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Authors: Peter Lovesey
Tags: Mystery
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we can be sure he understands how to draw up a balance sheet."
"I don't doubt that."
You solve one problem and another rears its head. Joy could not in his wildest dreams imagine himself disclosing the existence of the contingency fund to Burton Sands. Neither did he wish to operate extra accounts without the treasurer's knowledge. That had been the problem in the last parish, ending with the visit from the bishop. Far better to find someone cooperative, like Stanley. What a crying shame Stanley had ruled himself out.
"Is there a problem with Burton?" Elliott asked.
"I wouldn't put it so strongly. It's just a feeling I have that he may upset people. He's a prickly character. A parish treasurer needs tact. He'd be dealing with ordinary folk who get things in a muddle or forget to ask for receipts or hand in money later than they should. I don't know how Burton would measure up."
"Well, of course we need someone you can work with, Rector."
"I can work with anyone, but... Let me think about this before we ask him. There may be someone we've overlooked."
"He's the only accountant in the congregation."
"But Stanley wasn't an accountant. As he remarked to me once, almost anyone could do the job. It's commonsense stuff."
"But a lot easier if you're a trained accountant," said Elliott stubbornly. "In the meantime, Norman Gregor and I will plug the gap."
"Top stuff," said Joy, and added optimistically, "Who knows? Maybe you'll find it's a doddle."
"It's only until we get someone permanent," Elliott stressed. "We're thinking of days rather than weeks. And we can't do much without the account books."
"Take them over as soon as you want. It's just a matter of collecting them from Stanley's cottage."
"The books aren't there, Rector. The police have them."
Joy's face twitched into stark horror. "The police?"
"You know PC Mitchell—George, from the cottage with the willow growing in the front. He also acts as the coroner's officer. He took possession of the books. I think it's to make sure they're in order, just in case something worried Stanley enough to make him suicidal."
Joy shook his head. "If anything made him suicidal, it was the burglary."
"They have to do the job properly."
"George Mitchell should have come to me."
Eliott's face coloured deeply. "My fault, Rector. He explained to me what he was doing and I ought to have mentioned it to you before this."
ONE OF Otis Joy's strengths was speed of action. Burton Sands as treasurer? No way.
There had to be a better candidate, someone more approachable, more co-operative and who saw the sense in not rocking the boat. Numerate, of course, but they didn't need to be a maths professor. The rector's candidate. No parish council would dare veto the rector's choice.
But who?
None of those deadbeats on the PCC wanted the responsibility. The nominee had to come from the congregation at large. A number of treasurer-like faces came to mind as Joy mentally scanned the line-up he saw every Sunday from his pulpit. There was no shortage of people who had worked in offices and probably on committees as well. Unfortunately not one of them struck him as suitable. He couldn't predict how they would react to the contingency fund.
Stanley—God rest his soul—had never asked to see a statement from the building society. Even Stanley might have been perturbed to know that the deposits were never less than a hundred pounds a week and the withdrawals about the same. A steady sixty from the hire of the church hall for bingo, bridge, boy scouts, table-tennis and line-dancing. Thirty to fifty for a wedding, baptism or funeral. Extra from the coffee mornings, the fete, the safari suppers and whatever. Bits and bobs from the "upkeep of the church" boxes and the sale of pamphlets. It all came in the form of notes and coins that went straight into the building society. You don't want loose change lying about the rectory or you run the risk of theft, as Stanley Burrows had discovered.
The
"I don't doubt that."
You solve one problem and another rears its head. Joy could not in his wildest dreams imagine himself disclosing the existence of the contingency fund to Burton Sands. Neither did he wish to operate extra accounts without the treasurer's knowledge. That had been the problem in the last parish, ending with the visit from the bishop. Far better to find someone cooperative, like Stanley. What a crying shame Stanley had ruled himself out.
"Is there a problem with Burton?" Elliott asked.
"I wouldn't put it so strongly. It's just a feeling I have that he may upset people. He's a prickly character. A parish treasurer needs tact. He'd be dealing with ordinary folk who get things in a muddle or forget to ask for receipts or hand in money later than they should. I don't know how Burton would measure up."
"Well, of course we need someone you can work with, Rector."
"I can work with anyone, but... Let me think about this before we ask him. There may be someone we've overlooked."
"He's the only accountant in the congregation."
"But Stanley wasn't an accountant. As he remarked to me once, almost anyone could do the job. It's commonsense stuff."
"But a lot easier if you're a trained accountant," said Elliott stubbornly. "In the meantime, Norman Gregor and I will plug the gap."
"Top stuff," said Joy, and added optimistically, "Who knows? Maybe you'll find it's a doddle."
"It's only until we get someone permanent," Elliott stressed. "We're thinking of days rather than weeks. And we can't do much without the account books."
"Take them over as soon as you want. It's just a matter of collecting them from Stanley's cottage."
"The books aren't there, Rector. The police have them."
Joy's face twitched into stark horror. "The police?"
"You know PC Mitchell—George, from the cottage with the willow growing in the front. He also acts as the coroner's officer. He took possession of the books. I think it's to make sure they're in order, just in case something worried Stanley enough to make him suicidal."
Joy shook his head. "If anything made him suicidal, it was the burglary."
"They have to do the job properly."
"George Mitchell should have come to me."
Eliott's face coloured deeply. "My fault, Rector. He explained to me what he was doing and I ought to have mentioned it to you before this."
ONE OF Otis Joy's strengths was speed of action. Burton Sands as treasurer? No way.
There had to be a better candidate, someone more approachable, more co-operative and who saw the sense in not rocking the boat. Numerate, of course, but they didn't need to be a maths professor. The rector's candidate. No parish council would dare veto the rector's choice.
But who?
None of those deadbeats on the PCC wanted the responsibility. The nominee had to come from the congregation at large. A number of treasurer-like faces came to mind as Joy mentally scanned the line-up he saw every Sunday from his pulpit. There was no shortage of people who had worked in offices and probably on committees as well. Unfortunately not one of them struck him as suitable. He couldn't predict how they would react to the contingency fund.
Stanley—God rest his soul—had never asked to see a statement from the building society. Even Stanley might have been perturbed to know that the deposits were never less than a hundred pounds a week and the withdrawals about the same. A steady sixty from the hire of the church hall for bingo, bridge, boy scouts, table-tennis and line-dancing. Thirty to fifty for a wedding, baptism or funeral. Extra from the coffee mornings, the fete, the safari suppers and whatever. Bits and bobs from the "upkeep of the church" boxes and the sale of pamphlets. It all came in the form of notes and coins that went straight into the building society. You don't want loose change lying about the rectory or you run the risk of theft, as Stanley Burrows had discovered.
The
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