“And ruin my nightly treats?” He grinned, revealing sharp fangs.
“Maybe, maybe not.” The tiger cat grinned back at him. “But I’m not taking a chance.”
As the coyote left, Tucker, listening at the back barn doors, trotted inside to the hayloft ladder.
Pewter backed down first, followed by Mrs. Murphy.
“Does Odin think you’re stupid?” Tucker growled.
“No, but can’t blame a guy for trying,” the tiger cat replied. “If we could get a break in the weather, some snow melt or tamp down, we could head up there in the daytime. Can’t go at night.”
“We can see in the dark.” Pewter puffed out her chest.
“Yeah, well, Odin doesn’t do too bad in the dark either.” Mrs. Murphy knew dogs had pretty good night vision—not as good as cats, but still.
“Even if Odin’s not there, other hunters might be. A female bear lives up there.” Pewter recalled the large animal since they’d had unpleasant words one summer.
“The bear won’t hurt us.” Tucker knew the habits of bears. “I mean, not unless we provoke her, but if there’s one coyote, you know there are more, and I’m not overfond of bobcats either.”
“Three sets of eyes, ears, and noses are better than one,” the tiger cat proclaimed.
“So you say,” the corgi said noncommittally.
The next morning, Wednesday, Jessica arrived with Jan McGee at eight A.M. at St. Cyril’s. Other cars, SUVs, and trucks already dotted the parking lot, as the ladies’ auxiliary started early on the gifts for the needy.
Seeing Harry park in the lot, Jessica and Jan waited for her. “A lot of work to do.” Jessica smiled. “I’ve come in to do the books, lots to organize. I’ll have to come back Friday, too. And at the end of the month. End of the year,” she said. “It’s going to take all of us to get these things delivered by Christmas. A good sign, I think, but a lot of work.”
Harry opened the door for the two women.
“A good sign.” Jessica waved as they passed the room where the ladies worked. “We could all use a little good news. Visited Arden and Tyler yesterday.” She lowered her voice. “A lot of stress, obviously. Tyler wants to comfort her but”—she held up her hands—“he doesn’t know how with his dad missing. A lot of anger, worry. You can imagine.”
Jan quietly said, “The trick is to keep Arden from imagining too much.”
“You’re right.” Jessica nodded.
“My old church in Grundy burned to the ground. People’s theories as to why ranged from faulty wiring, a disgruntled congregant, to Muslim revenge on Christians. Too much imagination.” Always levelheaded, Jan knew many others who were not.
“Well, Jan, you know the gang in the meeting room,” said Jessica. “Maybe you can help steer the conversation away from drama.”
“Jan can do anything.” Harry complimented the woman who had driven the hour from Manakin-Sabot to once again help.
Harry and Jan walked into the big room as Jessica continued down the hall. Despite all, she was determined to keep up with the books.
Opening the door into the tiny room, not all that warm itself, Jessica took off her coat but kept her scarf on. Once Father O’Connor came in, he’d open the door to his office, always warm, and that warmth would flow in.
Jessica sat down at the old heavy desk, pulled out the account book, studied it for a moment, then reached for a sharp pencil without looking.
The pencil felt quite cold as she bent over the books. Then she noticed before she touched the page that it wasn’t a pencil. It was a human index finger.
Jessica let out a shriek.
The ladies heard it and ran to the room—Harry, the fastest, in the lead. Susan, who had recently arrived, was in the group, too.
Jessica, standing up, pointed to the finger.
Harry walked over, did not pick it up. The other women joined her. To their credit, no one fainted or threw up, but all of them were greatly distressed.
Susan took charge. “I’ll call the sheriff. Ladies, I think we should all leave this room. Jessica, you come with us.”
“I’ll stay here.” Harry’s voice was firm. “Someone needs to guard the evidence.”
“You think someone will come back for it—I mean, both of them?” Jessica now saw there was yet another finger in the large mug containing pencils and ballpoint pens.
“We are taking no chances,” said Harry. “You all stay in the big room. The sheriff’s department will want to question us.”
“Why, we didn’t do it!” Anita Buckly, the president of the auxiliary, nearly shouted.
“Of course not.” Harry tried to calm everyone, as people took shocks differently. “But someone might have seen something that seems inconsequential but isn’t.”
“This is a sick joke.” Jessica’s hand flew to her throat.
“It well may be, but we can’t disturb anything and the sheriff or a deputy will want things as free of fingerprints as possible.” Harry spoke like an expert on criminal investigations, which maybe she was.
Fortunately, Rick Shaw and Cynthia Cooper arrived within twenty minutes. Father O’Connor, now in his office, met them. Harry had informed the young priest of the events. Father O’Connor had called Father O’Brien and the old priest said he’d drive over to the church, but Father O’Connor told him to wait for the sheriff. Rick said he’d visit the priest later in his retirement home.
The two law enforcement officials inspected the fingers without touching them.
“They were kept on ice,” Harry speculated.
“Or stuck in snow.” Cooper looked around the room.
“No one was here other than Jessica,” Father O’Connor burbled.
“Actually, Father, a lot of people have been through here,” said the sheriff. “The ladies are wrapping gifts. Anyone could have slipped in and out, there’s so much activity. Someone walking down the hall might not attract attention.”
“Or someone came early.” Cooper looked over at the shaken priest. “Your rooms are separate from this building, right?”
“The small house in the rear.”
“Father, you can go,” said Rick. “We’ll call you if we need you.” He was intent on doing as much as he could before more people trooped into St. Cyril’s.
“My office is right here.” Father O’Connor stepped through the door to the next room. “If you’ll allow it, I’d like to go talk to the ladies. Perhaps I can help Jessica, the others.”
“Fine,” was all Rick said, as he was already scribbling furious notes. “Coop, we need forensics and maybe a forensic accountant.”
“Before I make that call, let’s make sure we take pictures.” She pulled out her cellphone and began snapping shots of the desk, the position of the chair, the room as it was when the fingers were found.
Meanwhile, Rick studied everything.
“Would you like me to go?” Harry inquired.
“H-m-m. Yes. You didn’t touch anything?” Rick flatly asked.
“No, like I told you, I sent the others into the big room, then stayed here to make sure no one disturbed the scene, including me. I walked into the office from that door”—she pointed to the hallway door—“over to the desk when I heard Jessica scream. The ladies hurried here. We stood at the front of the desk. Once they left, I didn’t move.”
“Coop, call someone to come pick up these fingers. We need to get someone to look over these books.” He glanced at Cooper. “There has to be significance to them being in a pencil jar in the bookkeeper’s office.”