“Good,” I said.

I turned to Julian.

“Get the audit certified,” I told him.

“I want every penny traced, every signature verified.”

“And call the sheriff’s department.”

“Tell them to have deputies waiting in the vestry tomorrow evening.”

“We will present the entire audit to Graham and Marjorie right here, in front of the pastor.”

“And then the police can take them both.”

Julian nodded, a grim look of satisfaction on his face.

“I will have the documents ready by five o’clock tomorrow,” he said.

“We will have everything we need to lock them away for a long time.”

“This house of God will not be a den of thieves any longer,” Pastor Whitcomb said, his shoulders squaring.

I looked back at Marjorie.

She had already turned her back on us, walking toward the heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel.

She did not say goodbye.

She simply pushed the door open, letting in a gust of cold, salty air before she disappeared into the gray afternoon.

“Are you going to be okay, Evelyn?” Julian asked, placing a hand gently on my shoulder.