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Pastor Cliff shared from the pulpit that he didn’t have any details, but that a man had been killed the night before in the woods adjacent to the church’s property. Sandra didn’t know how he knew it had happened the night before, but she didn’t challenge his assumption. They had a moment of silence and then prayed for all those involved. While everyone else had their heads down and their eyes closed, Sandra looked around the sanctuary, not even sure what she was looking for. Was anyone sad? Grieving? Did anyone know the man or appear to care that he was gone? Did anyone look guilty? But no one was racked with sobs, and save for a few rebellious children, no one else had their head raised.
After the prayer and a series of announcements that could have been avoided if people would just read the bulletin, the music started, and everyone stood to sing. During the second verse, Ethel slid into Sandra’s row. This was a pleasant surprise. Ethel usually sat in the back with all her senior friends. “What did you find out?” she almost shouted over the music.
“Precious little.” Sandra tried not to shout, but she knew Ethel’s hearing wasn’t the best. “The victim’s name is Phoenix Haynes. He was at the softball game on Tuesday, but I don’t know him, and I don’t know anyone else who knows him.” Sandra looked around to see if anyone was listening, but everybody around them appeared to be focusing on their singing. “Someone hit him in the head.”
Ethel’s wrinkled hand flew to her chest as she gasped appropriately. “Oh my.” She knew from experience how unpleasant it was to be thumped over the head.
When Ethel didn’t say more, Sandra tried to return to focusing on her singing, but it wasn’t easy. Her mind was spinning. Should she call on Bob? Of course she should. He would want to know. But maybe he already did know. He was an angel, after all. Angels knew things. And she knew her church had a church angel. Certainly that guy was aware of what was going on. Maybe he’d told Bob? Or maybe it was none of Bob’s business. Maybe this was above his pay grade.
So, she shouldn’t call Bob. But she really wanted to. Would it irritate Bob if she called him? Did he want to be beckoned every time she was near a crisis? Maybe she should leave it up to God to assign angels to the world’s crises.
She realized she was feeling shy about reaching out to her favorite angel. It had been so long since she’d seen him. Maybe she should just stay out of this one. She didn’t know Phoenix. She had no skin in this game. Maybe she should let the police handle it and not get thrown into another trunk or off another snowmobile.
That settled it then. She would stay out of it. Her husband would be grateful.
The sermon stretched on and on. Usually, Pastor Cliff’s lessons were short and pointed. And maybe this one was too; maybe she just wasn’t getting it. She was too busy thinking about what was going on outside. What if she were the detective? What would be her first move? Find the murder weapon. But she, Sandra Provost, church mom, theater mom, soccer mom, fearless church softball scorekeeper, would not be able to find a murder weapon that fifty cops couldn’t find. She didn’t see a way that she could be helpful or useful with this one, and she reminded herself that she’d already decided to stay out of it anyway.
With her mind somewhat settled, she tried to concentrate on the sermon. She felt good about her decision. She would focus on the many other parts of her life that needed her attention, and then she wouldn’t need to bother Bob. Because if she didn’t get herself mixed up in this mystery, then he wouldn’t need to get mixed up in this mystery. As she tried to follow the pastor’s words, she felt as though someone was staring at the back of her head. For several minutes, she fought the urge to turn around and look, but the sensation only grew stronger, and finally she gave in. She tried to be discreet, pretending she was looking at the clock in the back of the room, and what she saw standing under the clock made her face explode into a smile.
There stood Bob, looking at her, his eyes wide as if to ask, “What are you doing in here when there’s a murder victim outside?”