Duck the Halls: A Meg Langslow Mystery (Meg Langslow Mysteries) (3 page)

“Or at least highly unlikely,” he continued, as he reached over and pulled the seatbelt back across his body. “They’d all be asleep.”

“You mean skunks hibernate?”

“No, but they sleep a lot more in the winter. Especially when it’s cold. And with this much snow on the ground, they’d probably be snowed in their dens. Sleeping the weather out. Someone probably just saw a black-and-white cat.” He closed his eyes and appeared to be settling back to continue his nap.

“Well, then we’ve got a whole cage of black-and-white cats, and at least one of them did a pretty good imitation of a skunk. Good enough to fool Mr. Dandridge into thinking he’d been sprayed in the eyes.”

Grandfather opened one eye.

“Good enough to fool Dad into taking Mr. Dandridge down to the hospital to see an ophthalmologist.”

Grandfather made a growling noise.

“Well, that could be, then,” he said. “And they wouldn’t like it if someone dragged them out of their dens in weather like this. And if you woke them up, they’d be downright peeved.”

Apparently they weren’t the only ones.

“So do you want to see the peeved skunks or do you want to go back to your den and sleep the weather out?”

He reached over, pulled a tissue from a box on the floor, and blew his nose. Then his eyes lit up.

“Ah, yes!” He sniffed appreciatively a few times, like a wine connoisseur assessing the bouquet of a rare vintage. “You could be right. Help me out of this wretched seat,” he added, as he unfastened the seatbelt again.

I brought the seat back to its upright position and helped him down from the van. Then I turned off the engine, took the keys, locked the van, and scrambled to catch up with Grandfather, who had apparently regained his energy and was striding over to the two chiefs. I hoped he didn’t hit an ice patch on the way.

“I hear you have a skunk problem,” Grandfather said.

“Indeed,” Chief Burke said. “I don’t think you’ve met our new fire chief.”

After a round of introductions, Chief Featherstone held up a piece of headgear that looked like a cross between an astronaut’s helmet and a praying mantis’s head.

“You can put this on to go inside,” he said. “Can someone help Dr. Blake with the air tank?”

“‘Air tank’? Nonsense,” Grandfather boomed. “What do we need that for? I thought there wasn’t a fire.”

“There isn’t, but the skunk smell’s pretty overwhelming,” Chief Burke said. “We thought—”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “I’ve smelled a few skunks in my time. Hasn’t killed me yet. Come on; let’s get inside. It’s damned cold out here.”

With that he began striding toward the front doors of the church.

“I should go with him,” I said to Chief Burke, and took off in Grandfather’s wake.

The two chiefs followed more slowly, probably because they stopped to put on their own helmets and strap oxygen tanks on their backs. Another firefighter followed in their wake with an armload of some kind of gear. The half dozen gleaming white steps leading up to the church slowed Grandfather down and we all stepped together into the vestibule. It was a large entryway decorated from floor to ceiling with evergreens, gold tinsel, and red velvet bows. Along the walls were brightly colored felt appliquéd banners that looked to be the work of the Sunday school classes, each illustrating a different beloved Christmas carol. The contrast between the beautiful Christmas decorations and the overpowering skunk odor would have been funny if I wasn’t having so much trouble breathing.

Even Grandfather halted with a surprised look on his face. Evidently his head cold wasn’t giving him total immunity.

“Where did you say the spraying happened?” he asked.

“In the choir loft.” Chief Featherstone’s voice was muffled by the breathing apparatus. He and Chief Burke looked rather insectoid, and the mechanical sound of their breathing was curiously unnerving, like sharing space with a pair of Darth Vaders.

Chief Featherstone marched across the vestibule and flung open the broad double doors into the sanctuary. As he was silhouetted in the doorway, I realized that even without the mask he was rather an odd figure, with a stout, barrel-shaped body perched on the thinnest legs I’d ever seen.

We followed him and stood just inside the doorway. I was beginning to regret hastily scampering after Grandfather without demanding that the fire chief lend me my own breathing apparatus.

The New Life sanctuary always overwhelmed me when I first walked in. Not so much because of its beauty, although the soaring expanses of light oak and whitewashed walls looked particularly elegant with all the evergreen, tinsel, and ribbon. No, it was the size that always got me—the place was so incredibly huge. The stained-glass windows wouldn’t have been out of place in a medieval cathedral. And at the back of the church the choir loft, looming high over the altar, could probably fit almost as many people as the entire sanctuary of Trinity Episcopal, where Michael, the boys, and I had begun going a lot more regularly now that Mother had been elected to the vestry.

