Father Mayhew doesn’t say a word. He just sits there looking out into space. And when the music starts he mumbles, “Will you excuse me, lass?” and walks out the door.
So there I am, all alone in a priest’s office with a wall safe wide open and a clammy carrot in my lap, and I’m baffled. Would Father Mayhew really steal from his own church? Did he hide the cross and goblets to set the whole thing up? It didn’t seem likely, but then the last few days I’d seen sides of him I’d never suspected were there. And he was the only one with the combination to the safe. Wasn’t he?
So I’m trying to think, but it’s hard because Gregory keeps nudging me. I hand the carrot over to him and that’s when I notice something strange. The carrot’s not like any of the ones Gregory’s given me before. I take it out of his mouth, hold it hard between my hands, and sure enough.
It’s still cold.
I didn’t give Gregory the carrot back. I took it with me to Father Mayhew’s filing cabinet and slid open the top drawer. Sure enough, there were still carrots in it. Room-temperature carrots.
I try breaking one of Father Mayhew’s carrots, but all it does is bend. I do the same thing with the one Gregory had, and snap, I’ve got a piece in each hand.
Now, it occurs to me that maybe this carrot is poisoned. I don’t know how you’d go about poisoning a carrot, and I don’t really think it is, but I’m not going to give it back to Gregory. I give him the limp one and say, “Who gave you that other carrot, boy?” like he can answer me.
Then I sit behind Father Mayhew’s desk and think. And I can hear Hudson telling me, “Keep your mind open, Sammy, keep your mind open.” But at first nothing seems to want to come in. Then, very slowly, this idea comes tingling across my brain and down my spine. I look at Gregory and say, “But that doesn’t make any sense …”
Well, I’m not going to sit there and argue with myself. I go back to Father Mayhew’s filing cabinet, only this time I’m not looking for carrots. I’m looking for a file folder. When I see one labeled “Fundraiser,” I yank it out and flip it open on the desk.
On top are letters of recommendation from St. Paul the Apostle Parish Hall in Lowell, New Jersey, and Holy Angels’ Catholic Church in Haley, North Dakota, and then a really long one from St. William’s Catholic Church in Santa Lucia, New Mexico.
Then I come upon copies of the forms Father Mayhew filled out for Bernice. Three or four of them were just forms with Father Mayhew’s signature at the bottom, but then there was one with lots of blanks filled in. And on it was everything you ever wanted to know about Father Mayhew: Name, age, Social Security number, date of birth, driver’s license number … everything. I took the form over to the wall safe and closed the thing. Then I spun the dial and got to work.
And in less than sixty seconds I had it open again.
Happy birthday, Father Mayhew.
My heart’s bumping around pretty good, let me tell you. I mean, Okay, Bernice had him fill out the forms, but maybe they needed this information for something else. Besides, lots of people knew Father Mayhew’s birthday. Sister Mary Margaret, for one. Josephine, for another. Even Brother Phil probably knew when his birthday was.
And Sister Mary Margaret had acted really jumpy—more like guilty—about her bingo money. What if she wanted more than just a cracker box of cash to take to Las Vegas with her?
And why had Josephine practically had a heart attack when I’d bumped into her earlier? Had she just come from this office? It was obvious she liked working with Father Mayhew about as much as she liked dealing with his dog, but more than that, maybe she was just sick to death of being a nun and wanted a way out.
And Phil. Ol’ Brother Phil. Maybe he was mad enough at Father Mayhew that he’d actually frame him for stealing from his own church. It would do more than get back at him—it would probably get rid of him.
And I felt bad because it seemed like I was pointing the finger at everybody. And in the back of my mind I can hear Holly saying, Haven’t you figured it out yet? You can’t trust anyone!
But I didn’t want to feel that way. I didn’t want to point the finger at them any more than I wanted them to point at me. But somebody had taken the money, and if it wasn’t one of them, who was it?
Part of my brain kept coming back to Bernice. Not because she was acting weird—she had seemed sincerely mad that the money was gone. And the locket wasn’t gone. I mean, why would she steal the money and leave the locket? Why wouldn’t she just take it all and leave?
