Outside, a vehicle roared up to the curb and then stopped. A car door slammed.
?Please,? I begged, knowing my time was short, ?you saw Roger Bampton. What do you think??
He chuckled. ?I know he was having copies of his blood tests framed for Father Olson.? When I glowered at him, he went on, ?I also know our church isn?t the most harmonious place in the universe. So why would God choose us to do something like this? The folks at St. Luke?s can?t even agree on the size of pipes to use in plumbing renovation. How would they explain a miraculous healing??
My eyes still questioned him.
Stodgy Hodge, the best diagnostician I had ever know, shrugged. He said, ?All right, I guess I believe the healing of Roger Bampton was a miracle.?
?Goldy!? shrieked Marla as she banged through the office door. She was wearing an enormous white raincoat over a brilliant yellow sweatsuit. She looked like a large, angry egg. Her unbrushed brown hair flew out in unkempt tendrils. She stopped and glanced around at Dr. Hodges, Helen Keene, and then gave me and my wet clothes the once-over. ?Went for an early morning swim, did we??
?Don?t start.?
?No wait,? she said, winking at Helen Keene and throwing her frizzy mass of hair back for effect, ?the churchwomen wanted fish, so you thought you?d throw a line into Aspen Meadow Lake. The things caterers will do for food! But then you fell in ? ?
?Marla ? ?
?Don?t? bawl out the person who?s come to nurse you.? She put her chunky arm around me, helped me up, and started to guide me out the door,? I even have a covered cup of fresh cappuccino in the Jag for you.?
Helen Keene bid me good-bye, and Stodgy Hodge placed the sample bottle of pain meds in my palm. Both knew I was in good hands.
?The police tell me you?ve been terribly, terribly naughty,? Marla chided once she had me settled into the front seat of the Jaguar. I uncapped the hot, creamy coffee she had brought and tried to sip the froth as she rocketed the sedan over the icy streets. ?What were you looking for at Olson?s that was so important? Copies of S and M Fantasies??
?I was looking for those doggone pearls that were going to be used for the women?s jewelry bazaar. You said he hid things in strange places, so I just thought ? ?
?Oh, excuse me, I said he hid things in strange places? So this is my fault? You think the motive was robbery. That?s the theory you risked getting killed for? If stealing was the motive and it failed, don?t you think the police would have found the pearls when they first went out there, when Olson died??
I didn?t answer. We pulled up by the curb in front of my house.
?What?s that supposed to be?? demanded Marla.
I followed her pointing finger. Yet another crocheted afghan swung gently from a rafter on my front porch. This one was green and had a white cross at the center.
?Oh, Lord, why ? ?
But my exclamation was interrupted. Julian and Arch vaulted out the front door. Their faces, full of curiosity and worry, pinched my heart. These last few days had been so hard on them.
?I still don?t see why you went out to Olson?s before the sun was even up,? Marla said with an exasperated laugh. ?I have plenty of pearls if you need to borrow some.?
?I keep telling you not to start, but you just keep doing it.?
Julian and Arch insisted on knowing everything that had happened. I gave a few brief details and concluded with the fact that I had not found Tom Schulz. Also, I?d been slightly hurt in the process. Marla settled me in a chair ? I refused to go to bed ? with an electric heating pad wedged against my back and a fresh mug of cappuccino. She took down the newly donated afghan while I dutifully took a pain pill with a glass of water. It was a mild muscle relaxant that I knew would still allow me to function, especially after the double dose of caffeine Marla had just given me.
She said, ?I?m taking Julian back out to get the Rover so the guys can go to school. Can I trust you?? Her eyes challenged me to protest. I wasn?t sure I had the strength.
?I?ll stay with her,? Arch piped up. ?I learned CPR in Scouts.? He gave me one of his goggle-eyed looks and a full, beneficent grin. Marla laughed while Julian, mute and anxious, stared at me as if I were an apparition. He could not seem to believe I was alive. I knew better than to try to explain my motivations to him in his present emotional condition.
?What?s the deal with that knitted thing on the porch?? he demanded. ?I think it?s pretty weird that someone keeps leaving stuff for you, and you don?t even know who it is.?
?Someone at church,? I said casually. I brightened. ?I probably won?t get up when you get back. Hope your classes go well today.? And then I remembered again the importance of this week to Julian. Would the college admissions or rejections come this day? I?d become so preoccupied with my own crises that I hadn?t been very sympathetic. ?Good luck,? I added lamely.
?Don?t worry about me,? he ordered impatiently, then hustled off with Marla. ?We?ll be back fro you in forty minutes,? he warned over his shoulder to Arch.
Arch did not move from the kitchen table. ?You just got one call this morning,? he announced to me, as if anticipating my first question. ?They want you to set up at the church around eleven-thirty. Should I phone and say you can?t come??
?No, I have to go. Maybe you could put some water on to boil the pasta. Then if you don?t mind, you can scoop out the cookies. I made two kinds. They are recipes of Tom?s.?
He gave me a solicitous look, then retrieved my pasta pot. ?So, out at Father Olson?s,? he said conversationally, ?was it really scary? I wish I knew who clobbered you. That is so gross.?
?It went too fast for me to be scared. But I was wondering if you?d hand me that pile of exams over there, please.? I readjusted the heating pad and felt the medication kick in. My head felt light, and the sharp pains in my back ebbed to a dull ache as I started flipping through the pages the diocesan office had sent me to read.
?Did the robber-guy take much?? Arch asked as water gushed into the pan. He heaved it over to the stove with a minimum of sloshing.
?Hold on.? I ripped open the envelope containing the candidates? names coded to their exam numbers. As I suspected, candidate 92-492 was identified on the master sheet as Mitchell Hartley. I put in a call to Boyd?s voice mail; after the fiascos at Brio Barn and Zelda?s, the last thing I was going to do was have the cops go scoop Hartley up. Besides, the police already had checked the conference center, where Hartley was staying, for Tom. When I got off the phone, Arch was looking at me quizzically.
?What was your question, Arch? Oh. What did the robber steal. Some church vessels. But not a whole lot more that I could tell. For a reason I can?t figure out, the robber or somebody dug up the area around where Olson?s body had been, and put a cross there.?
?Really? Wow, I?ve heard about that kind of thing on Stories of the Weird.?
?What kind of thing?? Normally, the fact that Arch had a fascination with the Weird meant that he knew statistics on UFOs, extraterrestrial explanations of Stonehenge, and metaphysical theories on Jimmy Hoffa?s disappearance that were nothing the FBI would investigate. And of course, Chimayo. I said, ?You heard about robbers digging up dirt??
?Oh, no,? he replied in his you-are-so-unsophisticated tone. ?Okay, look. If the blood of a martyr falls to the ground in a certain place, people believe you have to dig up the bloody dirt … sorry, Mom,? he added when he saw my expression. He gestured broadly. ?Then they pour holy water, or just plain water maybe, over the dirt, and the dirty, bloody water that comes out has magical healing properties.?
?Oh, please ? ?
?I?m just telling you.?
Thanks. The cookie batters are in two covered bowls in the walk-in. Next to the shrimp.?
He frowned at my incredulity and emerged from the walk-in refrigerator balancing the butcher paper-wrapped shrimp on top of one of the bowls. I bargained with myself: I would stay seated and try to work. If the back pain became unbearable, I?d send the food over to the church and go to bed.
With infinite care, I leaned over to preheat Tom?s over. An arrow of pain shot up my spine: I decided I could live with it. Arch took out measuring spoons and the two of us scooped mounds of luscious-looking dough onto the buttered cookie sheets. Working with Arch in this way reminded me of the last time we?d cooked together, when
