Marla returned to the phone. After a minute, she said, no, no, no, Im sure she wont … Shes under too much stress, thats why. Again she put her hand over the mouthpiece. Did this guy flunk pastoral theology or what? she whispered. Dougs voice still droned through the receiver; Marla smiled widely. Doug, she told him loudly, you can find another caterer. More muffled protests were followed by All right, Ill ask. She turned to me. Father Insensitive wants to know if youre still going to cater the Board of Theological Examiners meetings starting Tuesday night. And attend, too, since youre a member, thats what he says hes upset about, cant get another qualified laywoman on such short notice, and especially with Olson gone, they just wont have enough people to do the examining. Or so he claims. He says itll help you get your mind off your other crises. Although I think hes more worried about food, if you want to know the truth.
Goldy, you cant, Julian began fervently, not when youre going through this other mess. Tell them Ill do it.
I agree, said Marla, her hand still clasped over the mouthpiece. The police will want to talk to you
Tell him I dont know yet, I interrupted firmly. The meetings in three days he can wait until tomorrow for a decision. Besides, I added mentally, Father Olson had been head of the Board of Theological Examiners I owed doing this catering to him, and perhaps cooking for the board would keep me from obsessing about Schulz.
Resigned, Marla spoke quietly into the phone, then hung up. When Julian asked if I wanted him to fix dinner, Marla replied with a snicker that Father Doug had said the Altar Guild was sending in meals. Starting tonight.
Oh, wow, Julian muttered as he raked his mown blond hair with his short fingers. Tuna fish and cream of mushroom soup.
Dont be ungrateful, Marla chided. Ive brought you frozen zucchini quiche, your own mini-wheel of Camembert, and spinach tortellini. And theres Beef Wellington for the carnivores. Not to mention that you still have plenty of wedding goodies tucked away in your refrigerator. You can munch on those for as long as
Wedding goodies. I put my head into my hands. I know he loved you Loves. Julian and Marla simultaneously lunged forward to hug me, which only made matters worse.
I didnt mean to, I really didnt. Marlas voice choked with guilt near my ear. At least let me take you out tonight, Goldy. Theres no point staying around here.
I need to be near the phones, I said for what felt like the hundredth time. But thanks, Marla. Please. Julian, if itll make you feel better to cook, go ahead.
With a wild and angry energy, Julian began to bang around the kitchen. Arch appeared from the TV room and asked for an update. When we told him there was none, he assessed the two glum adults and one manic teenager, then announced he was going back to finish watching his show. After a while, Marla said she would go home and make some calls for me, to let people know what was going on so that they wouldnt tie up my line with their dumb questions. But she would stay if we needed her, she offered hopefully. I assured her we would be fine. When she left, I went to find Arch.
In the spare bedroom that we used as a recreation space, Arch had the television on but was lying face-up on the tartan plaid couch. When he turned to me, I knew he was assessing my mood, the way he had as a child. He seemed to be wondering: How should I react to this crisis? If Mom is upset, I should be upset.
Im going to be all right, I said to his unspoken question. Are you?
He groaned. His gray sweatsuit was pleated in a rumpled mass that he didnt bother to straighten. He avoided my eyes. Mom, how soon do you think the police will call?
I turned the television off and sat in the matching plaid chair. Very soon. Theyre going to bring me a copy of the note, and some things of Toms.
Arch paused, mulling something over. Finally he heaved himself up.
What is it, Arch?
His thin chest and shoulders collapsed with a loud, disgusted sigh. Lying on the couch had flattened his hair straight up at the cowlick. You really dont think he could have decided to, like, run away, do you? Maybe he just didnt want to … you know, Im not saying its you, Mom … maybe he just was afraid of all of us being together. In a family. Maybe he just didnt want to get married, he concluded fiercely.
I waited until Arch looked at me, then I took one of his cool hands. This is what I believe: that theyll find him. That he wants to be a family with us more than anything.
Archs eyes had gone from narrow to vacant; clearly, he was doubtful.
Please, hon, wont you come eat? You havent had a regular meal all day.
