Free The First Church by Ron Ripley Page B

with something simple.  Please type in ‘Jonathan Boyd’,” he said.
    “I’m also going to add ‘Rye, New Hampshire,' ” Jim said.  “The more information we put in, the better.”
    His grandfather nodded and Jim typed in the name and town and city.
    When Jim hit return, the screen shifted, and the various results appeared.
    “What does it say?” his grandfather asked.
    “Hm,” Jim said, leaning close to the screen, “some of them say what we saw on his headstone.  But there’s one here, it says he caught a burglar?”
    “Can you read it to me?”
    “Hold on,” Jim said.  He clicked on the article and waited for it to load.  Once it did, he read the article.  It spoke of the man restraining a burglar, and the burglar was injured after falling down the stairs several times.
    “I remember, now,” his grandfather said softly.  “Yes, Mr. Boyd told me about it.  The young man had screamed about the war trophies, about Mr. Boyd being a war-lover.”
    “Do you think he went back and stole the war trophies, later on?” Jim asked.
    “What do you mean?” his grandfather asked.
    “Well,” Jim said, “the article says the kid had stolen other stuff.  And if he was freaking out about war trophies , what if he had stolen others?  What if he was crazy and just had to steal those things?  Didn’t you say all of Mr. Boyd’s stuff disappeared after he died?”
    “Yes,” he said, nodding.  “Yes, it did.  You’re right, James.  What if the thief went back and stole everything?  Skulls included.”
    “The article doesn’t name the thief, though,” Jim said with a frown.
    “It wouldn’t,” his grandfather replied.  “The boy was young, a teenager , according to Mr. Boyd.  His name would have been kept confidential.”
    “How are we going to find out who he was then?” Jim asked.
    “We’ll need someone with access to old police reports,” he said.  He tapped his fingers on his cane.  “We will have to speak with Brian, but it may be best to bring in the State Police Detective who came to the house.”
    “What?” Jim asked, surprised.  “Do you really think a police officer is going to believe us?”
    “All we can do is ask, James,” his grandfather said gently.  “And we won’t be able to break into the police station to search for old records which may or may not exist.”
    Jim realized his grandfather was right, and he sighed.  “Okay.  Detective Brown just didn’t look like he was the kind of person who believed in ghosts.”
    “You never know, James,” his grandfather said with a smile.  “Now, let’s do a little more research and try to find anything else which may be useful.”
    “Okay, Grandpa,” Jim said, and he turned back to the computer screen.  He went back to the search results and started to read through them.
     

Chapter 27: Resisting
     
    Colleen Staples sat in her chair and looked at State Police Detective Dan Brown.  On her lap, she held Romeo, her young Siamese cat.  The animal purred steadily, and she scratched between his chocolate pointed ears.  Detective Brown looked uncomfortable, his tea cup exceptionally small in his large hands.  He smiled at her, and she returned it.
    “Mrs. Staples,” he said, setting the porcelain down and picking up his pen.  He held it above his notepad, ready to write.  “I was wondering if you might be able to tell me what’s been going on over at the First Church.”
    Colleen looked at him for a moment.
    She had never in her life been a busy body.  Other women had indulged themselves in gossip, but Colleen never had.  Gossip hurt, and it was just as bad to cause pain with words as it was with something far more physical.
    “What exactly are you inquiring about?” she asked.  Romeo rolled on her lap and exposed his stomach.  Absently , she moved her hands and rubbed under his arms and the fur on his chest.
    “Well,” Detective Brown said, “you were the one who discovered the two boys who had