The Short Lived Tale of Reverend Brannigan

It is often said that within holiness, there is also a darker, evil side. So it was that Reverend Andrew Brannigan, an Episcopal minister at the vicarage in Lymington County Trent, would discover.

Like many ministers and religious men and women, Reverend Brannigan graduated with honors from Wallingham Theological Seminary. From there, he was given a position at St. Adalbert's vicarage, a rural parish with less than 50 congregants.

Rev. Brannigan knew his sin of pride well. He wanted a large congregation. St. Adalbert's was not exactly what he hoped for and, in his most deeply honest moment, the reason was Vicar James McDalten.

Bishop McDalten, it seemed to Rev. Brannigan, was decidedly too rigidly authoritarian and enjoyed placing severe restrictions on young curates, which at this time, was really Andrew Brannigan's correct title.

Apparently, Bishop Henry Wantaugh placed several young curates in the tutelage of Bishop McDalten with little success. There had been quite a series of these curates over a short five-year period of time.

Upon discovering this from his curate peers, Reverend Brannigan sated himself with the belief his term as curate would be equally brief.

He must have been gifted with second sight. He served at St. Adalbert's for only one month before,  Bishop McDalten complained of stomach pains. When he didn't come down to breakfast, Curate Brannigan was sent to fetch him.

There, in his bedroom was Bishop McDalten, lying face down with a pillow over his head. Brannigan felt for a pulse and rushed down stairs.

"Quickly! Call the police! The Bishop is dead!" Brannigan said.

Mrs. MacWhorter, the vicarage housekeeper, hurried off to call for the police. When the police arrived, they proceeded with their usual round of questions.

"When was the last time you saw the Bishop?" Chief Inspector Calvert asked.

"Well, let's see now. We went to eventide and vespers promptly at seven. Mrs. MacWhorter served dinner at eight as usual and we both spent time reading in the library. We went to our rooms around nine-thirty, I should say," Rev. Brannigan responded.

"And you heard nothing from the Bishop's room after that?"

"Just his usual coughing fit. He smoked a pipe against Doctor Morton's wishes."

"What about the housekeeper?"

"I am sure she was gone as soon as she tidied the kitchen after dinner was served. She always left something for us in the warming oven in case we should feel peckish and require a snack. We rarely do. Mrs. MacWhorter is an excellent cook and our portions are quite satisfying,"

"You are new to St. Adalbert's vicarage, are you not?"

"Yes. I was posted here one month ago."

"Did the Bishop have an argument with any of his parishioners to your knowledge?"

"Sir, most of our parishioners are women. The ratio of women to men is 15 to one. That should indicate that the Bishop would not have many enemies. Are you implying the Bishop's death is due to murder?"

"By all appearances and in my years of experience, I would say, "yes."

"Who would want an old Bishop murdered?" Rev. Brannigan said.

"That is what I intend to find out," Calvert said.

After the chief inspector finished questioning Reverend Brannigan, he spoke briefly with Mrs. MacWhorter. There was not much she could tell him. She spent her time cooking, cleaning the vicarage and attending services with the other women of the parish.

Calvert discussed the case with Charles Durning, his assistant detective.

"Other than the pillow case over the Bishop's head and his lying face down, there isn't a single shred of hard evidence he was murdered or that the murderer was someone the Bishop knew," Durning said.

"Actually, if you look harder into the scene of the crime, you'd notice the Bishop's door was unlocked and the window to his room was open," Calvert said.

"Surely, you cannot think the murderer climbed out the window? The Bishop's bedroom is on the second floor of the vicarage," Durning said.

"Durning, I cannot hold your hand during murder investigations, can I? Did you take note of what was outside that window?"

Durning looked puzzled. He was scrambling to remember if he noticed anything unusual. No. For certain. There was nothing odd or out of place.

"Yes sir, I did. Nothing unusual at all," Durning replied.

"Exactly! Nothing "unusual" about a huge 100 year old elm tree," Calvert said, with a smirk.

"But, that elm is nearly ten feet away from the second story window nearest the Bishop's bedroom. No one could leap from the window to the tree," Durning said.

"No one who is old or infirm. But, someone who is young and agile might," Calvert said.

"I don't see how."

"Let's assume this is a young man with some pretty interesting and very agile talents. Might he not use a rope to latch onto a branch of the tree and lower himself to the ground?"

"Without anyone seeing or hearing him?"

"Who might do that? Mrs. MacWhorter left at ten o'clock last evening. Seemingly, only the Bishop and Reverend Brannigan were alone in the house," Calvert said.

"Nothing of value was stolen from the vicarage. There is plenty there to steal..with all of the gold and silver in the church and residence," Durning said, defensively.

"That only narrows the reason for Bishop McDalten's murder," Calvert replied.

"I see. So, the motive for murder wasn't burglary. But, why kill a man of the cloth?"

"There are many men of cloth who turn their collars around for a lot of reasons," Calvert said.

"You mean the Bishop may have owed gambling debts?"

"Well, yes. That's one of the possibilities," Calvert said.

"The others?"

"You heard what the curate said, "There are fifteen women for each man in that congregation," Calvert said.

"You mean...?"

"I mean we need to investigate which of those women spent a little too much time at the vicarage."

"But, wouldn't the housekeeper know about any untoward affairs with the Bishop?" Durning asked.

"Why would she? Clandestine meetings are intended for two pairs of eyes alone. Particularly, when one of them is a man of the cloth with a collar turned round," Calvert said.

"I see. The parish is located in a tiny village. It is quite possible to hide many secrets in such a small place," Durning said.

"By now, word of the Bishop's murder has already spread among the parishioners. I am certain the curate will have to call them all to church. Let's make sure we are among those attending the church meeting," Calvert said.

Calvert called on the curate, Brannigan, to inquire as to the date and time of the parish meeting to formally announce the death of their Bishop.

"Chief Inspector I was just getting around to asking if you wanted to make any remarks to the church group," Brannigan asked.

"No. I should think it best for me and my assistant, Durning, to remain silent at this time. However, as we gather more evidence, we may want to question the group," Calvert said.

St. Adalbert's Church filled with regular church patrons, as well as a few out of town curiosity seekers.

As the parish hall filled up, Calvert and Durning eyed each of the parishioners. Calvert saw that Brannigan was correct. There were only six males in the group.

He watched as they seated themselves. Some of the women sat in twos. Two of the men sat at the ends of the rows of pews and another sat with what appeared to be his wife. The remaining three stood either at the end of the aisles or by themselves in empty pews.

Brannigan, tall and already assuming the garb of vicar, stood at the podium. He waited for the group to be silent before he proceeded with his announcement.

"It is with much sadness I regret to inform you that Bishop McDalten is deceased. May he rest in eternal peace. Keep him in your prayers, as I will keep him in mine.

Now, I am encouraged to announce our Religious Council decided I should take over the duties of our Bishop. I ask for your prayers and good wishes that I might be suited to the position and be as successful as our late Bishop," Reverend Brannigan said.

After the initial shocked reaction, the group muttered to themselves for several minutes. Reverend Brannigan waited patiently for the congregation to quiet down.

Calvert noticed the expressions on several of the women's faces at the announcement of the Bishop's passing. Knowing expressions, Calvert thought.

Durning glanced around the room and also counted the number of men who attended the meeting: exactly six.

When the parish meeting was over, Calvert kept his eyes on the women who left mainly in pairs with their heads huddled close together. He would have loved to know what they were discussing.

He decided to speak first with Rev. Brannigan. He caught up with Rev. Brannigan in the church vestibule making small talk with parishioners.

"Reverend, I need to speak with you as soon as possible," Calvert said.

"Certainly. I understand," Rev. Brannigan said.

"You understand?  What particularly...do you understand?"

"Well, I just meant I understand how you would immediately suspect the Bishop's replacement," Rev. Brannigan said.

"Actually, I don't suspect you at all. But, let's discuss this in private, shall we?"

The two men waited until the vestibule cleared. The Reverend entreated Calvert to follow him to the Bishop's office.

"Please be seated, Detective Calvert."

"Thank you. Now, I would like some information on the parishioners who spent the most time with the Bishop," Calvert said.

"Hmm. Well, let's see. There is Mrs. MacWhorter, of course. She saw the Bishop on a daily basis. Then, let me see. There is the women's church group who tend to laundering altar linens and keep the church interior maintained," Rev. Brannigan said.

"Can you tell me their names?"

"It's a committee of a dozen women. You want "all" of their names?"

"Yes."

"There's Mrs. Finalley, Mrs. Rockford, Mrs. Tyson, Mrs. Lockley, Mrs. Shane, Mrs. Devry, Mrs. Marston, Mrs. Jamison, Mrs. Everton, Mrs. Patterson, Mrs. Elleridge and Mrs. Keaton. Yes. That's it."

"Who organized the committee?"

"Why, the Bishop, of course. It was his duty to see the church was kept impeccably neat and clean."

"And the grounds? Is there a groundskeeper?"

"Yes. It is Harold Keaton, Sarah Keaton's husband. He receives a small church stipend for groundskeeping," Rev. Brannigan said.

"How often did the committee meet and where?"

"They met in the sacristy once a week. Mostly to organize and delegate church duties so the same women were not always cleaning the lavatories or having to climb the ladder to dust wall figurines," Rev. Brannigan said.

When Calvert gathered the information he needed, he realized he would need several weeks to speak with each of these women. He handed Durning six of the names to interview and he took the six at the top of the list.

Durning would speak with the Mesdames Marston, Jamison, Everton, Patterson, Elleridge and Keaton. Calvert would speak with Mesdames Finalley, Rockford, Tyson, Lockley, Shane and Devry. At the end of each day's interviews, Durning and Calvert compared notes.

"Sir, there are three women I think may be higher on the list of suspects," Durning said.

"Why is that?"

"Well, for one thing, Mrs. Elleridge is quite the group leader, if you know what I mean. Mrs. Marston's dress is a bit flashy for a churchwoman and Mrs. Patterson seemed too quiet and reticent to answer any questions," Durning said.

$$$"Do you feel she knows something or is hiding something?"

"I wouldn't want to say with absolute certainty. But, yes. I do."

"What did you find with the women you interviewed?" Durning asked.

"First, let me say Mrs. Finalley seems very much the bossy woman. She might be in competition with your Mrs. Elleridge. Women like that often do compete for attention with a man of cloth," Calvert said.

"So, you think the murderer is one of these women?"

"Not necessarily. But, the possibility is there," Calvert said.

"What would be the motivation? The Bishop's attentions?"

"Let's wait until we finish our reports and then we can fix the direction we should take," Calvert said.

"You realize that any of these women might not have access to a murder weapon," Durning said.

"Durning, again you overlook the obvious. We have to wait for the results of the Bishop's autopsy to know for certain if he was suffocated or poisoned. That narrows the murder weapon to the pillow or poison since there is no evidence of a gun shot wound," Calvert said.

