"Mrs. Bainbridge," Natalie said softly, her voice wavering with empathy, "I'm sorry, but Jennifer...she's been found dead."

  "Dead? No, you must be mistaken," Mrs. Bainbridge stammered, her voice choked with disbelief. "She's fine. I saw her just yesterday morning."

  Sheila stared down at her shoes, unable to meet the woman's anguished gaze. The knot in her chest tightened as Natalie continued, her words heavy with sorrow.

  "Jennifer's body was found in the Great Salt Lake this morning," Natalie explained softly.

  "Great Salt Lake? No, no…that's impossible. She wouldn't go there." Mrs. Bainbridge's face contorted with anger, but her eyes betrayed the fear that began to creep in. "You're wrong. My Jennifer is coming back home."

  Sheila's heart sank as she watched the woman desperately cling to the hope that her daughter was still alive. It was gut-wrenching to see a mother's love and determination in the face of such heartbreak.

  "Mrs. Bainbridge," Natalie persisted. "I know this is very difficult to understand, but it's the truth. She was strangled, and we're still trying to figure out who is responsible. We'd like to ask you some questions so we can find that person."

  "Strangled?" Mrs. Bainbridge repeated in a soft, choked voice. As the harsh reality began to take hold, the anger once etched across her face dissolved into pure grief and shock. Her knees buckled, and she grasped the door frame for support.

  Sheila glanced to the side and saw several neighborhood kids riding their bikes nearby, their innocent curiosity drawing them closer to the unfolding tragedy. She couldn't bear to let them witness the raw despair that now gripped the woman before her.

  "Mrs. Bainbridge," Sheila interjected. "Maybe we should continue this conversation inside, for the sake of privacy?"

  Seemingly in a daze, the grieving mother slowly nodded in agreement. Her fingers, white from gripping the doorframe, loosened their hold, and she stepped aside to allow Sheila and Natalie entry into her home.

  "Thank you," Natalie murmured as they crossed the threshold.

  Inside the Bainbridges' home, Sheila felt a pang of empathy as she took in the mismatched furniture and peeling wallpaper. The frayed carpet underfoot told a story of struggle and making do with what little they had. A threadbare couch sat against one wall, its cushions sagging from years of use. The small television flickered, casting a dim glow across the cramped living room.

  Natalie caught her sister's eye, and for a moment, their shared gaze communicated an understanding of the family's hardship. With a determined nod, they turned their attention back to Mrs. Bainbridge, who stood wringing her hands, her face a mask of anguish.

  "I just can't believe it," the grieving mother said. "She was so young, so innocent. It seems like just yesterday she was heading off to kindergarten, ready to start her next adventure." Her lips trembled, and she covered her mouth, sobbing into her hand.

  Sheila pressed her lips together sympathetically. As eager as she was to learn what Mrs. Bainbridge knew, she understood the importance of giving her a moment to absorb the shock of the terrible news.

  Mrs. Bainbridge placed a hand along the side of her head, grimacing. "I think I feel a migraine coming on. Crying does that sometimes."

  "Can I get you a glass of water?" Sheila asked.

  The woman shook her head. "No, I'll be alright." She put on a brave smile. "I have some medication I can take if it gets bad."

  "Mrs. Bainbridge," Natalie began gently, "we know this is a difficult time for you, but we need to ask you some questions about Jennifer to help us figure out what happened."

  Mrs. Bainbridge took a deep breath and let it out slowly, composing herself. "Of course. Anything I can do to help."

  "Can you tell us a bit about Jennifer's background? What was she like?" Natalie asked.

  "Jennifer... She was a good girl. She worked so hard, always studying late into the night—she was a student at Coldwater Community College, and she worked as a waitress on the side. She made friends easily, and everyone loved her. She never got mixed up in drugs or anything like that." Mrs. Bainbridge shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't understand why anyone would want to hurt her."

  Sheila's heart ached for the woman before her, who spoke of her daughter with such love and pride, even as sorrow threatened to consume her. She wondered if there were any clues hidden behind the walls of this humble home—anything that could help unravel the mystery of Jennifer's death.

