“Well,” the chief prompted.
“Jerome Lightfoot.”
Chapter 34
The chief didn’t seem thrilled to hear this.
“I can see the headlines already,” he said. “‘Baptist Choir Director Bludgeons Elderly Man in Church Basement.’”
“‘Elderly Blackmailer,’” I suggested.
“Not much better,” the chief said. “We need to pick him up. Vern, Horace—hang on; I’ll get his exact address from Debbie Ann.”
“And she can put out a BOLO, in case he’s not home,” Vern said.
The chief nodded. He was already punching buttons on his cell phone.
“Debbie Ann,” he said. “I need an address on Jerome Lightfoot … One fourteen West Street. Right. He’s a suspect in the murder.… Right.”
I pulled my latest schedule copy out of my purse and scanned it.
“He’s supposed to be over at the Lutheran church right now,” I said. “He had me schedule another rehearsal with some of his soloists. Of course, there’s no guarantee he’ll be there, especially if he suspects you’re on to him.”
“You heard the lady,” the chief said. “Horace, you go to West Street. Vern, hit the church.”
Vern and Horace nodded and disappeared.
“Who’s going to direct the choir at services tomorrow and on Christmas Day if you arrest Lightfoot?” I asked.
“That’s for the choir to decide,” the chief said. “Though I do know Minerva has been saying for weeks that she could do a better job than Lightfoot even if she was blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back. Well, the place is all yours.” The chief stood up and rubbed his back as if it ached. “I’m going to break the news to Minerva and Reverend Wilson.”
I pulled out my cell phone. I should probably call a few people and tell them that Trinity was available. Or have a small celebration that I didn’t have to do yet another draft of the schedule to move all of Trinity’s many Christmas Eve events to someplace else. Or notify Randall and Aida that at least their nephews were off the hook for the murder.
No time to do any of it. I glanced at my watch and realized it was high time I headed home. Michael was performing his one-man show of A Christmas Carol in a few hours, and between now and then I had to get myself and the boys fed and dressed.
Probably best just to let today’s schedule run its course. And luckily I’d left tomorrow’s schedule alone, hoping that the chief would finish with Trinity today, so I didn’t have to rearrange that at all.
I turned out the light, left my office, and trudged down to the parish hall where the coffee machine was kept. I decided a little caffeine would help my trip home.
As I waited for the water to trickle down into my cup, I dug into my purse and dropped some change into the jar kept for that purpose. As dark and quiet as the church was, I could well imagine the ghost of Barliman Vess appearing to chide me if I didn’t.
I sipped my coffee as I headed back to the vestibule.
And just as I was about to go out the front door, I noticed that the lights were back on in my little office.
I walked down to it as quietly as I could, more than half expecting to find it filled with sheep or wombats.
Instead I found Robyn and Chief Featherstone.
“Oh, dear.” Robyn was shaking her head while looking around at all the furniture and boxes that filled all but the tiny space around my desk.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Hi, Meg. I’m afraid the fire chief isn’t happy with your office.”
“It’s a fire hazard,” Chief Featherstone said.
“It’s not Meg’s fault,” Robyn hurried to say. “She’s only been using it a few days.”
“I had a report last week that there were parts of the church that constituted a fire hazard,” Chief Featherstone said to me. “I told the reverend here that I’d try to put off inspecting it until after the holidays. But now, with what’s happened…” He shook his head.
“I assume the basement is also in your sights,” I said.
He nodded.
“I completely understand,” Robyn said. “I know we should have done something about it weeks and weeks ago.”
“By ‘we’ don’t you mean Riddick?” I asked. “Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to arrange the estate sale?”
“Yes, but he was clearly in over his head,” Robyn said. “I’ve been trying for weeks to figure out a way to reassign the project without hurting his feelings.”
“Do you have someone willing to take it on?” I asked. Clearing out the basement was one thing, but arranging an auction and an estate sale? I had a premonition that the church-swapping schedule was suddenly going to need more work—at least it would if she was planning to enlist me.