"What do you think killed him...if you had to venture a guess?"

"The pillow over his head didn't kill him. And, a murderer wouldn't necessarily leave the murder weapon as a clue. In fact,  quite the opposite. The murderer wanted it to appear the Bishop suffocated, either by his own hand or by someone else's or there is the other possibility... The murderer didn't want to see the Bishop's face as he lay dying."

"But that implies the murderer didn't like their own murderous handiwork," Durning said.

"Well, it isn't likely he had reason to kill himself. As a religious man, he wouldn't. That would mean eternal damnation. That leaves only someone who wanted it to look as if he suffocated. But, that doesn't fly either since there were no depression on the pillow at all. If you mean to suffocate someone, you need to apply pressure to the pillow."

"I am at sea here, Chief!" Durning said.

"I think he was poisoned."

"But, which of the women would have had access to poison or to putting it into his tea or his food?"

Durning suddenly began flipping through his notes.

"Only Mrs. McWhorter, the housekeeper," Durning said.

"Not likely either. According to Rev. Brannigan, Mrs. McWhorter was strict about the Bishop's health and diet. No. Mrs. McWhorter is ruled out," Calvert said. 

"Wait. Mrs. Patterson...her husband is a doctor. She might have access to the type of poison that would kill him," Durning said.

"Mrs. Jamison's husband is the local chemist and Mrs. Finalley's husband is a pest exterminator," Calvert added.

"In reality any of them could have done the Bishop in," Durning said.

"So, it comes down to motive. Until we discover the murderer's motive, we cannot know for certain who the suspect is," Calvert said.

Calvert had a bee in his bonnet. He would go to the coroner's office and see if the autopsy proved the Bishop was poisoned and if so, what the precise poison was. That would narrow down the possibilities of who might have had reason to murder the Bishop.

Francis Pratt was Lymington Trent's coroner. He was also the only funeral director in the small village where St. Adalbert's Vicarage was located. Since Trent was in Lymington County, it was left to the Lymington police to deal with crime in the outlying smaller towns and villages. Francis Pratt knew virtually every member of Lymington's police force.

His funeral business was located one half block from the vicarage in the two story former home of the town council building. Trent's councilmen deemed the old building too unseemly and inappropriate for the Edwardian Trent image. So, they fobbed off the cost of updating the old Georgian mansion located at the corner of Shoreham Street and Linley Avenue. Francis Pratt knew he could whittle down the cost of the old building by simply agreeing to use it for his undertaker's business and also a village morgue at no cost to the council.

The only problem with the mansion was that there was no room for an examining laboratory for a coroner or morgue and only a second floor area for a jail. Not that there was much need for a jail in Trent anyway. The toffee nosed in Trent were so above board that one might believe the entire town was of aristocratic lineage.

When Frances Pratt saw Chief Inspector Calvert from the window of his laboratory, he knew why. The only death of suspicious circumstance in more than half a century in Trent was Bishop McDalten.

An amused grin crossed Pratt's face as he hastened to answer the buzzer at the side entrance to the morgue.

"Chief Inspector, I've been awaiting your visit," Pratt said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Calvert smirked at the smaller figure of Pratt with the thin European style, dark mustache, bare threads of black hair and small dark eyes.

How appropriate for a coroner to have such a sharp image. Calvert thought about the man in front of him

They proceeded to the former mayor's office turned examining laboratory.

"Not much in the way of funeral business these days. But then, that may be due to the fact that Trent's populace has not reached their dotage yet," Pratt said, a little too hastily.

"Have you completed your work on Bishop McDalten?" Calvert asked directly.

"Yes. I have. I must say this has been a very peculiar type of murder weapon," Pratt said.

"How so?"

"It appears that whoever wanted the Bishop dead knew quite a bit about the history of poisons that can be absorbed through the skin," Pratt said.

"Can you be more explicit?"

"Yes. The poison was a toxic powder dusted into his night shirt."

Calvert was stunned.

"Are you certain?"

"Oh quite."

"Look. Here is the night shirt."

Pratt placed the night shirt under a strong ultra violet lamp.

"Do you see how powder caked along the seams?"

Calvert nodded.

"Perhaps, it is just talc," Calvert said.

"Yes. It is talc. But, the talc was mixed with the same type of poison used on poison darts and arrows. It appears to be some type of dessicant from a South American frog species."

"South American frog species?"

"Yes, one of the deadliest known animals is a species of South American frog. They are quite beautiful. Also, extremely deadly," Pratt said.

Clearly, Pratt saw Calvert was not following his line of thought.

"When these frog species die or "are caused to die," their bodies become dried until they are papery thin. Then, the remains are turned to powder and used as a lethal poison."

"So, you say that someone put the deadly powder into the Bishop's talc and when the Bishop used the talc..."

"It would have clung to his night shirt and taken less than a quarter hour to kill him," Pratt said.

"Do you have proof of this?"

"Of course. Observe the Bishop's epidermis," Pratt said, pulling back the sheet on the dead Bishop's body.

Calvert saw the discoloration immediately.

"Initially, the skin turns red and then purple because the toxins in the poison powder cause the skin to suffocate and eventually penetrates to major organs causing death."

Calvert thanked Pratt for his help. He returned to his office. Durning noticed the perplexed expression on Calvert's face.

"Chief? What's wrong?"

"Bishop McDalten was murdered for certain. But, whoever murdered him knew deadly poisons well," Calvert said.

Calvert reiterated Pratt's findings to Durning.

"Chief, did Pratt estimate the time of death?"

"No. But, he did say it is one of the "deadliest" types of poison."

"I shouldn't have imagined a religious man would be so vain as to make use of talc," Durning said.

"Now, now. We mustn't judge the Bishop. For all we know, he could have indulged the use of it for his feet or after bathing to dry the skin," Calvert said.

Durning's thought did provoke Calvert to consider "how" the murderer managed to enter the vicarage unseen, powder the Bishop's nightshirt and leave the small, round container of talc behind.

"You do bring up one point. Why leave the container of talc behind with the poison in it?" Calvert asked.

Durning's expression was one of consternation.

"What is it, Durning?"

"The only two possible suspects aren't suspects. That would be the housekeeper and Rev. Brannigan, both of whom have solid alibis. Yet, Mrs. MacWhorter would be the only one with access to the Bishop's nightshirt.

I doubt Rev. Brannigan had any motive for wanting to be rid of the Bishop, since he believed he wasn't eligible to be the Bishop's replacement, given his lack of experience. Also, Brannigan would know he'd be our first suspect. Neither Brannigan nor Mrs. MacWhorter fit the picture," Durning said.

"Trent is a very insular community of residents. If there is something peculiar happening, it would be mired in secrecy at an incredible depth," Calvert said.

Andrew Brannigan tried in vain to fill the Bishop's place. The parishioners still possessed the attitude he was too young and too new to St. Adalbert's.

He decided to meet with the church council. Most of the members of the church council were husbands of the women who served St. Adalbert's in some capacity or another. There were seven mostly older men like Messrs. Finalley, Rockford,  Jamison, Everton, Patterson, Elleridge and Keaton.

Bishop McDalton felt no particular need for women on the church council since most of the women in the church were married or widowed. The other reason for the male only council was their connection to businesses in Trent. That meant regular church donations for church necessities like repairs and restorations.

Mesdames Tyson, Lockley, Shane, Devry and Marston were widows and nearly all of the church's most active members had adult children or young adults away at college.

"Gentlemen of St. Adalbert's, thank you for attending this meeting. I felt that with the passing of our beloved Bishop McDalton, the church body needs support so it doesn't fall into ruin," Vicar Brannigan said.

"Reverend, can you tell us what, if anything, the police have discovered about Bishop McDalton's death?"

Andrew Brannigan was hoping to avoid any discussion of the Bishop's death.

"I should think the best source for that information should come from the Trent police," Andrew said.

"Sir, with all due respect, the whispers around Trent are that the Bishop may have been poisoned. Can you tell us what you know about that?" Mr. Patterson said.

"You sir, are the doctor among us. I should think you would have discussed this with Mr. Pratt by now," Andrew said, churlishly.

Confronted by the male faction of his church, Andrew Brannigan became less courageous. He'd always deferred graciously and without reservation to male authority, even when he preferred female power and influence. This was a conundrum that was the source of vexation he seemed unable to reconcile.

He hoped Doctor Patterson's question would be the last. It wasn't.

"Now that you will be responsible for St. Adalbert's future, can you tell us what your plans are?" Mr. Rockford asked.

"A fine question and the point of my meeting with all of you good gentlemen," Vicar Brannigan said.

"Vicar, will you be elevated to Bishop of St. Adalbert's," James Finnally asked.

Andrew tread cautiously. He knew James Finalley's wife to be one of Bishop McDalten's "favorites." Or, so it seemed whenever McDalten spoke of how helpful the church women were to him. Arial Finalley was almost always mentioned. Andrew often took his cues from Mrs. MacWhorter on the status of these women.

For some reason, Mrs. MacWhorter didn't like Arial Finalley. She really wasn't fond of the church widows either; but, Andrew knew the rectory housekeeper well enough to know she was a storehouse of information behind her facade of "good woman" of the church.

"I cannot answer that. It will come from the regional Bishop to make that appointment," Andrew said.

Andrew Brannigan picked up the general temper of the council. He wished it was more amenable to getting McDalten's murder past their streams of consciousness.

"Gentlemen, I wish to discuss the problem of the leak in the church roof just over the sacristy. We will need to develop a plan to fund the repairs. May I have suggestions?" Andrew asked.

"In the past whenever funding was needed, Bishop McDalten prevailed upon the businesses in Trent to help fill in any gaps in the collection baskets," Mr. Rockford said.

"I confess I have little knowledge of how to go about obtaining funding from Trent business owners. Since some of you are in business, perhaps, you might make a few suggestions?"

"Why not ask the churchwomen to hold a few bake sales or those...what do they call them? Oh yes. White Elephant sales," Mr. Jamison asked.

"I doubt our good churchwomen could raise enough to cover the full cost of roof repairs. Do any of you know a roofer you would recommend who might give consideration to our low funds dilemma?" Andrew asked.

"The only roofer in Trent is not a church member. We can't have an outsider working on our church," Mr. Patterson said.

"The Lord doesn't mind who repairs our roof," Andrew replied.

Patterson smirked. So, the vicar was not particular about non members of the church?

Patterson wondered how well this would meet with the rest of the Council's objectives. He needn't have worried. Already, several of the Council members felt their noses twitch at the idea of hiring from outside St. Adalbert's congregation.

Rev. Brannigan saw the coup forming. He wondered if this was the reason the police believed Bishop McDalten was murdered...Men forming small enclaves of warring factions.

"Good men of St. Adalbert's, we must focus our attention on the most pressing needs. I'll discuss with the churchwomen the possibility of bakes sales and other volunteer programs," Andrew said.

