Page 37 of Safeguarding the Witness

No place like home.

* * *

The pointed white steeple atop the United Methodist church in Cloverdell marked the highest point in the small town. At one time, there had been clanging bells but those had been removed due to expensive maintenance issues. The congregation opted for repairs to the fellowship hall rather than repairing the bell tower. Mollie had appreciated the decision. Cloverdell was, like her, practical. Who needed bells when you could have a new oven for the potlucks?

The church represented more than a religious center. Ritual events, like weddings and funerals and baptisms, filled the schedule in the sanctuary. The fellowship hall provided the setting for town meetings, social dinners, concerts, lectures and so on. The first time Mollie had danced with a boy was in the fellowship hall. He’d given her a kiss and then called her by her sister’s name.

After that and other such incidents, she’d made a purposeful effort to avoid looking like Madison, tinting her hair blue and never wearing the same color. As she and Spence got out of the Escalade and headed toward the church, she had that same feeling. Concealing her own identity. Making sure nobody thought she was Madison.

The outfit she’d put together at Jamison’s house represented the opposite of anything Princesa Madison would wear. Baggy jeans and a plain blouse. Spence added an oversize sweater to make her even more shapeless. He directed her toward the front entrance to the church but veered away when it became obvious that the crowd had formed a bottleneck there. There were too many people who might recognize her. They were too close.

Following a signal from Rossi, he took her to a side door where they could ease inside. One of Spence’s team had been saving them a space at the farthest end of the rear pew. Mollie scrunched down so nobody would notice her. The recorded music playing over the church’s PA system included Great-Aunt Irma’s favorite tunes, mostly from the early rock ’n’ roll era when she was a young woman. Elvis hits and Bobby Darin and Four Seasons mingled with Beatles. Oldies but goodies. Mollie remembered Irma teaching her how to do the twist and boogie down.

Peeking out from under her cap, she saw many faces she recognized. Not all were friendly but most were familiar. Shopkeepers, teachers from the high school, docs and nurses from the clinic where Irma volunteered, field hands from the hazelnut orchard; it was a standing-room-only crowd. Great-Aunt Irma had been a beloved and respected member of the community.

Standing at the front pew, Mollie saw Bethany and Erin, who were looking back at the crowd, possibly searching for her. The thought that she might be missed touched her. Being away from her family and friends made her appreciate them more.

Beside her, she saw Spence take his cell phone from his pocket. She hadn’t heard it ring, which meant he must have it on vibrate. Is this an important call? He listened for a moment and returned the phone to his pocket.

Leaning close to her and whispering so nobody else could hear, he said, “The FBI forensics team got fingerprints from the note inside the envelope. First, there were yours.”

No surprise. “Who else? Did they find Madison’s prints?”

“Sorry, Mollie. The only other prints were from Julio Flores.”

Chapter Thirteen

Until now, Mollie had never been a great believer in the power of prayer. But during the memorial for her great-aunt, she found herself bowing her head, closing her eyes and opening her mind to hope. She wanted to believe. Her heart elevated as the spiritual presence of Irma surrounded her. There had to be something she could do to find Madison. Something. Anything.

She reached for Spence. Her hand twined with his. She knew what he thought: Julio’s fingerprints on the note proved the meeting at five o’clock was a trap. But Mollie would not give up on her sister. The more obstacles that blocked her path, the more determined she became.

Amen.

They slipped away before the end of the service. While the crowd was singing and waving their arms, she and Spence made a quiet exit, rushed to the waiting Escalade and drove away. A safe escape. No snipers firing from the top of the steeple. No murderous thugs lurking about. No bomb in the engine block.

Settling back in the passenger seat, she thanked him. The memorial had meant a lot to her. She was glad to see so many people acknowledging the passing of Irma Winchell. And now, she was counting on hope. “We have work to do.”

“Excuse me?” He raised the eyebrow that didn’t have a scar.

“We need to go to Irma’s house—I guess, it’s Bethany’s now—and prepare for the meeting.”

“It’s an ambush.” He drove left on Main. The streets of Cloverdell were quiet because everybody was at the memorial. “Julio delivered that envelope at the airport, probably at the same time he was placing his sniper in the tower. He’s trying to lure you closer.”

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? He doesn’t know me. Why does he want me?”

“That’s what I mean to find out,” he said. “Right now, we have an advantage. We know where Julio is going to be at five o’clock.”

“And he doesn’t know that we know.” She watched through the windshield, tracking the route he took through the town where they both grew up, barely noticing each other. Now, he was one of the most important people in her life. If he hadn’t come to Denver and pulled her out of WITSEC, she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be so close to finding Madison. He turned off the main road and headed into the forest. “You’re going the wrong way, Spence.”

“I’m taking you to the safe house.”

She studied his profile from an angle where his dimples didn’t distract from his firm brow and stubborn chin. A warrior, he wasn’t the sort of man who backed down from a challenge, which was exactly what the mysterious note represented. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

“My team is armed and ready to go. It’d be a shame not to use them.”

“Let me come with you,” she said. “I can help. If you give me a gun, I can—”

“No way.”