“But his truck’s here. Maybe they’re over there.” Luke pointed toward the church.

“Well, you go look.” I pulled my coat collar up. If that really had been a snowflake, we wouldn’t be able to stay up on Chandler Mountain long. In Warsaw it had been business as usual over Christmas despite a foot of snow on the ground and more falling all the time. In Alabama, a dusting of snow totally incapacitates us. And that’s on the flat areas.

“He could have an office over there,” Sister said.

I looked at the church. Small, white paint peeling, it was probably one large room. This was a country church, built like the houses around it. There wouldn’t be room for ministers’ offices or choir lofts, just a row of wooden benches and perhaps a raised platform for the preacher.

“Okay, I’ll go see.” Luke got out of the car and marched toward the church.

“There’s nothing over there,” I said to Sister.

“Probably not. Here.” She handed me a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “This’ll warm you up.”

I took the coffee gratefully and felt the steam rise against my cold face.

“He’s going in,” Sister said. “The door was unlocked.”

There were double doors at the front of the church. As I looked up, Luke disappeared through the one on the right.

“I hope he hurries,” I said. “We need to get off this mountain.”

“We sure do. I’ve got a museum board meeting tonight.” She took her cell phone from her purse. “I’m going to check on Debbie.”

“Did you give her her present?”

“I thought I’d take it over this afternoon.”

I sipped my coffee and looked out at the gray day. A couple more snowflakes drifted by. I closed my jet-lagged eyes. Sister’s conversation with Debbie seemed far away.

“Debbie says they’re predicting snow showers,” Sister said.

I jumped. A little coffee sloshed on my corduroy pants. Damn. Not a good idea going to sleep holding hot coffee.

“We need to go. Reckon what Puke’s doing in there anyway?”

“Praying?” I was still half asleep.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mouse. It’s too cold. Come on. Let’s go get him.”

To this day I don’t know why I got out of the car and followed her across the churchyard, still clutching my coffee. The habit of sixty years, I suppose.

Sister opened the church door and called, “Luke?”

There was no answer, and she walked in. I was right behind her.

There were windows down both sides of the church, which, as I had surmised, was one large room. So we could see, and what we could see was that there was no Luke in the place.

“Luke?” Sister called again, walking up the aisle.

A strange sound, a moan, made us both stop.

“What the hell was that?” Sister whispered.