Duck the Halls

by Donna Andrews

Chief Featherstone and I looked at each other.

  “Well, let’s get this over with,” I said.

  I went first. The skunks seemed to hiss a lot more, and two of them hurled themselves against the side of the cage, as if trying to charge me. They became even more agitated when the fire chief followed me, but seemed to calm down in direct proportion to how far we were from the cage. Eventually, we joined the others, who were studying the cage from the safer distance of about thirty feet.

  I also found myself studying the choir loft with amusement. The top half—everything that could be seen from the main body of the church below—was pristine and festooned, like the rest of the church, with evergreen, gold tinsel, and red velvet. Red velvet cushions softened the pews at the back and the sturdy wooden folding chairs in the remaining space. But at floor level, where the congregation couldn’t see, I could see untidy stacks of music books and loose sheet music, trash cans overflowing with water bottles and candy wrappers, odd misplaced garments—the same sort of homely clutter that I’d seen accumulate backstage at the shows Michael directed or acted in at the college.

  And how much of it, decorations and personal clutter, had been ruined by skunk spray and would have to be thrown out. I glanced back at the skunk cage.

  “Someone has a sense of humor.” I pointed to one corner of the cage, which was decorated with a single, bright-red stick-on bow.

  “There’s no way that cage came up in the elevator,” Chief Featherstone said.

  “I suspect it’s also too big for the stairs,” Chief Burke said. “Which means either the perpetrators brought up the pieces and assembled it here before putting in the skunks or, more likely, they winched it up over the front of the choir loft.”

  “Probably the only feasible way for us to get it down.” Chief Featherstone was leaning out over the edge of the balcony and studying the beams.

  “Agreed,” Chief Burke said. “But I want my crime scene specialist to examine those beams first, for any trace evidence.”

  “You have a full-time crime scene specialist?” Chief Featherstone sounded surprised.

  “Officially he’s a deputy,” Chief Burke said. “But he was a full-time crime scene specialist for York County before joining my staff, so when we do need forensic work, he’s available.”

  I felt sorry for the crime scene specialist, who happened to be my cousin Horace Hollingsworth. He wasn’t keen on heights, and I was pretty sure he’d be spooked at having to do forensics in close proximity to so many skunks. And if I got the chance, I’d warn him not to pass up the offer of breathing apparatus.

  Just then the firefighter who’d trailed us into the church emerged from a doorway behind us. Evidently there was a stairwell on this side of the loft. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that I didn’t have to go near the skunks on the way out or annoyed that no one had properly explained the geography before we’d come up to the loft. The firefighter began outfitting Grandfather with his own helmet and oxygen tank. Grandfather made surprisingly little protest.

  “How many of the blasted things are there?” Chief Burke asked.

  “I count twelve.” My grandfather had pulled out the pocket binoculars he always carried and was studying the skunks through them. “Nine full grown and three half grown.”

  “Definitely a surfeit of skunks,” Chief Featherstone said, with a chuckle.

  “If you ask me, one skunk’s a surfeit when it’s someplace you don’t want it,” Chief Burke said.

  “More interesting is the fact that at least one of them isn’t a common striped skunk.” Grandfather pointed toward the cage. “See that one that’s gray and white instead of black and white? That would appear to be a domesticated skunk—possibly gone feral.”

  “Pet skunks aren’t legal in Virginia,” Chief Burke said.

  “Then you’ll have one more thing to charge the perpetrators with when we find them,” I said.

  “Which shouldn’t be too hard.” Chief Featherstone was becoming almost jovial, perhaps because this call was turning out to be everyone’s problem but his. “Look for the guys who reek like polecats.”

  “Actually, they might have managed to avoid being sprayed,” Grandfather said. “If they knew something about safely handling skunks.”

  “There’s a safe way to handle skunks?” Chief Featherstone asked.

  “If I wanted to move that cage without getting skunked,” Grandfather said. “First thing I’d do is make a cover for it.”

