Cecilia was standing in front of Aunt Betty’s coffin when it happened. Calvin squirmed out of her arms and, yelling a stream of semi-gibberish, launched himself into the casket. It took a moment before she spotted the tiny sandal lodged between Aunt Betty’s left shoe and a wooden box. Calvin hated being barefoot.
Before she could reach for it, Bryson took her by the elbow and steered her away. Calvin toddled behind, still crying. They proceeded out of the church into the dry heat of the parking lot, not a strip of grass to be seen.
“Why do they never put lawns in these places?” Cecilia scooped up Calvin. He stopped sniveling and handed her a square of card stock. On it was typed “Hab 2:9.”
“They need the parking,” Bryson shaded his eyes, “On Sundays, this place overflows. You’re lucky to find a spot, and that’s with running two services.”
“Then you must know what this means,” Cecilia held up the card.
Bryson took the card, then crumpled it in his fist, “There is no book of Hab in the Bible.”
“It could stand for Habakkuk, or whatever his name was.”
“Cecilia,” Bryson made her name sound like a complaint, “I’m going to throw this away and rejoin the service.”
She watched him go back into the dark coolness of the sanctuary. Once she was sure he was gone, she muttered, “You could at least get Calvin’s sandal.”
Calvin looked up when she said his name. “Shoe,” he wiggled his bare foot.
“Yes, I know, shoe. It will probably be buried with Aunt Betty, and then I’ll have to buy you new sandals that won’t fit in six months,” she bounced him on her hip. An aging sedan pulled into the church lot. Instead of parking with the rest of the cars, it parked in one of the spots closest to the street. “That’s not creepy,” she stepped under the awning, hoping the shadow would hide her.
The man that got out of the car had the kind of smile that made her nervous. It was too wide, too white, and he was too tall and too blonde to be up to anything good. He had an easy, feline gait, and he shortened the distance between them before Cecilia could even think of going back in.
He ducked under the awning and startled, “Didn’t see you there, Ma’am.”
Cecilia tightened her grip on Calvin. He pointed a sticky finger, “Creepy.”
Before the man could respond, the church doors wafted open. The duet of organ and piano spilled out, and Cousin Herb stumbled out with it. He looked up at the man, looked at Cecilia, and then flounced across the parking lot.
“I gotta go,” Cecilia fibbed, “I need to talk to Herb.”
The man nodded, but Cecilia could feel his eyes hot on the back of her neck as she crossed the parking lot. Herb stopped at the property line where there was a strip of trees. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, “Want one?”
Cecilia shook her head.
“Why’d you follow me, then?” Herb took out a plastic lighter. Flicking it with his thumb, he held it up to the cigarette clenched in his teeth.
“I, uh, was wondering if you knew Aunt Betty’s favorite Bible verse,” Cecilia put Calvin down.
Calvin clung to her arm, “Momma, yum-yum.”
“‘They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up,’” Herb paused, took the cigarette out of his mouth, “Is that right? ‘Mount up?’ I swear it’s something like ‘mount up with wings,’ but that can’t be right. Maybe it’s ‘mount up eagles with wings?’ What kind of eagles don’t have wings?”
“That’s not in Habakkuk,” Cecilia bit her lip, “Not that I really know what’s in there, but I know what’s not.”
“What about Habakkuk?” Herb tapped imagined ash off the tip of his cigarette.
“Yum-yum,” Calvin tugged on Cecilia's arm.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I should get Calvin something to eat,” she bent, allowing Calvin to climb her like a tree.
“Hey,” Herb put a hand on her shoulder, “Just between you and me, watch out for that tall guy.” He lowered his voice, “He doesn’t have a shadow.”
Cecilia hefted Calvin onto her hip. She had doubts before, but now she was certain: Everyone in this family was crazy.
The diaper bag was where she had left it, hanging on the metal coat rack in the entryway. Twin flat-screen TVs played the service full-blast. The congregation was just finishing a hymn, their voices drowning in the warbles of the organ. She could see the back of the tall man on the screen. He didn’t cast a shadow, but neither did anyone else. Cecilia fished in her bag and pulled out a pouch of apple sauce.
“Yum-yum,” Calvin stuck the top of the apple sauce pouch in his mouth.
“Hold on, I have to open it first,” Cecilia held out her hand.
Calvin sucked harder.
Cecilia unbuckled the front of the diaper bag. There was a Bible in there, a small one. She flipped through it and sighed, “Whoever thought we would need the Old Testament?”
“Open,” Calvin held out the pouch.
She twisted off the cap, trying to think of where she could find a Bible. She didn’t want to go back into the sanctuary even if there was a Bible in each pew.