Arch shook his head and pulled his hand away. I dont think I should eat until they find Tom Schulz.
Please. Dont do this. Julians working like crazy out there to make a nice meal for you. And you know Tom would want you to take care of yourself. He didnt move. Please, Arch.
He got up. With bleary eyes, he pushed past me down the hall to the kitchen.
Our dinner consisted of Julians idea of comfort food: a spicy frittata served wit his own heated sourdough rolls, a fruit cup, and a complex salad of tomatoes, scallions, lettuce, crushed corn chips, and grated cheddar and Jack cheeses, all coated with a thick, smooth avocado dressing. I recognized this guacamole concoction as a specialty of Toms. Julian had retrieved the recipe from the overstuffed square plastic file that Id forgotten was on a shelf where Toms cookbooks were piled on top of mine. I wondered if the card file had any abbreviations in it VM? B. Read Judas? P.R.A.Y.? Not likely.
The boys exchanged a worried look when I stopped moving food around on my plate and brought Toms recipe box up to my nose, inhaled deeply, then dumped the whole mass of handprinted recipes out onto the table. The spattered, yellowed cards smelled faintly of Toms kitchen. It was an inviting, high-ceilinged room in the log home he had been about to vacate, after much discussion, to live in town with us. I reached for a card: Monster Cinnamon Rolls. His handwriting. And then a note in another, more recent pen: Try for G. I couldnt bear it; I turned it over and left the cards in an untidy pile.
The frittata and salad, unfortunately, merely assuaged hunger, which was by this time severe. Worse, I was unable to offer comfort in the area Arch and Julian most needed it: answers to their questions. First they wanted to be told again every detail of Toms disappearance. I hesitated discussing my time in the meadow by Olsons house, with its memories of the shrouded corpse and the police tramping dutifully about, looking for clues. But Arch, who had eaten only a forkful o frittata, and Julian, who was digging into his third helping, would tolerate no avoidance on my part. They wanted to hear it all, as if such knowledge could give order to the sudden loss of the big-bodied, bog-hearted police officer whom they had both come to love. I did not mention that it looked as if Tom had been injured on the stony bank of the creek. Julian pushed his plate away and looked at me quizzically.
What about before the church? he persisted. Didnt Schulz, you know, call you this morning? And what about Father Olson? Is stuff missing from his house? I mean, if there is, why would some guy rob him, then shoot him down by the creek instead of just knocking him out and taking off?
Tom Schulz did not call before we left for the church this morning, I said, remembering the hassle of getting my garment bag, the ring, and all the food platters into the van. And as to the why with Father Olson, I dont know. Thats what the investigative team is supposed to be working on. Some kind of resolve was forming. And what Im going to find out, I added mentally.
Arch put down his fork. I was not up to telling him to finish what was on his plate. He said, I want to see the note from him. I have some books of codes. Maybe I could look the abbreviations up.
Exasperated, Julian got up and began to clear the table. Arch, he said as he clanked dishes into the sink, if hed known somebody was w
atching him, he would have pulled out his gun, not written a message to us in stupid code. He threw open the door to the commercial dishwasher that had just cost me over a thousand dollars. The heavy door made a cracking sound as it bounced in place.
Oh, yeah? hollered Arch. His face flushed with anger. Where dyou suppose he packed his piece? Inside his tuxedo with the ring he was going to give to Mom? Arch glowered at Julian, who rudely ignored him as he dumped plates and cutlery into the dishwasher. If I want to look up codes, I will! Im allowed!
Guys, I begged, please. Not now. I made a sudden decision. Pushing my chair out from the table, I snatched the van keys. Im going back to the church. To the two pairs of suddenly fearful eyes, I said, Dont sweat it. Im just going to pick up his wedding ring.
