I think it was all just too much, because the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the ground and Savage was patting my cheek to wake me up.

“I think I fainted,” I said when his face came into focus.

“No kidding. Took ten years off my life.”

“That’s not Pastor Charles,” I said, glancing over at the body.

“I have a hunch it’s the guy that answered the phone that day you called looking for Tilda Sweeney. He’d need someone he could trust to help him with some of the details, and Emile Cardonas wouldn’t want to leave any loose ends. If Charles and his friend had any contact, Emile would know about it.”

I rolled to my side so I could sit up. Rosemarie had taken one of the hymnals and was waving it in front of my face for extra air, but it only made me sneeze, which made my face hurt again.

“You’re a mess,” Savage said. “I have a theory.”

“Listen, Mister,” Rosemarie said, getting in Savage’s face. “Unless your theory involves getting up there and moving that body out of this church so it’s no longer a crime scene, we don’t want to hear it. This is our wedding we’re talking about. And it’s happening whether you want it to or not.”

I put my hand on Rosemarie’s arm to try and pull her back, but she was fully invested. Savage wasn’t really the kind of guy to get overly excited about much. He was like Nick in a lot of ways, which might have been why I’d been a little bit attracted to him. He was still a cop, even beneath his suits, crazy socks, and devil’s smile.

All he did was give her a look and she let go of his sleeve. “Sorry about that,” she said. “It’s the wedding hormones.”

His lips twitched and he looked back at me. “They seem to be going around. I need to call in a team and secure the scene. We need to find Pastor Charles.”

“Rosemarie and I can look for him while you’re stuck here,” I said.

“You okay to drive?” He handed me the keys to his Tahoe.

“Just a slight malfunction. I’m good as new.”

“Maybe knock on Pastor Charles’s front door and see if he answers,” Savage said. He stared directly into my eyes and spoke in an unusually even voice. “It’s possible there’s been a break-in and the front door is already open. It would be perfectly natural and legal for you to go inside and make sure he’s okay.”

“Right,” I said, taking his hand as he helped me off the floor. “Perfectly legal. Come on, Rosemarie. Let’s see if we can find a fake preacher.”

“I think you should take vitamins,” Rosemarie said as we walked around the side of the church to the rectory. “This much added stress isn’t good for the body. Look at me, I take my multivitamins every day and I’m fit as a fiddle. I never get sick. And I look healthy. People always talk about my weight, but you don’t see me fainting at the drop of a hat or throwing up my eggs.

“Look at you, all scrawny and black-and-blue. You’re looking like Anne Hathaway in Les Mis after they pulled out her teeth and chopped off her hair. You need some sun and some pie.”

“We leave for Tahiti on Sunday,” I said. “I’ll get more sun and pie than I know what to do with. And sex. And maybe we’ll never come back. I could adapt to island life.”

“Better watch out,” she said. “I heard they have a very active cannibal lifestyle there. They hunt unsuspecting tourists, and before you know it you’re being roasted over a spit. Though you might be safe. You don’t look very appetizing.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I think.”

The rectory was a simple two-bedroom home made of the same stucco as the church. It was very plain and simple, which I guess was all a single pastor needed. I knocked on the door and then waited to see if anyone would answer.

As expected, no one came to the door, and I listened to see if I could hear anyone moving around inside.

“Should we bust out a window?” Rosemarie asked.

“Probably not,” I said, and tried the door knob. It was locked.

I got my phone and called Beverly.

“What’s going on?” she said when she answered. “I’ve already had a hundred phone calls from people asking me what’s going on at the church. I was just about to come in.”

“I wouldn’t bother. The church is going to be shut down for a little while. A body was found on the premises.”

She gasped. “Anyone I know?”

“Looks like an out-of-towner,” I said.

“Thank God.” And then she must have realized what she’d said because she followed up with, “Not that I’m wishing death on anyone. Wow, you have really bad wedding mojo.”

“I’m aware,” I said. “Is there an extra key to the rectory?”

“Is Pastor Charles in trouble?”

I didn’t want to tell her that Pastor Charles was a lying murderer so I just said, “We’re making sure he’s okay. No one has seen him.”

“He keeps an extra key under the little rock in the front flower bed.”

I thanked her and hung up, and then bent down to check under the rock. Sure enough, there was a house key sitting there. I unlocked the front door and Rosemarie and I went inside.

“That was easy,” I said, looking around.

It was a simple room. White walls and mission-style furniture. There was a crocheted afghan thrown across a worn recliner, and one wall was lined with bookshelves and filled with tattered books. Charles had done a great job of adapting to his new life and making it credible. The fact that he’d been preaching almost every Sunday for ten years blew my mind.

“You know,” Rosemarie said. “I always liked his sermons. But I guess it makes sense that I never heard him preaching on the Ten Commandments. The whole murder thing was probably a sticking point.”

