at St. Mary’s to be straightened out. Father Francis had none of Ryan’s reticence when it came to utilizing Maggie’s expertise. In fact, he seemed delighted to have someone take over the task of sorting through the chaotic system the church had been using for decades.
As for the shelter, it had no system at all. If there was a need, donations were found to help. Money came and went in a haphazard manner that would have set an IRS agent’s teeth on edge. Maggie didn’t doubt for a second that not one cent was spent on anything other than legitimate expenses, but there were few records to prove it.
She stared helplessly at the pile of unorganized receipts that had been crammed into a drawer. “What were you thinking?” she asked Father Francis. “Do you have any idea what kind of dangerous path you’ve been following? If there was ever an audit…” She shuddered just contemplating it.
“It’s a bit of a tangle, isn’t it?” Father Francis admitted, seemingly not the least big chagrined. “But I don’t see the need for a lot of fuss. We’ve more important things to do. If the money’s there, we spend it on those who need our assistance. If it’s not, we go out and find what we need. Why complicate things?”
Maggie groaned at his logic. “Have you even filed for nonprofit status?”
“It’s an outreach of the church,” he said, as if that settled the matter.
“But none of the shelter’s funds or activities are on the church’s books.”
He refused to see the point, clearly trusting that the shelter’s mission and good intentions would exempt it from scrutiny.
Maggie tried again. “You might increase the level of giving if people could claim a tax deduction. Instead, you’re relying on special collections at the church. Why not reach out to the entire community? Why not build up a solid bank account so there are funds available for an emergency? If you’d had such a fund, you wouldn’t have had to turn to Ryan to help with Lamar’s surgery. And Ryan could have claimed that money as a deduction on his taxes.”
“Ryan doesn’t help for the rewards,” the priest insisted, his expression set stubbornly.
“I know that,” Maggie said, totally exasperated. “But it could be a win-win situation.”
“Is that an improvement over an unselfish act of kindness?” the priest asked reasonably.
Maggie sighed. How could she argue with the logic of that? “You won’t even consider letting me set up a system?” she asked, then sighed again when he shook his head. “You’re turning out to be as impossible as Ryan.”
That, apparently, was an accusation he couldn’t ignore. Father Francis’s sigh was just as deep as Maggie’s. “You really think it’s important?”
“I do.”
“Who’s going to take care of all the record keeping it will entail?”
“I will.”
For the first time since they’d begun, he beamed. “Well then, if you’re promising to take charge, go ahead. The shelter can always use a volunteer.” He gave her one of those canny looks that she’d come to consider suspect. “Perhaps you’d like to help a few of the children with their math, while you’re here. The math tutor we had recently moved away.”
“I didn’t offer—” she began, but the priest cut off her protest.
“I know you didn’t offer,” he conceded. “I’m asking. Your help would be a blessing for the children.”
Maggie shook her head at his clever manipulation. “No wonder the shelter hasn’t needed a formal fund-raising drive. I’ll bet you could single-handedly squeeze money out of Scrooge.”
“Actually, it’s the Lord who provides,” he said with pious innocence. “I just give a gentle nudge here and there to point the way. Will you help the children?”
“When?” Maggie asked, resigned.
“I find after school on Tuesday is good for tutoring. Many of their tests are later in the week. And they haven’t yet grown bored with studying, as they have by Thursday or Friday.”
“Fine. I’ll be here on Tuesdays. I’ll come early and work on the books.”
He feigned a troubled expression. “That won’t interfere with your work, will it? I wouldn’t want to interfere with your need to earn a living.”
“I’m not working now, as you perfectly well know. Once I do find a job, we’ll make whatever adjustments we must.”
“You’re a good girl, Maggie O’Brien.”
“Or an idiot,” she murmured.
He grinned at her. “Never that. You’ve had the good sense to fall in love with Ryan Devaney, haven’t you?”
She regarded him with dismay. “Nobody said anything about me falling in love with Ryan.”
“Nobody had to. The look is