Page 66 of Breathe Me In

“No,” he said, then paused. “They weren’t.” He made an irritated noise deep in his throat. “Fine. If you won’t tell me about that, can you at least explain this?” He reached into his pocket, then stopped as something caught his eye behind me, and he went still.

“What?” I looked around. I didn’t see anything or anyone out of place.

“Come with me.” Brad tossed the rest of his lunch into a trash can, and I followed. I wondered what he was up to in that sharp brain of his. He held up a hand to a car as we crossed the road, and he led me up the front steps of the familiar church. “Father Mark.” Brad’s whole demeanor softened as we approached the tall, red-headed man in a collar. The man smiled as he balanced the pile of hymnbooks he carried and reached out his hand for a shake.

“Detective Stone.” He smiled warmly at Brad. “What brings you by this time of day?”

“You remember the Jaminson twins?” he asked. I stepped around Brad, feeling like I was in Sunday school again. “Well, this is Bree. She’s come back to do a bit of consulting for us.”

Father Mark’s face lit up, and I could feel his love when he stepped forward and gave both of my shoulders a friendly squeeze. “My goodness, look at you, Bree.” I tried to smile, but I still had some deep-rooted issues I needed to deal with before I’d ever feel totally comfortable here. “Are you back?”

“For now.”

Brad shot me a look, which I pretended not to see. I had pushed back on the church after what happened at the river, and I knew some of the locals secretly judged me for not wanting to share every detail of what happened to us, every single Sunday.

He stepped back when an older lady appeared, and it was obvious she wanted a word with the priest. “Well, we’ve missed seeing you here. I sure hope to see you in the pew with your family this Sunday.” I offered a small smile and a nod. I didn’t want to commit or lie.

“Sorry for jumping right to business, Father, but would you mind if I spoke to the man in charge of the gardens?” Brad pointed outside.

“Of course not.” Father Mark spoke to the lady and told her he would be right back. He waved for us to follow, and we went out a side door. He approached a man who held a leaf blower and said something we couldn’t hear.

“You know you should really make a decision,” Brad said.

I knew he was referring to whether I was staying or not. “I was hired to work with you on this one case, and once we get this guy, I might be out of a job, so . . .”

“Detective Stone, Ms. Jaminson, this is Mandell. He and his small company do a wonderful job of keeping our grounds looking fantastic.” Father Mark smiled at the man as he introduced us.

Brad flashed his badge, and I pulled mine out, but Mandell didn’t even glance at them—he just stood rigid and looked uncomfortable.

“Hi, Mandell,” Brad said and smiled warmly. “We won’t keep you long. I just need to ask you a few questions about your job. How big is your company?” The man’s eyes widened, but he didn’t answer. It was obvious he was nervous. “Look, what I really want to know is do you ever work with international plants? Moss, to be more specific?” Again, the man simply swallowed and looked helplessly toward Father Mark.

“It’s all right, Mandell. You can talk to them,” he gently said to the stricken man. “They’re friends of mine. They just want to talk.”

Still no response, so Brad reached into his breast pocket for his notepad. “All right, look, Mandell, I don’t care what’s going on with your company or if you have papers to work here legally. Right now, all I’m looking for is a specific type of moss called”—he looked at his pad—“butterfly root moss. I’ve checked all the nurseries in town but can’t find anywhere that sells it, so now we’re checking with wholesalers and landscapers. I just wondered if you might be able to point us in the right direction. I need to know where you could buy it.”

The man glanced at me, and I gave him a nod to show it was okay. He licked his lips, then spoke. “That can be bad stuff if you don’t use it right. I don’t use it.”

“That’s okay. I get that,” Brad reassured him. “Do you know anyone who does?”

“No, but I know that Mano’s Supply carries all kinds of strange things like that. Maybe check there.” He lowered his head, and Brad didn’t push it any further.

“Thank you.”

We headed back inside, and Father Mark looked at me carefully. I shifted my weight and wished Brad would say it was time to go.

“I see you, Bree, and all that you carry inside,” Father Mark said.

“I’m sorry that you see that, Father.” I looked away from him and studied the inside of the lovely old church where I had once been so comfortable. After everything happened, I was constantly talked about. I’d heard the whispers in school from my peers, but it was the church that was the worst. Church meant well-meaning adults trying to get me to talk about it. Parents, aunts, uncles, even old biddies who had nothing better to do than wonder about what it was like to see those women, face their killer, how I felt.

My mom would ask them to please stop, and every so often, Dad would say something, but none of it helped. What happened that day at the river had made me an object of curiosity. I felt like an outcast. Then there was Brad, who’d just sit there with Sherry and her family. He didn’t seem affected by all the attention—at least I never saw it.

“If you plan on staying in town, which I hope you do, come back and walk tall through those doors.” He pointed to the big wooden doors. “Show people you aren’t that child anymore. You are a confident woman, and you’re here for your future and for him.” He pointed heavenward.

“I’ll think about it.” I looked at Brad for help, and thankfully he got the hint.

Brad pulled out his phone and read something off the screen. “Sorry, Father, we have to go. Thank you so much for your time, and I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Happy to be of service.” He looked over at me. “If Sundays don’t work for you, Bree, I’m here seven days a week.” He smiled and winked.