When the meeting ended, Andrew Brannigan felt as if nothing had been accomplished. He also had the gnawing sense that the council was not ready to accept him as McDalten's replacement. He wondered when they would.

Quite by accident, the vicarage was thrown deeper into McDalten's murder. Andrew Brannigan wasn't sure he accepted the idea that any parish member was a murderer. However, he also knew Bishop McDalten would never jeopardize his soul and damnation to hell committing suicide.

He had to admit someone had a reason to want the Bishop dead. Andrew began to observe Mrs. MacWhorter more carefully, using furtive glances aimed toward her.

"Reverend, I don't recall the Bishop being interested in the kitchen," Mrs. MacWhorter said.

Andrew tread lightly. It was true he had something on his mind.

"Mrs. MacWhorter, you know the congregation better than most," Rev. Brannigan said.

"I ought. I've been a member since I was a child. I can remember the first time my parents brought me to the children's service. Back then, children were not allowed to attend regular services. Too much fussing and babies crying," she said.

"When did the children's service cease?"

"Oh let me see now. I must have been married by that time. Yes. I would say it was about thirty years ago," she replied.

"Bishop McDalten was the one who decided that?"

"I should say so and not without a lot of brouhaha from the congregation. A lot of the newer members were young adults with infants and toddlers then," Mrs. MacWhorter said.

"Are most of those young adults or their children still part of the congregation, would you say?"

"Once a St. Adalbert's congregant, always a congregant. The parish seemed to grow up around the church."

"I want to know as much church history and also the congregants now that my position has changed. Which are the more recent members?"

"Hasn't been "recent" members for fifteen years. But, the Lockleys were the last to join. Of course, poor Mrs. Lockley lost her husband during the Korean War. The Elleridges have been here since God created the Garden of Eden," she said.

"What about the Finalley family?"

Andrew needed to know why Mrs. MacWhorter took such a dim view of Arial Finalley.

Immediately, the bread dough Mrs. MacWhorter was kneading got a heavier pounding at the mention of Arial's name.

"I'd rather not have to confess to being mean spirited and uncharitable," Mrs. MacWhorter said.

"I don't understand."

"Arial Finalley is a flirt. It was almost as if every time Bishop McDalten was in sight, her backside twitched. That's all I'll say about that."

Andrew Brannigan realized there were more secrets among the parish churchwomen then he imagined.

Rather than appear to be a nosy body, he exited the kitchen and left Mrs. MacWhorter to pounding away at the bread dough.

He made his way to the church library, hoping he would find a book on church history. The heavy oak shelves reached nearly from ceiling to floor.

Bishop McDalten kept a small ladder attached to the bookcase so he could reach the top shelves. There was a total of eight book shelves in all and the bookcase occupied the only other wall in the library without a window.

The French doors to the small courtyard garden were flanked to the right by a large, curved window seat, for reading, no doubt, Andrew surmised. The library had a large desk that was obviously quite old and without any ornamentation. Just a plain pinewood desk with three drawers on each side.

Andrew realized he hadn't done much searching through Bishop McDalten's belongings, such as the desk drawers or books in the library, even though he'd been at St. Adalbert's ten months.

Now, he decided to take stock of his authority to inspect everything he knew McDalten would not have approved of.

He carefully opened each desk drawer. The center drawer held writing supplies like pens, note pads, a ruler and a glass magnifier. The three drawers to the right held mostly old church bills. Andrew decided he would inspect those in more detail another day. The three drawers to the left were empty, save for four scraps of paper torn into several pieces.

Being curious, he tried to piece these together. He couldn't seem to make sense of them. One caught his attention. It was addressed to Bishop McDalten and was clearly in a feminine hand. It read:

"I must see you again. I don't want to be a secret for the rest of my life. Do you really love me? If you do, you must prove it. Make a decision, one way or the other. That determines our future. With love and devotion."

The note ended there. Andrew Brannigan's heart sank.

I should be shocked. But somehow, I'm not. So his reverence had a dalliance? 

Andrew was not one to play detective or relate legal wrongdoing to persons in authority. He honestly believed they knew better. Yet, he also knew men, given a second glance by attractive women, often lose their heads.

Perhaps, this was the case for Bishop McDalten. But, surely any woman who loved him wouldn't want him dead.

Andrew placed these four scraps inside his prayer book. He was certain he wanted no scandal at St. Adalbert. Secrecy was always the operative that kept many a parish from being scandalized. Secrecy was a good tool. St. Adalbert's was already under scrutiny by local police. A second scandal would blacken the entire Lymington Trent village and St. Adalbert parish.

He glanced at the clock on the dining room wall.  It was nearly time for Mrs. MacWhorter to serve his evening meal. Vespers would follow as usual.

Andrew realized he needed to consider taking on a new assistant. He decided to place his focus on the request for an assistant in a letter to Bishop Henry Wantaugh. He hoped Bishop Wantaugh would send someone he could work with easily. It might be more difficult to find an assistant now that there was a cloud over the parish due to Bishop McDalten's death.

As if reading his mind, Mrs. MacWhorter placed his dinner plate before him and asked,

"Vicar, will St. Adalbert be in need of an assistant now that ..." her voice trailed off.

"Strange you should mention that. I was just musing over that very thing. I'm going to send a letter to Bishop Wantaugh regarding this," Andrew said.

He knew Mrs. MacWhorter would have that little bit of information dispersed among the churchwomen within the hour.

"Of course, I should hope to keep this quiet until I have some firm confirmation of an appointment from Bishop Wantaugh," Andrew said, raising an eyebrow in hopes it signified a warning.

Not missing his meaning, Mrs. MacWhorter raised her eyebrow in response. Telepathy between vicar and housekeeper notwithstanding.

So certain was Andrew Brannigan of how fast rumors spread in his parish, the first inkling of the breach in his warning to Mrs. MacWhorter came around eight that very evening.

He sat in the library at Bishop McDalten's desk...an act of obvious mutiny according to the expression on Mrs. MacWhorter's face.

"Chief Inspector Calvert and Detective Inspector Durning to see you vicar," Mrs. MacWhorter announced.

"Well, see them in, please." Andrew said, with an ever so subtle hint of annoyance he hoped would translate to his displeasure to his housekeeper.

"Good Evening, Vicar," Calvert said.

"Good evening to you Chief Inspector. How can I help?" Andrew asked.

"Actually, I would ask that of you. It appears you are about to choose a new assistant?" Calvert asked.

"Why, as a matter of fact, I am. But, I don't see how that..." Andrew started.

"It doesn't and isn't a police matter, I can assure you," Calvert said.

Andrew waited until the Chief Inspector was ready to give his reason for his visit to the vicarage.

"As you know, we still have no real suspects for..."

"Yes. You believe the Bishop was murdered," Andrew said.

"And you do not?" Calvert asked.

"I am not really certain about anything. You stated you don't have any suspects and it has been ten months since the Bishop's death. Isn't it just possible it was a death of natural causes?"

"It certainly was not, as well you are aware. Bishop McDalten was poisoned. Of that, we are certain. Why and who are the only remaining questions that must be answered," Calvert said.

Durning saw where the interaction between his Chief Inspector and the Vicar was heading and he decided to be the Balm of Gilead.

"Vicar, I see that you are settled in to the duties of your Bishop," Durning said, glancing furtively for acceptance from Calvert.

"There really wasn't much choice. Bishop Wantaugh made no official announcement of my becoming Bishop as yet. However, he obviously expects me to manage Bishop McDalten's affairs as best I can," Andrew said.

"I'm sure that has been a big undertaking, considering you are new to this vicarage," Durning said.

Calvert wondered with some consternation where Durning was going with this conversation. He needn't have wondered. Durning could often be counted on to be unexpectedly astute. Not as often, however, as Calvert would like.

"I have the help of the church council, as you know and most of the people in the village have lived here long enough to be quite ready to lend a hand when needed," Andrew said.

"We were wondering...now that you are settled into your new duties if you had found anything at all that might help lead us to a possible suspect," Durning said, more bluntly.

Andrew had a sudden, very sharp pang of guilt. Should he tell Calvert and Durning what he found in the Bishop's desk? He hurriedly tried to assess the possibilities. It was his duty to help find whoever was responsible for poisoning Bishop McDalten. But, what if the notes he found implicated a member of the parish? Still, without any suspect, there stood the possibility that a murderer in the village had gone undetected and could strike again. Andrew had never felt such a sense of indecision in his life.

The longer he remained silent, the more Calvert would suspect he did have something he was hiding.

"I...uh...was going through some of Bishop McDalten's effects this very day. I hadn't gotten around to it earlier because I was trying to organize my duties and deal with the problems at hand at St. Adalbert's," Andrew said.

"And?" Calvert injected.

"I think you might want to see what I found today in Bishop Dalten's desk. It may be nothing at all; but, I'll feel better if I turn it over to you," Andrew said, reaching into his jacket pocket.

He handed the torn pieces of notes to Calvert.

"Where did you find this?" Durning asked.

"Here, in this desk."

Calvert read the writing on the notes and turned them over to Durning to inspect.

"Definitely a woman's hand," Durning said.

"I agree," Calvert responded.

"Vicar, do you know who the woman who wrote these letters might be?" Calvert asked.

"I'm sorry. No. I haven't a clue," Andrew said.

"Vicar, I realize you have been at St. Adalbert's only a short time. However, if there is one thing police know well, it is the propensity for church groups to hide a lot of secrets," Calvert said, bluntly.

"Secrets? In this parish? Most of the people have lived here practically forever. Why even Mrs. MacWhorter has been housekeeper since she was a young woman," Andrew offered.

"That may well be. But, every church group has its secrets and St. Adalbert's cannot be the only exception," Calvert said.

"I leave that in your capable hands to uncover St. Adalbert parish secrets. I am sure the old Widow Mrs. Tyson will keep her secret recipe for savories for the church annual picnic from becoming public knowledge," Andrew said, sardonically.

"We've already rule out most of the parish widows who are less mobile," Durning put in.

"Why is that?" Andrew asked.

Durning realized he had divulged police information Calvert was sure to reprimand him for.

"Since, the Bishop's room is on the second floor, I'm sure you figured out already that the suspect in this case would need to be agile to climb out the window to the limb of the nearby tree in order not to be seen by anyone in this residence," Calvert said.

Durning felt relieved that he hadn't breached police information.

"Surely, you don't think any of the women of St. Adalbert's would be so unseemly as to climb out a window to escape the Bishop's room?" Andrew asked.

Neither Calvert nor Durning had considered this image. Of the women in the village, few were so agile for that type of escape. There was also the matter of the poisonous talc Pratt believes came from a South American frog genus.

"Are the vicarage doors locked after Mrs. McWhorter leaves?" Calvert asked.

"Yes. The Bishop, I and Mrs. McWhorter are also the only ones with keys.  The Bishop gave the housekeeper keys so she could enter the kitchen and prepare breakfast while we are at morning vespers," Andrew said.

