Oliver felt bad for Arthur. As he fought back his continuing worry for Tess, he shoved his phone in his pocket and went to speak to the Coopers.

“She headed to the mystery mansion,” Garrett Cooper said. His wife was sniffling; it was obvious she’d been crying.

Their house was surely lost, Oliver thought, stifling the urge to turn and look down the road again. The growing and moving cloud of smoke would only heighten his anxiety about Tess.

The “mystery mansion” was what locals called the home of Livie Harp. She was the area’s most elusive resident. No one really knew much about her except what was gossip. Oliver remembered when she moved to the Upper Rogue. She’d spent a lot of money remodeling the old farmhouse she purchased, practically rebuilding it, hiring out-of-the-area contractors and making them sign nondisclosure agreements. At the time, it created quite a sensation in town, and the gossip threads had fascinated him.

Oliver had spoken to her at length once, when she came to him late one night about a month after she’d moved in and asked that the meeting be confidential. She took him by surprise, sort of like a sneaker wave at the beach, and even after he began to speak with her, he wasn’t certain that his legs were under him. He let her ask the questions, trying to gauge what was really going on with the woman.

“I’ve listened to a couple of your messages on the Internet. You talk a good game,” she said, refusing his offer of a chair.

“I share a Good News message—”

“Good news? That’s what people call the Bible, right?”

“Right.”

“You believe the Bible? All of it?”

“I do.”

She stopped pacing and stared at him. Then the questions came rapid-fire.

“How can you be so certain the book is true and not fairy tales? How can you be so sure? Do you really believe there is a God?”

“Let me take those one at a time.” Oliver swallowed. “I do believe the Bible is true. I’ve studied the book for most of my life. It’s consistent, historical, and it brings a clear Good News message of salvation for mankind. There’s historical evidence as well, but my guess is that isn’t what you are looking for—dry history.”

“I want some proof.” She banged her closed fist into an open palm.

“I can’t pull a rabbit out of my hat, if that’s what you want, but if you’re truly looking for God, he’s not hard to find. The proof is all around us. Seek him honestly; he’s there, in those pages.”

“He may be there in those pages, but he’s certainly not present in this world. How can he be? There is so much evil, so much pain. How do you explain that?”