Preacher's Daughter - Flora Ferrari Page 0,41

I’m about to be taken away from Noah and cling to him like nothing else.

Dad gives me his best do as they say look, but I won’t leave his side. I can’t.

I mustn’t.

I admit it though, my face drops a little when they open the suitcase.

Once I see all that money.

But when Noah’s eyes meet mine again, I smile. Once the overpowering odor of mothballs hits me, my smile brightens even more.

Then it nearly fills the whole room.

“Ah, there looks to be a letter in there too, sheriff,” Noah observes, craning his neck with one of those winning smiles as he glances over the proceedings.

The nun, the cops and even my own Dad fall back, clutching at their mouths from the smell.

Noah seems to be familiar with it and doesn’t recoil so much.

“You said this was the armed robbery bandit,” One of the men in a suit snarls at the sheriff, then narrows his eyes as he focuses on my Dad.

“Kidnapper, Bandit,” he continues, his look darkening as he surveys the contents of the case.

Noah, his eyes wide with mischief now only shrugs as he shoots me another little wink.

“Let’s have some introductions, folks,” Noah says, standing again. His deep voice filling the room as he straightens himself, suddenly looking down on the men in suits, even my Dad.

And especially the old nun.

“I’m Noah Templeton. Was taken in by the good sisters here at Saint Theresa’s as a boy… Later I was informally adopted by the retiring Mother Superior of the day, Sister Margaret Laurence,” he adds with some pride.

The old nun shifts in her seat, moving only to look over the money herself now.

“The letter,” she says dryly, pointing to the yellowed envelope on top of all that cash, bundled up neatly in rows of what looks to me like fifties and hundreds alright.

FBI suit guy snaps a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and clawing his little hands into them, then he starts to carefully open the paper envelope while everyone leans in closer.

His eyes narrow, then widen, finally softening as he passes the paper to his off-sider, who then hands it to the sheriff before he rests it back on the stack of neatly rolled bills.

“Mr. Templeton,” he drawls loudly, sounding more annoyed than anything.

“Got yourself a bit of an alibi here, dated and signed witness account of a part of a will, making you the authorized delivery boy of a sizable cash donation to one Saint Theresa’s Convent,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

I see and feel Noah relax, satisfied like he’s listening to a friendly voice from the past.

“There should be a million dollars there,” The agent continues. “Note here says so, signed and witnessed by three lawyers and the former governor of Florida for Christ’s sakes! Oh, sorry, Father… Sister…”

I try not to laugh but notice my Dad and the sheriff’s red faces.

“But… But he took the girl! We have her father’s-” The sheriff tries to say.

The suit gives him a look that stops him in his tracks.

“Miss… Did this man..?” he starts to ask, and I shake my head firmly, avoiding my Dad’s eyes as I move over to Noah again, who takes me in his arms.

“We’re gonna need some statements,” growls the Sheriff, tipping his hat forward, trying to lock eyes with Noah and then my Dad, followed by the feds.

But he can’t hold any of them to his own wandering stare.

“Here’s your statement!” cries the old nun, snatching up the creased paper from the pile of money and giving all of us a sour look.

“And, I’m no police expert, but don’t you need some kind of papers of your own to even be in here? You told me there was some dangerous criminal on the loose… some fugitive.”

An awkward hush comes over the room, but the old nun’s just getting started.

I can imagine her, thirty years ago, slapping the hands of kids’ like Noah’s when they cut class or were caught out doing the wrong thing.

She’s tough, but it’s a tough love. I can tell.

“This young man, Noah Templeton, is a former ward of the state and one of Saint Theresa’s greatest success stories,” she continues.

I hug myself closer to Noah, feeling his arm tighten around my waist as I swell with pride over him.

“If you’d told me his name before you barged in here, making out like we were all going to be slain in our beds, I would have laughed in your faces then asked you all