Another cheer went up when the crew finally stepped back, presumably to declare the loading operation complete. The men began slapping each other on the back in celebration—I assumed because this phase of the skunk removal had been accomplished without additional spraying. Caroline Willner’s diminutive figure appeared in the midst of the men, patting them on the arm or the back.

“Time to get this show on the road,” Grandfather said. He scrambled out of my car and trotted over to the truck. Once there, he had a hasty conference with Caroline and some of the firefighters. I deduced that he was sharing the news about Cleopatra, which seemed to break up the celebration. Several firefighters dashed back into the church with serious expressions. Two of the remaining crew hopped into the cab of the flatbed truck while Grandfather and Caroline and the rest of them boarded a nearby van. The truck set off at a slow pace, probably to keep the skunks from being annoyed or dislodged, and the van followed.

As I watched the truck’s stately progression out of the parking lot, Michael came up to stand at my side.

“Almost looks like another parade,” he said.

“We could be seeing the formation of another holiday tradition,” I said. “The annual procession of the skunks.”

“Good grief—I hope not.” Michael shuddered at the thought. “Please don’t mention that idea to Randall Shiffley—it’s just the kind of thing that would strike our mayor as a unique tourist attraction.”

“My lips are sealed,” I said. “How close are you to going home to get some sleep?”

“Not sure,” he said. “But I don’t think it can be that much longer. I should head back in. I’ve been helping Horace with the forensics. Now that the skunks are gone, he’s got to finish up the last part of the choir loft.”

He gave me a quick kiss, took a few deep breaths, and strode back toward the church.

“Meg, dear.” I turned to find Mother and Minerva Burke, the chief’s wife standing nearby. Minerva headed up the Ladies’ Auxiliary, the New Life Baptist Church’s equivalent of the St. Clotilda’s Guild that Mother now ran at Trinity Episcopal. From the way they were both beaming at me, I deduced they were about to draft me for some chore. Probably scrubbing down the choir loft when Horace had finished with it. I braced myself.

“The dear rector has already contacted all the local clergy,” Mother said. “And everyone is simply delighted to offer what space they can to help out the New Life congregation.”

“Fabulous,” I said.

“She’s a wonder, that Robyn,” Minerva said. “But it’s starting to get dreadfully complicated—everyone’s got their own program of holiday events.”

“Except for the temple,” Mother put in. “Thank goodness Hanukkah came early this year, so they only have their usual activities.”