I stepped outside my temporary office and walked up the small hallway, past Robyn’s study and toward the archway that opened into the vestibule. I stopped in the archway and stared in amazement at the frantic activity taking place. I recognized several Shiffleys—relatives of the mayor and probably employees of his family’s construction company—hauling lumber and tools into the main body of the church, from which sounds of sawing and hammering emerged. Matrons from the Ladies’ Auxiliary and St. Clotilda’s Guild were scurrying back and forth carrying stacks of prayer books and hymnals; music stands; bundles of red satin and gold lamé choir robes; armloads of holly, ivy, and evergreen; real and battery-operated candles; and the several dozen near life-sized figures from the enormous Nativity scene that for the last few weeks had occupied the space between the communion rail and the first row of pews.

I could see why they were moving the Nativity scene—no doubt they needed the space to fit in all the New Life choir members. And having it there had made navigation difficult. But it had been fun watching several of the more curmudgeonly parishioners who habitually sat in the front row either propping their feet up on the outlying sheep or hanging their canes over the wise men’s outstretched arms.

Since I had no pressing reason to go out in the vestibule and didn’t want to risk getting trampled by the busy masses of volunteers, I was about to pop back into my temporary office to await Michael’s arrival. Then I overheard two women having a conversation that caught my interest.

“It’s racial, I tell you,” the first one said. “An attack like that on an African-American church?”

“Historically African-American,” the second corrected. “These days they’re getting pretty diverse. But I think if it was racially motivated they’d do something really nasty.”

“You don’t think the skunks are really nasty?”

“Only silly nasty. If you ask me, it’s those Pruitts.”

The other woman pondered that for a while. As did I. At one time, the Pruitts had been the self-proclaimed leading citizens of Caerphilly County, but in the last few years they’d lost most of their money and all their political power. The ones not in jail for various sorts of embezzlement had retreated to neighboring Clay County to lick their wounds and, no doubt, plot their comeback. They certainly had it in for Caerphilly. But why would they choose the New Life church as their target? And besides, however much I disapproved of the skunking, I had to admit that executing it required a degree of organization, ingenuity, and boldness that I had a hard time imagining any Pruitt displaying.

“Too clever for a Pruitt,” the first woman said, echoing my thoughts. “And not nearly nasty enough.”