Say Goodbye (Romantic Suspense #25) - Karen Rose Page 0,189

and went back there. He’d lived there with his mother at the time of their disappearance. Pastor’s wife showed up with the kids four years later. Those photos are of DJ and his father at the same age.”

“Whoa,” she murmured. “So you were physically sitting in front of William Holly’s old house when I called you about tracking him and his tattoo to Sergio?”

“Yes.” Resting his chin on the top of her head, he wrapped his arms around her waist as he studied the photo of DJ Belmont, curious as to what she saw that had her so transfixed. “Why?”

She pointed to the grainy photo he’d pulled from the old newspaper article about Pastor’s crimes against his old L.A. congregation, the embezzlement and fraud. “Bo and Bernice. Look at them. Now look at DJ. They’re about the same age in these photos.”

Tom did as she directed, then exhaled, far more stunned than he had any right to be. Because she’d immediately seen what he should have seen, but had not. “DJ and Waylon looked alike, but Bo and DJ could have been twins,” he said quietly.

“Uh-huh. And who is the common denominator?”

“Waylon. That certainly would explain how Pastor’s wife magically ended up in the Belmonts’ rental house. Croft and I figured that Waylon had taken them there, but we weren’t sure why.” He tapped a document thumbtacked at the top of the bulletin board.

She lifted on her toes to examine it. “A marriage license? I didn’t know that Waylon and Pastor’s wife were married. Was this while he was in prison?”

“The day he was released. Dammit, I should have seen this before.”

But he’d been distracted the day he’d fixed these photos to his board. By the woman who was now scrutinizing each and every document and photo he’d collected.

“What else did Waylon’s brother tell you?”

“That Pastor’s wife, Margo Holly, a.k.a. Marcia Travis, kept to herself, but the elder Belmonts—DJ’s grandparents—kind of adopted her kids. Holidays, school events.” He shook his head at his own thickness. “Because they were Bo and Bernie’s grandparents, too. By blood.”

“So . . .” Liza said slowly, “Waylon and Marcia marry and, I’m assuming, get divorced because she married Pastor six months later?” She’d found the copy of Marcia and Benton Travis’s marriage license on his bulletin board. “Then what? They changed their names, cooked up fake backgrounds, and applied to work at a church in L.A.? And nobody checked up on their résumés?”

“Back then it was easier to fake an identity and a résumé,” Tom said. “And I think that many congregations have a basic trust that whoever joins them in worship is one of them. Embezzlement from churches happens all the time still, and the churches are more likely to forgive the crime than a corporation would be. I can get you the statistics if you’re interested.”

“No, I believe you. That’s doubly sad, you know? Assholes who steal from churches don’t just steal money. They steal trust, too.”

“Yes,” Tom said simply. “I don’t know how many of these cases are even reported—then and now. Religious organizations—whatever the denomination—are either more willing to forgive because it’s ingrained in their beliefs or they’re embarrassed to have been cheated.”

“I imagine it’s a little bit of both,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if Pastor knew. That the kids weren’t his, I mean.”

“Good question. None of this helps us find Eden, but I’m kind of invested in the story now. Once we do find Eden, and Pastor and DJ are in custody, I’d like to find Marcia and ask her.”

Liza leaned into him and he tightened his hold. “Do you know where she is?”

“Not exactly. I know where she went after she left Benicia, after her daughter graduated from college and her son killed himself. I know the daughter’s name was Tracy and she got married and moved away. Merle’s mother still gets postcards, but with no return address.”

“Bernice is still hiding,” Liza said sadly. “What about Margo or Marcia or Pastor’s wife, whatever you call her?”

“She married an architect in Modesto, which was when she moved out of the house in Benicia. I can’t find any architects in Modesto with a wife named Margo. Once it’s safe, maybe you should do your Facebook magic and track her down.”

“Don’t make fun,” she warned.

“I’m not,” he promised. “I’m totally not. I’m serious.”

“Then maybe I will.” She turned to look up at him. “How did you know Pastor was at Sunnyside Oaks?”

“I was able to get into Eden’s bank account by