Page 47 of Gumbo, Ghosts, and Deadly Deception
"I'm going to confront him."
"That's literally the worst idea you’ve ever had. And that includes the time you dyed your hair blond."
She was right. Going that light with my hair had been a massive mistake. My fair skin had made my face essentially disappear. But I wasn’t sure she was right about Claude.
"Why? If he's the one who stole the envelope, he'll give himself away. And if he's not, then at least I'll know."
"And if he is, and he's also a killer, you'll be alone with a murderer."
I hadn't thought of that. But my blood was up now, and I was tired of feeling like I was stumbling around in the dark while everyone else seemed to know something I didn't. “Well, the obvious safety measure would be to meet him somewhere in public. Or at Hollis’s house.”
“Hello, Hollis?” Maggie pretended to be talking on her phone. “Can I come over and confront your uncle about potentially being a murderer? K, thanks, bye.”
"Good point. What about his church? He can’t kill me in broad daylight in a church."
“I’m not sure his church is a real church. I thought he was more like a cult leader. You know, like an extremist branch of the Catholic church and not formally recognized by them.”
“Because of the demon thing,” I acknowledged. I’d honestly thought the same thing.
“Yes, because of the demon thing. He’ll probably say you’re possessed and he had to perform an exorcism.”
“So he’ll throw some water on me. No big deal.”
"Harper, you're not thinking clearly. You're upset about losing the envelope, and you're looking for someone to blame."
That stung, partly because it might have been true. But I was also convinced I was onto something.
"I'm going to talk to him," I said firmly. "With or without your support."
I strode over and poured us both coffee with a confidence I did not feel.
Maggie studied my face for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. But I'm going with you."
"You don't have to."
"Yes, I do. Because if you're wrong about this, you're going to need a friend to help you apologize. And if you're right, you're going to need a witness."
Maggie was right about the church. It looked shady as heck.
As in, not sanctioned by the official church something or other, but an offshoot. A pop up church, if you will.
It was a modest brick building in the Bywater with a weathered sign that declared, “The Church of the Body and Blood of Christ.”
“Now there’s a name for ya,” Maggie said, gesturing to the sign.
“I guess transubstantiation was too hard to spell.”
“I have no idea what that even means. I was raised according to my parents philosophy of ‘today is my day off and I’m not spending it in church.’”
“It means that the bread and wine are actually the body and blood of Christ. Like as in literally.”
Maggie looked like she had many thoughts on that but was determined to keep them to herself.
Claude's rectory was attached to the back of the church, a small frame house that looked like it had been built sometime in the 1950s and painted approximately never.
Maggie and I walked up the front steps together, and I knocked on the screen door of the house. After a moment, I heard footsteps inside.
"Coming," Father Claude called out.