"Our detectives have already run a check on the locks. None were forced. That means someone "else" has to have had a key, if they didn't use the tree outside the Bishop's window for entry and exit," Calvert added.

"Well, I believe you've been a big help providing these notes. Should you find more, please don't fail to keep us informed," Calvert said, nodding to Durning to take their leave.

Back at headquarters, Calvert stopped by the desk of Moira Ronan,a young investigative detective hired to gather research on evidence found in criminal cases.

"Miss Ronan, we are working on the McDalten case, as you know. It appears the medical examiner, Pratt, believes the talc that poisoned McDalten came from a South American frog. Can you provide me with more information on where precisely the frog might originate?"

"Sir, I'd need a sample of the talc to do that. Or, at the very least, the ME's findings on the poison. That would hasten my research for you," Moira said.

"I know you can figure out that in a town like this, Pratt is the only ME we have," Calvert said, sarcastically.

He hurried off to his desk to give the notes the vicar handed him a more thorough inspection.

"Sit down, Durning. Will you?"

"Sorry sir," Durning said.

"What do you make of these notes?" Calvert asked, handing them to Durning.

Durning poured over them for several minutes almost to the annoyance of Calvert.

"I am having difficulty imagining an older man like the Bishop having a female lover. It is possible these notes were retrieved by the Bishop," Durning said.

"To what end? Blackmail?"

Durning shrugged indecisively.

"I don't think the Bishop would be blackmailing a female congregant of his own parish," Calvert said.

"Unless, the female congregant was married to a male member of St. Adelbert's council," Durning said.

"Durning, I am not following you."

"What if the woman was married to someone on the Council who was involved in embezzling church funds and had an affair with another Council member?"

"She might have cause to poison the Bishop. I agree. But, it isn't likely she would so openly meet with the Bishop in his room and then climb out his bedroom window after the deed was done," Calvert said.

Calvert picked up the phone. It was now after nine o'clock. He hoped the vicar was still awake as he dialed the number to the vicarage.

"St. Adelbert's Vicarage," the female voice said.

Calvert assumed it was Mrs. MacWhorter. She must have been working late. The St. Adalbert housekeeper was usually seen leaving the vicarage every evening no later than ten o'clock when her duties were heaviest.

"This is Chief Inspector Calvert. Might I speak with the vicar if he's still awake?"

"I'll check."

He could hear Mrs. MacWhorter's footsteps and then the muffled voices of a man and woman.

"Hello Chief Inspector. What can I do for you so soon after we met this evening," Andrew Brannigan said.

"Your Church Council. Can you tell me who serves as your treasurer?"

"That would be Charles Keaton, brother of Harold. He's a widower. His wife, Clara, died during a flu epidemic.

James Finnally is currently Council president and Archie Everton is recording secretary," Andrew said, warding off any future questions about positions on the Council.

"Are there others on the Council?

"Yes, Doctor Emory Patterson, Thomas Rockford and Henry Elleridge. All are fine, upstanding men of the church and the village," Andrew replied.

Calvert wrote the names on a pad in front of him.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late this evening, Vicar. Hopefully, it won't need to happen again," Calvert said, ringing off.

Andrew wondered why the Chief Inspector wanted to know who the church treasurer was. What had he found about Charles Keaton? What was Charles Keaton's link to the murder, always assuming there was a link.

The men of St. Adalbert's church council were quite prominent in Lymington Trent. Each were chosen according to their experience in business. Charles Keaton was the manager of the small Trent bank that served the community. Andrew was sure Calvert knew Doctor Patterson, since he had the only local medical practice.

Thomas Rockford and Henry Elleridge each had small businesses, James Finnally was semi retired as a horticulturalist.

Andrew hoped the murder at the Vicarage was not about to uncover dirty laundry on his congregation as so often happens. Still, the bishop was a dead. Andrew couldn't avoid the gnawing feeling the murder was committed by more than one person. After all, the murder plot was not such a simple one to carry out.

Andrew ran through his mind the possible murderers. The manner in which McDalten was murdered was not the work of a simple minded church woman either. He imagined the faces of the women who served on the church altar committee.

The other peculiar factor is that since Andrew arrived at St. Adalbert's, he saw no conclusive signs of McDalten and any of the women engaging in unseemly behavior.

Andrew snickered and felt quite amused. What could any of those women see in an aged bishop whose hair, though thick and lush, was as white as snow? Neither was the bishop a man of stature. He stood no more than five foot ten inches in height and he had quite a paunch resulting from too many of Mrs. McWhorter's buttery scones.

He could have understood a heart attack killing the bishop. But, poisoning? He tried to recall details of the day of the murder as best he could. He remembered waking at six. He bathed and dressed as usual. The bishop was already awake and downstairs speaking with Mrs. McWhorter when Andrew descended the stairs.

Not much in the way of more than their usual chatter. Mrs. McWhorter providing the day's menu for lunch and dinner and reminding him of a visit from Doctor Patterson. Doctor Patterson? A murderer? That too was laughable.

Doctor Patterson looked as if he might have been in Lymington Trent since the first settlers arrived. An octogenarian, if not nearly, Doctor Patterson doddered about. Unless his lack of agility was feigned, Andrew dismissed the doctor as a possibility.

Andrew remembered on that day he and the bishop went over to the empty vestibule of the church to discuss services and sermons. Then, the bishop headed for the sacristy where he usually puttered about rearranging vessels and vestments hanging from the wooden pole in the sacristy closet.

The other thing that bothered Andrew was the fact that the men in his congregation were the kind who were least likely to be disrespectful to a man of the cloth.Would one of them become incited to commit murder? Andrew rationalized that seemed unlikely.

He then tried to study the most likely women in the congregation.While some were quite controlling with each other, they were not the romantic types.

What am I missing here? Andrew wondered.

He tried to recall what evidence Calvert and During had shared thus far with him. Calvert seems to believe someone had a key to the rectory and entered, climbed the stairs to the Bishop's bedroom like a cat burglar with the intention of poisoning the Bishop.

Calvert also said the tin of talc containing the poison was left behind. But, Andrew knew the detectives investigating the scene of the crime had taken it for examination. The murderer must have been smart enough to wear gloves to avoid fingerprints on the tin of talc.

Wait  a minute! The tin of talc!

When Andrew first discovered the Bishop was dead, the tin of talc should have been on the Bishop's bedside table. It was on top of the chifforobe where the Bishop kept his garments. That means someone other than the Bishop put it there. On other occasions that tin of talc was always on the bedside table.

If someone entered the Bishop's bedroom, it had to be in the period before the Bishop and Andrew turned in for the night. And, if that was the case, the person hid somewhere in the room or within the vicarage. The murderer wasn't likely to get past Mrs. McWhorter in the kitchen. The front door to the vicarage had an automatic chime that alerted them of someone entering. The Bishop had this installed to protect church valuables shortly before Andrew took up residence. The only other entry would be through the French doors in the library.

Andrew knelt in the chapel totally distracted from his morning prayers. He wondered if he should discuss his thoughts with Calvert and Durning. He decide against it, knowing how churlish Calvert could be about outsiders poking their nose into his investigation.

Still, Andrew worried that the murderer might strike again unless he took precautions to protect himself. He prayed that the Religious Council would soon send him an assistant. Such a move would be a distraction Andrew would welcome from the dark reminders of a Bishop's murder.

Chief Inspector Calvert felt frustrated. The only major crime to occur in Trent Lymington in decades and it was a constant round of brick walls. He found himself snapping at Durning whenever he asked questions he should have had the answers to by now.

Calvert studied the possibilities. The murderer somehow managed to escape the view of the housekeeper, Brannigan and McDalten. He reviewed his notes on the movement of both clerics. There was only one time frame when it would have been possible for someone to enter the vicarage: while the two men were at dinner.

"Durning, it all comes down to someone gaining access to the Bishop's room while the Bishop, Brannigan and the housekeeper would all three be distracted," Calvert said.

"Might I suggest that would be at their dinner hour? First off, there are only three points of entry in the entire building. The front door which is armed with an automatic chime, the kitchen where the housekeeper spends most of her time and the French doors in the library," Durning said.

"But, those French doors would mean being seen from the dining room, assuming the library doors remained opened," Calvert said.

"I doubt the Bishop or Brannigan would close the library doors when the library was not in use," Durning said.

"That leaves the window to the Bishop's room," Calvert put in.

"And someone agile enough from the congregation who could silently climb a tree and enter through a window," Durning said.

"I'm wondering about the piece of paper Brannigan found. Have you found any outstanding debt owed by the Bishop himself?" Calvert asked.

"Just the usual bills most any vicarage would amass. Most of the work at the vicarage is done by those right here in Trent," Durning said.

"What about those brothers, Harold and Charles Keaton? One is a groundskeeper and the other a bank manager in Trent," Calvert said.

"Where are you taking this?" Durning asked.

"Wherever any link might lead," Calvert said.

"Those two brothers are like the country son and city son. I don't see any possible link," Durning said.

"One has a wife. The other is a widower."

"You think the Bishop discovered a love affair between Charles and Sarah?"

"I think it is possible. But, it doesn't explain how any of those three knew about that deadly poison that killed the Bishop," Calvert said.

"Not only is the case missing a motive for murder; but, it is also missing the link to the murderer and the poison," Durning said.

Once again, Calvert felt Durning was repeating information he already knew.

"Find out more about Sarah Keaton. Her past, any possible connection to the chemist, Jamison. This village is full of secrets only these people know. Now, we have to uncover what they are all hiding," Calvert said.

"I'll put Moira Ronan on Sarah Keaton's past. She's good at tracking these kinds of things," Durning said.

"Fine. But, I want you to dig into the brothers Keaton activities too," Calvert said, authoritatively.

Durning felt impelled to close this case before Calvert did. Or, Calvert would never give him a shred of credit for his detective skills.

Moira Ronan nearly laughed out loud when Durning asked her to dig into Sarah Keaton's past.

"Sir? Sarah Keaton? Are you sure? Not Arial Kinnalley? Or Melinda Jamison?"

"Yes. Sarah Keaton. Why?"

"Sarah Keaton is such a mealy mouthed woman. Not so bold as Arial Kinnally or as secretive as Melinda Jamison," Moira said.

"If you can get information on those two women, fine. But, I need every detail of Sarah Keaton's past for now."

Durning knew he had to get the information on the Keaton brothers or Calvert would consider it major insurrection. He already had a bank account at the bank in Trent where Charles Keaton was manager. He decided not to set off any alarms by being too direct in questioning.

He needed to set up an account to cash his paychecks there. Now was as good a time as any and made for a good excuse to get to know more about Charles Keaton, bank manager.

As his place in line arrived, he struck up a conversation with a bank clerk, named William Lougherby. Lougherby was known in the bank as a "friendly sort." Durning asked seemingly casual questions.

