The condescending tone he’d used for years had vanished completely.

“Tom,” Arthur whispered, moving up to the edge of the speaker’s table.

“We’ve lived in this parish side by side for fifty years.”

“That we have, Arthur,” I said.

“Don’t turn these financial ledgers over to the county prosecutor,” Arthur said, his voice falling to a rough whisper.

“Let the church council settle the missing funds among ourselves.”

“This ledger belongs to the church, Arthur,” I said, pointing at the open file on the table.

“And your authority ends today.”