I grunted and moved to the bookshelf, looking at the tattered volumes. I took out a few of the more used ones and flipped through the pages. Rosemarie was moving between all the framed pictures.

“None of these pictures have him in it,” she said.

“Because those are from someone else’s life,” I said. I went over to the phone and looked through the trashcan next to it. It had been emptied. And then I went through the drawers. They were empty. Where was the clutter? The stuff that showed a person had actually lived there for ten years?

“I’ll check the bedroom,” Rosemarie said.

I went into the tiny kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Basic stuff—milk, eggs, lunch meat. The freezer was much the same. A stack of TV dinners. I pulled them out and then noticed one of the middle ones wasn’t sealed all the way. I pulled back the wrapper and inside the TV dinner were two flash drives.

“Bingo,” I said. I put everything back inside the freezer and pocketed the flash drives. There was no telling what was on it.

I joined Rosemarie in the bedroom and she was going through his nightstand drawers.

“Can you believe it?” she asked. “Not even a dirty magazine. How does a man in the prime of his life go without sex for ten years? I’ve never seen him with a woman or even look like he was interested in anyone. And believe me, I looked. Because that man is hot. I wouldn’t have minded being a preacher’s wife. Just like Whitney Houston in that movie. I like a good church choir.”

“How would you have felt about being a murderer’s wife?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I was pretty desperate there for a while after my divorce. Anyone would’ve looked good after Roger.”

I looked under his mattress and beneath the bed. Rosemarie was right. There wasn’t anything even the least bit naughty. “Maybe when he became a preacher he really found God,” I said. “Maybe he’s on the up-and-up now and repented. I mean, he’s still going to go to jail, but at least he’s saved his soul.”

I heard a noise from the living room and I froze. Rosemarie’s eyes got big and round and her head swiveled back and forth, like she was trying to decide whether to hide in the closet or crawl under the bed. If it was someone we’d known, surely they would’ve called out instead of trying to be sneaky.

I put my finger up to my lips to signal her to be quiet and moved to the side of the door. The only weapon I could find was a small vase sitting on a secretary. I picked it up and held it over my head. Rosemarie made a little squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth.

My heart was racing a mile a minute and I was going on pure instinct. I brought my hands down just as someone walked through the door. Before I knew it, my wrist was numb and the vase had fallen to the floor.

Savage just stared at me and shook his head. “Aren’t you carrying a gun? That wouldn’t have been your first choice of weapon?”

“I forgot,” I said, completely humiliated. “Besides, it’s too hard to get to.”

“I’m sure the bad guys love that.”

“Except it’s just you,” I said.

“I can be bad,” he said, and then he winked.

“Good Lord,” Rosemarie said and fanned herself.

I rolled my eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Crime scene team is here. Did you find anything?”

“Yeah, the door was open and we thought there might have been a break-in. So we came in to make sure Pastor Charles was okay.”

“That’s very neighborly of you,” Savage said.

“And while we were looking for his body, I stumbled across these,” I said, handing him the flash drives. “They were right in the middle of the floor in plain sight.”

“Careless of him to leave them laying around.”

We followed Savage back outside, and I noticed the parking lot of the church was full of official-looking vehicles.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Did Charles have any close friends? Anyone he met with on a regular basis?” Savage asked. “If he’s not dead, then he’s close by. Cardonas is playing with him. He’s got eyes on him, and the dead body is a message. He knew Charles would see the body.”

I called Beverly again.

“Is he dead? Did you find him? I’m worried sick. My phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“We haven’t found him yet,” I said. “Did Pastor Charles have any close friends? Anyone he met with on a regular basis?”

“He was friendly with everyone, of course.” Then she paused. “Ohmigoodness. I’m using past tense like he’s already dead.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I lied.

“Well,” she continued. “He’d have Bible study with a group of men on Tuesday mornings at the café.”

“Do you know if he met with them this week?” I asked.

“No, he had to cancel. He canceled all his appointments for this week or passed them on to Pastor Becky. She’s been doing double duty. And she’s scheduled to preach on Sunday too. Pastor Charles said he had some personal matters to take care of this week. I didn’t pry.”

“Can you text me a list of the people he met with most often?” I asked. “Or whoever he was closest to?”

“Sure, I’ll do my best.”

She hung up and I relayed the conversation to Savage. “You said earlier that you had a theory,” I said. “What is it?”

“Oh,” he said. “It was a theory about you. Not the case.”

I looked at him quizzically. “What theory?”

“You sure you want to know?” he asked.

“Of course. Can’t wait to hear it.” Savage never got personal. I was expecting him to come up with some cockamamie reason Nick and I shouldn’t get married.

“Okay,” he said. “I think you’re pregnant.”