It was bitterly cold outside. The wind had picked up and was whirling snow off the ground like fanned smoke. The van growled in protest when I gunned it toward Main Street. The church parking lot was empty, which is what youd expect at 6:30 on a Saturday evening. I hopped out of the van, walked carefully across the slippery frozen gravel, and pulled on one of the two main doors to St. Lukes. It was unlocked so much for ecclesiastical security. On the shadowed altar, the pallid petal of my bridal flowers glimmered like leftover funeral arrangements. Gritting my teeth, I allowed the door to swing shut and trotted around the long way, up past the columbarium construction. I was panting by the time I arrived at the church office building.
That office door wasnt just unlocked: it was partially open. Tom, be with me, I prayed silently as I tried to catch my breath. I whacked the door open with my foot.
Hello? I called as I stepped boldly over the threshold. What the hell ?
At first, I was so shocked I could not register what I saw. Within seconds, however, dismay replaced surprise. The office had been vandalized.
The sawhorses leading to the renovation area lay in pieces on the desk. On the floor, papers from the secretarys files had been dumped every which way. Her phone had been pulled from the wall and smashed. Hymnals and prayer books were spewed on top of the disorder of pipes, and the couch on which I had sat with Helen Keene that afternoon had been slashed. Gouts of foam rubber lay everywhere.
I cant believe this, I muttered. The old floor creaked as I tiptoed through the devastation to Ted Olsons office. If whoever had done this had stolen Toms wedding ring … My skin prickled with rage. I knew I was a little crazed. But no one was going to take that away from me, too.
Olsons office was if possible even more of a mess. Not only had the phone been broken to smithereens, but the contents of upended file drawers had been spilled over the floor. So much for the police searching through them for the meaning of VM, B., and P.R.A.Y. The bookshelves were empty all the volumes were on the floor. The vandal had spared the Leonardo reproduction, although it now hung at a grotesque tilt. The bulletin board had crashed to the floor. The ring, I thought. What did you do with the ring, you bastard?
There was a sudden shuffling. I screamed and grabbed a heavy book. Something a trash can lid? banged. Out the office window, I could dimly see a raccoon shambling away from the building. I collapsed onto a chair, certain I was about to have a heart attack.
Dammit! Where is the ring? I said aloud.
And then I remembered that I had brought it in the pocket of my streetclothes. They had fallen from their hook when Id heaved a hymnal at the wall. I stepped over the debris until I came to the plain brown cotton dress that still lay in a rumpled heap. Kneeling, I fumbled in the pocket and experienced a cold wave of relief when my fingers closed around the velvet-covered box from Aspen Meadow Jewelers.
I pulled it out and opened it. The thick gold band that was to have been Toms glistened in the fading light. I popped the box shut, stood, and stepped quickly over the chaos. Clutching the precious ring box, I ran back to my van.
6
The van wheezed against the cold as I raced home. Back in my kitchen, I ignored Julians vociferous inquiries and called the Sheriffs Department. Yes, I insisted to Dispatchs toneless question, it was an emergency. Dispatch put me through to Calloway; I told her about the ransacked church office. She thanked me, said Boyd was on his way up to my house anyway, and that shed send a team over to the church. I hung up.
Man, Goldy, I cant believe, you went inside when you saw the place was trashed. Julian slapped one of his schoolbooks open on the table and glared at me. Dont you think that was, you know, dangerous? I mean, you really ought to think about taking care of yourself, dont you think? And no offense, but you look terrible. Upstairs, water gushed into Archs bathtub. I looked around the spotlessly clean kitchen. In his usual methodical way, Julian had finished the dishes, set Arch on his evening routine, and now sat leaning back in one of the kitchen chairs. Even though it was Saturday night, hed brought out some work to do. Julian despised inactivity for himself, anyway. I think you should stay home, he advised. You know, just wait for the cops to call. He shifted the chair to balance at a precarious angle and crossed his arms impatiently. So. Did you get the ring or what?
Yes, I got the ring. And I dont normally think of the church office building in the early evening being a dangerous spot, I replied stiffly. But in light of the days event, Julian was right. I was about to show him the ring box when something under the shelf of Toms cookbooks caught my eye. In the spot where Julian usually upended drying pots and pans, he had cleared the counter and spread one of his bandanas. On to of the bandana was Toms recipe box; on to of the box was a small pile of what looked like potting soil.