"You've been working here quite a while," Durning said.

"Yes. In fact, I will be celebrating my twentieth work anniversary in two months," Lougherby said.

"My. That's practically as long as the bank has been in Trent," Durning said.

"Well, not really. This bank opened the year I was born. The employee with the longest work anniversary is Charles Keaton. He was promoted to bank manager the year I was first hired," Lougherby said.

"Has he always been an employee of this bank?"

"Yes. He was one of the first employees to be promoted. As you probably know, his father, Andrew Keaton was a charter bank executive back in the day."

"Odd, don't you think? Harold Keaton is a groundkeeper at St. Adalbert's. Didn't he ever want to be a banker like his father and brother?"

"This  is probably well before your time. But, Harold fell in love with a showgirl. It was quite a scandal. Harold wouldn't end the relationship. Andrew Keaton refused to allow Harold to hold a job in the bank unless he ended the relationship."

"Sarah Keaton was a showgirl?"

"Well, a theater circuit showgirl. They met when her theater group put on a show here in Trent back in the 40s. She was quite a beauty then; though, now it is difficult to tell that, what with aging and all."

Durning waited for Lougherby to go on.

"Sarah Keaton had star billing. She was really very talented.  She sang, danced and did acrobatics."

"Acrobatics?"

"Yes. You know...somersaults, contortions and she had this one act where she hung upside from a trapeze...high about the floor of the stage."

"Did everyone in town know about the scandalous affair between Harold and Sarah?"

"Trent is a small town. There isn't much that isn't gossip to spread around here."

Durning's brain was making notes. He knew he better not ask too many more questions or Lougherby would know he was on police business.

"Shame about the Bishop's murder," Durning said.

"In a village like Trent, the Bishop is always at the center of a lot of town gossip. You know what I think?"

"No, what do you think?"

"I think the Bishop stuck his nose into someone's affairs and someone had to get "rid" of him," Lougherby said.

"I'm sure the Trent Chief Inspector agrees with you," Durning said.

"If I was CI Calvert, I'd start with how Sarah Keaton talked Jamison into giving her deadly poison," Lougherby said.

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, she did work for Jamison when Harold was forced into retirement. That was before the Bishop hired him to work as a groundskeeper, of course."

"Of course. I must be getting on. I don't want to hold up the rest of your customers," Durning said.

Lougherby wasn't easily fooled. If Durning wasn't on police business, he went to a great deal of trouble to appear otherwise.

"A showgirl? Married to Harold Keaton, a groundskeeper?" Durning muttered to himself on his way back to the station.

Trent had an awful lot of secrets from too many tight lipped townspeople. He wondered what Calvert would think of his latest bit of information.

True to his placid demeanor, Durning's report on Sarah Keaton was met with silence from Calvert and his usual knitting of his brow.

"I don't know, Durning. I suppose we should speak to Mrs. Keaton," Calvert said.

Calvert took Durning's enthusiasm for his job as the actions of an "eager beaver." Still, he knew Durning had hit on some information that finally might provide a break in this strange murder case.

"What do "we" know about William Lougherby?"

"He is about to celebrate 20 years of service at the Trent bank and, I suspect, is the one person who is very talkative, if you know what I mean," Durning replied.

"Is he tied in any way to St. Adalbert's?"

"Only perhaps, as a parishioner. I did some checking on him when I returned from the bank. William Lougherby was not among the active parishioners at St. Adelbert. He may be one of those who attends only during holidays. You know the type," Durning said.

Calvert "was" the type. He only attended services on holidays and only at the insistence of his wife.

"Is Lougherby married?"

"He's a widower, but only recently. His wife passed on two years ago after cardiac arrest."

"Get Sarah Keaton in here. We need to speak to her. Tell her we need her to "clarify" a few things about St. Adalbert's."

Sarah Keaton was as Moira Ronan described. When Moira ushered Sarah into Calvert's office, she fairly tiptoed into the room.

Durning was seated in the heavy oak chair to the left of Calvert's large pine desk. Durning stood as Sarah entered the room and offered her the seat to the right of the desk.

"Mrs. Keaton, we asked you here to clarify a few things we've learned about St. Adelbert's," Calvert began.

"I don't know what information about the church or the vicarage I could offer," Sarah said, hesitantly.

"Now, just let us decide about that," Calvert said.

Durning sensed that Calvert's authoritarian and brusque manner was intimidating to Sarah. He wondered why a woman who had faced audiences in her past career would be so shy. Was it guilt?

Certainly, the Bishop's murder case was not nearly solved yet and no one in Trent believed it would be.

"Sarah, how often did the Bishop meet with the ladies who assisted with church duties...you know...cleaning, dusting and the like," Calvert said.

"Well...let's see now. We all had a schedule we followed. That was the job of Mrs. MacWhorter, She met with all of us on the first Monday of each week with the schedule. But, I believe it wasn't planned by her, but by Bishop McDalten," Sarah Keaton said.

"Why do you think that?" Durning asked.

"Mrs. MacWhorter always read the list and then left a copy of it on the church lectern as a reminder. I noticed that the handwriting seemed somewhat masculine."

"Had you ever seen the Bishop's handwriting before?" Calvert asked.

"Well, yes, of course. He signed our marriage certificate many years ago. He had just been appointed to the vicarage not more than three years when Harold proposed marriage," Sarah said, blushing slightly.

Durning watched Sarah's facial expressions and her body movements for a sign that she was "acting." Nothing thus far indicated Sarah was acting out a scene.

"Sarah, were you born and raised in Lymington Trent?" Durning asked, trying to hasten the interview.

"No, Sir. Truth be told, I only came to Trent when our theater group was booked for a show here. Harold was so enamored of my performance in the show that he came backstage to meet me," Sarah said.

"How did you decide you wanted to remain in Trent?" Calvert asked.

"The theater group manager extended our stay by three additional weeks. I guess it was because the show was so popular or something to that effect. Anyway, Harold continue to pursue me and was quite attentive. On the night before our group was to leave, Harold proposed marriage. It was 1943, the war in Europe had begun and I couldn't see the group playing to packed audiences with all the men gone off to war. Also, I knew the physical risks to continuing my performance as I began to age. Marriage just seemed like a good idea."

All of Sarah's explanations thus far seemed plausible until Durning asked the one question Calvert, being unemotional, didn't ask.

"Mrs. Keaton, you said "marriage just seemed like a good idea." Were you in love with Harold?" Durning asked.

Calvert knitted his brow sternly as he glanced at Durning with teeth baring slightly.

"I confess I was not really in love with Harold. Not, you know..."in love" as young lovers often say they are. After all, I was twenty-eight years old and no blushing beauty. You see...in the theater business, morals are bent often for men and women who work together, live together and are on the road traveling together most of their lives. I had one or two love affairs. But real love? I have to confess the answer is "No."

"Harold was a member of St. Adelbert's Council though was he not?" Calvert asked.

"Not at the time when we first met. Harold was too old for military service, but two years younger than I. Bishop McDalten, at that time, didn't organize a Church Council. I believe that took place after the war ended. Harold knew I was not a religious woman. Here in Lymington Trent all women are required to be members of St. Adelbert's or at least, that's what Harold told me. So, I unwillingly did as he asked and joined the community at services, mostly to please my husband. I'd grown quite fond of Harold by then," Sarah said.

"When did you actually meet with Bishop McDalten as a church member?" Durning asked.

This question pointed directly to when Sarah and McDalten might have had a relationship.

Sarah hesitated for nearly four minutes. Calvert and Durning took note of the woman's delay in responding.

"Mrs. Keaton? Can you recall when you first met the Bishop as a church member?"

Her answers were vague and ambiguous leading Calvert and Durning to believe she was hiding something. By her own account, Sarah Keaton had not been a woman so very pious as other women in the parish seemed to be.

"I don't know Durning. What did you get from Mrs. Keaton, we couldn't have already figured out?" Calvert asked.

"Just that she danced around your pointed question about when she actually met Bishop McDalten," Durning answered.

"Look, we have to crack this case posthaste. We've already narrowed down the possibilities. Either it comes down to a jealous husband who discovered his wife had an affair with the Bishop or..."Calvert said.

"Or?"

"The piece of the puzzle that makes no sense is why Sarah Keaton would poison the Bishop. Poison is a weapon used more by women than men. That's true. And she does have the advantage of being able to use a disguise to enter the Bishop's bedroom. What's missing?"

"You don't believe she's a murderer. And, if she isn't the Bishop's murderer, it means someone else had a reason to get rid of the Bishop."

"A third, as yet, unknown person we haven't considered? Would that third unknown be a man or a woman?"

"I just don't see a woman in the church congregation willing to sneak into the Bishop's bedroom for the purpose of murdering him unless she had a specific reason to silence him....That's it!" Calvert said.

"What is "it?"

"The reason for the Bishop's murder...to silence him. We've been assuming it was due to his philandering with women in the congregation. But, what if it was something only the Bishop and the murderer knew about?"

"Such as?"

"We both know money is the root of all evil," Calvert said.

"You think someone tied to a financial arrangement gone wrong murdered the Bishop?"
ove
"I think we should do what we have always done. Follow the money."

"The Bishop didn't have any money. He relied on the generosity of his congregants," Durning said.

"Maybe. Or, maybe not. If he had a liking for the ladies, he was not above other vices," Calvert said.

Reverend Brannigan knew that until there was a resolution to the Bishop's untimely death, the congregation would not have any sense of closure to the matter.

It looks like it rests with me to find that closure or St. Adalbert's vicarage would never have a future. 

He thought about that word, "future." In such a small village, there was sameness to the point of madness. He knew that whoever murdered the Bishop had gone mad, but for what reason only the murderer knew. Or, so Reverend Brannigan thought.

As the Christmas holiday was growing nearer, Reverend Brannigan had less and less time to think about the murder of the Bishop. There was so much to do and so little in the way of congregants' tithings. He wondered if Bishop McDalten had left any documents on how he paid for holiday expenses.


As the cold November days wound down, a light snowfall began just outside the vicarage library. Reverend Brannigan was glad for Mrs. MacWhorter's warming hot apple cider and the blazing fire in the fireplace. He sat at the desk the Bishop had used to write his sermons and take care of vicarage business.

Andrew began to make notes of things he needed to do when his fountain pen ran out of ink. He reached into the middle drawer of the red maple desk for the bottle of ink to refill the pen. Something at the very back of the drawer prevented the drawer from open the full extent.

Andrew reached into the drawer, pulling back his long black sleeve of jacket. Whatever was stuck at the back of the drawer was difficult to remove. He pushed the desk chair back so he could get down on his knees to see what was jammed and resisting his attempts to remove it.

He had to pull the desk lamp closer for more illumination of the contents of the drawer. He saw it was an manila envelope stuck halfway between the back of the drawer with only a bare half inch flapped over to the front.

