“Not physically, no.” She set the urn down on the floor by the stairs, stood up, and clasped her hands dramatically. “But I sense unseen danger there.”

“You can sense it all the way out here?” I tried not to sound too incredulous.

“I went in yesterday to take lunch to your Mother after Michael came back to stay with the boys,” she said. “I sensed something at Trinity.”

“Something?” I repeated. “Like evil?”

“Danger.”

Her voice carried a note of firm conviction that alarmed me. I didn’t quite believe Rose Noire had the psychic ability to sense danger. But I didn’t ignore her premonitions, which all too often turned out to be accurate. My theory was that she was very good at observing facts and danger signs and even subconsciously adding them up but either unable or utterly unwilling to recognize that she was making deductions rather than having premonitions.

“I don’t trust that man,” she murmured. And then, before I could ask, she clarified: “Mr. Lightfoot. His aura is very dark and troubled. He’s not what he seems. And it’s infecting the whole choir. I sense nothing but pain and unhappiness around them.”

“Doesn’t take a psychic to figure that out,” I said. “I could tell as much just from attending a rehearsal.”

“Your instincts are good,” she said, nodding with approval. “He has something to do with the pranks.”

Not unless I was completely wrong about Ronnie and Caleb.

“Lightfoot?” I said aloud. “Seems unlikely. Why would he try to sabotage his own concert?”

“Your mother didn’t believe me either,” she said. “And I think the man she was talking to only pretended to. A tall, elderly man she was arguing with,” she added, seeing my inquiring look. “I think he has something to do with running the church.”

“That would be Mr. Vess, Trinity’s resident gadfly,” I said. “And I’m sure he’s quite willing to believe anything negative about Lightfoot.”

“I hope he takes it seriously, then,” she said. “He could be in danger, too.”

Perhaps he had taken her warning. Was it Vess who’d tried to look up Lightfoot’s history on the computer? And was he acting on his own suspicions or because of Rose Noire’s warning? I had a hard time seeing him as a believer in premonitions, but if Rose Noire hadn’t bothered to share the source of her conviction that Lightfoot was not what he seemed …

“Well, I’m taking this to the sewing ladies,” she said, stooping over to pick up the urn. “Are you going to join them?”

“Maybe later,” I said. “I was up before dawn, and I need a break.”

“Your arm is hurting you,” she said.

“Not that much—” I began.

She frowned slightly.