by Donna Doyle
Still, Emily didn't mind.
Being with Billy Thistlewaite, in the middle of the night, while they were struggling forward over the rough terrain was not a punishment. This was one of those nights she would not easily forget. In her mind's eye she could already envision the admiring looks of Conny Hogg and Alberta Duffy, her best friends. "You were out with Billy Thistlewaite… at night? You mean, you crossed the fields together and he held your hand?"
"Yep." She would proudly nod her head.
"And… did he kiss you?"
He had not yet done so, but then again, Calmhaven was still quite a walk, and every time she stumbled and fell he had grabbed her arm and gently lifted her back up. At those moments she would smell him. The scent of leather mixed with… She wasn't quite sure what it was, but surely, it was the scent of a man. Surely a kiss was not far away.
"We need to try to find our way back to the main road," Billy's breath was labored. "This is not good. I don't even know where we are."
But it was Emily who knew.
"I know where we are," she said and pointed to the right. "Look over there, just behind that hill, you can see the belfry of Calmhaven’s Trinity Church."
Billy peered in the direction Emily pointed, but saw nothing. "You see ghosts," he smirked. Just then the moon shone through the clouds and illuminated the landscape before them. "You are right," Billy exclaimed, the relief clear in his voice. "That's wonderful. In that case we are closer than I feared. I was right after all."
And thus they ploughed on.
First down a hill, then up again and there, stood the church, a the stately silhouette of Calmhaven Trinity Church, fully basking in the light of the moon.
"Almost there," Billy cheered. "That was about time, as my feet are getting tired."
Emily nodded. She knew all good things always come to an end eventually, and she had to admit, she was getting awfully tired as well. Once they were near the church, they were practically in Calmhaven.
But what was that?
Emily stopped in her tracks and peered towards the church. She had spotted movement. Somebody was moving near the church.
"Wait," she whispered, and pulled Billy's arm.
"What?" Billy muttered.
"Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"A shadow. I think there's somebody around the church."
Billy wasn't in the mood. "Of course you see shadows. It's night, for crying out loud, and the light of the moon is constantly casting shadows everywhere."
Emily shook her head. "It's not that, Billy… Look there…" She pointed towards the side of Calmhaven’s Trinity Church, now about 50 yards away. "It looks like somebody is doing something there." She grabbed Billy's arm and squeezed it. "Don't you see that? I even think he's limping." Billy narrowed his eyes and peered in the direction Emily had pointed.
"You are imagining things. I see nothing."
"Look again."
"You are right," he hissed at last. "It looks like someone is doing something near the window. What's he doing?"
"Don't know," Emily whispered back, "but it can't be good."
As they both stared at the shadowy figure, a slender, tall person, they could hear the faint sound of a scraping screwdriver, very careful and very methodical.
"I think he's prying away the stained-glass window," Billy mumbled. "Guess, he's afraid that breaking it will make too much noise."
"We have to tell the police," Emily squeaked, and an ominous feeling of dread entered her spirit. "T-There's a burglar in the church." Just as she said it, they saw how the spook was lifting the whole window out of its frame and placing it against the wall of the church. A second later he crawled through the hole and disappeared out of sight.
"A burglar in the church?" Billy grinned, and shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody wants to break into a church. You know what I think?""
"What?"
"It's probably one of those homeless people, or somebody who has lost the right way. It's really nothing to worry about." He narrowed his eyes again and then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see anything anymore. Maybe we even imagined it, and we just saw the shadows of the branches."
"Of course you don't see anything," Emily smirked. "He's inside."
But Billy wanted to move on. "Come on," he said, "let's go. We still have a ways to go."
But Emily was not convinced. "We have to tell the police. There's a robber in the church."
"Sure," Billy replied in a mocking voice. "You go to the police, but I am going to bed." Without waiting for Emily's reply he pulled her by the arm and dragged her forward.
All of Emily's romantic feelings vanished as snow on a sunny day.