He got the idea if he pushed the drawer backward again, maybe the envelope would release. It did. The envelope was slightly larger than he imagined. Not the usual nine by eleven size. But, about five inches wide by six inches long.

Andrew had found a note in this very desk before. But he was certain this envelope had not been in the desk. It couldn't have been. He would have had the same trouble trying to open the drawer as he'd had this very night. 

The envelope was marked in the Bishop's handwriting,"From CK" It was dated the week before Bishop McDalten was murdered.

Andrew wondered who "CK" was. He moved the metal clasp at the back of he envelope to view its contents. He was shocked at what was inside. Photographs! Of the Bishop! In the arms of a young man Andrew knew was not a congregant of St. Adalbert.

The young man appeared to be in is early or middle twenties.

Andrew's hands trembled. Someone wanted Andrew to know about McDalten's liaison with this young man and pushed the envelope hard into the back of the drawer. Hard enough, Andrew guessed so that he, Andrew, would have to find it.

Andrew knew it would be the end of the vicarage if these photos were ever made public. But he also knew they should be given over to the police. Just not yet.

Was this the young man who murdered the Bishop? Andrew was about to place the lurid photos back in the envelope when he saw another slip of paper inside. It had only one thing written on it, "1000."

Someone was blackmailing the Bishop! Andrew knew the Bishop didn't have that kind of money. Nor did he have congregants....Andrew's train of thought was paused. The older brother of Harold Keaton...Charles was a bank executive. It was as if a light bulb had gone off in his head.

Still...I'm am not sure turning this over to the police was the right way forward. There is also the matter of who put the envelope in the desk. It had to be recently. 

Andrew felt as if he had knots in his stomach. Was this vicarage a hot bed of lurid secrets? And if it was, should he ask for a transfer to another less infectious vicarage or try to deal with the problem? Trouble is that the problem is among congregants who have been members of St. Adalbert's practically forever.

He tried to think about who had access recently to the library and the desk. The clues to a suspect just went round and round like a child's spinning top.

Feeling peckish, he made his way to the kitchen for a late night snack before he retired for the night. He noted on the clock in the hall it was nearly 10 P.M. Mrs. MacWhorter would be gone for the day and he hoped she remembered to leave a snack on the table.

On his way to the kitchen, he heard rustling around in Bishop McDalten's bedroom. It has been the scene of a crime and so Andrew kept the door locked.

He trod carefully and more quietly than he normally would do. The door was still locked, but from inside. He reached into his pocket to find the key ring that held the key to this room. It was missing. He wondered how long it had gone missing. He always laid the key ring on the dining room server while he ate his meals. He must have forgotten to retrieve them at dinner this night.

He decided to wait to see if the intruder would leave by way of the door or the window. Standing a few feet away from the door, Andrew heard something heavy drop to the floor inside the Bishop's room.

Without a key, there was no way to see who the intruder was. He thought of a trick he'd seen in a TV murder mystery. He brushed his fingers against the door ever to lightly hoping to get a reaction from whomever was inside Bishop McDalten's room.

Suddenly, there was only dead silence. He positioned himself on the outer wall to the left of the door frame. He knew whomever was inside the room had only two possible exits. He hoped that it would not be an open window through which the intruder would escape.

He saw the door handle turn very slowly. So...the intruder was not leaving via the window. He realized if the intruder was a man who could overpower him, he might not remain conscious enough to identify him.

The door handle turned more forcefully and the door opened slowly.

When he saw who the intruder was, he was taken aback.

"Mrs. MacWhorter! What were you doing in the Bishop's room? You know I keep it locked because it was a crime scene."

"Vicar, I was...uh...I was just looking for something I left with the Bishop before he died. It was just a prayer card that my mother gave me."

"What was that loud noise about?"

"Oh, I accidentally dropped one of the bronze bookends holding up the books on the Bishop's night table."

Andrew didn't know whether to believe Mrs. MacWhorter or not. After all, she had been the vicarage's housekeeper since before Andrew arrived, practically forever.

"Did you find it? The prayer card?"

"No. I guess the Bishop must have placed it elsewhere."

Mrs. MacWhorter hurried off. In too much of  hurry for a woman of her age. Andrew walked into the Bishop's room and saw the bookend still laying on the floor. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance.

Then, as he turned to leave the room, he noticed that the small cloth upon which the Bishop's alarm clock and lamp usually sat was slightly crinkled. Mrs. MacWhorter was pretty strict about neatness. Why did she leave that white lace doily like that?

Reverend Andrew Brannigan had no idea of just how tightly knit his congregants were in his vicarage. He was about to find out.

For several days after he found Mrs. MacWhorter rummaging about in the Bishop's room, Andrew felt uneasy as if the "other shoe was about to drop." He was right.

He decided that to keep the photos from the police might implicate him in helping a murderer. No matter who it might be.

The next morning the sun was shining brightly for an autumn day with only a slight hint of a chill in the air.

He heard Mrs. MacWhorter call him to breakfast. She eyed him as she poured his coffee.

"Vicar, I feel as if I need to explain about being in the Bishop's room."

"No need Mrs. MacWhorter. I am sure your mother's prayer card will turn up," Andrew said quickly.

"It is nearly time or morning vespers," she said.

"So it is. Oh...uh...Mrs. MacWhorter, I'll be having lunch one hour later. I need to go into town this morning after vespers," Andrew said.

She waited as if he would tell her why he needed to go to town. Andrew hurried off.

She dialed a number on the phone in the library.

"Charles? Beatie here. The vicar has just left for town."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No. He seemed in an awful hurry."

"Did you find those photos?"

"No. The Vicar caught me in the Bishop's room a fortnight ago. I told him a lie. My soul will burn in hell for lying to a man of the cloth. I couldn't tell him what I was really looking for. I said I was looking for my mother's prayer card I'd given to the Bishop."

"We must remain vigilant more than ever now. We managed to keep a secret and it must remain so," Charles said.

It was Chief Inspector Calvert who first spied the Vicar. He hurried toward him. The open case of the murdered Bishop McDalten had left the department reeling with suspicions and leads that all seemed to go nowhere.

"Ah, Vicar. What can I do for you on this fine autumn morning?" Calvert asked.

"May we speak privately in your office?" Andrew asked.

"Certainly, just step this way and have a seat," Calvert said.

There was a long moment of silence between the two men. On Calvert's part, there was expectancy. On Andrew's, hesitation that he was doing the right thing.

"I found something in the Bishop's desk. I only found it because I had trouble opening the drawer. I know it was placed there recently by someone who wanted these photos found," Andrew started.

He pulled out the envelope containing the lurid photos.

Calvert's expression was one Andrew would remember for years to come.

"I have to admit I am speechless," Calvert said.

"No more so than I. I should also tell you that our housekeeper, Mrs. MacWhorter was in the Bishop's room. When I first heard the noise from his room, I thought it was an intruder. She finally exited the room and seemed shocked to know I heard her inside," Andrew said.

"Do you know who this young man is?"

"No. I do know he is not a congregant of St. Adalbert's."

"We will try to find out his identity. But, one question...Who do you suspect put those photos in that desk? Mrs. MacWhorter?"

"No. Mrs. MacWhorter wouldn't have a key to the desk. But, the strange thing is that the key to the Bishop's room went missing. I always lay it on the server in the dining room before I have my dinner."

Chief Calvert was beginning to feel confused.

"Who else would have a key to the Bishop's desk?" Calvert asked.

"No one I know of."

"What was Mrs. MacWhorter looking for in the Bishop's room?"

"I have to guess this envelope. Which means she didn't know it was in the desk or that I had removed them to my room."

"Vicar, how long did you have these in your possession?'

"I must confess, I didn't turn them over right away. I found them last November."

"This is October. You had them a year and didn't think to tell us?"

"I was afraid of the scandal it would cause the vicarage."

"Well, it will be a scandal in any case."

"How so? Why does anyone else have to know about the Bishop's ugly past? He's dead."

"Yes. Murdered and now we know why."

"What do you mean?"

"I am saying that whoever murdered the Bishop knew about his relationship with this young man. The murderer must know the young man well. The Bishop was murdered to protect the young man and anyone else involved," Calvert said

"Detective, one thing doesn't make any sense. We both know the Bishop had a reputation for being a "ladies' man. How can that be?"

"Men in power often hide more than one vice," Calvert said.

"It is true that Bishop McDalten was a very powerful man in Lymington Trent. Still, that was only from a religious basis," Andrew said.

Within a matter of hours, Calvert and Durning were deep into uncovering the identity of the Bishop's young paramour.

The young man was a sometime actor known in village playhouses. His name was Zack Kayton. He was twenty years old.

"What do you make of this? A Bishop involved with a twenty year old actor?" Calvert asked.

"Puzzling to say the least. How did the Bishop meet him? Where is he from originally? We need more answers, Chief."

"Well, let's get on with it then," Calvert said.

Andrew Brannigan went about his usual weekly schedule. Hearing nothing more, not that he expected to, from the police, he had almost forgotten about the photos.

As he completed evening services in the chapel, he took the footpath to the vicarage for a late supper. As November drew near, twilight was dark enough to make his footsteps somewhat uncertain.

He stood at the rear door of the vicarage when he heard a voice in the shadows in a deep low whisper:
"Where are the photos Vicar? We know you have them. If you don't want to end up like the Bishop, leave them in the alms box tomorrow."

Andrew felt a sharp object on the back of his head. He didn't remember falling to the ground or how long he had been there. When he rose, he felt dizzy and disoriented.

He opened the door and saw that Mrs. MacWhorter was standing at the stove.

"Where have you been? Your supper is dried out from being over warmed," she said.

"I'm not hungry. I'm sorry. Someone just coshed me on the head and threatened me. I need to call the police," Andrew said.

"Vicar, do you think that's wise?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," he said emphatically.

"Vicar, whoever hit you and threatened you might still be out there."

"All the more reason to summon the police."

"Was the voice male or female?" Mrs. MacWhorter asked.

"It wasn't distinguishable. It was sort of very low and raspy."

Calvert and Durning asked the very same question. Andrew repeated the warning he'd heard before he fell unconscious.

"Whoever coshed you, used the word "we?" Calvert asked.

Andrew still felt somewhat disoriented.

"Yes. What made the intruder think "I" had those photos?"

"It's for certain they must not know you no longer have them," Durning said.

"But, that does put the Vicar in danger if he cannot come up with the photos and put them in the alms box tomorrow," Calvert said.

Mrs. MacWhorter asked if the gentlemen would like some tea and hurried off to prepare it.

"We better put an undercover policeman in St. Adalbert's tomorrow. The Vicar must not be left alone without protection until we can get whoever made the threat," Calvert said.

The following day being a Sunday, Andrew tried in vain to prepare his sermon. He had a cracking headache. He wondered if it was a concussion. He retired to his room and spent the entire night jumping at the smallest sounds in his room.

