“And did Mr. Vess suspect what was going on?” I asked. “Or was he just unlucky enough to be snooping in the church when Riddick was making his final haul? Or will we ever know?”

“We have a pretty good idea,” the chief said. “We’ve recovered two files Riddick apparently stole from Mr. Vess. The one on the Thornefield estate and one on Riddick himself. Apparently, Vess had been suspicious of Riddick for years.”

“But he was suspicious of everybody,” I said. “How was anyone supposed to know he was right about Riddick?”

“Precisely! The boy who cried wolf!” The chief leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. I recognized the welcome signs that he was in a good mood and felt like sharing the details of his case. “And unfortunately Mr. Vess was rather fixated on the notion that Riddick was stealing money. All Riddick had to do was keep the cash and bank accounts clean and he could steal the church blind without Vess being any the wiser.”

“But if Vess had suspected Riddick for years—do you mean this was going on even before Mrs. Thornefield’s estate?”

“It’s been going on nearly twenty years,” the chief said. “Though on a much, much smaller scale,” he added, seeing my shocked expression. “Apparently early in their working relationship, Dr. Womble, the previous rector, recognized that Riddick might be finding it difficult to manage on the relatively modest salary the church was paying him. So the good doctor encouraged Riddick to take any little items he might find useful from the rummage sale donations.”

“‘Little items’?” I said. “Like that silver Tiffany tea service Mother was burbling about before church this morning?”

“It began with little items,” the chief said. “But it wasn’t long before Riddick realized the true value of the items donated by more affluent parishioners. That’s when he began his practice of replacing valuable objects with cheap counterparts purchased in thrift shops. He also started pretending to sell some of the donated items to antique stores and thrift shops—supposedly for larger sums than they’d bring at the rummage sale. But of course he was selling his thrift shop purchases, not the donations.”

“He’s lucky no one ever recognized any of his thrift shop junk.”

“It’s not luck,” the chief said. “He stuck to thrift shops at least three hours’ drive away.”

I shook my head in amazement.

“Riddick, of all people,” I said. “And for twenty years?”

“He was only doing it on the large scale for the last six or seven years,” the chief said. “Until your mother came along. She’s the reason he was leaving Trinity.”

“Mother? I thought it was Robyn.”