Unless she was trying to throw the blame away from the Sisters of Mercy.
And I kept seeing Clarice putting a carrot in her blender. A carrot out of the NunMobile fridge. Father Mayhew’s carrots were warm, the soup kitchen didn’t serve carrots, and Sister Josephine and Mary Margaret’s house was clear across town.
And Bernice’s ring had been cold when she’d squeezed my hand. Like she’d just come in from outside.
Still, a cold carrot, a cold ring, and a fundraising form didn’t seem like the kind of evidence Officer Borsch would appreciate, so I decided to go back to the changing room and dig around for something more.
The Sisters are in the church singing, “Give me peace … make me faithful now.… Give me peace … show me light! Give me peace … show me beauty now.… Bless me, Lord, take me to your side,” and the audience is echoing their lines, so I figure as long as they’re singing, I won’t get caught digging.
I check behind a rack of clothes, in the clothes, in suitcases and duffel bags, but I don’t find a thing. Not one nickel. And I’m just deciding that if they had stolen the money, the place to search would be the NunMobile, when I realize that the audience is clapping and making a racket, but the singing’s stopped.
Bernice and the other two come flying through the door, and I’m in a panic because I just know they’re going to ask why I’m there. But Bernice flashes me a smile and says, “Oh, good! You can help us with our next change!”
I smile right back and say, “Sure!”
While I’m stripping them down to their feathers and tights, I remember that Bernice had kept a NunMobile key in her habit. I watch them put on these wild purple headdresses, and as soon as they go sweeping down the hall like overgrown feather dusters, I pick up Bernie’s habit and start searching for pockets.
I practically turn the thing inside out, but I don’t find any pockets. Well, there’s a big one on the outside, but there’s nothing in that, and the day I’d gone inside the motor home with her she hadn’t gotten it out of the big pocket up front. She’d kind of pulled it out of thin air.
I flipped it around some more and then decided that the best way to find a pocket—if there was a pocket—was to put the habit on.
So I got into the thing and it was like swimming through a mountain of black cloth. I groped around inside both sleeves, but no key. Then I closed my eyes and tried to reconstruct Bernie’s movements when she’d been in front of the motor home. I put my right hand up the left sleeve, and just as I discover a small Velcro pocket up by the elbow, who comes busting through the door? Brother Phil.
He just stands there like an idiot staring at me, and I just stand there like an idiot, staring back. Finally, he says, “What are you doing?”
I give him a nervous little smile as I wiggle the key out of the pocket. “Nothing. I guess I … I guess I just wanted to see what it felt like.”
Phil says, “Oh,” then gives me an understanding nod and whispers, “I won’t tell anyone.” He hands over a spool of purple thread and says, “Here’s that thread they wanted.”
The minute he’s gone, I dig myself out of Bernice’s habit and duck out the side door. Then I race over to the NunMobile, insert the key, and let myself in. Just like that. I close the door behind me and lock it, and then look around. There’s light coming in from the streetlights, and there’s a little light on over the stove, but it’s pretty dark inside.
I decide to start by searching up front. I go to the driver’s seat and sit
down, and it’s like being in the cockpit of some luxury liner. There are switches on the armrest and levers all over the steering column, and there’s a funny little TV screen by the side window. I put the key in the ignition and twist it forward so the interior lights will come on, but that’s way too bright so I turn it back in a hurry. I put the key back in my pocket, then check all around the driver’s seat. No money, but I do find a flashlight.
I go over to the passenger seat and check the glove box and all around the seat with the flashlight, but I don’t find anything besides maps and papers.
The living room and dining room don’t seem to have anything in them, either, and I’m about to move on when I remember Marissa talking about all the storage compartments in her uncle’s motor home.
So I go into the dining room and start pulling apart the benches. Right away I find the laptop computer and a printer, and next to these is a brown accordion folder with a giant rubber band wrapped around it. I put the folder on the table and snap off the rubber band, and when I flash the light through the sections, it takes me a minute to figure out what I’ve found.
