“All the way. He loves hymns and hates praise music.” He chuckled. “And so does Lily Kirk. Yesterday, someone dressed up the statue of Moira McGregor in Founders Park to look like Lily and put a sign around her neck. ‘Attention, all pigeons in the vicinity of Glory. Please show Ms. Kirk what you think of the traditional service. The Phantom Avenger strikes again!’”
Emma tried not to laugh, but a giggle came out nonetheless. She quickly said, “Who was the target of the fourth prank?”
Rafe seemed to fight back a smile. “Gary Porter—my boss. Yesterday, Chief Porter found a phony parking ticket tied to his radio antenna. It read, ‘Caught in the act of trafficking with blowhard Traditionalists who insist on buying an old-fashioned pipe organ. We believe that you would come to church regularly to worship at an arresting contemporary service. Don’t fail to yield!’”
“Is the chief a member of the church?”
“No, but his daughter is. Michelle Porter Engle.” Rafe gestured discreetly toward the petite redhead who stood chatting with Lily Kirk. “One of your fellow sopranos—and also a steadfast advocate of our traditional service.”
Emma leaned back against the wall. She really wanted to sit down, but the only unoccupied chairs were across the room. “How did I get lumped in with the Traditionalists?”
Rafe shrugged. “Most of the choir supports the traditional service. That’s the way I feel—and that’s how I had you pegged. The Avenger must have made the same mistake.”
“Do you know who the Phantom is?”
“I have my suspicions.” He chuckled.
“Are you going to do anything about it?”
“If you mean, do I plan to arrest the ringleaders, the answer is no. You won’t see any perps in handcuffs tonight.”
“I didn’t get my hopes up real high. I know how law enforcement works in small towns where everyone knows everyone else. I grew up in an even smaller town in northeastern Pennsylvania.”
“It’s not that simple. First, I haven’t been able to determine what crimes were committed. We don’t have a statute or ordinance that criminalizes the relocation of a big goldfish. Second, I don’t see any criminal intent in what was done—the pranks are technical violations, at worst. However…” Rafe’s expression became serious. “However, I plan to speak to the folks involved face-to-face and explain why you—and Richard Squires—are extremely displeased. I’ll try to arrange some free yard work in return for your three complimentary weekends.”
Emma took a moment to think about it. “That seems fair enough, considering no real damage was done. My porch is okay, and the couple from Baltimore drove north after breakfast. Case closed!” She peered at him. “Do cops really say that?”
“Sure. Except this case won’t be really closed until our church decides how to spend the six hundred thousand dollars.” Rafe looked down at his hands. “Paul was right—money is the root of all evil.”
“He didn’t write that.” Emma waited until Rafe glanced quizzically at her. “Paul had nothing against wealth. He warned us against the love of money.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Check out First Timothy. Chapter six. Near the middle.”
“I’m impressed. You know your Bible.” He offered a rueful smile. “I wish I did.”
“I’ve been studying the Bible since I was a kid.”
Rafe laughed. “A Bible whiz who refuses to join a church—that’s an odd combination.”
“Not really,” Emma said quietly. “I love Christianity. It’s those Christians that fight I can do without.”
THREE
The blue clapboard Victorian on Front Street was a smaller house than Rafe had wanted. It had only one full bathroom and a single-car garage, and cost half-again more than he had planned to spend, thanks to its stunning view of Albemarle Sound. But his teenage daughter, Kate, had loved the “gingerbread-detailed charmer” from the instant she saw its picture pinned up in the front window of the Realtor’s. That had been enough to sway Rafe.
Every light in the house was turned on when Rafe maneuvered his Corvette into the driveway—a gentle protest by Kate that he had left home before sunup and was returning fourteen hours later. A small-town policeman’s lot included long days, but Rafe usually managed to eat breakfast and supper at home. Today, the pranks had gotten in the way.
He found her in the living room watching a cheerleading DVD. He moved behind her and kissed the top of her head just as a blond cheerleader on the TV screen tumbled to the ground from the top of a three-layer pyramid of fellow cheerleaders.
“Oooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Kate said.
“Is this some sort of training video? Teaching you about safety, I hope.”
“Uh-uh. It’s an hour of cheerleading goofs and bloopers. Funny stuff.”
“Not for the gals who hit the ground hard. Or their parents.” Rafe came around to the front of the sofa and sat down next to Kate. She was fifteen, with a tall, long-legged, athletic build and a face that was pretty and intelligent at the same time. She had big brown eyes, fine features and shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. Rafe’s eyes flicked toward the framed photograph atop a bookcase. Kate was becoming more like her mother with every passing day.
“I’m on the freshman cheerleader squad, remember?” Kate said. “No jumps or stunts or pyramids.”
“For which I am exceptionally grateful.”
She used the remote to turn off the TV. “Anything interesting happen today?”
He grinned and tapped the end of her nose. “A good try, but I’m sure that every kid in town knows about the Volkswagen.”
She countered by tapping his nose. “How was choir practice? Anything unusual happen?”
“Wow. You even know about the fight. I’m impressed—the power of cell phones in the hands of teenagers is awesome.”
Rafe felt sure that she cracked a smile.
“I didn’t arrest anyone tonight,” he said, “but I will if there are any more wrestling matches at church. We actually had a pretty good rehearsal after the hotheads cooled down.”
Kate nodded.
“My theory,” he said, “is that the epidemic of pranks in Glory has put lots of people on edge.”
Kate focused her eyes on the remote control in her lap.
“Let’s go off the record,” he said. “I want to send a message to the student who’s planning the gags. I presume you know who’s in charge, since you know everything about everyone under the age of twenty-one within a radius of fifty miles.”
“Why assume a kid is responsible?”
“Because I don’t know any adults who could convince the high school football team to move a Volkswagen Beetle from a parking lot to a porch.”
“It’s not that simple….” She finished the sentence with a shrug.
“No?”
“There isn’t a single student in charge—it’s more of a committee.”
“Committees have chairpersons.”
“This one has a book.”
“A book…?”
“Great