  “What kind of cover?” Chief Burke asked.

  “Opaque,” Grandfather said. “Something that covers all four sides and the top. If you look close, you’ll see the bottom is solid.” He handed the Chief Burke his binoculars.

  “So they’re less likely to spray if they can’t see us?” Chief Burke was peering intently at the cage. “Why is that?”

  “They’re smart,” Grandfather said. “They know they have a finite amount of spray before they run out, and if they use it all up, it could take a day or two to replenish. And if a predator figures out they can’t spray, they’re dead ducks. So they’re much less likely to spray if they don’t see a good target. That’s why they do all that hissing and foot stomping we saw. Usually they can scare off predators without having to spray.”

  “So we put a cover on the cage and they won’t spray us?” Chief Burke said.

  “Probably won’t spray us,” Grandfather corrected. “I’d still keep my distance. The adolescents might be a little trigger-happy.”

  Chief Burke nodded.

  “I think I’ll call Randall Shiffley about this,” he said. And then, turning to Chief Featherstone he added, “Mayor Shiffley’s family owns both a construction company and a moving company. Between the two of them, they should be able to figure out how to get this confounded cage out of the choir loft.”

  He turned back to Grandfather.

  “So who, apart from zoologists, would know about how to handle a caged skunk safely?” he asked.

  “Hmmm.” Grandfather looked thoughtful. “Animal control officers. Veterinarians, as long as they’ve worked at a zoo or wildlife shelter. Maybe hunters. Domestic skunk breeders. Maybe someone who works at a pest control company, one that includes wild animal relocation in its services.”

  “Great,” I said. “We’re in a county full of hunters, where wild animals regularly stray into people’s yards and houses, near a college with a graduate zoology program, and just down the street from a small but world-famous private zoo. Isn’t there anything we can think of to narrow the chief’s pool of suspects?”

  Everyone fell silent for a few moments. We were all frowning and thinking—except for Grandfather, who had returned to studying the skunks through his binoculars. Then Chief Featherstone spoke up.

  “We saw no signs of a breakin,” he offered. “So it would have to be someone who knows something about skunks and has access to the church.”

  Chief Burke frowned, no doubt because that meant the prankster was more than likely a fellow member of the New Life congregation.

  “Not necessarily,” I said. “There were a lot of people at the choir rehearsal last night.”

  “Weren’t they mostly family of choir members?” Chief Burke asked.

  “Not entirely.” I shook my head. “I was there. Aida Butler was on patrol last night, so I brought her daughter to the rehearsal.”

  “One of my deputies,” Chief Burke said to Chief Featherstone.

  “And I saw Abe and Rivka Sass.” I was ticking off the non-Baptists in attendance on my fingers. “They’re taking off on a cruise tomorrow and won’t get to see tonight’s concert so I assume they got permission to come to the dress rehearsal. And they weren’t the only ones. There’s pretty much an open door for rehearsals.”

  Chief Burke winced and nodded.

  “What’s all this about a concert?” Chief Featherstone asked.

  “Everyone wants to hear the New Life choir’s Christmas performance,” I said. “But most people also want to att
end Christmas services at their own church, and on top of that on Christmas the New Life Church is full to overflowing with just the congregation. So they always give a concert on the last Saturday before Christmas. This year, it’s tonight.”

  “You may have to reschedule the concert, then,” Chief Featherstone said. “’Cause there’s no way this church is going to be fit for human habitation by tonight.”

  I winced. I didn’t look forward to breaking the news to Jamie and Josh if the concert were canceled.

  A deputy popped in from the stairwell just behind us.

  “Chief,” the deputy said. “Reverend Wilson’s downstairs. Wants to know what’s happening with his church.”

  From the chief’s pained expression, I deduced that he did not relish breaking the bad news to his pastor.

  “Want me to go along and help?” Chief Featherstone said.

  “I appreciate the offer, but maybe I should be the one,” Chief Burke said.

  With that we all trooped down the stairs. Even Grandfather, who looked preoccupied.