She knew what she had seen, and it filled her with dread. Tomorrow, she would go to the police.
Earlier that evening, just before the sun had disappeared behind the distant hills, Grease had made a run to the small homeless shelter of Calmhaven. He was late and being late was bad news in regards to the way the homeless shelter of Calmhaven operated. "We serve meals till seven," Miss Tannenbaum, who ran the shelter with an iron hand had explained, "but if you want a bed for the night, you need to be in by six." He didn't like Miss Tannenbaum very much, but then again, beggars can't be choosers, and the awful reality was that Grease was a beggar, and therefore he just had to abide by the rules of Miss Tannenbaum.
He had not always been a bum, but when his love for the bottle had gotten the best of him, his wife Rita left him and took the kids with her. They had relocated in Boulder Valley. Soon after she'd left he had lost his job and things had gone from bad to worse. First the repossession of just about everything that Rita had cherished had caused conflict. Then the electric company turned off the lights, and finally the landlord had forced him out on the street. "Sorry Grease," the man had said, "but I need to live too. Out you go."
He had not always been called Grease either. That just was his street name. His real name was Gerald Grealy, but when it was clear to the world that he no longer walked the accepted way and he had stopped shaving and caring, people just started to call him Grease.
That was about five months ago, and now he was on the street, moving from garbage can to garbage can, only to find a small measure of comfort at night under the guiding eyes of Miss Tannenbaum.
But tonight that small comfort would not be his. Tonight the poor, stubby man was too late.
It was after six and although he could still count on a plate of grub, he knew Miss Tannenbaum would not allow him to stay the night.
And he was right.
Miss Tannenbaum shook her head when he wanted to enter the sleeping quarters. "No Grease, you know the rules," she said as she cocked her brows. "Food is all you get tonight."
"Bad luck, huh?" Clint Crantston smirked after Grease had taken his place at the large dining room table.
"Whatever," Grease mumbled back while he waited for his bowl of grub. Clint Crantston was homeless himself, and the two sometimes played a game of chess in the shelter.
"Ask Pastor Julian," Clint suggested. "It's worth a shot." He gave Grease a confident smile while he licked his spoon clean. Grease eyed Clint with suspicion. That was easy to say for Clint. He had a place for the night.
"Who?" Grease asked.
"You know, Pastor Julian. He's the bloke that runs Calmhaven’s Trinity Church, and he's a good man. Whenever I am in a fix, I can count on him."
Grease stirred his food with his spoon and thought about it. "I remember that church. When I was still married, I went there a few times with my wife."
"Yeah," Clint said while he pushed his empty bowl away. "It's up on a hill, a bit outside Calmhaven."
Grease rubbed his forehead. "The kids enjoyed their Sunday school, and I remember listening to a few of his sermons."
"Oh," Clint said with a scowl. "Doesn't look like it did you much good, Grease. Anyway, that's my suggestion."
And that was it. The meal was done. Clint couldn’t stay, he had to leave.
At first he had not wanted to go down to Calmhaven’s Trinity Church. He didn't like the idea. Surely that pastor would remember him. It would be too painful, and he would have to explain to the pastor how come he was in such a state. After all, that man had known his wife Rita and in those days he still wore a suit and tie, as a clerk for Calmhaven's First National Bank. He even vaguely remembered that the pastor had been playing tag one Sunday with all the kids from the Sunday school.
No, it would be better to sleep against the wall of Calmhaven’s First National Bank. At least, that place was sheltered from the wind, or maybe he should just rough it for the night, and sneak into Calmhaven Park. People weren't allowed there after ten, but there was only one guard, and the park benches were fairly comfortable.
However, things turned out differently.
When he reached the park, they had closed the gate earlier than normal, and the First National didn't offer much hope either. For some reason a big, fancy police car was stationed right in front of the place that he had in mind. Two policemen were keeping watch while smoking cigarettes. Only God knew how long these fellows were going to stay there.
