Part 2: Unearthing the Past

The old woman introduced herself as Gladys and leaned back, considering Julia, but soon the compulsion for small town gossip won out. “Back in the day, he was a bit of a troublemaker. We used to call him ‘Burnout Benny.’ That was before he was a man of the cloth, of course.”

“What happened?” Julia asked. She was all too familiar how major events can change the trajectory of a person's life.

“His best mate disappeared after they finished secondary school. One day they were out having a laugh, causing a bit of mischief, and the next—gone. It shook him, it did. Shook him straight to seminary.”

“That’s enough,” her husband interjected. “You can’t judge a man by the actions of his youth. Father Benedict’s been a godsend to this community—always the first to help, always opening his doors to those in need.”

Julia glanced back at the vicar, now speaking to a small group near the church steps. A flash of blue on his lapel caught her eye. “Save Larkfield Lot” it read. She frowned. Why would a man so devoted to helping the community oppose a project that promised rent-controlled housing and a new community center?

Julia entered the church. It wasn't time for services, but there were more than a few people praying. For Peter's safe return or currying favor for tomorrow's Premiere League match, she didn't know. Perhaps both.

Luckily for Julia, Father Benedict had an open door policy. The door to the vicar's office stood open. She met Mr. Whistle's small black eyes. She didn't need to say anything. The bird flew to a pillar nearby and perched where he had a vantage to see anyone approaching.

The office was quiet, the faint scent of old books and candle wax filled the air. A large wooden desk took up most of the room. Stacks of papers covered every inch of it. The walls were lined with shelves and file cabinets. A door on the west side of the room led to the loo. Julia’s gaze fell on the drawers in the vicar’s desk. An ornate keyhole adorned each drawer, but, to her surprise, the first drawer slid open.

Pens. Notepads. A stick of nicotine gum. She slid it closed quietly and opened the next. Inside was a faded photograph. Julia picked it up carefully. It showed a young Father Benedict--perhaps 17 or 18--grinning alongside two other boys. One of them was unmistakably Peter Carroway. The third boy was unfamiliar, but Julia guessed it must be the friend who had disappeared. On the back of the photo, in Father Benedict’s handwriting, were the words: Forgive us our trespasses.

Julia turned the photo over again, her mind racing. Trespasses? The word sent a shiver down her spine. What had happened all those years ago? And how was Peter connected to it?

CTA: The mystery deepens. Stay tuned for more clues in tomorrow’s update.