Duck the Halls: A Meg Langslow Mystery (Meg Langslow Mysteries) (18 page)

I nodded, and found I had to blink back tears. For the rescued rabbits, or Barliman Vess? I wasn’t sure.

“Only two of them,” the chief went on. “Not much of a prank compared to the others.”

“Maybe Mr. Vess interrupted the perpetrators while they were unloading the rabbits and they fled with most of them,” I said. “You could put out an APB. See if you can find anyone in possession of a suspicious number of rabbits. Just kidding,” I added, seeing that the chief didn’t seem to like my suggestion.

“Indeed,” he said. “Actually, since the rabbits turned out to be stolen from the fifth grade classroom at Caerphilly Elementary, which only had two to begin with, I don’t think we’ll be uncovering any hoards of contraband leporids.”

I decided to wait until he looked less stressed before making my other, more serious suggestion—that perhaps whoever had killed Vess had left the rabbits to make it seem as if Vess’s murder was connected to the other pranks. Although the odds were, the chief had already thought of it.

“By the way,” I said aloud. “I know no one was hiding in the church when I left, but I’m not sure it’s all that significant. I don’t think the locks have been rekeyed in twenty years, and both Robyn and Father Rufus have been pretty quick to give a key to anyone with a legitimate purpose. Including some of the people from other churches who were here at Trinity over the last few days. Like Lightfoot and Randall’s construction people.”

The chief sighed and nodded.

“It’s the same at New Life,” he said. “The reverend is always more interested in bringing people in than keeping them out. We won’t be solving this one based on who has access to my crime scenes. But thanks.”

“Chief, there’s something else,” I said. “Did you get my call last night?” I decided that was more tactful than “Why the heck haven’t you returned my last three phone calls?”

He nodded. I looked around to make sure no one else was nearby.

I noticed he did, too.

“You have some relevant information?” he asked, in a low voice.

“Do you know Caleb Shiffley and Ronnie Butler?” I asked.

“Yes.” He nodded slightly. “Both fine young men. I believe they’re seniors this year. Both on the basketball team, in fact. Ronnie is a member of the New Life congregation, and I believe Caleb, like most of the Shiffleys, attends First Presbyterian. What about them?”

“They were the ones who put the skunks in the choir loft. I overheard them talking about it. And the snake here.”

The chief looked at me for few moments, expressionless.

“Yes,” he said finally.

“You already know?”

“I didn’t quite know,” he said. “But I suspected. In fact, I was suspicious of Caleb almost from the start.”

“You were?” I exclaimed. “Why?”

“Caleb helps his father out at the Shiffley Exterminating Service. His father usually assigns him to go deep into the woods to release the animals that are being returned to the wild. The most plausible explanation I could come up with for the sudden appearance of so many skunks was that some of the rescued skunks had not been released as planned over the last few months. And Caleb and Ronnie are inseparable. Have been since grade school. I figured if one was in on it, it was almost certain the other was.”

“So you were just gathering evidence?” I asked. “Before confronting them or arresting them or whatever?”

He sighed.

“Gathering evidence, yes, but frankly, I was hoping when they realized how much trouble they’d caused, they’d both come forward and offer to make amends. But after the duck incident, I had no choice. I was already planning to bring them and their parents into the station this morning. If only I hadn’t waited.”

“So you didn’t return any of my calls because you already knew about them,” I said. “Makes sense.”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed to be wincing slightly. “There was also the fact that I’ve gotten at least a hundred calls over the last day and a half, all from people who were sure they knew who had committed the pranks.”

“Now I feel guilty, adding to the avalanche,” I said. “I probably should have just relayed the information I had to Debbie Anne. Or one of your deputies.”

“Actually,” the chief said. “I suspected, with all the time you’d been spending around the New Life choir, that your suspicions might be a lot more accurate than most, but I wanted to see if I could induce the boys to come clean first.”

“Before I gave you concrete information that forced you to take more drastic action.”

“I was … well, yes. Precisely. I wanted to handle it privately, with apologies to Reverend Wilson and Father Donnelly, complete financial restitution, and a stiff unofficial course of community service to the two churches.”

