And she noted that she’d sent me an electronic copy as well. Fabulous. There was no need to reinvent the wheel—I could just take her file and add another column for each room available in the county’s unskunked churches and whatever other venues we could find. Sorting the events into the available spaces would be easy.
Okay, not easy. Doable.
But to do that I’d need to run home to get my laptop. And speaking of home—I pulled out my cell phone. Nine o’clock. Not too early to call Rose Noire and check on the boys.
I called home. Michael answered.
“Jamie and Josh’s residence.” I could hear peals of childish laughter in the background.
“Good,” I said. “Chief Featherstone finally sent you home.”
“I feel guilty,” he said. “Some of the guys are still there helping with the cleanup. But I got a reprieve because I spent so much time helping Horace in the choir loft. The chief assigned someone else to stay with him till the bitter end. And I do mean bitter.”
“You’re going to get some rest now, right?”
“I’m going to take the boys to town this morning to shop for your Christmas present.”
“Hamsters!” piped up a small voice in the background.
“Sshh! Want surprise Mommy,” said another small voice.
“Please convince them that I don’t need any hamsters,” I said. “I know the boys think they’re cute and cuddly, but they’re just rodents to me. And if you ask me, we have more than enough pets already.”
“I’ve told them,” he said. “Hang on a sec.” I heard footsteps, and then a door closing. “Back,” he said. “Out in the hall, so they can’t hear me. I completely agree with you about the hamster thing. I have no intention of taking them anywhere near the pet store or any other establishment where rodents of any kind can be acquired.”
“Just make sure they don’t talk Rob into taking them,” I said. “Or Dad.”
“Or your grandfather, or my mother,” Michael said. “Understood. I’ve spoken to the owner of the pet shop and the manager of the animal shelter. If anyone from either of our families shows up attempting to buy or adopt hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, rats, or mice, they’ll be told that all the available rodents are already bought or adopted and are waiting for their new families to pick them up. There will be no rodents on the Waterston-Langslow homestead, apart from those the barn cats are supposed to be dealing with.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I wish you’d just stay home and rest, but if you’re coming into town anyway, could you drop my laptop off at Trinity Episcopal? I’m helping out with the effort to find places to relocate all the New Life concerts, services, classes, and social events.”
“Can do,” he said. “And don’t worry. As soon as I talk the boys into some kind of sensible presents for you, I’ll bring them home so we can all nap in preparation for tonight’s concert.”
“Good plan.”
We signed off and I returned to my task. I discovered that in addition to her very detailed schedule, Robyn had given me a list of the other clergymen in town, with their e-mails, office, and cell phones.
I had been fond of Father Rufus, our previous rector, a genial soul who habitually walked about so deep in thought that he bumped into walls and had been known to get lost while traveling from his study to the pulpit. Not everyone liked the tidal wave of energy and efficiency Robyn brought to the parish, but if you asked me, they were exactly what it needed.
And it looked as if she’d already done a good half of the job I’d been assigned.
I couldn’t do much more until Michael arrived with my laptop, so I decided to see how the concert preparations were going.
Chapter 8
I stepped outside my temporary office and walked up the small hallway, past Robyn’s study and toward the archway that opened into the vestibule. I stopped in the archway and stared in amazement at the frantic activity taking place. I recognized several Shiffleys—relatives of the mayor and probably employees of his family’s construction company—hauling lumber and tools into the main body of the church, from which sounds of sawing and hammering emerged. Matrons from the Ladies’ Auxiliary and St. Clotilda’s Guild were scurrying back and forth carrying stacks of prayer books and hymnals; music stands; bundles of red satin and gold lamé choir robes; armloads of holly, ivy, and evergreen; real and battery-operated candles; and the several dozen near life-sized figures from the enormous Nativity scene that for the last few weeks had occupied the space between the communion rail and the first row of pews.