  "Did Jennifer have any enemies or anyone you think might have wanted to harm her?" Natalie asked.

  "No," Mrs. Bainbridge said. "She was kind to everyone. She never had problems with anyone."

  As the conversation continued, Sheila couldn't help but think of the stark contrast between this family's living conditions and the world she and Natalie inhabited. Despite their own challenges, they were fortunate to have each other and the resources to face life's obstacles.

  But the Bainbridges had lost their most precious treasure, and it was up to Sheila and Natalie to find justice for Jennifer—to bring some semblance of peace to a mother who had been robbed of her child's love and light.

  "Would it be possible for us to see Jennifer's room?" Sheila asked, hoping the request wouldn't cause additional distress. Mrs. Bainbridge hesitated for a moment before nodding solemnly and leading them down a narrow hallway.

  The room was small but well-kept, with a neatly made bed adorned by a plush teddy bear sitting expectantly against the pillows. A simple wooden crucifix hung on the wall above the headboard, and a Bible rested on the nightstand, its spine creased from frequent use. The room had an air of quiet tranquility, as if Jennifer's faith had filled the space with serenity even after her departure.

  "Jennifer was looking for a place of her own," Mrs. Bainbridge explained, her voice cracking slightly. "But she was working two jobs just to pay for college expenses. She couldn't afford housing as well."

  "Did Jennifer have a lot of college friends?" Natalie asked.

  "A few," Mrs. Bainbridge began, but that was all Sheila heard. She was soon lost in her own thoughts as she walked around the room, absorbing every detail, from the worn stuffed animals to the modest collection of books on the shelf.

  She noticed several photographs of Jennifer displayed on the dresser, each one capturing the young woman's radiant smile. But no matter how closely Sheila looked, she couldn't find a single picture in which Jennifer wasn't alone. Her curiosity piqued, Sheila turned to Mrs. Bainbridge.

  "Did Jennifer have a boyfriend?" she asked gently, careful not to overstep any boundaries.

  Mrs. Bainbridge shook her head, her gaze fixed on the pictures. "No. She never mentioned anyone special. She did sign up on a dating app – Birds of a Feather, I think it was called – but didn't have any success."

  Sheila noticed the tension in Mrs. Bainbridge's shoulders and sensed there was more to the story than she was letting on. She pressed further, her tone soft yet persistent. "Was there anyone at all who showed interest in her?"

  "Actually, there was one man from our church," Mrs. Bainbridge said, her expression growing taut with distaste. "Simon West was his name. He tried to date Jennifer, but I didn't like him. He was...a creep."

  Intrigued by this revelation, Sheila leaned forward in her chair. "What made him creepy? Can you give us any specific details?"

  The room fell silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Mrs. Bainbridge's eyes darted around as though searching for an unseen escape route before finally settling on her daughter's image once more.

  "They only went on one date," she said. "Had dinner at a restaurant. Jennifer said that when she came out of the restroom, she found him digging through her purse."

  "Looking for money?" Natalie asked.

  Mrs. Bainbridge shook her head. "Pulling clumps of Jennifer's hair from her brush."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sheila followed Natalie up the ramp that led to the imposing double doors of the old church. The scent of damp earth and wilting flowers hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unanswered prayers. Sheila's thoughts circled the details Mrs. Bainbridge had shared about Simon West, the church member who had tried to steal Jennifer's hair from her hair brush. It sent shivers down Sheila's spine to think that a house of worship could be the place where Jennifer's killer had found her.

  They had run a background check on West during their drive to the church, but without results. Whoever this guy was, he was squeaky clean—which could be a testimony either to his innocence or to his ability to get away with his crimes.

  The church was grand, its walls made of thick stone and aged wood, darkened by time. Stained glass windows cast an eerie kaleidoscope of colors on the ground as the sun fought to pierce through them. A tarnished cross loomed above the entrance, watching over the silent building like a sentinel.

