Chapter 8: Fellowship Hall

I crouched down to Posy's level in the hallway.

"You want to go in and color?" I said. "I'll be right out here. I'm not going anywhere."

She looked through the doorway at the little tables and the crayons and the felt board with Noah's ark on it.

Then she looked at the fellowship hall, at Bonnie.

She let go of my hand.

She went into the Sunday school room and sat at the table closest to the door, where she could see me.

"Thank you," I told the pastor's wife. "Keep her in there."

Then I walked into the fellowship hall.

It smelled like burnt coffee and lemon bars.

There were maybe forty people in it, and they all stopped talking.

Roscoe was over by the coffee urn with two men from the co-op.

He saw my face and set his cup down.

Bonnie stood in the middle of the women by the dessert table, one hand still on her heart.

"Bonnie," I said. "You've been telling people about Posy's arms."

"Betsy, dear, this isn't the place."

"You picked the place. You picked church." I stopped in front of her. "So let's do it here. Hold up your hands."

Bonnie laughed softly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your hands. Hold them up so everybody can see how big they are. Then I'll hold up mine."

"This is absurd."

"Posy's six," I said. "Whoever did it had to hold her still. Hold them up."

She didn't.

She folded them in front of her cardigan instead.

"I'm not going to be bullied in the house of the Lord by a girl my niece's husband bought," Bonnie said, and her voice shook just right.

"Then answer something else. Why is your mudroom forty degrees? And why was a little girl standing in it in October with no coat?"

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