I closed my eyes. “I’m sure he’s lying,” I said, “but on the other hand what difference does it make? Jack wasn’t one of them.”

Father Jackson ignored that. “Duff and I arranged for the Nichols Funeral Home in Cainesville to handle everything.”

“Good for you.”

“Duff also asked me to conduct the services at the grave. Even though Jack wasn’t a Catholic, we can do that sort of thing now, you know, since Vatican II.”

“Terrific.”

He arose. “I’ll let you get some sleep now, Maggie.”

Something occurred to me. “Is Duff the person you caught after someone committed an indecency in your church?”

He grimaced. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I can’t give you a flat answer. Duff does seem to resemble him, but on the other hand, that fellow was struggling so much I didn’t really get a good look at his face.”

“Great. Do you want to hear about what happened to me last night?”

“You’d better not talk any more right now, Maggie.”

“Are you concerned about my health, or is it that you don’t want to listen.”

He sat down again and I told him everything, beginning with my leaving the Scrabble game and ending with my falling in the graveyard.

“It could’ve been seeing General Caine for the first time that caused Jack to die of fright,” I said.

“General Caine attacking you?”

“Yes, that’s what he must have seen.”

“Sexually attacking you?”

“Well, I don’t know how far things went along that line.”

He reddened. “Can you tell me a bit more about the woman you saw at Mrs. Reddy’s house? The one you say broke up the proceedings by exhibiting the medal.”

“Small, dark, withered . . . She could have been seventy, or maybe even eighty.”

“Italian?”

“Possibly.”

“Did you know Mrs. Scaravelli, the woman Father Fogarty told you about?”

“No.”

“I called the rectory a while ago and Father Fogarty said that Mrs. Scaravelli’s body had been found in her backyard this morning. Like Jack, she apparently died of natural causes. There was no sign of a struggle or other violence. Of course, there may be no connection.” He waited for a moment before going on. “Father Fogarty said she had a medal in her hand, a small Miraculous Medal. Do you remember what that is from your Catholic days? It commemorates some supposed appearances of the Virgin Mary to Saint Catherine Laboure in 1830. Since that time some superstitious people have ascribed miraculous powers to the medal, which is about the size of a dime, sometimes gold or silver—”

“What do you want me to say? Yes, the woman I saw could have been Mrs. Scaravelli and, yes, she could have had such a medal in her hand?”

“If you’re well enough to be released before she’s buried, I’d like you to go to the funeral home and take a look at her.”