  "Strange to think what secrets this place might hide," murmured Natalie, echoing Sheila's thoughts.

  "Let's hope they're secrets we can uncover," said Sheila, balling her hand into a fist and knocking firmly on the door. The sound rolled back at them, cold and hollow. She frowned slightly, her mind racing with possibilities. "Do you think anyone's here?"

  "Someone's here," Natalie said, her gaze drifting over to an old station wagon parked nearby. "The question is, who?"

  Just as Sheila was about to knock again, the door creaked open, revealing a kind-looking man in his fifties. His hair was thinning and graying at the temples, but his eyes held a warmth that lit up his entire face. A pair of glasses perched on his nose, giving him an air of approachability.

  "Good afternoon, ladies," he said with a smile, his voice gentle. "I'm David Walden, the pastor here at Salvation Springs. How can I help you?"

  "Hello, Pastor Walden," Natalie said, taking the lead. "I'm Sheriff Natalie Stone, and this is my sister, Sheila. We're here to ask about two of your church members."

  Sheila studied David's face as her sister spoke, struck by how ordinary he appeared. He seemed like someone who would offer a shoulder to cry on, and it was not difficult to understand how he'd gotten his role. He had the kind of gentle, unassuming manner that invited trust.

  "Of course," David said, his brow furrowing with concern. "Please, come into my office so we can speak more privately."

  Sheila followed David into the church, with Natalie wheeling herself in right behind her. As the heavy wooden doors closed, a hushed reverence blanketed the space. The interior was immaculate, with polished wooden pews lining the center aisle and vibrant stained-glass windows casting kaleidoscopic light on the walls. A large, intricately carved altar stood at the front of the church, and Sheila couldn't help but be struck by its solemn beauty.

  As they walked, she noticed several religious items – a rosary draped over a pew, an open Bible resting on a stand, and a few small statuettes of saints – that reminded her of similar items found in Jennifer's room. She found herself wondering if Jennifer's faith had brought her any consolation in her final moments.

  "Today," David said, breaking the silence as he led them through the church, "I'm preparing for our annual charity drive. We're collecting food and clothing for local families in need, and we'll be hosting a dinner event next week to raise funds for a local fostering program. Fostering is very dear to our hearts here at Salvation Springs." His voice was warm and welcoming, clearly passionate about his work and the community he served.

  Sheila listened closely, observing the pastor's demeanor and noting the genuine enthusiasm in his eyes. Despite the tragic circumstances of their visit, it was evident that David cared deeply for his congregation and their well-being.

  "Ah, here we are," he said, stopping before a door with a brass nameplate reading 'Pastor David Walden.'

  As they entered David's office, Sheila couldn't help but notice the contrast between the grandeur of the church's main hall and the modesty of this small room. The cozy space was filled with bookshelves lined with religious texts and framed photographs depicting joyous moments shared among the congregation members. A simple wooden desk stood against one wall, a few family photos and a small cross adorning its surface, along with a computer that had to be at least a decade old.

  "Please, have a seat," David said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. Natalie maneuvered her wheelchair into position beside Sheila, who found herself observing the pastor's every movement as he took his place behind the desk.

  "Tell me, how can I help you both?" David asked, concern etching his features.

  Natalie hesitated before she spoke. "Pastor Walden, we're here to discuss Jennifer Bainbridge, one of your church members. She...she's been murdered."

  David's eyes widened in shock, and he visibly paled. "My God... That's...that's terrible news. Jennifer was such a sweet, kind soul. How did this happen?"

  "Her body was found in the Great Salt Lake," Natalie said, her voice steady despite the gruesome details. "She was strangled."

  Sheila watched as David processed the information, his face contorted with grief. She could see the struggle within him—a man of faith grappling with the evil and pain that had invaded his community.

  "Is there anyone in the church who might have wanted to harm Jennifer?" Natalie pressed gently.

  "Jennifer was well-liked by everyone," David replied, his brow furrowing. "She volunteered for many of our outreach programs and was always eager to help others. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt her."

