“You may have to reschedule the concert, then,” Chief Featherstone said. “’Cause there’s no way this church is going to be fit for human habitation by tonight.”

I winced. I didn’t look forward to breaking the news to Jamie and Josh if the concert were canceled.

A deputy popped in from the stairwell just behind us.

“Chief,” the deputy said. “Reverend Wilson’s downstairs. Wants to know what’s happening with his church.”

From the chief’s pained expression, I deduced that he did not relish breaking the bad news to his pastor.

“Want me to go along and help?” Chief Featherstone said.

“I appreciate the offer, but maybe I should be the one,” Chief Burke said.

With that we all trooped down the stairs. Even Grandfather, who looked preoccupied.

Chapter 5

When we exited the church we spotted Reverend Wilson’s small, stooped frame at the bottom of the building’s front steps. He looked every one of his eighty-some years, and the expression on his round dark face was one of profound anxiety—almost pain. Michael was standing just behind him, breathing apparatus pushed back on top of his head. He appeared to be hovering, as if worried about the elderly minister.

“How bad is it, Henry?” Reverend Wilson called out when we appeared in the doorway.

“Pretty bad, Ambrose,” Chief Burke said.

Chief Burke pushed back his mask and went down the steps and stood talking to Reverend Wilson in a low tone. Someone had turned on all the outside illumination, including all the strings of holiday lights, which twinkled with incongruous gaiety behind them.

Chief Featherstone strolled back inside the vestibule to confer with some of his men. Grandfather and I stood on the steps of the church. I realized I was feeling a little claustrophobic in the breathing apparatus, so I pushed the mask back and took a few deep breaths. Grandfather followed suit. The air might have smelled pretty bad to anyone who hadn’t been inside the church, but I found it refreshing. Grandfather seemed to feel the same, so we stood side by side for a few moments, breathing and surveying the scene below.

The church looked almost festive now, with the holiday lights twinkling and spotlights illuminating the larger-than-life plaster Nativity scene on the front lawn. You could almost imagine that the small groups of people dotting the parking lot had come to carol. Even the flashing red and blue lights of the fire engines and police cruisers seemed to add a curiously festive note.

“So tell me,” Grandfather said. “Did I sleep through the part where we found out who did this stupid prank and why?”