Esther Cohen
Beulah was not a church goer. Not for any real reason. She didn’t define herself as agnostic, but there was something she never liked, even as a child, when her parents would take her, every single Sunday, to a large dark dismal building a few miles away, where everyone would sit together in long lines on hard pews, staring straight ahead and listening to a small man dressed in long white robes, droning on about life lessons. Beulah was never very good at paying attention to what he was saying, but all those clean people sitting in rows made her want to get up and leave. Not that she was ever a rebel. Not even a little. Still, conformity wasn’t her thing either. And as soon as it was up to her, she just stopped going to church.
But after she did a little bit of digging, she found out that Delores’s lover John and his wife Emily, her probable killer, were regular attendees at the big Catholic church in Hudson. Carol was a woman that Beulah could call a sort of friend. For years they’d worked together in the same school, and on occasion, they’d sit together for lunch in the faculty room. Beulah ate the very same lunch every single day for years: cottage cheese, a banana, one slice of bread.
Carol and Beulah led opposite lives. Carol had been happily married to Ed for 40 years. She had three children, two siblings, and many friends. An open, generous person with a large heart, Carol was who Beulah called to ask about John and Emily. Not a small talk person at all, Beulah got right to the point:
“Carol,” she said. Her only attempt at niceties. “Carol,” she repeated. “Do John and Emily go to your church? They’re Catholic, I know.”
“Yes,” replied Carol. “They sit three rows in front of me every Sunday. By the way Beulah. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“How am I is besides the point,” Beulah replied. “This summer I am redefining myself. Becoming a detective. Maybe just this once, but if it works, maybe more.”
“A detective,” Carol replied. “How did you decide on that as a new vocation?” Carol retired early to take care of her grandchildren.
“A dead body inspired me,” said Beulah. “Someone I knew a little. People liked her. I don’t know exactly why, but I thought it might be a good idea to find out who kllled her. I’ve slowly been gathering clues.”
“How in the world are you doing that?”
“Carefully,” said Beulah. “I’m not an impulsive person, as you know. I make lists of what I know, and constantly revise them. But what I know is very little. I know Delores was well-loved. She had many friends, none of whom seem like likely suspects. I haven’t been able to build much of an enemies list. As for her relatives, even they seemed to like her. Imagine that,” said Beulah.
“Don’t your relatives like you?” Carol sounded surprised.
“I have two cousins, both single. They both live far away from here. Haven’t talked to them in years. I have no idea if they like me but if I had to guess, I’d say Not Much. They don’t call me and I don’t call them. Daughters of my mother’s sister Mary. One funny fact: they’re both librarians. But they live far from one another too. Ours wasn’t a close family.”
“You can say that again,” laughed Carol. And Beulah, not known for her sense of humor, repeated the sentence, just for fun.
“By the way,” she asked. “Can I join you for church on Sunday? What time do you go?”
“”Church?” Carol laughed. “I thought you hated churches. We go to the 10 o’clock service. Are there suspects there?”
“I* can’t say,” said Beulah. “But I’ll tell you one thing for sure: God didn’t do it.”
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