I picked up a composition book from another pile and flipped through it. It was a few decades old and included some mildly interesting anecdotes of things happening around Lighthouse Cove. I started to close the book when something caught my eye. It was a description of a church event, and at the end, these words were underlined twice: “No one must ever know, not even MSB.”

  It sounded more like a melodramatic “Dear Diary” entry than an actual business notation such as those in the previous book that listed prices and details. I was almost disappointed that it didn’t read more like a lover’s secret entry. Something like:

  Dear Diary,

  No one must ever know, not even MSB. I will take the secret to my grave. And you know who I’m talking about, dearest Diary.

  I imagined little hearts and flowers drawn all over the page and laughed at myself, then admitted that there wasn’t anything to laugh about. For starters, who in the world was MSB? Someone who used to work at the church, maybe? I would have to ask Lavinia when—and if—she showed up. Or maybe I would ask Flora, because if this diary had been kept by Colleen, I didn’t want to get the secretary in trouble with the reverend’s wife, who had already mentioned that she didn’t trust Colleen. I suddenly wondered if there were any books in the cabinet that belonged to Flora. After all, by her own account she kept the most accurate history of the church. And she was nicer than Colleen, who was usually all business—unless she was thoroughly flustered, as she’d been last night.

  I wondered if Colleen knew that all of her diaries—or calendars or daily planners, whatever she called them—were still here in these drawers. Wouldn’t she want to keep better track of them? Especially with so many details of church business, including cash amounts and names of people and places around town.

  Maybe she didn’t care. But of course she did. Not caring about something like that? It just didn’t fit with her personality, which bordered on anal retentive with a touch of passive aggression and a great big scoop of fear. And who was Colleen afraid of? Lavinia Patterson? Reverend Roy? Or someone else?

  * * *

  * * *

  It was almost three o’clock when Colleen walked into the sacristy. I was surprised to see her. She wore a long, flowing vest over a black leotard and black leggings and black flats. The outfit flattered her tall, willowy frame.

  “I wanted to let you know,” she said, jumping right to business, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to Lavinia, but I’ve left her a message, and I hope she will be able to get over here sometime tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate it, thanks. As you can see, there’s plenty more work to do.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” She glanced at the boxes. “But you’re doing a very good job.”

  “Thank you,” I said, refraining from rolling my eyes. “But I would really appreciate having a member of your church here to help me.”

  She stared back at the boxes for a long moment, then frowned. “I’ll let Lavinia know.”

  “Okay. But since you’re here—”

  “I really must go.” She turned to leave, shocking me even more. “Have a good afternoon.”

  That was it? She wasn’t even going to help a little? “Colleen, wait!”

  She had the nerve to look at her wristwatch. “What is it?”

  “I need to ask you something.” I picked up the composition book and opened it to the marked page. “Do you know someone with the initials MSB?”

  She blinked twice and then frowned again. She stared up at the ceiling and ran her hand through her shaggy dark hair. I assumed she was trying to think of names. Maybe she was mentally reviewing the entire church roster. I wouldn’t put it past her to have memorized it. Seconds later, she said, “Mr. Brindley, perhaps?”

  “Mr. Brindley?” It was my turn to frown. “You mean, the janitor?”

  She shrugged. “He prefers to be called the handyman. His is the only name that comes to mind with those initials.”

  Mr. Brindley, I thought. Mitch Brindley was so nondescript, so taciturn. But suddenly I recalled the day he was trying to get inside the church. He wasn’t taciturn at all. He was insistent, demanding that he be let inside. Could he possibly have been the subject of that dramatic diary entry?

  No one must ever know, not even MSB.

  “And now I’ve really got to be going,” Colleen said. And she dashed out of the room.

  * * *

  * * *

  By the end of the day, I still hadn’t heard from Lavinia. Every few minutes, I walked out to check on my crew and see if anyone needed my help. So far, they were all hard at work, performing their jobs like the well-oiled machine they were.

  I sighed and returned to the sacristy to tackle another cubbyhole. This one was about two feet wide and had a pullout shelf that made it easy to see everything inside. And once again, I was blown away by what Reverend Patterson and his congregation had left behind. Would they come back and get all this stuff? I hoped so.

  This space seemed to be where all the gold had been stashed, and it was a little like staring into a mini Aladdin’s cave of treasures. I counted four chalices, and all of them appeared to be made of gold, or at least gold-plated. There were also twelve small bowls: six gold, three jewel-encrusted, and three silver. Additionally, there were six small, thin gold plates.

  Maybe I hadn’t spent much time going to church, but I’d seen enough TV shows and movies to know that these items were used by a priest when he said mass. I knew that the chalice held wine, the bowls held those little round wafers, and the thin plates held that one big wafer the priest held up during the mass.

