The little church looked almost deserted. The houses in the largely residential neighborhood were small and old but well tended. Jacaranda and bottle-brush trees lined the streets, casting long, cool shadows. Their castoff flowers had mostly been swept up. It seemed to Sarah Martin as if this might be a safe place. Still, she sat for a long time in the car, the engine idling, as she fought the impulse to flee, simply to drive away.
Finally, she got out of the car and made her way toward the church. She opened the heavy plank door and went in. Dust motes sparkled in the narrowing shaft of sunlight that the door allowed into the shadowy entry, the beam picking out a vertical row of posters on the mostly shadowed bulletin board. A bingo schedule, a poster with its asymmetrical heart symbol