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.

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.

I also found myself studying the choir loft with amusement. The top half—everything that could be seen from the main body of the church below—was pristine and festooned, like the rest of the church, with evergreen, gold tinsel, and red velvet. Red velvet cushions softened the pews at the back and the sturdy wooden folding chairs in the remaining space. But at floor level, where the congregation couldn’t see, I could see untidy stacks of music books and loose sheet music, trash cans overflowing with water bottles and candy wrappers, odd misplaced garments—the same sort of homely clutter that I’d seen accumulate backstage at the shows Michael directed or acted in at the college.

And how much of it, decorations and personal clutter, had been ruined by skunk spray and would have to be thrown out. I glanced back at the skunk cage.

“Someone has a sense of humor.” I pointed to one corner of the cage, which was decorated with a single, bright-red stick-on bow.

“There’s no way that cage came up in the elevator,” Chief Featherstone said.

“I suspect it’s also too big for the stairs,” Chief Burke said. “Which means either the perpetrators brought up the pieces and assembled it here before putting in the skunks or, more likely, they winched it up over the front of the choir loft.”

“Probably the only feasible way for us to get it down.” Chief Featherstone was leaning out over the edge of the balcony and studying the beams.

“Agreed,” Chief Burke said. “But I want my crime scene specialist to examine those beams first, for any trace evidence.”

“You have a full-time crime scene specialist?” Chief Featherstone sounded surprised.

“Officially he’s a deputy,” Chief Burke said. “But he was a full-time crime scene specialist for York County before joining my staff, so when we do need forensic work, he’s available.”

I felt sorry for the crime scene specialist, who happened to be my cousin Horace Hollingsworth. He wasn’t keen on heights, and I was pretty sure he’d be spooked at having to do forensics in close proximity to so many skunks. And if I got the chance, I’d warn him not to pass up the offer of breathing apparatus.

Just then the firefighter who’d trailed us into the church emerged from a doorway behind us. Evidently there was a stairwell on this side of the loft. I wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that I didn’t have to go near the skunks on the way out or annoyed that no one had properly explained the geography before we’d come up to the loft. The firefighter began outfitting Grandfather with his own helmet and oxygen tank. Grandfather made surprisingly little protest.

“How many of the blasted things are there?” Chief Burke asked.

“I count twelve.” My grandfather had pulled out the pocket binoculars he always carried and was studying the skunks through them. “Nine full grown and three half grown.”

“Definitely a surfeit of skunks,” Chief Featherstone said, with a chuckle.

“If you ask me, one skunk’s a surfeit when it’s someplace you don’t want it,” Chief Burke said.

“More interesting is the fact that at least one of them isn’t a common striped skunk.” Grandfather pointed toward the cage. “See that one that’s gray and white instead of black and white? That would appear to be a domesticated skunk—possibly gone feral.”

“Pet skunks aren’t legal in Virginia,” Chief Burke said.

“Then you’ll have one more thing to charge the perpetrators with when we find them,” I said.

“Which shouldn’t be too hard.” Chief Featherstone was becoming almost jovial, perhaps because this call was turning out to be everyone’s problem but his. “Look for the guys who reek like polecats.”

“Actually, they might have managed to avoid being sprayed,” Grandfather said. “If they knew something about safely handling skunks.”

“There’s a safe way to handle skunks?” Chief Featherstone asked.

“If I wanted to move that cage without getting skunked,” Grandfather said. “First thing I’d do is make a cover for it.”

“What kind of cover?” Chief Burke asked.

“Opaque,” Grandfather said. “Something that covers all four sides and the top. If you look close, you’ll see the bottom is solid.” He handed the Chief Burke his binoculars.

“So they’re less likely to spray if they can’t see us?” Chief Burke was peering intently at the cage. “Why is that?”

“They’re smart,” Grandfather said. “They know they have a finite amount of spray before they run out, and if they use it all up, it could take a day or two to replenish. And if a predator figures out they can’t spray, they’re dead ducks. So they’re much less likely to spray if they don’t see a good target. That’s why they do all that hissing and foot stomping we saw. Usually they can scare off predators without having to spray.”