CHAPTER 7
Still gripping the jewelry box, I moved over to a chair next to unopened boxes transported from Tom’s place along with his oven. I put my hand on the cardboard and stared at the cold ashes in the fireplace. Remember, o man, that dust thou art, and to dust shalt thou return, Olson had solemnly proclaimed over each of us at the Ash Wednesday service, just as he dipped his finger into ashes and made the sign of the cross on our foreheads. He’d been more than Marla’s assessment: a cute charismatic. He had been knowledgeable and kind; his faith was heartfelt. Olson had even charmed his way into Tom Schulz’s heart. And now Father Ted Olson was dead. My chest ached.
I forced myself to get up and stow the two ring boxes and Tom’s wallet in my china buffet. I allowed myself only a momen
