Duck the Halls: A Meg Langslow Mystery (Meg Langslow Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

gather she came up for the holidays?”
    “And to see my new marmots,” Grandfather said. “We’re having a special exhibit to raise funds for the Vancouver Island marmot. Fascinating creatures.”
    “I should have known a mere human holiday wouldn’t be enough to drag her up here,” I replied.
    “Merry Christmas, Meg!” Caroline enveloped me in a hug as we joined them.
    Mother leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek.
    “Such a relief that it’s not actually a fire,” she murmured. “What are Michael and Rob thinking, volunteering for something so dangerous? You’d think they were still in their twenties.”
    I shook my head. If she was expecting an explanation, she’d have to get it from Michael and Rob—I agreed with her.
    “We need to help the fire and police departments,” Grandfather was saying to Caroline. “Someone brought a cage into the church that contains twelve Mephitis mephitis .”
    “Twelve!” Caroline looked startled. “Oh, my. That’s a very large family group.”
    “From what I’ve observed of their behavior, I don’t think they’re all related,” Grandfather said. “Are you missing any skunks?”
    “No.” Caroline shook her head firmly. “It’s been an unusually slow season for skunks, ever since about September. Normally this time of year, between nearby county animal control officers and the private companies that specialize in wild animal removals, we’d have gotten a few injured ones to rehabilitate and a couple dozen to rehome, but we’ve only had three all season.”
    The two of them immediately drew aside and fell into an intense discussion about whether rabies, distemper, canine hepatitis, leptospirosis, or several other polysyllabic diseases were affecting the local skunk population enough to reduce the number of rescues she was seeing. I focused on whether I should tell the chief about Caroline’s skunk shortage, since it seemed to give a potentially useful clue to finding out where the skunks had come from. If there were any animal control officers or pest removal experts nearby with a grudge against the New Life Baptist Church—
    “Meg, dear.” Mother was looking stern. “How bad is it?”
    “The church, you mean?” I asked. “It reeks. They have a hideous cleanup ahead of them, and for all I know, they might have to replace some of the wood and fabric that got sprayed. I’m not sure you can ever get the smell out of something organic.”
    Mother nodded grimly.
    “I’m glad I got to hear the dress rehearsal last night,” I added. “Because there’s no way they’re going to be able to give a concert in there tonight. And the boys will be inconsolable. What a pity.”
    “We must do something!” Mother was using her Joan of Arc voice.
    I felt a sudden wave of tiredness wash over me and yawned, hoping against hope that I wasn’t going to be included in her “we.”
    “They will need a great deal of help for the cleanup,” Mother said. “And the concert must go on! I will speak to the rector. And the ladies of St. Clotilda’s Guild.”
    I was relieved. So far I’d managed to resist Mother’s attempts to enlist me in the guild, which was Trinity Episcopal’s chief women’s organization for church and community good works. So while I probably couldn’t escape being sucked into the cleanup and whatever Mother had in mind for finding the concert a new venue, at least her organizing talents would be spread across the entire membership of the guild, and not focused solely on me.
    “And look!” Mother’s voice held a note of warm approval. “There’s the dear rector now.”
    I still did a double take when Mother used “dear rector” to refer to the new pastor of Trinity Episcopal. Most people just called her Robyn. Sometimes Reverend Smith if they didn’t know her that well, and in a few cases “that new girl” if they were traditionalists and disapproved of her gender and relative youth. Mother had fallen initially into the “new