Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

She gasped and flew off the pew as the young opossums scurried from the box. Swooping them up in her arms, she laughed, a gloriously musical sound that coursed warmth through my chest. The opossums climbed to her shoulders and clung from her wet hair, leaving no doubt that these were the critters she called Jaden and Willow. A shocking amount of relief settled over me as I met Felix’s cloudy eyes. “I have a theory, Father.” He handed over the duffel bag and grabbed the shoebox, tucking it under his arm. “But you’re not going to like it.” “I’m listening.” I removed a blanket from the bag and draped it over Tinsley’s shoulders. Her gaze stayed with the opossums, but I knew she was listening, too. “There’s been a lot of roadkill between here and the neighboring towns. Lots of opossums.” He stared at his wet boots and grimaced. “Seeing how it’s Monday and the students had visitors over the weekend, it’s an easy assumption that someone collected what’s in this shoebox and brought it onto the campus. Looks to me like these”—he tapped the shoebox—“were hit by a car.” “I know who put it in my room.” Tinsley growled in her throat. Hot-tempered without being vindictive. Soft and fierce and elfish. Enchanting. “We’ll talk about it when I do a full investigation.” I turned to Felix. “You found her opossums near the north wall?” “Yeah. They’re trying to get out but don’t know how to breach the electric fence. Opossums are travelers, never sticking around the same place too long. I know...