Duck the Halls

by Donna Andrews

  “Does that tomato juice wash out?” Mr. Dandridge asked.

  “A darn sight better than the skunk odor,” a medic replied.

  “May we ask Mr. Dandridge a few questions while the medics are working?” Chief Burke asked. Standing at his side was Jim Featherstone, Caerphilly’s new volunteer fire chief.

  The medics nodded. With visible effort the chief came closer and squatted down at Mr. Dandridge’s side.

  “Nelson, it’s Henry Burke,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to know a few things.”

  Mr. Dandridge nodded slightly and assumed a stoic expression.

  “Like why the devil did you call the fire department?” Chief Featherstone demanded.

  “Because the county doesn’t have a skunk department,” Mr. Dandridge said. “Anyway, I didn’t ask for the fire department. I just called 911.”

  “But you said the church was burning.”

  “I never said the church was burning.” Mr. Dandridge tried to sit up and was prevented by the EMTs. “I said that I was in the church and that I’d been sprayed by skunks, and my eyes were burning. But perhaps I wasn’t speaking too clearly. Those miserable skunks were still trying to spray me.”

  “Skunks?” Chief Burke asked. “Plural? How many? And where were they?”

  “In the choir loft,” Mr. Dandridge said. “And I have no idea how many of them there were. I thought it was cats at first, and I went closer to see why someone had left a whole cage of cats in the church—”

  “Cage?” Chief Burke and Chief Featherstone said in unison.

  “Yes, cage. And I have no idea how many of them there were in the cage. A whole swarm of them.”

  “Actually, the traditional term is a ‘surfeit of skunks,’” Dad put in. “I was just talking to Debbie Ann—she’s arranging for the ophthalmologist—and it’s pretty obvious what happened. Mr. Dandridge called her to say that he thought there were intruders in the church—”

  “I saw the lights on from my house,” Mr. Dandridge put in. “I live just across the road.”

  “And as Debbie Ann was urging him to leave the building and wait for the arrival of a deputy, he began shouting ‘It’s burning! It’s burning!’ Which was a perfectly natural reaction to being sprayed in the eyes by a skunk.”

  “Skunks,” Mr. Dandridge corrected. “Could be dozens of them.”

  “And of course Debbie Ann made the logical assumption that he was talking about the church,” Dad concluded.

  The chiefs looked mollified.

  “I’ve sent in two of my men wearing SCBAs to check out the church thoroughly, to make sure there’s definitely no fire and no other hazards,” Chief Featherstone said.

  “SCBAs?” Chief Burke repeated.

  “Self-contained breathing apparatus. I can lend you some if you want your men to investigate.”

  “Thanks,” Chief Burke said. “I’d appreciate the gear—I plan to go in myself. I’m pretty familiar with the layout of the church.”

  “I told my men to stay away from the choir loft as much as possible,” Chief Featherstone said. “At least until Eli Slattery from animal control gets here to remove the skunks.”

  “Did he say how soon he’d get here?” Chief Burke asked.

  “No idea.” The fire chief was frowning. “I left a message on his voice mail.”

  “Eli’s a sound sleeper,” one of the firefighters put in.

  Chief Featherstone’s frown deepened.

  “Chief,” another firefighter said. “We could just call Osgood Shiffley down at the service station. He’s open all night, and only a few blocks from Eli’s house. He could probably pop over and pound on Eli’s door.”

  Chief Featherstone blinked in surprise. He had retired after twenty years in a big-city fire department and moved to Caerphilly to take over leadership of our volunteer force. He was still getting used to life in Caerphilly, and looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or horrified by this kind of small-town solution to the problem.

  “Let’s give Eli a chance to respond,” he said finally. “But I’ll keep the idea in mind if the delay becomes too inconvenient.”

  “Maybe someone should just try to take the skunks out,” one of the firefighters said. “I always heard that after they spray they can’t do it again immediately.”

  “Not what I’ve heard,” another firefighter said.

