I walked down the street to First Hope Church. From the exterior, it didn’t look like much—boxy and white. Once I was inside, it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dimmer light, and I blinked hard to clear my vision. Eventually, I could make out rows of dark oak pews lining the sides of the space. Light spilled in from the large, round stained-glass window set high in the gable at the far end of the church, casting a rainbow of colors across the modest altar. Frosted rectangular windows with rounded tops were spaced along the walls, but they didn’t let in a lot of light. The air was as quiet as a library and smelled of candle wax and sweet incense. To the left of the altar, three rows of small confessional candles flickered.

My footsteps echoed across the empty church as I walked down the marble center aisle on the way to the back, where the office was. That was where I figured I’d find Emma or Pastor Foley.

I’d figured right. Emma was in the office, sorting through a box of candles. She glanced up as I appeared in the doorway.

“Willa! What a nice surprise. What can I help you with today?”

“Hi,” I said, smoothing a hand down my jeans. “I wondered if I could talk to you a few minutes.”

“Oh, well, I suppose so,” Emma said, waving me into her office. “I could stand a little break.”

“Great, thanks.” I stepped inside the tiny room and took a seat in the chair in front of her desk. She was a petite, older lady with gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses. I refused the tea she offered and waited until she settled into her seat once more before asking, “I wondered if you remembered seeing anyone lurking around these parts the morning Albert Schumer was killed.”

“Hmm.” Emma gave me a thoughtful look. “Funny you should ask. Your sister was in here earlier, wanting to know the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told her. The only person I saw in the vicinity that day was Nathan Anderson. He drove away from the post office about six in the morning. I know the time exactly because our bells chime exactly on the hour. I come in before six just to hear them. Plus, I can walk into the narthex and see the sun rising through the stained glass. It’s really beautiful. I saw his car through the glass in the front doors.”

“Sounds like it,” I said, smiling. “Are you sure it was Nathan Anderson?”

“Absolutely. He drives a silver Prius with a little ding on the passenger-side door. No mistaking it.” Emma leaned closer and whispered, “Plus, I know I’m not supposed to say this, but Nathan is a friend of the feral cats, like you. So, I feel like I can talk about it since we’re alone.”

“Huh.” After seeing Nathan arguing with Felicity Bates, I’d had him pegged as a villain. But hearing that the guy helped take care of the feral cat population of Mystic Notch made me reconsider.

Mystic Notch had a large population of wild cats. We’d tried to rehome them, but some of them just could not be caught. We did our best to keep them fed and cared for. We sort of acted like a secret society, anonymous and all, bringing food and other supplies to secret shelter locations all around town.

There were a lot of vocal people in the area who’d love nothing more than to do away with all the lost and abandoned cats, so we moved locations frequently to avoid discovery. I hoped that Emma was right and that Nathan was a true and kind friend to the local feral population and hadn’t infiltrated our group to do harm. But if he was a kind friend, then why was he running from Albert Schumer’s dead body?

“And you didn’t see anyone else that morning?”

“No, dear.” Emma sat back and straightened her already-pristine desktop. “Only a few of us early risers are up and about that time of the morning. Usually just me, Pastor Foley, the postmaster, and the good Lord above.”

“Okay, then.” I pushed to my feet and headed for the door. “Well, thank you for talking to me, Emma. Have a nice afternoon.”

“Thank you, Willa. You do the same.” Emma slid her glasses up her nose and picked up a stack of papers, her attention firmly focused on her work once more. There was no sign of Pastor Foley around the church, so I decided to leave for my late lunch with Striker a bit sooner than expected. I could take a leisurely walk through town beforehand and stew over the new information I’d just learned.

I stepped back out into the bright sunshine and stood for a minute, enjoying the late-autumn day and the sounds of leaves rustling around my feet. I should be happy Emma had seen the person that Ruthie had heard fleeing that morning. According to what I’d heard, Nathan was into something with Desmond. It was possible he’d learned about the letter from Desmond when Desmond wanted to sell it for the stamp. The letter was old, so the stamp must have had some value, and if Albert didn’t think so and if the letter was never mailed, it wouldn’t have been postmarked either, thus making it worth more.

But now that I knew Nathan helped take care of the cats, I wasn’t so sure he was the killer. Then again, Nathan was friendly with Felicity. Or was he? I’d seen them arguing in front of my shop, and that would seem to indicate they were not on friendly terms.

Emma’s sighting didn’t conclusively prove that Nathan Anderson had killed Albert Schumer. But despite his supposed charity toward stray cats, why else would the man be driving away from the back of the post office where a dead body was sprawled on the steps if it wasn’t because he was fleeing with the letter Albert had been carrying?