Calvin glommed onto the apple sauce, kicking the tiny Bible with his bare foot. She slid it back in the bag before it got wrinkled. “Where should we look?” She held out her arms in a wide shrug.
“Cwrye,” Calvin lisped around his applesauce.
“Cry? Oh, the crying room. You want to go play with the toys,” she shouldered the bag, “You have to walk though. Mommy is tired.”
They went up a case of stairs, Calvin leading with his shod foot on each step. The crying room was at the top, a glassed-in room with a rocking chair and dim lighting. A speaker was wired into the wall, distorting the organ music into a drunken calliope. Cecilia turned it off.
Calvin found a box of baby toys and dumped them on the industrial carpet. Cecilia went for the Bible on the side table. It took her a while to find Habakkuk. It was so small that it was easy to page from Daniel to Matthew without even noticing it.
She read 2:9 and frowned, “Too much covetething.” She flipped to the front, “King James, that’s why.”
Calvin sat on her foot, “Horsey.”
Cecilia bobbed her foot up and down, “Let’s see. Woe to you who desires an evil desire to your house, that you may set your nest on high, that you may be delivered from the power of evil.”
“More horsey,” Calvin jiggled her leg.
“My translation of the translation is still confusing. It’s like saying they are doing evil to avoid evil. That doesn’t make sense,” she set down the book, “Although I guess people do that all the time.”
She focused on Calvin, singing a song about horses while bouncing him up and down. When she was done, she had another thought, “Why would someone put that in Aunt Betty’s coffin? Why type it? It’s like someone is accusing her of doing wrong, or someone . . . “. Cecilia didn’t finish her sentence. Below her, the congregation regained their seats. Herb came back in, slinking into the front pew.
Cecilia shivered, “What if someone murdered Aunt Betty?” She stood, gazing down at the group. Who was acting suspiciously? Herb was Aunt Betty’s son, and he didn’t seem sad. Rosemarie, his sister, had been crying the whole service. Everyone reacted to grief differently, but still. Shouldn’t he show some sign of grief? And when she’d mentioned Habakkuk, he hadn’t seemed nervous, had he?
“Clean up, clean up,” she sang. Calvin picked up a toy. “Put the toys in here, in here,” she held up the box. “Clean up, clean up,” she picked up a toy and dropped it, “Not there, oh dear!” Calvin laughed.
Behind them, the door opened. It was the tall man, his head in a permanent crook to keep it from grazing the low ceiling. “I thought you might be in here,” he grinned.
“You make it sound as if you were looking for me,” Cecilia tried to keep her voice from shaking. The man was blocking the only door.
“I understand you’ve destroyed evidence concerning the suspicious death of Missus Martin.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia could see Calvin dumping all the toys they had just picked up. “Did you say, ‘suspicious death?’”
“Oh dear,” Calvin picked up a toy and dropped it.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re not police.”
“No, ma’am. I’m a private detective, retained by the family.”
Cecilia crossed her arms, “I am family.”
“I’m afraid who hired me is confidential,” he reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card, worn around the edges.
“Nicolaus D. Nickerson,” she read.
“Most people call me Nick.”
“I can imagine,” Cecilia stuffed the card in the diaper bag.
“My sources indicate that you took a piece of paper from Missus Martin’s coffin,” he took out his cellphone, “What was on that piece of paper?”
“First off, I didn’t take it. Calvin did. His sandal dropped into the coffin, it’s a size 7c and I want it back,” she glared at him.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll get you your sandal,” Nick’s smile twitched into a grimace, “once you answer my question.”
“Second of all, no one destroyed that piece of paper. It was crumpled up and placed in the trash can out front. If you really want it, you can go get it,” Cecilia nodded at the door.
Nick looked over his shoulder, but didn’t budge, “My source says you read that paper.”
“Habakkuk 2:9.”
“What?”
“It’s a Bible verse.”
“Ma’am,” a vein popped out of his forehead, “What does that verse say?”
“Woe to you,” Cecilia couldn’t help herself. She was channeling the pastor, pointing her finger right at Nick, “Woe to you who do evil to protect yourself.” She jabbed at the air, “and something about birds.”
“Beg pardon,” he cleared his throat.
“I can’t remember the last part, but it was something about birds,” Cecilia could feel her anger slipping away. All she really wanted was to get out of this room and get Calvin’s sandal.
“Ma’am,” Nick stepped away from the door, “Don’t leave town.”
Cecilia scooped up Calvin and bolted out the door. It wasn’t until she hit the last tread of the stairs, that she started to laugh.
“Oh dear,” Calvin dropped a piece of paper over his mother’s shoulder. It swooped to the floor unseen, its typed message flipping face-down.