“Far as I’m concerned. All I wondered was… what you’re planning to do about it.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to do anything about it?”

“Instinct. I can tell just looking at you. You don’t belong on some committee chewing doughnuts and bulleting action items. You belong on the front lines.”

“Front lines? Is there a war?”

“I think there is, yes. Don’t you?”

“Maybe.” He rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. “So what do you want?”

“I’d like to propose a mutually beneficial relationship for both of us. A win-win situation. You get what you want, I get what I want. We both fight for the causes we believe in. Sound good?”

“Couldn’t say. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you will. Soon enough. The great work has begun, you know.” The visitor’s eyes darkened. “But there’s still much to do. Ever so much more to do.”

Ben sat at the darkest corner of the long conference table, silently stewing. He hated meetings. And this had to be one of the worst.

“This is supposed to be a house of God, not a house of horrors!”

“And we’re supposed to be loving Christians, not back-stabbing assassins!”

“How can we behave as Christians when we’re living in the third circle of hell?”

“Should I be putting this in the minutes?”

Ben had known having a vestry meeting tonight, so soon after the discovery of another murder, would be a mistake. But no one would listen to him-not even his client, Father Beale. The work of the church must go on, he insisted. And the vestry must select someone else to lead it, now that Kate is gone. So the meeting was convened, and Susan Marino, a thirtyish woman who appeared to Ben much too nice to even be on this vestry, was chosen to lead it. And from the moment the senior warden position was filled, the meeting had been nothing but an acrimonious succession of accusations, backbiting, and venom.

To her credit, Susan managed to keep her voice calm and even. “Father Beale, surely you can see why many people think this would be an appropriate time for you to step down.”

“Yes, I certainly can. Politics.” Beale seemed badly shaken, both by the discovery of the body in his office and the battering he’d endured in this meeting, but it hadn’t quelled his vigor. “This latest tragedy involving poor Kate is nothing but an excuse to accomplish what you people have been trying to do for months.”

“I think we have valid reasons,” said Ernestine.

“As you did before,” Beale replied. “If you’ll recall, the matter was subjected to a full-blown trial. And you lost. And after the trial, you were instructed to give it up. Except apparently none of you were listening, because now, here it is again.”

Ruth, the vestry secretary, talked while simultaneously taking notes. “That is not precisely what Father Holbrook said.” She would be the one who knew, Ben realized. Probably had the man’s every word scribbled down somewhere. “Moreover, he specifically said that he would revisit the matter in six months and that his ruling was contingent upon Father Beale’s compliance with the conditions laid down by the adjudicative panel.”

“There have been some rather extenuating circumstances since the trial,” Ernestine replied. Her bearing and manner were, as always, upper-crust and domineering. She had not put her name forward for senior warden, but Ben suspected she considered herself the true leader of the vestry regardless of who sat in the end chair. “When tragedy mounts upon tragedy, it’s only natural for people to want… change.”

“What are you saying?” Beale asked.

Ernestine pressed her hand against her bosom. “I’m only saying that given the circumstances-”

“You’re saying I killed Kate, aren’t you? And Helen?”

A deathly silence fell over the parish hall. No one spoke. No one even moved.

“Well, listen up, people. I did not kill Kate. I did not kill Helen. Or anyone else. And I will not be railroaded out of this church based on these false-and damned convenient-accusations.”

Ben cleared his throat, even though at heart the last thing on earth he wanted to do was to attract attention at this little get-together. “Father Beale, as your legal representative, I must caution you again not to comment in any way on the murders.”

“I am an innocent man,” Beale insisted. “Why shouldn’t I say so?”

“Believe me-it’s for the best. Don’t refer to the murders at all.”

After another moment of silence, Susan reasserted herself. “Let’s approach this matter from a different direction.” Ben had learned Susan was a divorced mother of two who worked full-time as an accountant for WorldCom. A stressful situation, but possibly good training for conducting this meeting. “St. Benedict’s has always supported the Episcopal doctrine of lay leadership. As a member of the vestry, and now acting senior warden, I also support lay leadership.” Her eyes rose. “Do you, Father?”

“With all my heart and soul.”

“Then how can you… persist in this refusal to step down, when it is perfectly apparent that the majority of the vestry believe you should resign?”

“I believe in lay leadership as to administrative matters of the church. You decide when services start and who teaches Sunday school. You can hire and fire janitors and select the menu for Lenten dinners. You can do basically anything-except oppose the will of God.”

“Are you suggesting that you are the embodiment of the will of God?”

“Don’t be absurd. What I’m saying is simply that God called me to this church and his representative in this diocese, the bishop, installed me here. The vestry does not have the authority, legal or moral, to undermine those appointments. You’ve tried everything possible, and it has all been unavailing.”

Another member spoke, a slender young woman Ben had seen teaching Sunday school classes. Carol Mason. “Father, all we’re trying to do is find some peace and harmony for this church.”

“No, what you’re trying to do is use rumor and false witness to accomplish a political goal-getting rid of me.”

“Speaking for myself, Father, I would never accuse you of anything.” Despite her agitation, Carol was quite lovely, with delicate features and gorgeous blond hair. Ben felt his heart beating faster just watching her. “But I do think it might be best for the church if you resigned. Best for everyone. Including you.”

“Do you believe in the doctrine of divine commission?”

Carol stuttered. “W-well-of course.”

“Then you believe God calls people into service?”

“Ye-es…”

“As do I. I believe God called me to be a priest, and I believe he called me to St. Benedict’s. Come to think of it, Ruth, I recall you saying the same thing when you were on the search committee that first issued my invitation to come to St. Benedict’s. Do you recall that?”

Ruth nodded, not looking up.

“Then please answer this question for me: If God has called me to this church, what right do we have to thwart His desire?”

“Father…”

“It’s a serious question. Either you believe God has a plan or you don’t. And if He does, if I was brought to this church for a reason, how can we unravel His design?”

“We can’t,” said Masterson, the organist, who Ben knew had been at St. Benedict’s much longer than Father Beale. “At the same time, we don’t always know His design. We thought God called you to this parish. But obviously we were wrong. We made a mistake.”

“You’re still sulking about All Saints’ Day.”

“Does this relate to the murders?” Ben asked. An embarrassing question, but he didn’t even know when All Saints’ Day was, much less to what incident Father Beale was referring.

“No,” Father Beale answered. “This relates to our choirmaster pouting like a five-year-old because I instructed him to play ‘I Sing a Song of the Saints of God’ on All Saints’ Day.”