I went first. The skunks seemed to hiss a lot more, and two of them hurled themselves against the side of the cage, as if trying to charge me. They became even more agitated when the fire chief followed me, but seemed to calm down in direct proportion to how far we were from the cage. Eventually, we joined the others, who were studying the cage from the safer distance of about thirty feet.

I also found myself studying the choir loft with amusement. The top half—everything that could be seen from the main body of the church below—was pristine and festooned, like the rest of the church, with evergreen, gold tinsel, and red velvet. Red velvet cushions softened the pews at the back and the sturdy wooden folding chairs in the remaining space. But at floor level, where the congregation couldn’t see, I could see untidy stacks of music books and loose sheet music, trash cans overflowing with water bottles and candy wrappers, odd misplaced garments—the same sort of homely clutter that I’d seen accumulate backstage at the shows Michael directed or acted in at the college.

And how much of it, decorations and personal clutter, had been ruined by skunk spray and would have to be thrown out. I glanced back at the skunk cage.

“Someone has a sense of humor.” I pointed to one corner of the cage, which was decorated with a single, bright-red stick-on bow.

“There’s no way that cage came up in the elevator,” Chief Featherstone said.

“I suspect it’s also too big for the stairs,” Chief Burke said. “Which means either the perpetrators brought up the pieces and assembled it here before putting in the skunks or, more likely, they winched it up over the front of the choir loft.”

“Probably the only feasible way for us to get it down.” Chief Featherstone was leaning out over the edge of the balcony and studying the beams.

“Agreed,” Chief Burke said. “But I want my crime scene specialist to examine those beams first, for any trace evidence.”

“You have a full-time crime scene specialist?” Chief Featherstone sounded surprised.

“Officially he’s a deputy,” Chief Burke said. “But he was a full-time crime scene specialist for York County before joining my staff, so when we do need forensic work, he’s available.”

I felt sorry for the crime scene specialist, who happened to be my cousin Horace Hollingsworth. He wasn’t keen on heights, and I was pretty sure he’d be spooked at having to do forensics in close proximity to so many skunks. And if I got the chance, I’d warn him not to pass up the offer of breathing apparatus.