Julian? Is that dirt on my counter?
His face turned sheepish. Well, yeah. Kinda.
Are we into voodoo here or what?
I figure you need to cover all the bases.
Julian? What base is this? The one under home plate?
He slammed the chair down onto the floor, sprang over to where I stood, and pointed at the mound. This is dirt from Chimayó, he announced, as if that would explain everything.
I know Chimayó is in New Mexico, I said. MY patience was wearing thin. And I know its famous for its chili powder. But youre going to have to enlighten me on the dirt.
Julian rubbed two fingers across his sparse hedgerow of bleached hair. Its, you know … like magic. People make pilgrimages to the sanctuary at Chimayó because the dirt has this … . special healing power. The Indians thought so, and they were in that spot first, you know. Then the Spanish Christians said it was miraculous too, so they built this sanctuary place. So when the swim team went to Santa Fe for a meet, I went over with some of the guys. You just scoop the dirt out of this big hole. I figured if the Indians and the Christians thought it was powerful stuff, then I should get some too, in case I ever needed it. So now I want to use it. Avoiding my eyes, he reached out to press his fingers lightly into the earth. For Tom.
I was touched. Before I could think of something appropriately grateful to say, Arch joined us. He was wearing an enormous white terrycloth bathrobe Tom had given him. His wet brown hair stuck out like pine needles. He said, Was the ring at the church?
Yes, hon. But somebody had broken into the church office. It was a mess.
Oh, gosh. Arch stood beside me, bleakly silent. Mom? he said finally, his voice serious. Ive been thinking. The next time you go out investigating, Im coming with you. I exhaled thoughtfully; it was nice to know I had both a twelve-year-old and a nineteen-year-old intent on mothering me. What in the world is that? He was looking at the pile of dirt.
Something of Julians. He can tell you all about it.
Julian began, Its from Chimayó
Oh, yes, said Arch knowledgeably, I know all about Chimayó from Stories of the Weird. But Mom? If the Health Inspector pays a surprise visit and sees that? You are going to get into so much trouble.
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br /> Before I could protest, the front doorbell rang. We all bolted for it. It was Boyd. Behind him stood Helen Keene, carrying another overstuffed Hefty bag. Their bleak faces said they had not found Tom. I ushered them into my living room, where Boyd handed me a photocopy of Toms note and a plastic bag containing his wallet and the other wedding ring box, sodden from being in the creek. With soft-spoken composure, Helen asked if she could meet with Arch and Julian one-on- one, to see if the needed someone to talk to. Shed brought them quilts, too. Julian replied by asking her if she was hungry. Without waiting for a reply, he led her out to the kitchen. Arch muttered that he didnt want a quilt if it looked as if it belonged to a girl, and traipsed along behind.
Boyd declined food, although he looked longingly in the direction of the kitchen. I told him about the mess at the church office and that Id called the Sheriffs Department.
Damn it to hell, he said angrily as he sat on the living room couch. He had changed into a bright green down parka that did not go with his uniform pants. From his uniform shirt pocket that had at least four ballpoints hooked on it, he drew out a pen and his battered spiral notebook. It was similar to the one Tom Schulz had tossed into the bushes. With his free hand, Boyd surreptitiously slid a wooden match into the side of his mouth. You want to tell me what was in the church office? I mean, do you know anything someone would want to rip off? Or conceal, maybe?
I told him that the tickets and chokers were supposed to be at Olsons house, not in the church office. Boyd had already heard plenty, he said, about the necklaces from both Marla (that big, bunny woman) and Lucille Boatwright (hysterical battle-ax). I showed him the wedding ring I had retrieved. The church office contained an appointment book, notes, and files, too, I added, but Olson was such a packrat, only someone who knew exactly where to look for something would be able to find it. And that was before someone broke in and trashed the place.
Boyd stopped scribbling in his notebook and picked up the ring box. I wanted to come to your wedding, he said with a remote sadness. He handed me back the box. But I pulled weekend duty.
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