Mostly it’s stationery and matching envelopes. But it’s not Sisters of Mercy letterhead. It’s stationery for St. Paul the Apostle Parish Hall in Lowell, New Jersey, and Holy Angels’ Catholic Church in Haley, North Dakota, and St. William’s Catholic Church in Santa Lucia, New Mexico.
And I’m thinking about Father Mayhew and the glowing letters of recommendation in his Fundraiser file, when I notice that the very last compartment of the accordion folder is kind of bulging out. I look inside it and what do I find? Six lockets, just like the one Bernie had entrusted to Father Mayhew.
So there’s no doubt about it—they’re the Sisters of Sin. But still, all I’ve got is blank stationery, some look-alike lockets, and a couple of carrot pieces that are fast becoming room temperature. I needed to find the money. Or the goblets and cross. I needed to find something real.
So I start snooping again, only this time I decide to start at the back of the bus. I open the door at the end of the hall, and what I see is a giant bed with a wild purple bedspread taking up most of the room. I check out the headboard, which has little cabinets in it, but there’s just hand lotion and Kleenex and some paperbacks in there. I check out the sideboards—same thing. Just normal stuff like clips and rollers and night cream. And I’m looking around thinking there’s no place to store anything because the bed’s taking up the whole room, when I think to look for drawers under the bed.
I flip up the bedspread and … no drawers. I run around to the other side and do the same thing. No drawers. And I’m just about to give up on the bed when something tells me to check under the mattress. I go to the foot of the bed, and when I pull up on the mattress, it flips up, and I find myself looking into this giant box.
I flash the light around inside and what I’ve discovered is the world’s biggest pirate’s chest. There’s no money, or even jewelry, but there’s gold. Lots of gold. There are gold statues of Mary and Jesus, of Jesus on the cross, of Mary praying. And I’m not talking figurines, I’m talking three-foot statues. There are dozens of plates and goblets, some with jewels encrusted around them, some without. There’s silverware and goldware, a couple of oil paintings mounted in thick gold frames, half a dozen ancient-looking Bibles, and over in one corner is a crystal chandelier.
This is not stuff you can go out and buy. It’s old, it’s gold, and there’s no doubt about it—it’s stolen. And tossed across a gold candelabrum like an old dish towel is Father Mayhew’s cross.
I untangle it and loop it around my neck. And I probably should’ve just left right then to call the police, but I knew the money had to be in the motor home, too, and if it wasn’t in the treasure chest, where was it?
I put the mattress down and started searching again. I checked the rest of the bedroom, the hall, and the bathroom and tried everything to see if it had a hidden compartment.
Finally, I was back at the kitchen. And that’s when I remembered that Sister Mary Margaret had stashed her cash in a cracker box.
So I went through all the cupboards, digging through cereal and crackers and cartons of oatmeal. And what do I find? Carbohydrates.
And I’m starting to think that money or no money, I’ve got the cross and I’ve got to get out of there, when I open a low cupboard near the sink, and there, looking right back at me is the dial of a safe. That stops me cold. And then I remember how Clarice had come to my rescue when I was looking for a trash can. So much for sisterly hospitality.
Now, there’s no way I’ve got time to figure out the combination. No way. And even if I hadn’t found the treasure chest and the stationery, the fact that there’s a safe at all is proof enough for me. I mean, why would Bernice ask to use Father Mayhew’s safe when she had one of her own?
I decided that the quickest way to get the police there was to find Bernie’s cell phone and dial 911. Trouble is, I couldn’t find the thing. I looked all over the front part of the motor home and it was nowhere. And just as I’m deciding to forget the cell phone and find a phone at the church, I look out the window and what do I see? A herd of nuns charging across the lawn.
I click off the flashlight, but it’s too late. They’ve seen the light. Clarice and Abigail have their habits pulled up over their ankles, but Bernice isn’t wasting time with that—she’s coming at the NunMobile like a Brahma bull.
The first thing I think is I’m dead. D-e-a-d, dead. There’s no back window or door for me to sneak out, and since I’ve just been through every room in the place, I know there’s nowhere safe for me to hide. And watching Bernice coming at me, I decide there’s only one way out of the mess I’m in. I’ve got to drive my way out.