St Adalbert's on a Sunday morning was predictable for the members who attended and where they sat in the pews.

An undercover policeman stood nearby in the sacristy while Andrew donned his cassock. When it was time for the service, Andrew barely noticed the policeman was still in the sarcristy. There was only one door to the outside and Calvert wanted to take no chances.

When his sermon ended, the congregants sang the "Thanksgiving" hymn and with no further words from Andrew, began filing out of the church.

The other four undercover policemen maintained a safe distance to remain unnoticed in such a small congregation of villagers who would easily know a strange face.

A few congregants gathered for a few minutes outside the front door, Mrs. MacWhorter among them. Andrew always gave her Sundays off because he usually had an invitation to dine with one of his parishioners' families. It was almost an open invitation for the Bishop and now for him.

Not so this Sunday. He couldn't help feeling that not being invited to dine with one of the parish families was unusual. He wondered if there was a reason someone in the congregation wanted him sequestered at the vicarage for the day.

Two of Calvert's men were planted in the kitchen and two more in the library. Andrew felt like a prisoner. Yet, he was thankful for the protection.

By day's end, Andrew realized that perhaps the threat was just that...an idle threat to scare him. Whoever they were didn't try to get into the alms box.

Calvert's men checked to see whether there was a note inside when the intruder realized there were no photos forthcoming.

As he prepared for bed, he finished his cup of tea and read from the Scripture for a few minutes. He was about to change into a clean, fresh nightshirt, when he remembered the words of the threat, "If you don't want to end up like the Bishop...." 

 He decided not to wear the nightshirt Mrs. MacWhorter always placed neatly folded on his bed every day. He inspected it carefully. There was a white, powdery substance near the collar at the neckline. He quickly called for the policeman outside his door.

"What is it Vicar? Someone in your room?"

"No. Look at this...be careful. Someone powdered my nightshirt just like they did Bishop McDalten's," Andrew said, his voice trembling and his hands shaking.

The policeman called to his partner and bid him bring a bag with him. They placed the nightshirt in the bag and it was sent to the attention of Calvert with a note to have the powdery substance checked by the police lab.

Andrew Brannigan realize now his life, like Bishop McDalten's had been threatened. But why? Andrew knew the Bishop was not as innocent a victim as might be believed by his congregants. Or...did they?

Why me? Who has reason to want me dead? 

While Andrew pondered this question, Calvert and Durning came to the conclusion that whoever killed the Bishop clearly had a reason to kill the Bishop's replacement.

"It is abundantly clear that more than one person at St. Adalbert's is involved in a plot to stop Rev. Brannigan from remaining at their vicarage," Calvert said.

"Is it possible some of them believe that Rev. Brannigan knows too much about the Bishop's murderer and figures if they get rid of him too, another replacement will be less of a threat?" Charles Durning asked.

"A threat to whom? To what?" Calvert asked.

"We still do not know who "CK" is and we have investigated all of the most possible suspects. And still, there is something missing," Durning said.

"With all the clues we've had, none seem to add up, other than that we both suspect more than one person is involved in the Bishop's murder," Calvert said.

Andrew heard the phone ring downstairs as he prepared himself for Eventide vespers. He walked towards his door, opened it quietly and heard Mrs. MacWhorter speaking in a low tone. He could barely make out what she was saying into the phone.

He crept out into the hall and down three steps to see if he could figure out who she was speaking to. He knew she never took personal phone calls. At least, not while he was present. Why now?

"The point is that those two policemen are keeping a close watch on the Vicar. This is nothing more I can do. What if the police crime lab finds my fingerprints on the Vicar's bed clothes?" she asked.

"That would not be unusual. It's your job to set them out before he prepares for bed. Perhaps, you should try again with that poison powder," the caller said

"I absolutely will NOT! I don't want to die in prison for murder," she answered.

Andrew was aghast. So, Mrs. MacWhorter was the one who poisoned his bed clothes. He hurried back to his room. He slept with one eye open all night. He realized now Mrs. MacWhorter had an accomplice to the Bishop's murder and, if he wasn't careful, his own.

At breakfast the next morning, he could barely face the woman who had been the Vicarage housekeeper for so long.

"Are you unwell, Vicar?" she asked.

"No. I'm just deep in thought over my sermon," he answered.

"But, you have a week before it needs to be completed," she said.

"Still, I do have a lot on my mind. I won't be here for luncheon today," he said.

"May I ask why?"

"I need to speak to the police about something," he said.

"I see. I will be leaving one hour earlier than usual tonight," she said.

"That's fine. I'm sure I can manage dinner myself," he said.

"No need. I will leave it in the warming oven."

Andrew hurried off to tell Chief Inspector Calvert what he heard the night before.

"Is Mrs. MacWhorter at the vicarage right now?"

"Yes. But, she said she will be leaving on hour earlier this evening than she usually does."

"Did she say why?"

"No. And I was afraid to ask. I got the feeling that she is meeting with someone. I am not sure why I feel like this. Maybe, due to that phone call last night," Andrew said.

"Let's hope you are right. I'll put a tail on her from the minute she leaves the Vicarage," Calvert said.

"Vicar where else might she and her accomplice meet?"

"Her home? I'm sure I cannot guess," Andrew said.

"Are there any meetings scheduled at the Vicarage today?" Calvert asked.

"Not that I'm aware of. The ladies met yesterday and most of them will be doing their chores at St. Adalbert's today. So the church will be occupied. But wait...there is the basement community room where we hold special religious classes for the children. The women in the parish sometimes meet there for special events," Andrew said.

Andrew hurried back to the Vicarage and decided to check on the ladies in the church. All of them except Mrs. MacWhorter were there.

That's odd. Mrs. MacWhorter never misses a chance to catch up on the ladies gossip. Maybe, she is still busy in the kitchen or with other chores. 

Andrew went into the kitchen. Mrs. MacWhorter left a sandwich on the table and a note.

There is broth on the stove. It needs to be heated. I was called away to the bank. I'll be back to prepare dinner. 

Andrew thought she'd said she was leaving an hour earlier after dinner. He wondered why she needed to go to the bank in such a hurry.

Beatie MacWhorter, all seventy five years of her, was not to be cowed by the likes of an upstart like Andrew Brannigan. She served his predecessor for most of her life and knew the congregation at St. Adalbert's better than he ever could.

The solidarity between the congregants was as if they were held together only by their own convictions that secrets were never to be revealed. She hurried through the doors of the bank and to the office of Charles Keaton.

"Mrs. MacWhorter, Beatie, what can I do for you?"

"He's handed the photos to the police. They are bound to figure out why the Bishop had to be murdered and "who" did it. I don't want a noose around my neck," she said.

"Beatie, this is an old secret that began when the Bishop came to St. Adalbert's Vicarage. We only did what we believed was necessary to preserve our village. How can you be sure the police will blame you?" Charles Keaton asked.

"Because I am the only one who had access to the Bishop's bedroom."

"We warned you not to try that with Reverend Brannigan. Why didn't you listen?" Charles Keaton asked.

"It was only supposed to be a warning," Beatie MacWhorter said.

"Why not ask for some time to visit your sister? I believe you said you have not spent time together in a while. This may be a good time to put distance between yourself and this entire mess. I'll meet with the others and try to do some damage control," Charles said.

"I'll leave my sister's phone number should it become necessary to reach me," she replied.

"Mrs. MacWhorter, I understand you want to see your sister and that you need some time off from your duties, but I will be short handed while you are away," Andrew said.

"I'll make arrangements for some of the ladies of the parish to tend to your needs until I return," she said.

"How long do you plan to be away?"

"Shouldn't be more than two weeks. That depends on my sister's health. If she needs me to stay longer I may do that. You understand?"

Andrew Brannigan understood, to a degree. Since he now suspected his housekeeper of trying to poison him, he felt she might be making herself inaccessible if Calvert and Durning close in on the Bishop's murder.

After Mrs. MacWhorter was safely on her way, Andrew alerted Calvert and Durning.

Charles Keaton called a meeting of the men of St. Adalbert's council after hours in his bank conference room. He didn't dare meet with them at the church.  Messrs. Finnally, Rockford,  Jamison, Everton, Patterson and Elleridge took their places at the conference room table while Charles Keaton stood at the head of the table

"As you gentlemen know, we have kept the Bishop's affairs secret for a long time. But, Beatie MacWhorter told me those two detectives had photos of the Bishop's last paramour, twenty year old Zack Kayton. Our plan to make it appear the ladies of  St. Adalbert's were the ones the Bishop was involved with. They have the photos of the Bishop with Kayton."

"Charles, maybe getting "rid" of the Bishop was not such a good idea after all," Doctor Emory Patterson said.

"It was foolish to think that we could get away with this," James Finally said.

"It's too late for that now, Jim," Thomas Rockford said,.

"It was my frogs that poisoned the Bishop. I am as guilty as Beatie MacWhorter who planted it," James Finally said.

"Gentlemen, it is too late now to try and lay blame. We are equally guilty for providing the bait for the Bishop in the first place," Charles Keaton said.

"I'll not lose my business over this mess," Henry Elleridge said.

"Henry, it was you who first discovered the Bishop's liking for young men," Archie Everton said.

"Yes, I admit it was. But, Charles knew his brother was the one who saw it all," Henry Elleridge said.

"Harold can't be held responsible for the Bishop's murder. We all know he did what he thought was right by revealing the scandal in the first place," Charles said.

"His wife and Jamison there were the ones who created the poison they extracted from the my frogs," Finally said.

"Now, wait a minute! Melinda Jamison and I were only doing what you all told us to do," Reginald Jamison said.

"Gentlemen, we must focus ourselves on the problem at hand. We cannot undo what has already been done, but we can find a way forward that protects St. Adalbert's and our village," Charles Keaton said,

"How do you propose we do that with those two detectives already deeply into solving Bishop McDalten's murder? My medical license is at risk if I am in any way involved, which we all know I was," Emory Patterson said.

"What we need is to be rid of Reverend Brannigan," Charles Keaton said,

"Oh no! I don't want to be responsible for a second murder," Everton said.

"Don't you mean "third" murder? Are you forgetting what we paid you, Everton to dispose of Zak Kayton?" Patterson said.

"You could have saved Harold's wife. You knew she had been ill with some strange strain of flu," Everton shot back

"I didn't cause her death! I won't be responsible for that," Doctor Patterson said.

"Let's get back to what we need to do to be rid of Reverend Brannigan," Charles Keaton said.

"What is the plan and it better not be murder," Jamison said

"No. It's really very simple. We will need Beatie MacWhorter to help us, just this one last time," Keaton said.

"Get to the point already Charles," Elleridge said.

"She will say that she witnessed Brannigan in a compromising affair with a woman. He's an attractive young man and it won't matter who the woman is. The women in the congregation will all believe it," Charles said.

The men in the room went silent as they looked at each quizzically.