  “Besides,” Chief Featherstone said. “Mr. Dandridge says there are multiple skunks. We have no idea if they all sprayed him or if some of them didn’t and are just waiting to go after the next person to stick his nose in the choir loft. Anyone want to take that chance?”

  The firefighters fell silent.

  “So we wait for animal control,” Chief Burke said.

  “Do you have any more questions?” Dad asked. “Because I’d like to transport him to the hospital.” Dad looked at his watch. “The ophthalmologist will be meeting us there within the half hour.”

  Both chiefs nodded their approval. Dad packed his bag and hopped into the back of the ambulance. The two medics helped Mr. Dandridge in. Then they conferred briefly, and one stepped into the back of the ambulance with the patient. The other almost skipped on his way to the less odorous driver’s seat. Michael and another firefighter came running up.

  “Wait a sec,” Michael called. “We’ve got his change of clothes.”

  The back door of the ambulance opened. Dad leaned out to take the clothes, and looked around until he spotted me.

  “Meg,” he said. “Your grandfather’s in my car. Could you see that he gets home safely?”

  “Why in the world did you bring him along?” I asked. While Grandfather was hale and hearty for someone in his nineties, I didn’t think either the weather or the hour were suitable for dragging him out of his comfortable bed in my parents’ guest room.

  “I didn’t exactly bring him,” Dad said. “He heard the sirens. And when I got out to the car, he was already sitting there, ready to go. No use even trying to talk him out of coming. And once we figured out there was no fire, he decided to stay in the car and sulk.”

  He sounded uncharacteristically exasperated—with me, or with his headstrong father? No telling. He slammed the door and the ambulance set out, steering a careful course through the growing throng of onlookers.

  “Well, that might solve the skunk removal problem,” I said to the chiefs.

  Chief Featherstone looked puzzled and glanced at Chief Burke as if seeking enlightenment.

  “Meg’s grandfather is Dr. Montgomery Blake,” Chief Burke explained. “A very distinguished zoologist.”

  “Blake?” Chief Featherstone frowned slightly, no doubt puzzled that Dad and his father had different surnames. Since he was new in town, presumably he hadn’t already heard about how Dad had been abandoned at birth, adopted, and only recently reunited with his long-lost father. Then he spoke again.

  “The one you always see on Animal Planet?” he asked. “Getting bitten and peed on by exotic animals?”

  “That’s him,” I said. “And I happen to know he’s particularly fond of skunks. He likes their attitude.”

  “I’m glad someone does,” Chief Burke said. “Could you ask him if he’ll help, please?”

  Chapter 3

  I took my time approaching Dad’s van. I had misgivings about the whole idea of involving Grandfather in the skunk removal. Yes, he was a seasoned zoologist, but he’d also spent years filming nature documentaries. No documentary about skunks would be complete without showing how they sprayed their would-be attackers. And that was precisely what we wanted to avoid. What if Grandfather forgot, even momentarily, that there weren’t any cameras rolling?

  Dad had left the van running, obviously so the heat would stay on. Grandfather had reclined the front passenger seat as far as it would go and was fast asleep and snoring vigorously.

  “Grandfather?” I touched his shoulder gently.

  He started upright.

  “What the hell is goi
ng on?” he asked. “Where’s James?”

  “Dad went to the hospital with his patient,” I said.

  “Well, take me home, then,” he said. “Nothing to see here. So much for your big exciting fire. Should have stayed in bed and taken care of my cold.”

  “I can take you right away,” I said. “Unless you feel up to helping us with a wildlife problem.”

  “Ah! What’s the problem?” He unfastened his seatbelt and buttoned up his coat.

  “Skunks. There are skunks in the church.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Impossible?” Couldn’t he smell them? Oh—the head cold. I wasn’t sure whether to order him back into bed or envy him his apparent immunity to the prevailing stench.

  “Or at least highly unlikely,” he continued, as he reached over and pulled the seatbelt back across his body. “They’d all be asleep.”

  “You mean skunks hibernate?”