  Even though I had no idea what any of these things were actually called, it was easy to google the information. Of course, it would be even easier if there was actually a human being helping out.

  I guess I needed to stop harping on that issue, because I really was having a pretty good time hunting down information about all these treasures. They had to be worth a small fortune, and I had to believe that the church would keep a record of everything, if only for insurance purposes. It was another question I would ask Lavinia, if I ever heard back from her.

  I stood and stretched my back, then walked out of the sacristy and into the church to see how my crew was getting on.

  “How are you all doing?” I said, loudly enough for the whole church to hear. “Does anyone need help?”

  “We’re good,” Buck shouted from the ceiling, and Sean gave me a thumbs-up. They were still assessing the lighting situation, this time from one of the other wooden beams. I had to stretch back to get a look at Buck way up there.

  “Okay, looks good,” I said.

  I turned and saw that Douglas and Johnny were more than halfway through their inspection of the stained glass windows.

  Johnny waved and I winced. “Both hands on the ladder!”

  He laughed but grabbed hold of the ladder. Douglas said, “No problems here, boss.”

  Wade and Amanda were just walking into the nave from the north transept. “The side door over here is going to need a lot of work. We were just talking about it.”

  “Do you need me?”

  “Not right this minute,” Wade said. “Maybe at the end of the day or first thing tomorrow, we can have a short meeting.”

  “Sounds good. Guess I’ll get back to my assignment. I’ll be in the sacristy if you need me.”

  I was halfway there when I saw Flora hurry over, open the door, and walk inside. I followed her into the room. “Hey, Flora. I’m glad to see you.”

  “Oh my goodness!” She patted her chest, something I’d seen her do more than once. “You nearly scared me to death.”

  “I’m sorry.” I let her take a minute to calm down and watched as she slowly moved around the room, checking out all the boxes and the cabinet.

  “Well, you certainly have packed up a lot of boxes.”

  “And sadly, I’ve barely put a dent in this thing.” I patted one of the cabinet drawers. “I was hoping to see Lavinia by now, but maybe you can help me.”

  “I’ll do what I can, dear. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s all these drawers and cubbyholes and cupboards,” I said, spreading my arms to take in the entire piece of furniture. “There are thirty-five of them, I think, and they’re stuffed with things that belong to the church. Valuable things.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I understood from Madeline that we could throw away anything that was left behind, but I know she didn’t mean these kinds of items.”

  At random, I pulled open the narrow door of a cubby I hadn’t been through yet. There was another set of vestments, this one rose-colored with gold brocade trim. It appeared to be new or, at least, lovingly cared for.

  “Why, that’s Reverend Roy’s.” Flora took a tentative step closer and lifted a corner of the cloth. “He wears it on the last Sunday in Lent as a way of gently shifting away from the dark purple of the season to the glorious white of Easter.” She glanced up at me. “What is it doing here?”

  “I have no idea. But wait, that’s not all. There’s plenty more to see.” I opened the small cabinet and pulled out the shelf that held the gold chalices and other gold and silver paraphernalia.

  “Good heavens.” She actually took a step backward. I couldn’t blame her. There was a lot of bling on that shelf. “This isn’t right.”

  “I don’t think so, either,” I said. “And I don’t think I should be the one going through everything, although I’m enjoying it. Lots of interesting things to see.”

  Her forehead was lined with concern, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Well,” she said, and seemed to gather her courage. She walked over to one of the big drawers and opened it. And gasped.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She didn’t say another word, just stared into the drawer, so I joined her.

  “Oh, good grief,” I said. “I thought I packed all of those up. Now there’s another drawerful.”

  “What did you say?” she said, still a little stunned.

  I rolled my eyes. “I just finished packing at least forty of these little books. They’re in one of those boxes.”

  “But . . . but . . . oh, dear lord.” She reached for one of the books, and I noticed that her hand was shaking.

  “Flora, what is it?”

  She took a few long, slow breaths in and out. Then she opened to the first page and stared, looking completely puzzled. “What is this?”

  “I think it’s one of Colleen’s calendars or her planner. Or whatever she calls it.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Of course it is. It’s Colleen’s.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. “I now recall that she decided to start using these when she saw me writing in mine. They’re relatively inexpensive, and the church purchases them in bulk for the children’s religious classes.”

  “Ah,” I said. “So you use these, too. To write up your church history entries.”

  “That’s right.”

  I thought for a moment, then decided to go for it. “Since it’s just you and me, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  I took the book from her and turned to a page in the middle. “What do you think these dollar amounts are here for?”

  “Well, let me see.” She took the book back and stared at the page for a few long seconds. “I don’t actually know for sure, but if I had to guess, I would say that these are the amounts that a congregant might’ve promised to donate to Reverend Roy after they took part in whatever activity was described in the book.”

  “A congregant?” I asked.

