“Robyn annoyed him,” the chief said. “All that emphasis on efficiency and decluttering was going to make it harder to run his racket. But his problems really began when your mother was elected to the vestry. Riddick could tell everyone else on the vestry that a thrift shop had offered a few hundred dollars for some old threadbare rugs and they’d say ‘Great!’ Your mother would want to see the rugs first. She’d almost shut him down even before Robyn arrived.”

“Good for Mother!” I exclaimed. “But I guess he couldn’t resist going for one more big score with Mrs. Thornefield’s estate.”

“Yes,” the chief said. “He was hoping to use the disruption arising from the change in rectors to cover his tracks. At first, the pranks alarmed him. Having dozens of inquisitive Baptists swarming all over the church must have made him nervous. But he soon realized that if he kept the pranks going, he could exploit them to help him pull off his final theft. And to get rid of Mr. Vess, whose suspicions were finally becoming inconvenient.”

“Don’t tell me—after hearing Mother go on about the valuable furniture for the last three or four months, Vess finally took a look at the junk in the basement and figured out what was up?”

“No.” The chief was wearing what could only be called a Cheshire Cat grin. “Riddick was planning to move to the greater Los Angeles area, and he was looking for someplace to stash his loot. In late October, he made the mistake of using his office phone to call a storage locker company in Van Nuys. Apparently Vess reads every line of the church phone bill, and when he saw a ninety-cent long-distance charge that didn’t seem legit, he couldn’t rest till he got an explanation. He’d been bugging everyone about it. What if he called the storage place and they gave him Riddick’s name? So Vess had to go.”

“Good grief,” I said. “I remember all that fuss about the ninety-cent phone call. Our budget’s tight, but not that tight.”

“Won’t be tight at all when we recover what Riddick embezzled,” the chief said. “It’ll be at least a million.”

“A million dollars?” My jaw fell.

“At least.”

“Well, that answers another question,” I said, when I finally got my voice back. “I was still having a hard time believing anyone would commit a murder over a bunch of old furniture, but a million dollars?”

“Definitely ample motive,” the chief said. “And if Riddick has any money left after Trinity has taken back what he stole, Quincy Shiffley will probably sue him for mental anguish. He’s still convinced some of his ducks are missing.”

“So Riddick definitely stole the ducks?”