PART 14: THE BIBLE HAROLD NEVER DONATED
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
A Bible.
Not a safe.
Not a hidden room.
Not a bank account.
Just a worn leather Bible I had believed was sitting in the church library for nearly three decades.
My knees suddenly felt weak.
“I wrapped it myself,” I whispered.
Paula looked at me.
“What?”
“The day Harold brought it here.”
The memory returned as clearly as if it had happened that morning.
I had covered the old family Bible in brown paper so the rain wouldn’t damage the leather.
Harold smiled and said,
“Don’t worry, Maggie.”
“It’ll always find its way home.”
At the time, I thought he was talking about faith.
Now…
I wasn’t so sure.
Father Michael folded his hands.
“I don’t believe the Bible was ever placed in the library.”
Linda frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“When Father Donnelly retired, he personally packed several items into storage.”
“What items?”
“Old church records.”
“Memorial books.”
“Personal gifts.”
“And one Bible.”
Janice looked toward the ceiling and slowly exhaled.
“He trusted the priest.”
Colleen nodded.
“Harold always said a church was the safest place for something nobody should notice.”
The deputy stepped closer.
“Can we open the storage room?”
Father Michael hesitated.
“I don’t have the key.”
“Who does?”
He looked almost embarrassed.
“Father Donnelly.”
The room fell quiet again.
Paula sighed.
“So we have to wait?”
“No,” Father Michael replied.
“There is another way.”
He walked toward the church office and returned carrying an old leather appointment book.
The pages were yellow with age.
“This belonged to Father Donnelly.”
He carefully turned several pages until he reached a section marked:
Tuesday Mornings.
Every Tuesday for almost two years…
The same entry appeared.
9:00 a.m. — Harold Ellis
Nothing else.
No description.
No purpose.
Just Harold’s name.
Week after week.
Year after year.
Linda frowned.
“He met with Harold every Tuesday?”
Father Michael nodded.
“It appears so.”
“But Harold never mentioned coming here every week,” I whispered.
Colleen looked at me sadly.
“He didn’t want you to worry.”
Janice reached for the book.
Halfway down the final page…
she stopped.
“There’s something else.”
Everyone leaned closer.
Written beneath Harold’s last appointment were six words in Father Donnelly’s handwriting.
Return only to Maggie herself.
My eyes filled with tears.
Harold hadn’t trusted lawyers.
He hadn’t trusted banks.
He hadn’t even trusted family.
He had trusted me.
Enough to make sure no one else could claim what he left behind.
The church office phone suddenly rang.
Father Michael answered.
“St. Matthew’s Church.”
His expression changed almost immediately.
“Yes…”
“I understand.”
He slowly hung up.
“What is it?” Linda asked.
“That was St. Anne’s Retirement Home.”
“Father Donnelly is asking for Marguerite.”
My heart skipped.
“Is he all right?”
Father Michael gave a slow nod.
“He’s weak.”
“But completely alert.”
“He said…”
Father Michael looked directly at me.
“‘Tell Maggie to come today.’”
“‘There isn’t much time left.’”
Before anyone could respond, another deputy hurried into the sanctuary.
“Sheriff!”
The first deputy turned.
“What happened?”
“We found a vehicle behind the cemetery.”
“So?”
“It belongs to Richard Vaughn.”
Every head snapped toward him.
“But that’s impossible,” Linda said.
“We’ve been told no one has seen Richard in years.”
The deputy swallowed.
“We haven’t.”
He looked around the church.
“But someone was inside that vehicle less than ten minutes ago.”
Silence.
Then he added the words that made every person instinctively look toward the stained-glass windows.
“And according to the tire tracks…”
“…he watched every one of us walk into this church.”
