“Very funny.” Reverend Baker planted his fists on his hips. “What are you doing here?”

“Volunteering. The business of saving souls is also affected by Hope Harbor’s current economic crisis. Money worries can distract people from other priorities. I intend to do my part to alleviate those so the good people of this town can focus on spiritual, rather than temporal, matters.”

“And what part might that be? This festival is supposed to feature masters in their fields. Please don’t tell me they signed you up to lead a session on Scripture studies—or, heaven forbid, plumbing.” He gave an exaggerated shudder.

Christi did her best to contain the tug on her lips. The banter between these two was just what she needed to dispel her nerves.

“May I remind you which congregation is the reigning champion of our annual Bible trivia contest? And my plumbing fix worked fine at the rectory. Who knew it would unleash Niagara Falls at your house? You have weird pipes.” The priest gave a dismissive wave. “As for my role in the festival—I’m going to assist Pete Wallace with his class on gardening.”

“Ah. An assistant. I suppose that’s safe. Less chance to do serious damage.” The minister refocused on her. “Pete owned a landscaping company before he retired and moved to Hope Harbor. And I have to admit, my Catholic counterpart here”—he hooked a thumb toward the priest—“does have a beautiful meditation garden at St. Francis. You should stop in if you’re passing by.”

“Yes, please do, Christi. As the sign over the entrance says, all are welcome.” Father Murphy transferred his attention to his fellow cleric. “Now that we’ve established I have a legitimate reason to be part of this talented crowd, why are you here?”

A tap sounded on the microphone, and Marci called the meeting to order.

“Saved by the rhetorical bell. Aren’t you lucky?” Father Murphy grinned at the minister. “Where are you sitting?”

“In the back.” He motioned toward the rear.

“I’ll join you.”

The two clerics switched to a discussion about golf as they wandered off, and Christi gave the room one last sweep.

Still no sign of Jack.

Odd.

But she couldn’t dwell on his absence. She had to psych herself up to run this meeting once Marci introduced the committee heads.

Which the Herald editor did with alacrity.

“And now, please welcome the woman who came up with this phenomenal plan—our fearless leader . . . Christi Reece.”

Fearless?

Ha.

She was shaking inside and out.

Yet when she stood and faced the assembled group from behind the mic, she saw only encouraging—and grateful—smiles. Marci had assured her she wouldn’t be in this alone, and the one-for-all, all-for-one vibe wafting toward her was heartening.