“Yes,” Father Donnelly said. “But thank the Lord for the Lutherans and Methodists. I’m not sure how the chancery would have reacted if I’d asked to hold the mass in a bowling alley.”

I decided not to point out that it could come to that, if Caerphilly’s reigning prankster continued unchecked. From the look on his face, I suspected that thought had already occurred to him.

“Perhaps I should ask now, just in case,” he murmured, picking up the telephone again.

“Let’s get the e-mails and telephone trees going,” Robyn said.

Since it was Sunday morning and most of the clergy were conducting services and not apt to be near their computers any time soon, I printed out two dozen copies of the schedule (version seven) and drove around to the various churches to hand deliver them. At the Methodist church, Mrs. Dahlgren, the secretary, give me a particularly poisonous look. I couldn’t pretend not to know why so I just ignored it. And the portapotties didn’t look that bad. Randall’s crew had set them up right behind the life-sized Nativity scene on the grass in front of the church—which would, with the figures removed, be the venue for the live-action Nativity on Christmas Eve. Someone—probably at Mother’s direction—had screened the portapotties as much as possible with a lot of very leafy fake palm trees. They’d even painted the white portapotties with faux doors and windows and rooftop terraces, so they looked remarkably like the little dioramas of Bethlehem I remembered building in my childhood Sunday school classes, even down to a light dusting of snow to soften everything.

Mrs. Dahlgren may have been vexed, but a great many of the congregation—particularly the children—were charmed with the dramatic addition to their Nativity scene. As I left, I could see Reverend Trask beaming as he and Reverend Larsen supervised a joint task force of Methodist and Lutheran children who were dusting the snow off all the human figures in the scene. He waved back at me cheerfully and gave me a double thumbs-up. So there, Mrs. Dahlgren.

As I drove around, I found it was gnawing at me that I still hadn’t managed to tell the chief about overhearing Caleb and Ronnie. I wasn’t sure whether to be irritated at the chief for not calling me, or with myself, for not persisting. I finally pulled over and called again. And once again I reached only his voice mail.

“This is Meg Langslow,” I said. “Just wanted to remind you that I may have some information on who’s pulling these pranks.”

At the First Presbyterian Church a service was letting out. I ran into Randall Shiffley and learned that progress had been made in solving the mystery of who owned the ducks.

Chapter 15