  Chapter 5

  When we exited the church we spotted Reverend Wilson’s small, stooped frame at the bottom of the building’s front steps. He looked every one of his eighty-some years, and the expression on his round dark face was one of profound anxiety—almost pain. Michael was standing just behind him, breathing apparatus pushed back on top of his head. He appeared to be hovering, as if worried about the elderly minister.

  “How bad is it, Henry?” Reverend Wilson called out when we appeared in the doorway.

  “Pretty bad, Ambrose,” Chief Burke said.

  Chief Burke pushed back his mask and went down the steps and stood talking to Reverend Wilson in a low tone. Someone had turned on all the outside illumination, including all the strings of holiday lights, which twinkled with incongruous gaiety behind them.

  Chief Featherstone strolled back inside the vestibule to confer with some of his men. Grandfather and I stood on the steps of the church. I realized I was feeling a little claustrophobic in the breathing apparatus, so I pushed the mask back and took a few deep breaths. Grandfather followed suit. The air might have smelled pretty bad to anyone who hadn’t been inside the church, but I found it refreshing. Grandfather seemed to feel the same, so we stood side by side for a few moments, breathing and surveying the scene below.

  The church looked almost festive now, with the holiday lights twinkling and spotlights illuminating the larger-than-life plaster Nativity scene on the front lawn. You could almost imagine that the small groups of people dotting the parking lot had come to carol. Even the flashing red and blue lights of the fire engines and police cruisers seemed to add a curiously festive note.

  “So tell me,” Grandfather said. “Did I sleep through the part where we found out who did this stupid prank and why?”

  “No,” I said. “Still a mystery.” Although I wondered if it was necessarily a complete mystery to Chief Burke. Quite apart from the knowledge of Caerphilly and its inhabitants he’d picked up in his years as police chief and deputy sheriff, he was a member of the New Life Baptist congregation. If the church had enemies outside or malcontents within, he probably already knew all about it.

  And fat chance getting him to say anything before he was ready.

  “Well, time’s a-wasting,” Grandfather said. “We need to get Caroline over here.” His old friend and frequent partner in mischief, Caroline Willner, ran a wildlife sanctuary about an hour’s drive from Caerphilly. “We could use her help with these skunks.”

  “I thought you were the skunk expert,” I said.

  “Yes, but she’s had a lot more hands-on experience with skunk removals,” he said. “I suppose it’s a little too early to call her.”

  “It’s a lot too early to call her.” I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. “It’s only a little past five. Let me take you home where it’s warm.”

  “I should wait till six,” he said.

  “You should wait till nine, at least,” I said. “She needs her sleep, especially if you want her to drive all the way up here to—”

  “Ah,” he said. “There she is now. She must have heard the sirens, too.”

  He hurried down the steps to where he had spotted the short, plump figure of Caroline Willner. Beside her was Mother, looking as tall and willowy as ever in spite of the heavy winter coat she was wearing.

  “No one tells me anything,” I muttered as I fell in step beside Grandfather. “I gather she came up for the holidays?”

  “And to see my new marmots,” Grandfather said. “We’re having a special exhibit to raise funds for the Vancouver Island marmot. Fascinating creatures.”

  “I should have known a mere human holiday wouldn’t be enough to drag her up here,” I replied.

  “Merry Christmas, Meg!” Caroline enveloped me in a hug as we joined them.

  Mother leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Such a relief that it’s not actually a fire,” she murmured. “What are Michael and Rob thinking, volunteering for something so dangerous? You’d think they were still in their twenties.”

  I shook my head. If she was expecting an explanation, she’d have to get it from Michael and Rob—I agreed with her.

  “We need to help the fire and police departments,” Grandfather was saying to Caroline. “Someone brought a cage into the church that contains twelve Mephitis mephitis.”

  “Twelve!” Caroline looked startled. “Oh, my. That’s a very large family group.”

  “From what I’ve observed of their behavior, I don’t think they’re all related,” Grandfather said. “Are you missing any skunks?”

