T
he rectory bedroom smelled like an elderly person’s home—the odor of mothballs and musty linens enveloped Tess like a blanket. The room was small with a low ceiling. It felt empty and lifeless as if it hadn’t been used in many years. An oil painting of Christ hung above the queen-sized bed, his eyes pressed closed, hands clasped in prayer. Next to the bed stood a large dresser with an arched mirror eaten up by black age spots along its edges. A white ceramic bowl containing dried rose petals, bottles of perfume with old-fashioned atomizers, and a dog-eared Bible sat atop the dresser.
Tess felt the vibration of Cap’s footsteps walking down the church hallway outside the bedroom. She waited until they faded away before she turned the lock on the door.
She stood at the threshold and cou
