A man opened his mouth to chime in with his theory, but Julia cut him off with a raised hand. “No, it wasn’t a nefarious group of Manchester United fans,” she said dryly, earning another round of chuckles.

Her new neighbors were silent, giving Julia a moment to gather her thoughts. “Let’s start with the timing. Why now? There are two major things going on in Peter's life right now: his divorce and the hearings to determine the fate of Larkfield Lot.”

Agnes, no doubt trying to regain face from her earlier embarrassment, snapped, her voice sharp. “It’s Amelia Carroway, obviously. She had everything to gain.”

Julia nodded. “Yes, Amelia, Peter’s soon-to-be-ex-wife certainly has a motive. The divorce finalizes in a fortnight. Until then, she’s still the beneficiary if something were to happen to Peter.”

Amelia Carroway stood, her expression angry. “That doesn’t make sense! Peter’s business was in a bad way. If he’s gone, there’s nothing left to inherit!”

Julia began to pace the pulpit. A sea of faces followed her. “You’re right—on the surface. But two things stand out. First, earlier today you said yourself you didn’t know the state of Peter’s business. And second...there’s always life insurance.”

The room buzzed with murmurs but Julia didn't let it gain momentum. “That brings us to Peter himself. He overextended borrowing from the bank. If the Larkfield development pan out, he’d be ruined. He could have scarpered on his own.” She allowed herself a small smile, proud that she'd lived in the English countryside long enough to add "scarpered" to her lexicon.

Again, Agnes interjected, her voice laced with disdain. “Figures he'd run off, leaving everything a shamble."

Julia turned her sharp gaze to Agnes. “And then there’s Agnes Heath, chair of the historical society. And, as it turns out, Peter’s competitor.”

Confusion spread through the crowd as Julia pulled the torn scrap of paper from her bag. “This is a corner of a plot plan I found—a plot plan for Larkfield Lot. It clearly renames Larkfield Lot as ‘Heath Grove Estates.’ It appears the esteemed preservationist had plans to develop the land herself.”

Gasps filled the room as villagers wearing “Save Larkfield Lot” buttons exchanged uneasy glances. Agnes’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red, her mouth opening and closing without a retort for once.

A prominent supporter of the "Save Larkfield Lot" campaign stepped forward. Father Benedict, his voice steady and authoritative, cast a disapproving glance at Agnes and intoned, “Lying is a sin.” 

Julia turned to him, her expression unreadable. “Father Benedict, you've been a staunch supporter of preserving Larkfield Lot. But you also know a thing or two about keeping secrets, don't you?"

This time, the angry murmurs were aimed at Julia.

"Father Benedict is a good man!" a voice rang out, loud and indignant.

"He’s been nothing but kind to this community," another added, rising from the middle pew. "First to volunteer, last to complain. We owe him a lot."

"He’s opened the church doors to everyone in need," an older woman said, her voice quavering with emotion. "Without him, half of us wouldn’t have made it through the winter three years ago!"

"Indeed," Julia said, raising her voice so all could hear. "By all accounts, Father Benedict is a gift to this community. Though isn't it curious that a man so dedicated to the betterment of his community would campaign against low-income housing and a brand-new community center?"

Father Benedict's jaw tightened. “The history of Larkfield Lot is worth preserving."

Julia reached into her bag and pulled out the faded photograph she’d found in the vicar’s office. “I think the only history you’re trying to preserve is your own,” she said, holding the photo aloft. “This picture shows a young Benedict--or as he was known back then, "Burnout Benny"--Peter Carroway, and Trevor Pemberton, the vicar’s best friend, who disappeared nearly forty years ago. Tell us, Father," Julia said softly, her voice cutting through the tension. “What does ‘forgive us our trespasses’ mean to you?”

The church was silent while the town of Brambleton considered Julia's words. Except for three residents, who looked at the amateur--and unwanted--sleuth with dark expressions: Agnes Heath, Mrs. Carroway, and Father Benedict.

“So who was it?” someone called from the crowd. “Who done somethin’ to Peter?”

Who do you think is responsible for Peter’s disappearance?