  “A member of the church,” she explained.

  “Huh.” I thought about it. “That makes sense.” I closed the book and handed it back to Flora. “Thanks.”

  Flora set the book down and left shortly after that. I realized a few minutes later that I hadn’t even asked what she was doing here. I had a feeling maybe she was just curious to see what was going on around here. Or maybe she was hoping to talk to her nephew Buck. That made the most sense.

  I had also forgotten to ask if she would tell Lavinia to come over here and help with all this packing. But I supposed I’d left enough messages on that subject already. And maybe Flora would pass the word to her anyway.

  * * *

  * * *

  An hour later, I could hear my guys starting to pack up for the day, so I checked my watch. I had time to clean out one more niche, then I would leave, too.

  I closed my eyes and randomly reached out to touch one of the many cubbyholes in the cabinet. I opened my eyes to see where I would be working next and had to grin at my silliness. It would definitely be time to go home after this one. I was starting to get loopy.

  The cubbyhole I’d touched was one that had a decorative brass hook on the door that fitted into a brass latch. There were a few others with this design, but I hadn’t opened any of them yet. I pulled out the hook and opened the little door to see what was inside. Miracle of miracles, inside I found . . . nothing.

  Unlike every other drawer and cabinet in this behemoth piece of furniture, with all its nooks and crannies and cubbies, this one was empty. Weird.

  “That just means I can pack up and leave now,” I murmured. “Hooray for me.”

  I started to close the cubby door, but the last rays of sunlight filtering through the stained glass caught a glint of metal inside the little nook.

  So it wasn’t completely empty.

  I would’ve missed it completely, except for that tiny flash.

  The cubbyhole itself was too dark to see all the way inside, so I pulled out my phone and used the flashlight app to illuminate the small space. And at the very back, I saw two little cup hooks screwed into the side wall. Nothing was hanging from the hook closest to me, but on the one farthest away, I saw a small key dangling.

  A key?

  I had to stand sideways and crouch a bit to get my arm inside the space, then I reached all the way back to grab it. I pulled my arm out and stared at the key in my hand. It was a little one, about the size that would fit into a small lock or a jewelry box.

  “Well,” I whispered, “you can’t go home yet.” I had to find the keyhole that fit this key.

  I closed the cubbyhole and slipped the outer brass hook into the latch. Then I took my time and studied every single drawer and space in the cabinet to see if one of them had a keyhole. It took me almost twenty minutes to check each and every one. And I didn’t find one keyhole in the entire cabinet. Which was weird. You would think that a few of these drawers and cabinets would have a lock on them. But no.

  I took a long look around the sacristy. Had there been another piece of furniture in here once upon a time? There wasn’t anything else in the room now except this big built-in cabinet.

  I checked out the two stained glass windows. Maybe they could be opened with a lock. But no. There were no keyholes to be found anywhere near the stained glass.

  I wasn’t ready to give up, but I was getting frustrated. It was late and I wanted to go home to Mac. I would just have to come back tomorrow and start the search all over again.

  I slipped the key into my pocket for safekeeping, then checked that all the packing boxes were stacked neatly. I closed the sacristy door and walked around the central platform to the main aisle where, for some reason, I turned and gazed up at the dome. It really was a stunning bit of architecture. I stopped and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything. And wasn’t that a good thing? I laughed at myself again, but it wasn’t really funny. The last thing I wanted was to hear voices in an empty church.

  I hurried down the aisle and out the two sets of double doors, remembering to lock them as I left. Then I ran to my truck and drove home.

  Chapter Eleven

  I walked into the kitchen, where I was greeted by Robbie, who immediately demanded that I pay attention to him. I did as ordered. “Hello, sweetie.” I reached down and scratched and petted his furry back. “Good boy.”

  “You talking to me?” Mac asked from where he stood in front of the stove.

  I laughed. “Yes, you’re a good boy, too.”

  My mouth was beginning to water from something tangy and delicious that he was cooking. I moved closer and watched him stirring together a gorgeous concoction of chicken, peppers, onions, and garlic.

  “Are you making fajitas?” I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Smells incredible.”

  “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me too.” I laid my cheek against his strong muscular back and sighed with relief and happiness.

  After a minute, he said, “Hey, you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, and managed to pull away from him. “It’s been a long day.” I noticed his nearly full wineglass on the counter next to the stove. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine, and then you can tell me how your day was.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” He gave the fajitas another thorough stirring, then put a top on the frying pan and turned to watch me. “I do have some news.”

  I carried my wineglass over to the kitchen table and sat down. “What’s the news?”

  “My agent called this morning.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” he said, then grabbed his wineglass and sat down at the table facing me. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, yes! Tell me.”

  “Okay. The producers want to do a spin-off of the latest Jake Slater film, starring Siobhán O’Leary.”