It was then and there he decided he had to go to Calmhaven’s Trinity Church. He would just have to swallow his pride, eat humble pie, and hope for the best.
Making that decision actually felt good. Surely that pastor, being a Christian and all, would open his doors for him, and Grease walked with new courage in his heart towards the area of town that housed the church.
But when he came in the area and spotted the church, he wasn't so sure anymore. Just as Clint had said, it was a bit out of Calmhaven, situated on a small hill. He remembered the church from the times he had been there with Rita and the children. The building had always impressed him. It looked so stately, so clean and fresh with the white washed walls and the beautiful stain glass windows. He really wasn't sure whether or not God existed, but he could imagine that if God was real, He would probably live in a place so fresh and clean as Calmhaven’s Trinity Church.
The church itself was dark, but there was a small house on the side. That was probably where Pastor Julian lived.
What should he do now?
Just ring the bell?
Hello, Pastor. I used to be a member of your church, but the devil got a hold of me, and now I am a bum. I need a place to sleep… That wouldn't go over too well. What was he even thinking?
At that instant something caught his attention. A noise? A sound? What was it?
He turned and walked towards the church itself. The wind ruffled his messy hair and pulled on his beard.
It was getting cold early this year, and he shivered.
Had he really heard something?
Of course not. His mind was just playing tricks on him. What else could he expect when he was roaming alone through the fields at night, like a scared rabbit hoping for a place of safety.
But then he heard it again. Very softly, as if something was being moved. It was just around the corner of the church. He bit his cracked lips and moved stealthily forward. It reminded him of the times that he, as a child, had been playing Cowboys and Indians in the dark with flashlights as guns. But that had been make-believe. Now he had no friends around the corner that would flash their lights on him and shout a victorious, 'Got you.'
He let his grubby hand slide over the whitewashed wall of the church as he moved forward to the corner. The wall felt strangely cold, almost as cold as his heart.
Now he was at the edge.
He heard nothing. At least nothing that was out of the ordinary. Only the wind in the trees made a howling sound and there was the distant cry of a night owl.
Did he dare look?
Come on Grease. What are you, a sissy?
He bit his lower lip again, and stuck his head around the corner.
Nothing.
Of course not. What did he expect? A bear or a wolf? These animals no longer roamed the fields of Calmhaven.
He heaved a little sigh of relief and stepped confidently around the corner of the church. But as he did, he immediately stopped in his tracks and he let out a muffled curse. He had almost crashed into a stained glass window.
That was weird.
Stained glass windows were supposed to be in the wall of the church, not against it, and this one was leaning at a slight angle as if to prevent it from falling over. Grease had always liked those beautiful church windows with the exquisite colors that cast such a heavenly light in the church. But what he liked even better tonight was the gaping hole in the wall of the building. The church was dark, but the hole itself was inviting. Almost as if it was shouting out to him, 'Welcome, Grease… Enter into the joy of the church.'
Grease licked his lips. Why was that window out of place? He had no idea. Maybe Pastor Julian was doing some repairs. But whatever the reason, it didn't matter to him. What mattered to Grease was that he could just crawl into the church without having to bother Pastor Julian. And that suited him fine. Now he did not have to explain who he was, and what he had become. He could just climb in, find a warm spot and have a wonderful night.
It wasn't his responsibility either. If Pastor Julian didn't want people nosing around in his church, then he should not leave such inviting holes. It was the pastor's own fault.
Without waiting another second, Grease placed his hands on the edge of the hole and pulled himself up.
Tonight, he would have a wonderful sleep.
Chapter Five
"Raspberry tea, Dora, or Earl Grey?" Molly Gertrude cast Dora a sideway glance as she looked at her assistant from the kitchen. As was their custom, after the day's work, both women would sit for a while in Molly Gertrude's living room, sipping tea and enjoying each other's fellowship.
