The drawers were a dead end. Rhychard felt around edges and behind drawers, inside each little whatnot and behind every picture. Nothing. He sat in one of the leather chairs, his back to the window, as he stared at the office.
:How goes it, Warrior?:
:Either Harvest Fellowship has the best custodian in the world or our good pastor is a little OCD. Nothing is out of place.: Rhychard scanned the walls, the desk, the bookshelves…the books? Rhychard stood and scanned the books on the shelf. They were alphabetized within subjects. Prayer. Commentaries. Biographies. Between a Biblical concordance and a topical Bible was a large hardbound book on American Baseball. “Now, you're out of place, aren't you?" He slipped the book from its place, surprised at how light it was compared to its notebook