  “No, but they sleep a lot more in the winter. Especially when it’s cold. And with this much snow on the ground, they’d probably be snowed in their dens. Sleeping the weather out. Someone probably just saw a black-and-white cat.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be settling back to continue his nap.

  “Well, then we’ve got a whole cage of black-and-white cats, and at least one of them did a pretty good imitation of a skunk. Good enough to fool Mr. Dandridge into thinking he’d been sprayed in the eyes.”

  Grandfather opened one eye.

  “Good enough to fool Dad into taking Mr. Dandridge down to the hospital to see an ophthalmologist.”

  Grandfather made a growling noise.

  “Well, that could be, then,” he said. “And they wouldn’t like it if someone dragged them out of their dens in weather like this. And if you woke them up, they’d be downright peeved.”

  Apparently they weren’t the only ones.

  “So do you want to see the peeved skunks or do you want to go back to your den and sleep the weather out?”

  He reached over, pulled a tissue from a box on the floor, and blew his nose. Then his eyes lit up.

  “Ah, yes!” He sniffed appreciatively a few times, like a wine connoisseur assessing the bouquet of a rare vintage. “You could be right. Help me out of this wretched seat,” he added, as he unfastened the seatbelt again.

  I brought the seat back to its upright position and helped him down from the van. Then I turned off the engine, took the keys, locked the van, and scrambled to catch up with Grandfather, who had apparently regained his energy and was striding over to the two chiefs. I hoped he didn’t hit an ice patch on the way.

  “I hear you have a skunk problem,” Grandfather said.

  “Indeed,” Chief Burke said. “I don’t think you’ve met our new fire chief.”

  After a round of introductions, Chief Featherstone held up a piece of headgear that looked like a cross between an astronaut’s helmet and a praying mantis’s head.

  “You can put this on to go inside,” he said. “Can someone help Dr. Blake with the air tank?”

  “‘Air tank’? Nonsense,” Grandfather boomed. “What do we need that for? I thought there wasn’t a fire.”

  “There isn’t, but the skunk smell’s pretty overwhelming,” Chief Burke said. “We thought—”

  “Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “I’ve smelled a few skunks in my time. Hasn’t killed me yet. Come on; let’s get inside. It’s damned cold out here.”

  With that he began striding toward the front doors of the church.

  “I should go with him,” I said to Chief Burke, and took off in Grandfather’s wake.

  The two chiefs followed more slowly, probably because they stopped to put on their own helmets and strap oxygen tanks on their backs. Another firefighter followed in their wake with an armload of some kind of gear. The half dozen gleaming white steps leading up to the church slowed Grandfather down and we all stepped together into the vestibule. It was a large entryway decorated from floor to ceiling with evergreens, gold tinsel, and red velvet bows. Along the walls were brightly colored felt appliquéd banners that looked to be the work of the Sunday school classes, each illustrating a different beloved Christmas carol. The contrast between the beautiful Christmas decorations and the overpowering skunk odor would have been funny if I wasn’t having so much trouble breathing.

  Even Grandfather halted with a surprised look on his face. Evidently his head cold wasn’t giving him total immunity.

  “Where did you say the spraying happened?” he asked.

  “In the choir loft.” Chief Featherstone’s voice was muffled by the breathing apparatus. He and Chief Burke looked rather insectoid, and the mechanical sound of their breathing was curiously unnerving, like sharing space with a pair of Darth Vaders.

  Chief Featherstone marched across the vestibule and flung open the broad double doors into the sanctuary. As he was silhouetted in the doorway, I realized that even without the mask he was rather an odd figure, with a stout, barrel-shaped body perched on the thinnest legs I’d ever seen.

  We followed him and stood just inside the doorway. I was beginning to regret hastily scampering after Grandfather without demanding that the fire chief lend me my own breathing apparatus.

