When Sheriff Mike Castle had left Brodie and the young men Saturday morning in the west desert, he figured they’d be back home by Sunday evening at the latest. He was aware of the stake fast for Jennifer and the general support across the entire county that weekend. In addition to the Brodies’ own ward and stake, other congregations in the vicinity had been touched by the event, for the family was well known and respected. From school and seminary and rodeo club and Young Women activities through the years, Jennifer had countless friends. She came from a large, extended family with cousins from Milford to Tooele, some of whom she hardly knew and only saw at annual reunions. Now many of them gathered, giving Evelyn a collective shoulder to lean on and targeting Sunday as a time to combine their faith and spiritual fervor and plead with heaven to bring Jenny safely home.
Sheriff Castle doubted Rex would miss the special fast meeting, but if he did, Mike intended to take his place and let the assembled people know Jen’s father was where he felt he needed to be—still searching, still running down a final lead.
Castle was still busy searching too. Besides drawing up a warrant for the Plymouth, he spent Saturday afternoon combing every record he could find on Bill Muncie. Jennifer’s hair in Muncie’s truck still didn’t make sense to him. Nor did the UHP stop, for that matter. But in his mind, they had to be connected. He did not believe in coincidences, especially one that stretched that far.
The only real piece of progress he made on Saturday was the ten minutes he managed to spend with Muncie’s ex-wife, Maxine Davis, who lived in a nice country rambler in Erda. She was a polite, well-groomed lady in her early fifties, and she seemed sincerely sorry over Muncie’s suicide.
“I don’t know what happened to Bill these last few years,” she told Castle, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “He just went crazy over money. He was always looking for another way to make a dollar. And what he made was never enough. It was why I finally had to end the marriage. His greed was more than I could stand.”
“Anything illegal that you know of?” asked Castle carefully.
“Not while we were married. But who knows? Something must have been going on for Bill to want to end his life. It really is a shame. He was a fine man for so many years. Even now, I can’t see him ever hurting anyone. It’s hard for me to believe he’d even hurt himself.”
Castle didn’t tell Maxine about the hair they’d found in her ex-husband’s truck or that it belonged to a young woman who had been missing for six days. Maxine had re-married and done well for herself. He didn’t want to make things worse for her than they already seemed to be with regard to her ex-husband. And something about her story had a ring of truth. Bill Muncie was a greedy man but not a killer. Those two pieces didn’t fit.
It would take some time to get a warrant on a weekend and have the Plymouth hauled in for a quality search. Castle wasn’t sure the investigation would even amount to anything, but he was frustrated by the wait. Whoever talked about the wheels of justice grinding slow must have been a patient man, not an anxious, grieving father, the sheriff mused, thinking of Rex Brodie.
When Brodie still wasn’t answering his cell on Sunday, Castle made his visit with Len Gardner to the Grunwald place, then returned home to change into his dress uniform. He drove to the stake center with his wife, Lorraine, in time to accompany Evelyn to the special fast meeting. There were several male relatives with Sister Brodie, but when she saw him, she took the sheriff’s arm, obviously wanting to talk.
“Where are Rex and Tony?” she whispered nervously as they took their places at a pew in front. “Don’t keep anything from me, Mike. I want to know what you’ve found.” She had a supply of tissues to dab her swollen eyes and wore a pastel summer jacket over a soft white blouse. “Why haven’t I heard from Rex?” pressed Evelyn. “Why isn’t he here?”
Castle wanted to turn her over to Lorraine and hurry away from her questions, but he knew he had to offer a strong presence. “Rex felt inspired to follow a couple of leads. He should be home soon. To be honest,” added Castle, “I would have thought you might have heard from him by now.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened. Her hands began to tremble. “So there are leads then?” she asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Well, Rex seemed to think . . . that is . . .”
At the pulpit, the stake president rescued him by solemnly calling the meeting to order. “My brothers and sisters,” he began, “we have come together today in extraordinary circumstances to partake of the sacrament, to worship together, to plead for the Lord’s tender mercies, and to combine our faith and prayers on behalf of a family of this valley whom we dearly love.”
During the meeting, Castle looked about at the crowded room. Every seat in the large chapel was occupied, as well as every chair in the cultural hall behind it. People stood in the corners and in the aisles and in the overflow areas between the rooms. They listened as President Lawrence spoke, and they reverently took the sacrament. Castle didn’t know where Jennifer Brodie was or if he’d ever find her, but that day he understood the power of community and what sincere empathy could mean when it was multiplied by the love of many.
For the first time in several years, Castle was proud of his religious heritage, proud of this great, unifying faith his fathers had bequeathed to him, those valiant men who had settled in this western desert so long before. He found himself wishing Rex were there to see the great outpouring of support, for he had come to believe that this incident would end badly for the Brodies, and they would need their neighbors, every one.
President Lawrence was an articulate speaker and said many wise and appropriate things to the congregation, but he quoted a verse of scripture from the Book of Mormon that Mike Castle felt was true but ominous.
And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.
The Brodies’ sure foundation of faith would get them through this crisis. They could stand against the whirlwind and the mighty storm, Castle knew, and this gulf of misery—losing Jennifer—would not ultimately destroy them. Still, it was a heavy price to pay as proof.
After the meeting, Castle told Evelyn, “I’m going into Salt Lake with Muncie’s car early tomorrow. They’ve got some people there who’ll go over it with a fine-tooth comb. Dogs, too, to sniff it out. I still think it’s connected.”
“His truck didn’t give you anything,” Evelyn pointed out, “and that’s where Bill died.”
“I know, but this is different.” Castle squeezed her hand, and Lorraine kissed her cheek. “We won’t give up,” he added earnestly and knew Evelyn believed him.