Duck the Halls(7)

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.”

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.