“What was that all about?” asked Dad.

Before I could answer there was a disturbance of some kind at the church entrance. Four sturdy men, two in blue uniforms and two in brown uniforms pushed through. Charlie Cammack was one of the officers in blue. The tall sheriff’s deputy I’d talked to outside was one of those in brown.  Charlie advanced to Martha and pulled her aside. As they talked, Martha began to cry. The officer with Charlie put his arm around her and escorted her out.

Hoping Charlie would tell me what was going on, I walked toward him. He saw me coming and waited.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Tom Iavello is dead,” he answered.

“No!” I exclaimed. “How?”

“Poison, in steroids.  That’s off the record, by the way.”

“Poor Martha,” I said.

“Yeah,” he responded, evenly. “Nick, you need to come with me. We have some questions for you to answer.”

“Me?”

Charlie nodded.  “We went over the log book at the Big Sycamore Gym. We were surprised to find your name listed as a visitor and hear you and Tom had an argument. Apparently you were one of the last people to see him alive.”

Panic rose in my throat.  “I didn’t have anything to do with his death!”

“Calm down. We don’t suspect anyone yet. But we need to talk.”

I gave the van keys to my dad and told him I’d be home as soon as I could. He watched as Charlie led me out to the waiting police car. I gave a brief wave of reassurance before I left the church.

But I was far from reassured myself. Tom Iavello was dead. Father Skip was still missing. Anna had promised everyone a miracle. I had a personal message from Mary. And Martha and I were in the custody of the Clinton Police.