking into those missing little girls.”
“That’s right.”
“And that you found Molly Andrews dead in a ditch after all these years.”
“Not a ditch.”
He shrugs.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” I say.
“That’s fine, but I’ve got to get to a call at ten.”
I look at my phone.
“It’s ten after ten.”
He shrugs.
