“Well…”

“When you investigate, do you wear disguises? Or do you prefer to stake people out?”

If only a lawyer’s life was as exciting as it seemed to a fifteen-year-old girl, Ben mused. “I have a private investigator who does most of that sort of thing,” Ben explained.

“Does he use disguises?”

“Oh, yes,” Ben said, trying not to laugh. “And accents and wardrobe. He has eighteen different ways of limping. He’s a veritable Laurence Olivier.”

“Way cool. Can I go on a stakeout with you sometime?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t think your mother would approve of that.”

Judy snorted. “I don’t think she’d ever notice.”

“I hardly think-”

“I want to help you, Ben. I feel it’s my duty to uncover the truth, being a member of this church and all.”

Maura giggled. “She just wants to get close to you.”

Judy jabbed her hard enough to leave a bruise. “I’d like to see you in the courtroom. I mean live, in person. It would be good experience. Like I told you, I want to be a lawyer someday.”

“Then the best thing you can do is read good books and concentrate on your schoolwork. Going on stakeouts won’t get you there.”

“But I need field experience!”

“All in good time.” Over her shoulder, he saw that Masterson had approached his music stand and was ready to begin. “We’d better get into our places.”

“All right,” Judy said. “But don’t forget. Next time there’s a big stakeout, I want to go!”

“I’ll make a note.”

Masterson, to his credit, managed to get through the rehearsal without so much as a mention of the murders or the trial. He did announce that they would be able to sing certain favored tunes that previously had been unavailable-no doubt an oblique reference to the fact that Father Beale had other things to do at the present than police the hymn list. But that was it. He took them through the songs in his usual professional manner. They ran through all the hymns for next Sunday’s service, then practiced the anthems they would sing during the offertory for the next three weeks. Next Sunday’s was one of Ben’s favorites-a tune called “The Gift of Love,” based upon the traditional Celtic folk melody “The Water Is Wide.” It was so beautiful it gave Ben chills, although the closing passage contained some high Fs and Gs that were out of his range, as well as that of most of the other tenors. Happily, tonight they had two teenage sopranos in the tenor section.

About three quarters of the way through the practice, Ben saw Ernestine slip quietly out the door. An odd thing for a devoted chorister to be doing, he thought. She had a determined expression on her face; Ben felt certain she wasn’t just going to the water fountain or the bathroom. Something else was going on.

Thirty seconds later, he was out the door, too.

He stayed well behind her, out of sight. Fortunately, there weren’t many places to go in a church building that wasn’t that large, so it wasn’t necessary to keep her in sight at all times. Given the direction she was headed down the corridor, she could only be moving toward the parish hall, the kitchen, or the Altar Guild office.

Ben casually eased over to an open door, hoping to get close enough to hear what was being said without attracting undue attention. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear most of what they were saying.

Alvin Greene was speaking. He sounded agitated. “You have to give me more time.”

“I’ve already given you too much.”

“But I need more!” Alvin was begging like a baby. “You don’t know what it’s been like at home. Everything’s been in turmoil. Joel practically totaled his car, Julie got braces, our roof leaks. Pam has been a wreck.”

“I know something that would make her even more upset,” Ernestine said quietly.

“Please!” Alvin said. “Please!”

But it did no good. Nothing was forthcoming. Except cold dead silence.

“Oh, all right. All right!” The man was weeping now. Ben heard a rustling denim sound; he guessed Alvin was pulling something out of his pocket. More rustling, followed by a decided click.

“I’ll be back for the rest,” Ernestine said.

Alvin was still in tears. He could barely speak. “M-Maybe-maybe next week-”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Ben heard a squeaky heel that informed him Ernestine had made a sharp pivot. He scrambled down the hall and around a corner. Rather than be caught halfway down the corridor headed in the wrong direction, he reversed himself so she would meet him as soon as she rounded the bend.

Which she did. “Is choir practice already over?” she asked.

Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I’m… not feeling well.” He pointed toward the men’s room.

She nodded, then passed brusquely by him, but not so quickly that Ben couldn’t see that she had her little blue notebook clutched tightly in her right hand. Ben wondered how many names of the members of St. Benedict’s appeared in that book. Because unless he was very mistaken, this woman was running a money-lending racket that would put Ebenezer Scrooge to shame.

Loving had a strong hunch that talking to the two giggling girls in the parish hall was not going to accelerate his investigation, but no one else seemed to be around at the moment, and when you had a list of suspects to interview as long as the one in Loving’s pocket, every second counted.

As he approached the table where they were folding acolyte robes, the giggling intensified. What? he wondered. Do I have something in my teeth? Is my fly unzipped?

“Maura likes your muscles,” Judy explained, after the introductions were completed. “She thinks you’re a hunk.”

Maura slugged her hard enough to crack a rib. “Do not.”

“She does. She’s lusting after you. She wants to have your children.”

“At least I’m not lusting after the lawyer,” Maura retorted. “He doesn’t have any muscles.”

“Girls, girls,” Loving said, suppressing a grin. “This is flatterin’, but I’m a confirmed bachelor-type. Always have been.”

“Maybe since your divorce,” Judy replied. “Not before, obviously.”

Loving did a double-take. “Now how on earth do you know about that?”

“Got it off the Internet,” Maura explained. “She’s read everything about Ben Kincaid and his friends and coworkers. She’s head over heels about the guy.”

Loving looked incredulous. “About the Skipper?”

“She is,” Maura continued, being surprisingly garrulous. “She follows all his cases. She’d have his poster up over her bed, if he had one. Frankly, I don’t see the attraction.”

“Maybe I just prefer someone with brains over some big dumb hunk of muscles!” Judy said.

Loving tried not to take offense.

“Maybe I think there’s more to love than a physical attraction!”

Maura was unimpressed. “Maybe you’re afraid that if there isn’t, you’ve got no hope!”

Loving frowned. “Now that seems kinda harsh.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Judy said. “Normally Maura doesn’t say anything at all. She’s just talking now because she’s desperate to impress you because she wants to be your love puppy.”

“Judy!”

Loving held up his hands. “Girls, please! Personally, I love all this Truth-or-Dare stuff, but I’m kinda busy right now. Could either of you tell me where I might find Alvin Greene? He doesn’t seem to be in the Altar Guild office.”

Judy checked her watch. “It’s after five. I’d try the White Swan.”

“What’s that? Some kind of prayer meeting?”

Judy laughed. “It’s a bar. Well, a pub, technically. Very British. As you may know, all Episcopalians are closet Anglophiles. They love all that Old World steak-and-kidney-pie fake accent stuff. Of course, they don’t like to admit that’s the real reason they’re Episcopalians, but honestly, why else would anyone want to be an Episcopalian?”

Loving decided not to engage in this dubious theological discussion. “Can you give me directions?”