This had been going on for quite some time now. Around ten in the morning Dora Brightside, Molly Gertrude's enthusiastic, bubbly assistant, would drive up to Molly Gertrude's home, in her second hand Kia Rio, and together they would drive to the center of town where Molly Gertrude would open the doors of the Cozy Bridal Agency, Calmhaven's only wedding agency. Then, when the work was done, Dora would drive them back.
"Today I think I'll settle for a good, old cup of Earl Grey," Dora answered as she stretched her legs and yawned. Today had been a rather long and taxing day at the office. It always was at the end of the month, as that was usually the day on which they had to check and balance the books, bills had to be paid, invoices were sent off, and there were always a myriad of other nagging details to take care of.
But now it was done and Dora was longing for a good cup of tea, and she was especially looking forward to Molly Gertrude's Citrus Lemon Curd cookies. Few delicacies were as tempting as the old woman's pastries.
"Sometimes I wonder if I can still keep up," Molly Gertrude called out from the kitchen while she poured the steaming, hot water into the teapot. "Most people my age are just enjoying life. They stopped working long ago."
"You are enjoying life," Dora replied with a chuckle. "I cannot imagine what you would do if you did not have the Agency. And don't forget, you leave virtually all of the administration to me."
"I know," Molly Gertrude said as she returned to the living room carrying a tray with the tea and, to Dora's joy, a plate of cookies. "But I must confess, days like this do take a lot out of me. In fact, it's been mostly 'just' work these last few months. You know, people marrying, organizing parties, lonely men hoping to find the right partner… but there hasn't been much of,…," her voice trailed off, "…well you know our other work."
Dora frowned. "You mean, our sleuthing work?"
Molly Gertrude sighed as she sat down in her easy chair and motioned for Dora to help herself with the cookies. A guilty expression flashed over her face, "I suppose I am a bit ungrateful, am I not? But yes, that's what I mean. That's the kind of stuff that really makes me tick."
Dora reached over to the cookies and took one off the tray. She broke the cookie in half and before she stuck a piece in
her mouth, a thoughtful expression crossed her face. "On the other hand, maybe you should be grateful not much evil has happened lately. I mean, what fun is there in a murder?"
"I know," Molly Gertrude said and she took a sip of her tea. "I am an ungrateful, little old lady. Still, it's the truth."
"There's a new novel of Edward Springston coming out," Dora said, trying to be helpful. She knew how reading detective stories was one of Molly Gertrude's great passions. The book case of the old woman was loaded with all the famous and not so famous novelists who had tried their hands at this particular genre. "If you can't solve your own crimes, you can at least read about somebody who does."
"A new Edward Springston book?" Molly's eyes lit up. "Where did you hear that?"
"It's all over the internet," Dora replied, after which she stuck the second part of her cookie into her mouth.
Just as Molly was about to answer, the phone rang.
The sound was harsh, loud and penetrating, and Dora almost choked on her cookie. She had fruitlessly tried to persuade Molly Gertrude to buy a smartphone, but the old woman stubbornly insisted that there was nothing wrong with her old dial phone and it was unwise to make unnecessary expenses. "Not everything that glitters is gold," Molly Gertrude would invariably say when the subject would come up. "My old phone is still working fine. It does all that it needs to do."
Thus, Dora had given up long ago arguing about it, but she hated the harsh sound of Molly Gertrude's home phone. At least at the office they only used Dora's phone, which would play the delightful first tones of Vivaldi's Four Seasons.
Molly Gertrude pushed herself up out of her chair and scrambled to the phone that stood on a wooden stool near the kitchen.
"Hello… Molly Gertude's home. How may I help you?"
A second later Dora heard her say, "Pastor Papa Julian… How good of you to call… Excuse me?"
It was silent for some time as Molly Gertrude was intently listening to the voice on the other side of the line, and Dora noticed that Molly Gertrude's face darkened.
"You are kidding? Tell me that is not true."