  The New Life sanctuary always overwhelmed me when I first walked in. Not so much because of its beauty, although the soaring expanses of light oak and whitewashed walls looked particularly elegant with all the evergreen, tinsel, and ribbon. No, it was the size that always got me—the place was so incredibly huge. The stained-glass windows wouldn’t have been out of place in a medieval cathedral. And at the back of the church the choir loft, looming high over the altar, could probably fit almost as many people as the entire sanctuary of Trinity Episcopal, where Michael, the boys, and I had begun going a lot more regularly now that Mother had been elected to the vestry.

  The sanctuary was also lined with the Christmas carol banners whose bright, cheerful colors contrasted strangely with the rank odor that was assaulting our noses. I wondered if the felt was absorbing the odor, and whether it would be possible to fumigate the banners.

  “Up there.” Chief Featherstone pointed at the choir loft, which was top-heavy with great looping ropes of ribbon-trimmed greenery.

  “Pretty powerful odor to be coming from way up there.” Grandfather sounded dubious.

  “Unfortunately, it’s not just coming from up there,” Chief Featherstone said. “One of my men reported that in spraying Mr. Dandridge, the skunk or skunks also appear to have scored a direct hit on an intake duct for the air circulation system.”

  “That’s going to be a challenge for the church, isn’t it?” Grandfather said. “Well, how do we get up there?”

  He struck a familiar pose: shoulders back, chin high, mouth firmly set, visibly determined to push through all obstacles. If we were filming one of his nature specials, this would be the signal that he was about to jump in the tank with the sharks, crawl into the lion’s den, step out into the path of the charging elephant, grasp the rattlesnake’s head, or whatever other foolhardy and camera-worthy stunt he’d come up with.

  It would have looked more dramatic if he hadn’t chosen to pose in front of a banner filled with several dozen cottonball sheep with broad black pipe-cleaner grins.

  “I don’t think there are enough handholds to do a free climb up there,” I said. “But we could get some ropes and rappel up. Or— Wait! There’s no camera crew. Why don’t we just take the stairs?”

  “Better yet, there’s an elevator,” Chief Burke said. “We installed it to make sure the less spry members of the choir could save their breath for singing.”

  “I’m perfectly able to climb a few steps,” Grandfather began.

  “And so am I,” Chief Burke replied. “But since it doesn’t look as if we’ll be finished here any time soon, I think we should save our energy. Follow me.”

  He set off at a brisk pace toward the back of the church and to my relief, Grandfather followed.

  The elevator was so small it
could only fit two people at a time, so the fire chief and I waited below while Chief Burke and Grandfather went up. As soon as the elevator door closed, Chief Featherstone beckoned to the firefighter who had been trailing us. The firefighter handed me something. Another insectoid helmet.

  “In case you change your mind when we get up there,” Chief Featherstone said.

  “I already have.” With his help, I donned the helmet. The firefighter strapped on the attached oxygen tank and I sucked greedily at air that was gloriously free of skunk odor.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I’m having another brought up,” he said. “Maybe we can shove your grandfather into it before he pukes.”

  The elevator returned and we rode up in anxious silence. My heart was beating a little fast when the door opened to reveal ground zero of the skunk smell.

  Chapter 4

  Luckily we peered out before exiting. The skunk cage—a huge thing, six feet square and nearly as tall—was perilously close to the elevator door. Easy to see how Mr. Dandridge had stumbled into it. Several of the skunks turned when the elevator door opened and were hissing at us. One of them appeared to be pounding his front feet on the ground. Several others were doing the same thing in the other direction, where Grandfather and Chief Burke were. Apparently they’d managed to make their way to the other side of the choir loft, where there was room to stand a lot farther from the cage.

  “How far can those things spray?” I called over to Grandfather.

  “Maybe twenty-five or thirty feet,” he said. “But they’re only accurate to about ten feet.”

  Since the cage was only about twelve or fifteen feet from the open elevator door, I didn’t find that reassuring.

  “Come out of the elevator very slowly,” Grandfather said. “And hug the wall all the way to the back of the loft. Then you can work your way across to here. And if one of them turns around and lifts his tail really high, run like hell.”