Free The Odds of Getting Even by Sheila Turnage Page A

break the tension. “I hope you land a puppy.”
    â€œNo,” Thes said, turning away. “I don’t want a puppy anymore.”
    Dale looked like he’d kicked him.
    â€œThes, you don’t mean that,” Harm said. “Let’s talk tomorrow.”
    â€œI said I don’t want your puppy,” Thes said, glaring at Dale. “Not after this.”
    â€œYou’d never get one anyway,” Dale shot back. A total lie. “Queen Elizabeth and me didn’t rob this church. If you’re punishing us for something we didn’t do, you ain’t puppy material.”
    â€œFine,” Thes said, his voice harsh. “Go on, then,” he added, giving Harm and me an eat-dirt look. “All of you. Get away from me.” He pulled his cat close.
    Spitz hissed.
    We balanced on a silence rocky as a rowboat on a choppy creek and I searched for just the right words. Nothing came. I went with what I had. “Your cat is ugly,” I said, very cool. “Excuse us. We got a case to solve.”
    We stepped into the church and gasped. The pulpitlay on its side, its purple skirt crumpled. The candlesticks had rolled across the floor—one under the piano, the other beneath a pew. Reverend Thompson kneeled in front of it all, wiping the floor.
    â€œDesperado Detectives at your service,” I said. “We came soon as we heard.”
    He lumbered to his feet and tossed the rag into a bucket. “Thes is around here somewhere. He likes you kids. Especially you, Mo,” he said, giving us a sad smile.
    â€œYes, sir,” I said. “When did this happen? Does the church have enemies?”
    â€œBesides Satan?” Dale added.
    Reverend Thompson smiled. “I suspect Satan has bigger fish to fry. This strikes me as man-made mischief. I’ll let Starr figure out
which
man. As for time, I locked up late last night, and opened two hours ago. Someone took the collection—and the plate.”
    The collection plate?
    â€œThat giant gold plate?” I said. “It must be worth a fortune.”
    He shook his head. “Not in dollars. It had a different kind of value. Someone donated it to honor a loved one.”
    â€œBut why take
that
? You can’t fence a collection plate,” Dale said. “Anybody that’s been to our family reunion knows that. Daddy ain’t a rookie.”
    The
Daddy’s a Professional Thief Defense
. Harm winced.
    â€œGood point,” Reverend Thompson said, very easy. “The bandit may have been a rookie, which would certainly eliminate Macon. Or he could have another motive.”
    Like getting even with Miss Rose and Dale for going against him, I thought.
    â€œI’ll give you a hand with the pulpit,” Harm said. Dale and me darted to help. “Now,” Harm said, and we muscled the pulpit into place.
    I cased the sanctuary one last time. Starr’s already de-clueing the office, I thought. I made a note: Add police scanner to Christmas list. “If you find clues, give us a call,” I said, heading for the door. “Come on, Desperados. We’ll search outside.”
    I led the way out the side door and along the building. “Hey Mo, did you just call me a Desperado in there?” Harm asked. “You said ‘Come on, Desperados.’” He tried to act like he didn’t care, same as when Attila calls him an outsider.
    I crooked an eyebrow at Dale, who bobbed his head.
    â€œYou’re on probation until we solve The Case of the Missing Daddy,” Dale said. “I’d say you have a good chance unless the stress crumples you.” Harm revved up his swagger as we rounded the side of the cinderblock building.
    â€œOver there,” I said, pointing to Thes’s rabbit box.Someone had shoved it beneath the bathroom window—which gaped open.
    â€œWhoever went through there is thin,” Harm said. He plucked a snarl of brown thread from the windowsill.