“Morning, Meg,” he said when he spotted me. “Terrible business.”

He disappeared down the basement steps.

I went to the head of the stairs and peered down. A deputy was standing at the foot of the stairs. He turned, and I recognized him as Vern Shiffley, one of Randall’s many cousins.

“No one’s allowed down here,” he said.

“Not sure I even want to go down there,” I said. “Coffee?”

“Thanks.” He trudged up the stairs, looking glum, and took the cup from me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it bad down there? Was anyone hurt?”

“We have a body,” he said. “Looks like the prankster went too far this time.”

Chapter 23

“A body?” I flinched at the thought. “Who?”

He looked for a moment as if he were about to tell me to mind my own business, then his face fell.

“It’ll get out soon enough. That old gentleman who used to run the First Farmers Bank of Caerphilly before it got bought up by that out-of-state bank.”

“Barliman Vess?”

“That’s him.” Over Vern’s shoulder I could see the chief had spotted us talking and was heading our way. I braced myself to be kicked out.

“I gather Mr. Vess works here or something?” Vern asked.

“He’s a vestryman.”

I could tell from Vern’s face that he didn’t know the word.

“The vestry is very similar to what you Presbyterians would call the session,” I said. “Group of people elected from the congregation to help govern the church.”

“So he’s what we’d call an elder?” Vern asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Hello, Chief,” I added.

“Any idea what Mr. Vess was doing in the furnace room at three in the morning?” Chief Burke asked.

“None whatsoever,” I said. “We had a night watch staying here in the church—those people who were warming up in my car. They were keeping a lookout in case the prankster came back. But they were all in the social hall, as they told you, playing Parcheesi between patrols. You can ask them if Mr. Vess was with them—though I think they’d have mentioned it if one of their number never made it out of the church.”

The chief nodded.

“The only thing I can think of—” I began. And then I stopped myself, because what I had been about to say suddenly seemed foolish.

“Go on,” the chief said after a moment.

“Mr. Vess was kind of a gadfly,” I explained. “Particularly on church financial issues.”

“Useful to have a retired banker for that,” the chief said.

“Except he drove everyone crazy,” I said. “He was always going on about overspending, and trying to catch people being wasteful—or worse, dishonest. Mother said last year he was putting marked bills in the collection plate to see if the people adding up the offering were honest.”

“What could he have been trying to find out in the basement?”