  "According to Mrs. Bainbridge," Natalie continued, "there was a man named Simon West who recently went on a date with Jennifer. Do you know anything about him?"

  David's expression shifted from grief to thoughtfulness as he considered the question. "Simon... Yes, I know him. He's been attending our services for a few months now. He's quiet and mostly keeps to himself. Why? What does he have to do with this?"

  "Maybe nothing," Natalie said. "But according to Mrs. Bainbridge, Jennifer caught West trying to steal hair from her hair brush. I think you'll agree it's a rather strange thing to do."

  David leaned back, looking puzzled. "That doesn't sound like Simon. Maybe before, but now…" He stared off into space for a few seconds, then shook his head as if to clear it.

  "Before?" Sheila asked. "What do you mean?"

  David hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to his church members and his desire to help with the investigation. "I have a responsibility to protect the privacy of my flock," he said cautiously. "I abide by the same patient-client confidentiality understanding as any therapist."

  "Then you're also responsible to report a crime or a stated intention to harm someone."

  "Neither of which applies here." David's expression remained guarded, and Sheila could sense her sister's frustration growing.

  Sheila decided to step in, hoping that her perspective might sway the pastor. "Pastor Walden, I understand your reluctance," she began, catching his attention. "I know you want to protect Simon's privacy, and that's noble—it really is." She paused, then went on. "But what about Jennifer? You can't protect her now – none of us can – but you can do the next best thing: You can help us figure out who killed her."

  David hesitated, clearly torn.

  "We're not looking to pry into his life any more than necessary," she continued. "The sooner we can dismiss him as a suspect, the sooner he can go on with his life without our interference. I'm sure you don't want Salvation Springs to become the center of a media story—not for these reasons."

  David considered her words for a moment longer, his green eyes studying her intently. Finally, he sighed and relented. "Alright, Miss Stone. You make some good points. It's important that we do everything we can to help Jennifer's family find peace. I'll tell you what I know."

  "Thank you, Pastor," Sheila said, grateful for his cooperation. She pulled out her phone and opened a note-taking app, ready to record any pertinent details.

  "As I said before, Simon has been attending our services for a few months now," David began, his voice measured and deliberate. "He tends to keep to himself, but he has volunteered for some of our community outreach programs. From what I've observed, he seems sincere in his efforts to change his life and grow spiritually."

  "Have you ever noticed any aggressive or inappropriate behavior from him?" Natalie asked, leaning forward in her wheelchair.

  "Nothing like that at all," David said. "But I have noticed that he seems to struggle with forming connections with others. He's often the last to arrive for service and the first to leave, avoiding small talk and fellowship whenever possible—not that such behavior is particularly unusual."

  "Interesting," Sheila mused, typing the information into her phone. She wondered if West's aloofness was simply a personality quirk or if it hid something more sinister.

  Natalie's eyes narrowed, not completely satisfied with the information David had provided. "Is there anything else you can tell us about him, Pastor Walden? Anything at all that might help our investigation?"

  David shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his fingers drumming on the wooden desk. He looked away for a moment, clearly torn, before finally relenting with a sigh. "There is something, actually," he admitted hesitantly. "Simon is...an ex-convict."

  "An ex-con?" Natalie asked, puzzled. She exchanged a glance with Sheila, and Sheila immediately knew what her sister was thinking. If Simon really was an ex-con, why hadn't they learned about that when they ran a background check?

  "How did you come to know this?" Natalie asked.

  "Simon himself shared his story during one of our church gatherings. He told us how he had made mistakes in his past, but that he was committed to turning over a new leaf and leaving his old life behind."

  "And you're sure Simon West is his real name?"

  "I have no reason to believe otherwise."

  "Do you believe he has truly changed, pastor?" Sheila asked.

  David's eyes met her with a resolute expression. "I believe in the power of redemption, and I have faith in the ability of people to change. But it's true that only God knows what lies within a person's heart." He paused, then added softly, "I pray that Simon has indeed found the strength to change."