“Does he go to twelve-step meetings?” I asked.
“All the time,” Randall said. “It was a condition of his parole and still is a condition of his employment.”
“That could partly explain it,” I said. “Trinity hosts a lot of them.”
“Yes.” Randall sounded angry all of a sudden. “So if you’re suggesting maybe Duane wandered out of a twelve-step meeting, ran into Mr. Vess and killed him—”
“Not what I was suggesting.” I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just thinking that if someone spotted Duane when he was on his way to a twelve-step meeting, he might have looked a little … uncomfortable.”
“Try anxious and guilt-ridden and yes, more than a little furtive,” Randall said. “I like that theory better. He hates going, but he knows he has to. Look—I don’t think Duane was up to anything. But I can’t swear to it. All I can say is that if he was, we’re not going to protect him. And in case you’re curious, yes, the chief knows what he’s been up to with the stolen ducks. And I aim to find out if he’s been up to anything else.”
He looked upset.
“As you say, every family has its black sheep,” I said. “Remind me to tell you about some of ours some time.”
He smiled slightly.
“When things are quieter, I just might take you up on that.”
He nodded and strode off.
Chapter 32
I wasn’t sure if I felt reassured or more anxious about Duane Shiffley. I felt sure Randall would find out everything his cousin had been up to. And a good thing, too, since nothing Randall had said explained why Duane would have wandered down the hallway that housed only a few offices and locked storage closets.
Though maybe I could come up with an explanation of my own. Yes, Trinity hosted a lot of twelve-step meetings, but every church in town hosted a few, along with a variety of outreach and support groups. They’d all been pieces on my schedule—smaller pieces, pieces I’d tried to move as little as possible, because I sensed the attendees might be a lot less comfortable about relocating than catechism students or participants in the quilting circle. Maybe Duane was trying to find someone he could ask where to find a meeting he’d been planning to attend. Or looking for a posted schedule.
I realized I hadn’t even asked Randall about the incredible coincidence of Duane’s selling Rob—and presumably a few other people—stolen ducks on the same night someone had stolen all those hundreds of ducks from Quincy’s farm.
And I wondered what Randall had been coming to see the chief about. Not, I hoped, something important, since he was now driving away. Going to deal with Duane, perhaps?
I strolled inside the police station. On the counter inside was a little two-foot Christmas tree that looked pretty normal until you got close enough to realize that instead of ordinary ornaments it was festooned with gold-colored toy police badges and tiny silver guns. The silver garland wound around it was made of dozens of miniature silver handcuffs linked together, and the angel on top was actually a blond police officer Barbie doll with glitter-flecked gossamer wings attached to the back of her blue uniform.
“Hey, girl!” It was my friend Aida Butler, one of the chief’s deputies, who was sitting behind the front desk. “What did you think of Kayla at the concert?”
I enthused for a while over the concert. I wanted to ask about her nephew Ronnie, but I couldn’t figure out a good way to bring it up. I settled for praising her daughter.
“I don’t understand why Kayla didn’t do the solo,” I said. “The girl who did it was okay, but Kayla’s better.”
“Yeah,” Aida said. “Of course, the soloist’s father is the church treasurer—maybe Lightfoot’s angling for a raise. Or it could just be that Kayla’s mouthy. And before you say it, yeah, she takes after her mother that way. She made the mistake of talking back to Lightfoot and now fat chance of her getting a solo while he’s in charge. And she’s not the only one. The man is ruining our choir.”
“Maybe they won’t renew his contract.” I was dying to tell her what Minerva had said, but I didn’t dare.
“Let’s hope so. Lord forgive me, when I heard about the murder, I couldn’t help wondering for a moment if Lightfoot was the victim. Not hoping, mind you, but wondering. And I wasn’t a bit relieved when I found out it was that harmless old man instead.”
“He wasn’t that harmless,” I said.
“A lot of people wished him ill, then?” Aida perked up as if she found this interesting news.