"Let's do what we did all of the other times we have been faced with in this village...take a vote," Charles continued.

The vote was unanimous. Now all Charles and Beatie MacWhorter had to do was find the woman and decide on the time and place. Charles placed a call to her and told her what the men of the council had decided.

"Well, it sounds as if it has possibilities," Beatie said.

Andrew Brannigan felt as if he had taken on an impossible job in a place that was so fraught with secrets everyone but he knew.

After Sunday services on a warm August day, he had a surprise visit from an old fellow seminarian, Peter Boylan.

He answered the door to see his friend with a wide grin on his face,

"Andy, I was passing through on my way to my new parish in Hemington. I hope you don't mind my dropping in," Peter said.

"Mind? You are a gift from God right now!" Andrew said.

"Andrew, are you alright?"

"That depends. So far, I've had to endure the murder of Bishop..."

"Yes. I did read about that."

"And, someone trying to poison me," Andrew added.

"No! You never!" Peter said, in his Scots/Irish brogue.

Andrew led Peter to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I can't offer something more substantial. My housekeeper, Mrs.MacWhorter is away," Andrew said apologetically.

"No matter. We can do what we once did in seminary...raid the frig."

"Let's start with tea," Andrew said.

"Andy, may I? I was always pretty good at scraping a meal together," Peter said.

Over hot tea and finger sandwiches, Andrew began to tell of his time at St. Adalbert's.

"Leave it to you to make the most delicious finger sandwiches from leftover," Andrew said, grinning.

"They are pretty good...if I say so myself," Peter said.

Their lighthearted, upbeat mood changed when Andrew related the details of what he encountered at St. Adalbert's.

"Andy, you know I mean you no ill will when I say this. But, you need to rethink about remaining here at St. Adalbert's. I'm sure the Prefect General would understand if you decided to leave."

"I admit that someone trying to kill me has given me pause."

"Can you say you really feel endearments to anyone here?"

"For sure no. Now, I am not even sure it wasn't my housekeeper who tried to poison me," Andrew said.

"Oh my Lord! Andrew, the longer you remain here, the more dangerous it will be," Peter said.

"But, where will I go from here? It isn't as if St. Adalbert's is a major parish. In fact, the congregants have numbered the same for decades. They are either elderly or middle aged with children who are mostly young adults who don't stay in Trent very long," Andrew said.

"Let me see what I can find out for you. Let's stay in touch,. I don't want to return for your funeral," Peter said, chucking Andrew on the chin.

"Pete, your excellent finger sandwiches notwithstanding, I am not amused."

"Nor, should you be. That was meant as a warning to take care."

Andrew felt somewhat buoyed by Peter Boylan's visit. Until the phone rang and Mrs. MacWhorter told him things were fine with her sister and she would return the following day.

Andrew's heart sank. Even though her absence had been an inconvenience, he really enjoyed his time to himself.

"Maybe, I should think about joining a cloister monastery," he said, thinking out loud.

In truth, that vow of silence would cause me a mental breakdown and using a cloister to hide from murderers is not a reason to join. 

As soon as Eventide services were through, Andrew headed back to the vicarage. As he made his way down the center aisle, he noticed a woman seated at the back of the church. She appeared to be waiting.

"Vicar, I was wondering if I might speak with you," she said.

"Why certainly. But, you are not one of our regular congregants. How can I help?"

"Is that a place where we can talk without others who might overhear? There's an awful echo in this church," she said.

"Well, the vicarage has an office. It's just across the cobblestone path," he replied.

When they were comfortably settled in the Vicarage office, Andrew introduced himself and asked the woman's name. The room was quite stuffy so Andrew opened the window.

"Alicia Fornier," she answered.

"How can I help you Mrs. Fornier?"

"It's Miss Fornier. That's why I need to speak to you."

She rose from her chair momentarily and walked toward the window.

"I..uh..You don't remember me? Do you?"

"No, I am sorry Miss Fornier, I don't. Where are you from? Why would I know you?"

"We were students in college. Before you left for Seminary."

Andew, for the life of him, couldn't remember her. She had a face he knew he would remember, including the brown, circular spot on her right cheek. He struggled to remember all of his fellow college coeds who had auburn hair and dark eyes.

He assessed her age to be near to his own.

Without warning, she sprang upon Andrew, placing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately. Andrew struggled to free himself from her clutches.

"Please, madam. I am a man of the cloth! I ask you to leave immediately. I cannot help you."

Alicia Fornier left in a hurry and disappeared in the darkness as if she was an apparition.

"Did you get it?" Charles Keaton asked.

"Yes. It's a good thing my wife bought me a good camera. When she was at the window, I thought maybe I wouldn't catch the embrace," Henry Elleridge said.

"How soon can we have the photo?"

"It's in developing chemicals as we speak."

To say all hell was about to break loose for Andrew Brannigan would be an understatement.

As soon as Mrs. MacWhorter returned home, she went about her business, keeping herself from Andrew's view.

Andrew heard a knock on the Vicarage door.

"Mrs. MacWhorter, can you see who that is?"

"Yes. Vicar."

She ushered Charles Keaton and the men of the church council into the Vicarage study where Andrew was pouring over old school albums trying to find Alicia Fornier.

"Yes Gentlemen?  What business have you?" Andrew asked.

"Dirty business, apparently, Vicar," Charles Keaton said.

He shoved the photograph on the desk in front of Andrew.

"This...this is an outrageous lie! I don't even know that woman."

"Perhaps, it would be best if you left St. Adalbert's before you create a scandal?"

"How did you get this photograph?"

"It was sent anonymously," Charles Keaton continued.

"But, this is blackmail. I have done nothing wrong!"

"Surely, Vicar, you are not accusing us of blackmail! We are trying to spare you from a murder charge. This photo may indicate to police you had a reason to want the Bishop dead," James Finally said.

"Don't be absurd! I'm  man of the cloth!"

"Yes. A man of the cloth who replaced the bishop," Emory Patterson said.

Andrew thought he knew how it must have felt for Jesus Christ to be wrongly accused. Still, Andrew felt as if he was involved in some kind of plot to frame him.

He picked up the telephone on his desk.

"I'm calling the Lymington Trent police. Now, please leave," Andrew demanded.

"I wouldn't do that I were you, Vicar. We've already alerted the Prefect General of this scandal. He will be visiting you in two days," Archie Everton said.

At this juncture, Andrew knew he could trust no one, perhaps, not even Calvert and Durning. He placed the phone back in its cradle.

"I will leave after I discuss this with the Prefect General," Andrew said.

"No need. When he arrives, he is bringing your replacement," Charles Keaton said

"So I am to leave without defending myself?" Andrew asked.

"That seems best for all right now. Only St. Adalbert's council knows of this scandal. We don't want to cause a worse problem, should congregants find out. They would be justifiably enraged," Charles continued.

As soon as the men left the study, Andrew placed a phone call to Calvert and requested he come at once to the Vicarage.

"What's happened now?" Calvert said into the phone.

"I can't talk. Mrs. MacWhorter has not left for the day," Andrew said.

"What time will she be gone?" Calvert asked.

Andrew peered down at his wristwatch, noting the time was 7:45 P.M.

"She leaves at 8 P.M."

"I think it best if I come at 8:15 to make certain you are alone"

Beatie MacWhorter was nothing if not a woman who could hear phone conversations through the walls, if necessary.

Rather than cause Rev. Brannigan any suspicions, she left promptly at 8 P.M. and placed at call to Charles Keaton.

"He called that Chief of Detectives. I couldn't hear all of the conversation. I think they are meeting shortly," she said.

"Beatie, stop worrying. Nothing can come of this. Brannigan will be gone in the morning as we all planned,"

"You better hope so. I don't trust that detective."

When Calvert arrived at the Vicarage, Andrew answered the door. Calvert understood that to mean Andrew was alone.

"Now what is this all about?"

Andrew replayed the incident of the men of the Council.

"You are sure you don't know that woman? I don't want to find out she was some long lost paramour of your youth," Calvert said.

"I scoured all of my schools books. She never was in any of the class photos. Nor those of the younger classmates. I think she was part of a frame up," Andrew said,

"To what end?"

"You tell me. Charles Keaton said he already informed the Prefect General and that I am to be replaced in two days. He said the photo he had would create a scandal and police would believe I was to blame for the Bishop's murder so I could replace him."

"I don't believe you are right. For one thing, you don't have access to the poison from a South American frog. For another, you already stated that St. Adalbert's was not your choice but your Bishop's. These people are not thinking too clearly about the details our department already knows and has evidence to prove."

"What shall I do when the Prefect General arrives with my replacement?"

"Why not place a call to the Prefect General and find out is what they told you is true. It sounds more like they are in a hurry to get rid of you," Calvert said.

That was something Andrew hadn't considered.

"As for the council, let me and my assistant detective, Durning handle this. I think we just may have final closure on the Bishop's murder and your attempted murder," Calvert said.

The very next morning, Chief Inspector Calvert called a meeting with Durning and four of his uniformed officers.

"I think we are about to close the most infamous case we've seen...McDalten's murder. But, we first must break the weakest link in the chain," Calvert said.

"How so, Chief?" Durning asked.

"What I want is to call Mrs. Beatie MacWhorter in and try to break her. Once she realizes she cannot keep that council's dirty little secrets, she won't want to end up with a noose around her neck.

The phone rang early on a Tuesday as Mrs. MacWhorter was about to leave for the Vicarage.

"You want to see me at your office Inspector?"

"Yes, I have several questions I need to ask of you. We are about to close the case on the Bishop's murder," Calvert said.

"Oh really? So you found the murderer?"

"We'll discuss that when you arrive."

It didn't take long to frighten Mrs. MacWhorter enough to get her to blurt out the Council's plot. Calvert couldn't believe the names of those most involved.

By the time he and Durning finished with the others, four more possible murders came to light

Reverend Andrew Brannigan found the Prefect General never spoke to the Council at St. Adalbert's.

The following days at the Vicarage were like the final chapter to a murder mystery. Some of the Council men pleaded guilty to plotting the Bishop's murder and Mrs. MacWhorter and Charles Keaton as her accomplice were given life sentences.

The women at St. Adalbert's blamed Andrew for the loss of their husbands. They shunned church services to the point where Andrew was performing them to an empty church.

He had been installed only a total of three and a half years at St. Adalbert's. It took Chief Inspector Calvert only two years to uncover one of the most dastardly plots by churchmen ever.

He knew the damage had been done and there was no hope for repair. He contacted his friend Peter Boylan and the Prefect General to be placed at another parish...in a city this time.

St. Adalbert's Church still stands but the village was so badly scandalized by the murders that no one dared to enter.

The weeds have grown up around the church property and the bank and other businesses are all shuttered. The only remaining vestige of life in the village is the cemetery at St. Adalbert's with the largest gravestone with the name "Bishop James McDalten."