I nodded. I hoped Josh and Jamie never did anything as stupid as the pranks, but if they did, I hoped the chief was still around to help us deal with it.

“I was wrong,” the chief went on. “I let myself be swayed by my good opinion of the young men. My desire to avoid ruining their futures. If I’d only brought them in after the duck prank, perhaps they’d have stopped, and whatever tragic sequence of events happened here last night would never have taken place.”

“But they didn’t do the duck prank,” I said. “And I doubt if they did this. They did the skunks and the snakes—I overheard them talking about it on Saturday. But they had nothing to do with the ducks. That’s what I was calling last night to tell you.”

“Didn’t do the duck prank?” The chief looked surprised, and a little skeptical. “Are you sure? And how do you know?”

I relayed what I’d heard in the hallway at Trinity on Saturday, what I’d seen on Riddick’s computer, and then what I’d overheard Sunday afternoon.

“So you see why I don’t think Caleb and Ronnie did anything after the snake incident.” I didn’t realize until I was finishing up my account how much the information had been weighing on me.

“You believed them, then?”

“Yes,” I said. “They had no idea anyone was listening, and they sounded utterly truthful. They were both reproaching the other for committing the duck prank—doing something so stupid, something that was likely to get them caught, after they’d agreed to lie low.”

He pondered for a few moments. I glanced down the hallway and saw that a couple of the deputies were looking at us, obviously impatient, but not about to interrupt the chief when he was so intent on a conversation.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Should I tell him about Rose Noire’s premonition of danger in the church and her suspicions of Lightfoot? He’d probably only find it annoying. And what good were premonitions about something that had now already happened? I shook my head.

“Keep this to yourself for now,” he said finally.

I nodded.

“It’s possible that whoever did this is hoping the blame will fall on the boys,” he went on.

“And you want the real culprit to think that he’s succeeded so you can catch him off his guard. Or her.”

“Or them,” he added. “Precisely. So tell no one.”

“Not even Michael?”

He frowned for a moment.

“I think we may rely on Michael’s discretion as well,” he said finally. “But no one else.”

“Especially not my dad,” I said. “Who would probably manage to tell the whole county within a few hours—swearing them all to secrecy, of course.”

That got a slight smile out of him.

“Speaking of your father, I need to talk to him. Stick around, if possible. I may need your help to sort out what went on here.”

With that he started down the stairway toward the basement. I headed back for the parish hall, to wait with the others there. Just as I was about to enter it, Horace dashed through the front door. The deputies in the vestibule pointed him toward the stairway.

He waved to me before disappearing into the basement.

In the parish hall, four of the watch members were once again playing Parcheesi at one of the long tables we used for meals, while the older woman was seated a little farther down the table, reading an Agatha Christie paperback.

They all looked up when I came in.

“The investigation continues.” I slumped in a chair at the same table, but at the far end from the Parcheesi game, and closed my eyes as if too exhausted to speak. I wasn’t sure they knew about Vess’s death, and if they didn’t, I was sure the chief would want to break the news himself and watch their reactions.

A few minutes later the chief came in, accompanied by Robyn. Several deputies came in after him and stood along the wall.

“Are all of you okay?” Robyn exclaimed. The chief stood by watching while she went around to give each of the watchers a few words and a quick hug. She ended up with me.

“So sorry,” she said. “I have a feeling we’re going to be rearranging again.”

I nodded.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the chief said. “I want to have a brief word with each of you. But first, I have to tell you that tonight’s incident is more than just a prank. There’s been a murder.”

The watch and Robyn all reacted with gasps and exclamations of “Oh, no!” or “Who?”

I just watched, trying to detect any false notes in their reactions—probably just what the chief and the deputies were doing. Maybe the chief spotted something suspicious but I didn’t.

“We’ve identified the deceased as Mr. Barliman Vess,” the chief added.

I don’t think I was imagining the looks of relief that crossed all of their faces—quickly replaced with looks that clearly said, “Of course, it’s still a terrible thing.”

“May I remind all of you not to discuss what you heard and saw tonight until after I’ve interviewed you?” the chief said.

The watchers and Robyn all murmured their agreement.

