“Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute,” I say, feeling a little more clearheaded now that I got those cookies and root beer in my tummy, and some of the answers to the mystery I’ve been trying to solve all day in my head. There’s something fishy about Mr. McGinty’s explanation. The timing is off. His sister is a nun, for crissakes. They lead very dull, holy lives. Every kid in the neighborhood knows that the lights go off at the convent at 10:00 p.m. sharp.
“What were you,” I ask our principal, “doing over here at 12:07 a.m. when you’re supposed to be fast asleep?”
“Martha needed to speak to me about an important matter that couldn’t wait,” Mr. McGinty answers for her. “She came to discuss—”
“The stolen Pagan Baby money,” Sister Margaret Mary says as she wraps her hand around Birdie’s hand, like she’s her prisoner and she doesn’t want her to escape. “I was in the church the evening Robin took the donations out of the collection box, Theresa.”
Oh, no . . . no . . . no . . . no!
“I’d been so concerned about the report the building inspector would make to the city after he closed the school down,” Sister Margaret Mary says. “I’ve found praying to the Blessed Mother to be especially soothing, so I’d come over to the church to say a rosary, and that’s when I saw Robin.” She looks across the table at her brother and when he gives her a reassuring smile, she brings her windows of the soul back to mine. “Aware of the close relationship that you and your sister enjoy with Jimmy, the very next morning I asked him his opinion about the best way to deal with the situation. He implored me to give it a little time, because he was certain that either you or your sister would return the stolen money, which I was more than willing to do.”
“Until last night,” Mr. McGinty says.
Sister M & M says, “Yes,” and continues to tell us her side of the story. “I waited until I knew all the sisters would be sleeping, including Sister Mary Elizabeth, who suffers from a wretched case of insomnia, to call Jimmy and ask him to meet me at the mausoleum as soon as possible. I should have been more careful, but I was in such a rush and I was so worried about being seen that I was looking over my shoulder and didn’t notice Mister Peterman’s open grave until it was too late.” She touches the side of her pixie cut and winces.
I think back to when Birdie and me were behind the Gilgood mausoleum and Mr. McGinty told us in his commanding army voice this morning, “I have a matter of the utmost importance to discuss with you and it shouldn’t be put off until tonight.” At the time, I was positive that he wanted to expert-interrogate me about what I’d seen out our bedroom window, which is why I yelled, “Bee!” so my sister and me could make our getaway to the top of the cemetery hill, in case he was thinking of snipping off our heads with his sharp gardening shears, but obviously, I was wrong.
“But why was it so important for Mister McGinty to talk to Tessie and Birdie ASAP about returning the money?” Charlie asks like the questioning interviewer that he is.
“Another excellent question, Jasper,” Sister Margaret Mary says. “Time was of the essence as I’m afraid Missus Klement stopped by the parish office after last evening’s knitting circle to tell Father Ted and me that she strongly suspected that one of the Finley sisters had stolen the collection money.” My heart skips a beat just thinking of how hot that buttinsky was on my sister’s trail. “Missus Klement also informed us that if the two hundred and nine dollars wasn’t returned by the conclusion of tonight’s Pagan Baby meeting, she would be obligated to take matters into her own hands. She threatened to call her dear friend the bishop, who would’ve swiftly informed the authorities, and I—”
“There is no need for anybody to contact the authorities,” Charlie says, and when he slaps down on the card table the brown paper sack that’s got the P B and M and stolen loot inside, it kinda makes me swoon off my chair a little, because he is being a knight in shining armor fighting off a dragon. “Every dollar of the stolen Pagan Baby m . . . m . . . money is present and accounted for. I counted it m . . . m . . . myself and you know how good I am at arithmetic.”
I’d love to believe that getting the money back will be enough to smooth things over with her, but I don’t. Paying penance for your sins is such a big deal around here. So I get down on my knees and beg Sister Margaret Mary, “I know she’s a terrible reader, but please . . . you gotta understand . . . Birdie . . .” I’m fighting back tears, but losing the battle. Daddy is going to be so disappointed in me for not taking tender loving care the way I vowed I would when I stepped into his shoes. “She only took the money ’cause our family needs dough really bad and Gert . . . Missus Klement is trying to talk our mother into sending us away to homes . . . so when you call the cops, please, you gotta tell them that it was me you saw stealin’ the money out of the collection box instead of her.”