Needless to say I was in foul humor when I arrived at the Reading United Methodist Church. I huddled inside my coat, the chill air only getting colder, not typical for mid-December. I scowled at the front door, knowing I was supposed to be getting married tomorrow and that instead I was investigating a murder while now once again embroiled in a blame/fear/anger cycle surrounding the missing newspaperwoman I called my friend.

As I headed inside, the heavy door thudding ...