“Brother Rainwater,” I said as I stepped forward and offered my hand. “My name’s Kennesaw Tanner.”

Rainwater shook my hand with a firm grip and fixed me with a warm yet penetrating eye.

“Truman,” he said. “Call me Truman. It’s good to have you here with us tonight, son, and I hope to see you again. But I don’t think you’re a local boy, are you?”

“No, sir, I’m not. I’m here because I wanted to talk with you about one of your former members—Tonya Causey.”

Rainwater’s eyes softened, and he said in a gentle voice, “Ah, little Tonya. What are you looking for, brother? What do you want to know about Tonya?”

“At the request of Joree Causey, the girl’s mother . . .”

He nodded that he knew who Joree was.

“I’m looking into the last year of Tonya’s life, and the circumstances leading to her death. The official finding was that she committed suicide, but Joree doesn’t believe that.”

Rainwater looked at me silently for a second, his eyes flitting back and forth over my face.

“This is a personal matter for you, isn’t it, son?”

It was a question I hadn’t expected, and until now had not really considered. It was my turn to reflect silently.

“Yes, sir, it is,” I admitted.

“Walk with me, son,” he said.

He then turned out the lights in the church, and when we stepped onto the porch, he closed and locked the door. He then led the way across the churchyard, empty now except for my car and the commercial truck.

“I’m not trying to rush you—we’ll talk as long as you want. But I’ve got a load to pick up at the port tonight, and my old truck needs to warm before we get on the road,” he said as we walked across the yard to the truck.

“Just a second,” he said as he climbed in the cab and started the engine. When the motor was running smoothly he climbed back down and led me away where we could speak undisturbed by the rumble of the diesel engine. We stopped and stood face-to-face.

“There are other girls from this area who are also missing. Did you know that, Brother Tanner?”

I felt as though I’d received a jolt from a cattle prod.

Others? I mouthed.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Four other young girls—four—that I’m aware of.”

“But missing—not dead?” I responded.

Rainwater shook his head. “Not that anyone knows. But they are missing. Their families haven’t heard from them in months and have no idea of their whereabouts.”

“Do you know who they are? Do you know the families?” I asked, my mind awhirl with the thought.

“I do,” he said. “One of them is my own granddaughter.”

I was stunned at the revelation. I stood and thought a bit before I spoke again.

“Your granddaughter?”