The hall was dark, but there was enough moonlight streaming in the windows for me to see in the hall. Should I go back and get my flashlight? No, once I’d surprised Mother, we could turn on the lights. I had no idea why she was creeping around with a flashlight. Surely as a member of the vestry she had more right than most to be here.

I found her standing in the furnace room with her hands on her hips—well, the hand that wasn’t holding the flashlight—glaring at some of the hulking furniture stored there.

“You see?” I said. “Seriously ugly furniture.”

She started slightly.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “I am perturbed. These are not Mrs. Thornefield’s things.”

“Must be some of the stuff from the church attic, then.”

“No.” She shook her head with quick impatience. “I helped clean out the attic. Remember—just after the dear rector arrived.”

“I remember,” I said. “I was just thinking the other night how much better the basement looked, even with all Mrs. Thornefield’s stuff.”

“The guild inspected everything in the attic, the closets, and the basement,” Mother went on. “We put all the things the church really needed in neatly labeled plastic bins, and we hauled out bags and bags of trash and recycling, and we boxed up everything that might possibly sell at the rummage sale and had it hauled down here, to the basement. None of this hideous old furniture was here then.”

“How can you be sure it’s not Mrs. Thornefield’s? Even if it wasn’t in her living room, maybe she had it in her attic?”

“Mrs. Thornefield enlisted my help,” Mother said. She was opening up a box, using a small jeweled metal nail file to slice open the packing tape. “In fact, the guild’s help. She didn’t entirely trust our old rector. Not his character, of course; the dear man was above reproach. But even those of us who were fondest of him realized that dear Dr. Womble wasn’t a very practical person. Mrs. Thornefield was afraid he’d just give her things to the poor, not realizing how valuable they were. So one day she invited the officers of the guild to tea, and she gave us a full tour. Including her basement and attic. There wasn’t any ugly old furniture in her attic—only a few seasonal items and a number of banker’s boxes containing all her financial records. She wanted us to know where those were. And she showed us her basement so we’d be aware of what a nice wine collection she had. Everything in her house was perfectly organized, spotlessly clean, and in impeccable taste. Nothing like this!”