I’d thought it would only take a few minutes, once I was finally free of interruptions, but by the time I finished juggling and e-mailing the resulting schedule, I looked up from my laptop to find that the sky outside was getting dark. And since my temporary office had only one small window at the far end of the room, behind all the boxes and old furniture, it had grown very dark indeed.

I sat up, stretched my shoulder gently, and checked my watch. Nearly time for our organist to turn the sanctuary back to the Baptists for their final preconcert prep. I didn’t quite share Rose Noire’s suspicions of Jerome Lightfoot, but I had no desire to talk to him. And so, time for me to go home and have some Christmas fun with Michael and the boys.

I organized all my papers, turned off my computer and my desk lamp, and was about to stand up and be on my way when I heard low voices outside my door.

“Man, are you crazy?” Ronnie Butler.

“What do you mean?” Caleb Shiffley.

I crept a little closer to the door, the better to eavesdrop.

“That thing with the ducks.”

“Shut up—what if someone hears us?”

“No one here,” Ronnie said. “The rev is out running the prayer meeting, and old man Hedges went home to nurse his migraine.”

And if Caleb was suspicious and decided to check doors, should I try to hide behind some of the old furniture and keep eavesdropping? Or just look startled and pretend I hadn’t overheard them?

Luckily I didn’t have to make a decision.

“Look,” Ronnie went on. “I know you’re still mad at Bigfoot about the whole April thing, but enough’s enough. The chief’s got Horace Hollingsworth doing fingerprints and stuff. They could still catch us for the skunk thing, or the snake. We should lay off with the pranks, not do stupid stuff that might leave more evidence and doesn’t have anything to do with old Bigfoot anyway.”

“Wait,” Caleb said. “You think I put the ducks in St. Byblig’s?”

“You mean you didn’t?”

There was a brief silence. Presumably Caleb had answered by shaking his head and they were staring at each other in dismay.

“This is creepy,” Caleb said at last. “If you didn’t, and I didn’t—man, they’re gonna blame this on us, too.”

“If they catch us.”

“When they catch us.”

“And why would anyone want to cause problems for St. Byblig’s?” Ronnie asked. “Everyone likes Father Donnelly.”

Another pause.

“Maybe we should go to the chief,” Ronnie said. “Or Reverend Wilson.”

“You think they’d believe us?”

Silence.

“You know,” Caleb said. “I bet it’s going to be a lot easier for them to catch whoever did the ducks.”

“What do you mean?”