I’d never driven a car before. Not even one of those little bumper cars at the fair. I’d seen Lady Lana drive and I’d watched the SMAT bus driver on my way across town, but I’d never tried it myself. So when I go up to the driver’s seat and sit down, all I know is I’ve got to turn the key and push the gas. Other than that I’m like a turkey on a tractor.
So I’m flapping around, cranking the ignition, whispering, “God-oh-God, God-oh-God,” when I hear Bernice rattle the door and yell, “Get me a key!” to the others.
Now, I can’t sit down and reach the pedal and see what I’m doing. So I kind of stand on one leg while the other one stretches out to the gas pedal. All of a sudden, vroom! The NunMobile comes to life. I look over my shoulder at Bernice slapping at the window yelling, “Get away from there! Get away from there!” but I just pull the shift lever down to DRIVE and stomp on the gas.
And I don’t go anywhere. The engine goes Vroom! but the NunMobile stays put. And I know any second Bernice is going to come flying through the door and turn me into turkey pâté, when I see the word BRAKE lit up in red on the dash.
I look around fast, and there it is, under the dash—the emergency brake. I yank the handle and snap, it releases the brake, and all of a sudden I’m moving.
And I mean moving. I hear Bernice scream, I hear this awful clanging noise, and when I look in the side mirror I realize that I’ve yanked the awning right off the grass and I’m dragging it along with me.
I can see Clarice and Abigail spinning around on the curb not knowing what to do, but I don’t see Bernice. And as I’m bouncing down the street trying to keep from crashing, she appears on this tiny TV screen right next to me.
Well I yelp. I mean, even on a tiny TV, Bernice looks big. And I’m banging and clanging down the street trying to figure out where Bernice is and why she’s on this little television, when I realize that what I’m seeing is a video of the back end of the motor home and Bernice is hanging onto the ladder, screaming her head off.
All I can think is, I’ve got to get her off of there. So I stomp on the brake, and then right away I punch the gas. She goes slamming into the ladder and then whips back, but she’s still holding on. I try it a few more times, but she doesn’t let go, she just keeps whipping back a
nd forth, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Now, I didn’t really have a destination in mind when I decided to hijack the NunMobile. I just knew that I had to get out of there. But turning onto Miller Street with cars swerving and horns honking while Attila the Nun’s back there yelling at the top of her lungs, I know exactly where I’ve got to go.
I lay on the horn and cut across traffic, and believe me, people aren’t arguing with me. They just move out of my way. I don’t even wait for the light to turn green. I just keep on the horn and turn through traffic onto Cook Street. And I’m feeling like I’m getting the hang of this driving stuff, so I push the gas a little harder, and when I get to the police station driveway I turn and bounce straight in.
But as I’m bouncing in, a police car’s bouncing out. And when they see me coming, they squeal to a stop, only I kind of panic, and instead of slamming on the brake, I stomp on the gas.
The NunMobile goes smashing head-on into the police car, and when I finally get my foot off the gas and the gearshift into PARK, the police car’s pushed back a ways and the motor home’s pretty much mangled up around it.
I’m looking out the windshield at what I’ve done, and who squeezes his big ol’ angry body out of the squad car? My good buddy, Officer Borsch.
I cover my face and say, “Oh, no!” and I’m expecting him to blow his top and start calling me names, but what does he do? He stands there staring up at me, and then starts laughing. No kidding. And pretty soon he’s laughing so hard he’s wiping tears from his eyes saying, “I should’ve known! I just should’ve known!”
Now I’ve got a hysterical cop in front of me and a crazed nun in back of me, and given the choice I’ll take the cop. So before Bernice can make it to the driver’s door, I scramble out the side door and over to Officer Borsch. Bernice comes staggering from around the back, looking like a penguin that’s been spun through the wash. She gasps, “Arrest her! Arrest that girl! She stole our vehicle! She—” Then she sees how munched the front end of her NunMobile is and cries, “She totaled it!”