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on him. As he did so, he heard the screen door slap shut on the house. Looking up, he found Officer Silvia O’Conner walking down the steps towards him. She was one of the newer officers on the North Woodstock police force, but Diego made a point of getting around town and getting to know as many people as possible. O’Conner had always struck him as kind and sincere. She was in her early thirties, relatively fit, and had an easy going way about her. But Diego had also seen her arrest a few unruly characters before, and knew that she knew how, when, and where to take off the gloves.
    “Good morning, Pastor Diego,” she said with her usual warmth. “Sunday service over already?”
    Diego approached her. He spoke in his accent that, along with his golden brown skin, revealed his Brazilian origin. “No no. Just wrapping up. I excused myself early so I could come be with the Clarks. How are they?”
    “Positively freaked out,” O’Conner remarked. “What is this, third time this has happened?”
    “Fourth,” Diego offered. “But it’s been a while.”
    The front door of the Clark’s house swung open again and out came Chief of Police Harvey Wilson. Wilson had his own charm, but seemed a little gruffer with age. Now into his late fifties, his beard was more salt than pepper. His deep-set eyes looked out at the world more often than not with a twinge of hesitation. But most folks in town had nothing but good things to say about him—except those who Wilson had caught breaking laws who still refused to believe they’d done anything wrong.
    “O’Conner, what do you say we go visit Stephanie’s friends,” He called out as he walked down the steps before noticing Diego standing there. “Well, good morning, Pastor. Dorothy will be happy to see you.” He walked over to them.
    “Why do you need to speak to Stephanie’s friends?” Diego probed.
    “Just want to chat a little,” Wilson shrugged. “Stephanie was with some friends last night, but the girls dropped her off here before going to a movie.”
    “Stephanie insists they had nothing to do with any of this,” O’Conner volunteered. “They dropped her off hours before this happened.”
    Chief Wilson shot her a look. Diego figured while Wilson liked to keep as warm of a demeanor as possible, he hated offering up too much information. Diego recalled the first time he had met Wilson a few years ago. “The good thing about small towns,” Wilson had said to him, “is that everyone knows each other. It’s also the bad thing. News travels fast. Good or bad. True … or false.”
    Wilson just scratched his beard and mumbled, “Yep, but gotta' talk to everyone. Just good police work. If you’ll excuse us, Pastor, we best be going.”
    He headed for the police cruiser. O’Conner smiled and said goodbye and followed. Diego watched them go. Then turning to the house, he walked up the steps. As he did so, it seemed to him that a dark cloud passed by the sun. He thought the forecast had called for clear skies today. Looking around, he could see the sun shining still. But all the same, it was as if the world felt a little darker all of a sudden.
    “Pastor Diego?” came Dorothy’s voice.
    He turned and found the middle-aged woman standing at her door, both surprise and fatigue evident on her face. She wore no make-up nor a dress as Diego might have seen on any other Sunday morning. Instead, her face seemed pale and gaunt. She wore shorts and a faded shirt she probably only wore at home or in the garden.
    Dorothy swung the door open and insisted he come in. Diego complied. She announced to her husband that their pastor was here and then excused herself to fetch Stephanie from her room. Tim came in from the living room and shook Diego’s hand, distractedly thanking him for coming out. Tim worked at the bank in Lincoln. He was a tall, balding man with a firm handshake and confident smile. But this morning, he seemed weak and distant, lost in some internal fog.