  “No.” Caroline shook her head firmly. “It’s been an unusually slow season for skunks, ever since about September. Normally this time of year, between nearby county animal control officers and the private companies that specialize in wild animal removals, we’d have gotten a few injured ones to rehabilitate and a couple dozen to rehome, but we’ve only had three all season.”

  The two of them immediately drew aside and fell into an intense discussion about whether rabies, distemper, canine hepatitis, leptospirosis, or several other polysyllabic diseases were affecting the local skunk population enough to reduce the number of rescues she was seeing. I focused on whether I should tell the chief about Caroline’s skunk shortage, since it seemed to give a potentially useful clue to finding out where the skunks had come from. If there were any animal control officers or pest removal experts nearby with a grudge against the New Life Baptist Church—

  “Meg, dear.” Mother was looking stern. “How bad is it?”

  “The church, you mean?” I asked. “It reeks. They have a hideous cleanup ahead of them, and for all I know, they might have to replace some of the wood and fabric that got sprayed. I’m not sure you can ever get the smell out of something organic.”

  Mother nodded grimly.

  “I’m glad I got to hear the dress rehearsal last night,” I added. “Because there’s no way they’re going to be able to give a concert in there tonight. And the boys will be inconsolable. What a pity.”

  “We must do something!” Mother was using her Joan of Arc voice.

  I felt a sudden wave of tiredness wash over me and yawned, hoping against hope that I wasn’t going to be included in her “we.”

  “They will need a great deal of help for the cleanup,” Mother said. “And the concert must go on! I will speak to the rector. And the ladies of St. Clotilda’s Guild.”

  I was relieved. So far I’d managed to resist Mother’s attempts to enlist me in the guild, which was Trinity Episcopal’s chief women’s organization for church and community good works. So while I probably couldn’t escape being sucked into the cleanup and whatever Mother had in mind for finding the concert a new venue, at least her organizing talents would be spread across the entire membership of the guild, and not focused solely on me.

  “And look!” Mother’s voice held a note of warm approval. “There�
��s the dear rector now.”

  I still did a double take when Mother used “dear rector” to refer to the new pastor of Trinity Episcopal. Most people just called her Robyn. Sometimes Reverend Smith if they didn’t know her that well, and in a few cases “that new girl” if they were traditionalists and disapproved of her gender and relative youth. Mother had fallen initially into the “new girl” camp until she figured out that Robyn’s theological stance corresponded almost exactly to her own: liberal social views and a very traditional high-church liturgy. And when Mother had discovered that Robyn shared her fascination with interior decorating, she skipped over the “Robyn” and “Reverend Smith” phases entirely.

  “This is terrible!” Robyn was exclaiming. “I hear their church will be unusable for days. What a sore trial at any time, but at Christmas! We must do something!”

  “Several somethings,” Mother agreed. “What did you have in mind?”

  “As soon as it’s decent, we should start calling people,” Robyn went on. “We can get together a work detail to help with the cleanup.”

  “I doubt if they’ll have the skunks removed and the crime scene processed for several hours,” I said. “You’ll have plenty of time to organize the work detail.”

  I didn’t add that given the enormous size of the New Life congregation, they might not be all that short of helping hands. Why rain on an impulse that was both neighborly and ecumenical?

  “I think the bigger problem may be finding a space for their concert,” I went on. “It could be a day or two before the church is habitable.”

  “They’re welcome to use our sanctuary,” Robyn said. “I’m not sure we could fit in half the people who want to come. But we’ll work out something.”

  “Reverend Wilson!” Mother called.

  Reverend Wilson, who was still talking to Chief Burke and Michael, looked up. He returned Mother’s wave and the three of them headed over to join us.

  “What a trial for you and your congregation!” Robyn said, taking both of Reverend Wilson’s hands in hers. “All our prayers are with you, of course. And we’re going to bring in some hands to help with cleanup. Have you thought of another space for the concert yet?”