The pastor protested, but the rest of us insisted he drive home. At the doorway, he faced us. “Stage an argument.”

Confusion punched me. “What?”

“When the sheriff leaves here tonight, stage an argument with Shelby. That ensures whoever is watching—and you know someone is—observes you trying to get information about the missing money from her. Denton, take her home and at her cabin continue the argument.”

“Good one, Pastor. What else?”

“Let’s pray for divine guidance.”

“And for the truth,” Shelby said. “I want to know what Marissa’s been doing the past several years.”

After Pastor Emory prayed with us and drove back to town, I called Mike and updated him. I asked him to contact Houston’s FBI and relay our findings. With the new info, the bureau would be supportive.

He thanked me with one of his favorite phrases—not suitable for kids or Christians. “I’ll arrange protective custody for Clay and Aria and dig into updates on Marissa. I’ll have the assigned agents tell Clay that he and Aria are in immediate danger.”

“He may suspect Marissa.”

“I’ll brief the agents to tell him nothing. If I’m going to spend my days before retirement on a case, you’d better keep me posted. Hourly. I’m leaving for Valleysburg as soon as I throw together a bag.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“I’ll call you every thirty minutes. I don’t like surprises. Look for me at your door.”

While the aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirled around me, the sheriff paced, Shelby made notes in her journal, and I . . . I hoped I hadn’t lost my mind with a ridiculous plan.

“We need a timetable.” The sheriff grabbed a sandwich and another blueberry scone along with a mug of coffee. “How’s this goin’ to play out?”

“We’re looking at digging up facts, evidence, and how to interact with unpredictable people like money launderers—tonight. All based on Marissa contacting Shelby.”

“With those odds, maybe we should have asked Pastor to stay. Put in a good word to God,” the sheriff said.

We needed all the divine help available on the planet. “Mike is working on gathering intel. As soon as he has something, he’ll forward it to me. Basically, I’ll take Shelby home. When a plan’s in place, she’ll leave the rear of her cabin into the woods to a safe location. About six in the morning, I’ll check on her cabin with the excuse I was worried about her state of mind. Then I’ll call you with a missing person report. Notifying the paper and Amy-Jo of her disappearance gets the word out. One issue is James Peterson.”

“My department,” the sheriff said. “I’ll tell him this is part of a plan to keep her safe, and the FBI is monitorin’ the situation.”

She frowned. “Where will I go while I wait for Marissa’s call?”

“I have a deer lease.” Sheriff Wendall crossed his arms over his chest. “Not fancy, but it’s a real cozy cabin.”

“It’s not hunting season, right?” She smiled, but I knew she feared the worst.