“He just stared at all the junk,” I said. “And when I said something innocuous about how nice it would be to see it gone, he nearly bit my head off.”

“I’m trying to deal with it,” Riddick said. “It’s not my fault. Even before all these snakes and skunks there’s been so much more work with the new rector here, and it’s not really the right time of year for a rummage sale, and I can’t just get rid of it like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“Of course not,” I said, in my most soothing tones. Although I couldn’t help thinking that anyone with an ounce of common sense and gumption could get rid of everything here pretty quickly. Mother could do it. I could do it. And if she and I could convince Robyn to turn the two of us loose on it …

“He wants my job, you know,” Riddick said. “Wants to eliminate it,” he clarified. “Thinks what I do should be done by volunteers.”

“As far as I can tell, he’s the only one in the church who feels that way,” I said. “I know Mother disagrees. Don’t let it worry you. And if you need help dealing with the junk, I’m sure Mother will be able to help. I could, too. But let’s not worry about it till after Christmas.”

“‘After Christmas,’” he repeated. He didn’t exactly look thrilled at my suggestion. But he did look a little less tense. “Yes. Your mother is always very … Yes. After Christmas.”

He glanced warily at the clutter as if half afraid it would jump out and attack him. Then, with a visible effort, he straightened his spine and forced his face into an unconvincing but very determined smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “And merry Christmas.”

And then he scurried out.

A few moments later, when I had buried myself back in my schedule, I heard Mr. Vess’s voice.

“I need to speak with you for a moment.”

I braced myself and looked up, but he wasn’t in my office. The words had come from out in the vestibule. Just then the organ began to play, drowning out anything else Vess had to say. According to my schedule, that would be Trinity’s regular organist, sneaking in a short rehearsal between Baptist choir rehearsals. I resigned myself to the possibility that Lightfoot might barge in and complain about this minor interruption in his frenzied rehearsal schedule.

A soft instrumental version of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” filled the air. When no one barged into my office, I relaxed and went back to my work, happily humming along with the carols.