“You, too, Ms. Langslow,” the chief added. “Michael asked me to tell you that he’s heading home and will see to the boys till you get back.”

I nodded. So much for going home and catching up on my sleep.

The chief left with one of the watchers—the Christie reader—while the Parcheesi players seemed to have lost interest in their game.

“What on earth was he doing here?” one of them asked. “Sorry, forget I said that,” he added, glancing up at the deputy.

“We could talk about what’s going to happen with our Christmas services,” the remaining woman watcher said. “That’s not against the chief’s orders, is it?”

The deputy shook his head.

“That will depend on how long the church is unavailable to us,” Robyn said. “If it continues to be a crime scene after today, we must trust Meg to find us a solution.”

“But having a death so close to Christmas,” another watcher said. “Surely that will cast a pall over all our celebrations.”

“Not if we remember the true meaning of those celebrations,” Robyn said. “The reason Christ was born among us.”

“‘Born that we no more may die,’” one of the men sang softly. I recognized the tune and some of the words from the little-sung third verse of “Hark! The Herald Angels.”

“‘Born to raise us from the earth,’” the singer went on. Two of the others joined in on the next line, “‘Born to give us second birth.’”

Another deputy stuck his head in, looking a bit surprised, but apparently warbling Christmas carols wasn’t against the chief’s orders, so both deputies joined in the last two familiar lines: “‘Hark! The herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn king!’”

“Very good,” Robyn said. I wasn’t sure whether she meant the singing or the sentiments, but everyone seemed more cheerful. “Charles Wesley did have a way with a hymn, didn’t he?”

“On a practical note,” the remaining woman said. “If we get the church back in time, will we need to reconsecrate it after this?”

The others all glanced over at the deputy, as if checking to see if this line of conversation was allowed.

“I think not,” Robyn said. “I’ll have to check with the bishop, of course, but I think the appropriate action is a prayer service for the Restoring of Things Profaned.”

“I don’t recall seeing that in the Book of Common Prayer,” one of the men said.

“Book of Occasional Services,” Robyn said. “I’ve actually used it once at my previous parish—one of the parishioners had a psychotic episode and willfully injured himself.”

The watchers all nodded. One of them walked over to a bookshelf, picked out a volume, and walked back to the table with it.

“Here it is,” he said. “Book of Occasional Services.” Two of the others crowded around to look over his shoulder.

“Does Mr. Vess have family?” I asked Robyn.

“A son on the West Coast.” She pulled out her Day-Timer and scribbled a few items in it, and then glanced at her watch. “I’ll check with the chief to see if I should do the notification or wait until after he makes the call. I do hope he doesn’t declare the whole church a crime scene, although I suppose we should be prepared for that.”

“I think the best thing I can do to prepare is rework the schedule again,” I said. “After which I hope no one will think me rude if I try to nap.”

“Would you like my laptop?” Robyn reached into her oversized purse and pulled it out. “I’ve got your latest schedule on it, and you should be able to access the network from here. Or if you really need to sleep, do!”

She gestured toward the far end of the room where there was a nest of cast-off armchairs and couches.

“Thanks,” I said. “That would be great. And while I’m thinking of it, do you think perhaps it might make sense to rekey the church? Since by now we have no idea where most of those million spare keys have gone.”

“I hate the idea,” Robyn said. “But it’s probably necessary. Long overdue, in fact.” She pulled out her Day-Timer.

I curled up on one of the couches and pulled up the latest schedule. A quick call to Father Donnelly confirmed that St. Byblig’s was back in play, and I was now so thoroughly familiar with all the available spaces in the local churches that it took me only a few minutes to move all the events scheduled today in Trinity to the equivalent spaces in St. Byblig’s. Of course it helped that since today was Monday, and only the twenty-third, it was a relatively quiet lull between the weekend and the holiday itself.

And then, after e-mailing my ever-growing list of people who needed to be informed of every single change in the schedule, and recruiting one of them—the office manager at the Unitarian church—to print out and drop off some signs that would tell anyone who showed up at Trinity where to go, I curled up on the most comfortable-looking couch. Napping was probably not going to happen, but at least I could rest my eyes. Yes, lovely to rest my eyes, and …