Glory Be!. Ron/Janet Benrey

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      Emma took a moment to think about it. “That seems fair enough, considering no real damage was done. My porch is okay, and the couple from Baltimore drove north after breakfast. Case closed!” She peered at him. “Do cops really say that?”

      “Sure. Except this case won’t be really closed until our church decides how to spend the six hundred thousand dollars.” Rafe looked down at his hands. “Paul was right—money is the root of all evil.”

      “He didn’t write that.” Emma waited until Rafe glanced quizzically at her. “Paul had nothing against wealth. He warned us against the love of money.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Absolutely. Check out First Timothy. Chapter six. Near the middle.”

      “I’m impressed. You know your Bible.” He offered a rueful smile. “I wish I did.”

      “I’ve been studying the Bible since I was a kid.”

      Rafe laughed. “A Bible whiz who refuses to join a church—that’s an odd combination.”

      “Not really,” Emma said quietly. “I love Christianity. It’s those Christians that fight I can do without.”

      THREE

      The blue clapboard Victorian on Front Street was a smaller house than Rafe had wanted. It had only one full bathroom and a single-car garage, and cost half-again more than he had planned to spend, thanks to its stunning view of Albemarle Sound. But his teenage daughter, Kate, had loved the “gingerbread-detailed charmer” from the instant she saw its picture pinned up in the front window of the Realtor’s. That had been enough to sway Rafe.

      Every light in the house was turned on when Rafe maneuvered his Corvette into the driveway—a gentle protest by Kate that he had left home before sunup and was returning fourteen hours later. A small-town policeman’s lot included long days, but Rafe usually managed to eat breakfast and supper at home. Today, the pranks had gotten in the way.

      He found her in the living room watching a cheerleading DVD. He moved behind her and kissed the top of her head just as a blond cheerleader on the TV screen tumbled to the ground from the top of a three-layer pyramid of fellow cheerleaders.

      “Oooh, that’s gotta hurt,” Kate said.

      “Is this some sort of training video? Teaching you about safety, I hope.”

      “Uh-uh. It’s an hour of cheerleading goofs and bloopers. Funny stuff.”

      “Not for the gals who hit the ground hard. Or their parents.” Rafe came around to the front of the sofa and sat down next to Kate. She was fifteen, with a tall, long-legged, athletic build and a face that was pretty and intelligent at the same time. She had big brown eyes, fine features and shoulder-length reddish-brown hair. Rafe’s eyes flicked toward the framed photograph atop a bookcase. Kate was becoming more like her mother with every passing day.

      “I’m on the freshman cheerleader squad, remember?” Kate said. “No jumps or stunts or pyramids.”

      “For which I am exceptionally grateful.”

      She used the remote to turn off the TV. “Anything interesting happen today?”

      He grinned and tapped the end of her nose. “A good try, but I’m sure that every kid in town knows about the Volkswagen.”

      She countered by tapping his nose. “How was choir practice? Anything unusual happen?”

      “Wow. You even know about the fight. I’m impressed—the power of cell phones in the hands of teenagers is awesome.”

      Rafe felt sure that she cracked a smile.

      “I didn’t arrest anyone tonight,” he said, “but I will if there are any more wrestling matches at church. We actually had a pretty good rehearsal after the hotheads cooled down.”

      Kate nodded.

      “My theory,” he said, “is that the epidemic of pranks in Glory has put lots of people on edge.”

      Kate focused her eyes on the remote control in her lap.

      “Let’s go off the record,” he said. “I want to send a message to the student who’s planning the gags. I presume you know who’s in charge, since you know everything about everyone under the age of twenty-one within a radius of fifty miles.”

      “Why assume a kid is responsible?”

      “Because I don’t know any adults who could convince the high school football team to move a Volkswagen Beetle from a parking lot to a porch.”

      “It’s not that simple….” She finished the sentence with a shrug.

      “No?”

      “There isn’t a single student in charge—it’s more of a committee.”

      “Committees have chairpersons.”

      “This one has a book.”

      “A book…?”

      “Great Practical Jokes of the 1950s and 1960s. It’s an antique, published way back in 1970. Kids are passing it around Glory High like the baton in a relay race. Whoever has the book must do one of the jokes. Then he or she gives the book to someone else who has the nerve to do another one.”

      “Specifically, a high school student who also supports the contemporary service at Glory Community Church?”

      “Well, duh!”

      “Do you have to attend our church to receive the book?”

      “Nope. You just have to know what kind of music you prefer.”

      “Do I have to ask which side you’re on?”

      “I think organ chords are icky. They make me think of old horror movies. Anyway, I like to hear drums when I listen to music, and they never have drums in a traditional service.”

      “Never?”

      “Never!” She added a definitive shake of her head.

      Rafe thought about it and realized that Kate might be right. He had seen many kinds of musical instruments played at traditional church services—violins, cellos, trumpets, guitars, flutes, trombones, pianos, bells, even an accordion—but never a full drum set. Those who favored drum-accompanied music would probably prefer a contemporary service. Of course, Kate also seemed to have more than a passing interest in the seventeen-year-old male drummer who played at Glory Community every Sunday.

      “Tell me more about this antique book,” he said.

      “It’s incredibly cool…” she began, and then realized her mistake.

      “I get it. The book was passed to you.”

      “No comment.”

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