Free Duck the Halls: A Meg Langslow Mystery (Meg Langslow Mysteries) by Donna Andrews

care! Figure it out yourself!”
    At least every ten minutes either Lightfoot or Vess would appear in her office. Sometimes both at once. I never had any trouble overhearing every word they said. Usually they were complaining about each other, although both occasionally took a few verbal jabs at the Shiffleys doing the construction. Randall Shiffley showed up a couple of times to repeat that if everyone would stop bothering him and his crew they could have the construction finished by three o’clock when the choir practice was due to start. And Minerva Burke showed up a few times to calm down Lightfoot, who kept declaring the concert off. I finally decided he was serious, and apparently so did Minerva. A few minutes later, Reverend Wilson arrived and told Lightfoot off in the tone of voice he usually reserved for his summer revival hellfire and damnation sermons.
    “And if you still feel unable to continue,” the reverend boomed, in tones people could probably hear in the next county. “I’m sure Sister Burke here would be happy to take your place. The concert must and will go on!”
    After that Lightfoot made himself scarce for a while.
    Although after both Reverend Wilson and Robyn left, he and Vess both showed up again and turned their wrath on poor Riddick. After his first encounter with them, the poor man actually ducked into my office to hide from Lightfoot, only to be so startled at finding me there that he jumped and hit his head on the corner of a broken-down five-drawer wooden file cabinet.
    I jumped up to make sure he was all right, and closed my office door partway to conceal him.
    “Why do they have to be here?” he whispered. He was holding the heel of his hand to the brow ridge just above his right eye, and I remembered Mother saying that he was a martyr to migraines.
    “Well, Robyn did offer Reverend Wilson the use of Trinity for the concert,” I said. “And it’s a wonderful chance to show how well the church looks for the holiday. But I think you have a point. Mr. Lightfoot doesn’t seem to appreciate our hospitality, so while I’m rearranging, I’ll see if I can move any other events he’s involved in to other churches. The Catholics have a big sanctuary. Maybe I could schedule him there.”
    Riddick gave a weak smile and closed his eyes. I went back to my work, and he stood there, motionless, until the hallway outside grew silent again. Then he slipped out without saying anything.
    Would the church become more peaceful when the construction was finished and music took the place of hammering? Probably not. From what I’d seen at the last rehearsal, Lightfoot wouldn’t let them sing more than a few bars without cursing at them. Although at least he’d be yelling from farther away, not next door.
    And waiting for the chief to call me back was also wearing on my nerves. I’d called him shortly after arriving back at the church to tell him what I’d overheard. Of course I got his voice mail. Not knowing who might be around when he played it back, I’d made my message noncommittal.
    “Hi. It’s Meg Langslow. I overheard something this afternoon that might be relevant to the question of who pulled off that prank. Would be happy to fill you in at your convenience.”
    Was the investigation going so badly that he had no time to return my call? Or so well that my small clue was of no importance? Every time the phone rang, I had to remind myself not to sound cranky—it wasn’t my callers’ fault that they weren’t the chief.
    But it was their fault that they weren’t all being as organized and cooperative as they could be. Randall Shiffley strolled into my temporary office about the time my meds were wearing off, to hear me barking into the phone at the secretary of the Methodist church.
    “I said I’ll fix the problem!” I said. “But until further notice, the schedule stands!”
    I hung up and looked at Randall, fully expecting him to make some unreasonable request or point out some