William Bernhardt - Criminal intent

"You too. Got any turpentine?"

Ben patted his suit pockets. "Darn it, I guess I left my turpentine at home. Also my thinner, my shellac, and my WD-40."

Andrea grinned. "I've got glue all over me."

On closer inspection, Ben saw that her hands did appear to be covered with glue and Scotch tape and bits of colored construction paper. "You helped with the decorations, I surmise."

"No, but I cleaned up after those who did. A priest's wife's work is never done." She wandered off toward the nearest rest room. Ben found an empty seat and concentrated on finishing his cake.

"Isn't this the most romantic thing you've seen in your entire life?"

Christina had found the folding chair beside him. She was still wearing her pink maid-of-honor dress. Ben had heard that love is blind, and judging by most of the bridesmaid dresses he had seen, it was true.

Ben shrugged. "I've been to weddings before."

"Yes, but these are our friends," Christina enthused. "We watched the whole courtship. You were with Jones for their first face-to-face date."

Actually, Ben had been Jones for their first face-to-face date, but the less he was reminded of that, the better. "Nice turnout, anyway." He gave her a quick glance. "By the way, I don't think I mentioned it before, but… you look lovely."

Christina's eyes brightened. "Really? You think so?"

"I do."

"You're just saying that because I'm wearing this bridesmaid getup."

"For you, it is somewhat… conservative."

"Boring, you mean. But of course, you like boring. Compared to my usual wardrobe, this outfit is pretty uninteresting."

"Compared to your usual wardrobe, nudity would be pretty uninteresting."

A small balding man with thick black spectacles slid into the chair on Ben's other side. "Can you believe what a mess they've made of this place?" he muttered.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Ben replied.

"All this grotesque pink and puke rubbish. A revolting display. Who's responsible for this catastrophe?"

"That would be me," Christina said, smiling.

The man's chin dropped. "Oh." He winced. "Open mouth, insert foot." He tentatively held out his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm Alvin Greene. Head of the Altar Guild. And church bookkeeper."

"Ah," Christina said, taking his hand.

"You'll have to forgive me. I just transferred over from St. John's to fill the staff opening. I don't really know many people."

"You must be responsible for cleaning this place up after we're all gone."

"I'm afraid that's true."

"In that case, you're forgiven. I might be grumpy about this decorating job if I had to take it down."

"Still…" The man seemed to be having trouble removing his eyes from Christina's face. "I should've kept my mouth shut."

"Tell you what," Christina said. "I'm not doing anything tonight. How about if I hang around and help clean up?"

Greene's eyes widened. "Would you really? Oh, that would be-I mean, not that you should-but if you would-that would be-I mean-that would be-"

Ben frowned. It appeared Christina had another admirer, and not just for her dress, either. Which shouldn't bother him…

"Oh, Bruce, wait. I want you to meet someone."

Ben recognized the voice-unfortunately-before he spotted her face. Ernestine, the grande dame of St. Benedict's. She was being squired by a middle-aged man with a soft face who Ben remembered from the ladies' changing room.

"Bruce, this is Ben Kincaid." She lifted her brows knowingly. "He's the lawyer, you know."

The man extended his hand. "Hello. I'm Ernestine's nephew."

"Pleased to meet you. Are you-"

"Bruce, do be a dear and fetch me a piece of wedding cake," Ernestine said, interrupting. "Not too large a piece, please. Must watch my figure, you know. All right? There's a good boy."

"Yes, Aunt Ernestine." Bruce obediently fluttered away.

"Ben, I am so pleased that I've been seeing you in the choir every Sunday," Ernestine said. "It gives me great satisfaction to see you there in the loft, singing your heart out. You have a lovely tenor voice."

Ben wondered how she could possibly distinguish his voice from the eight other lovely tenor voices, but a compliment was a compliment. "You're very kind."

"I'm so pleased that you took what Ruth and I told you to heart. I know that after all that… unpleasantness, you must've wondered whether you would really be welcome here at the church. I wanted to make it clear to you, on behalf of all of St. Benedict's, that you are."

Ben wondered if all of St. Benedict's knew Ernestine spoke on their behalf. Presumably, when you were the church's leading benefactor, you could get away with that sort of thing.

"Here's your cake, Aunt Ernestine."

Ernestine looked askance at the plate he proffered. Crinkles formed around the corners of her mouth. "Bruce, dear boy, I didn't mean the groom's cake. I couldn't possibly eat chocolate. I need the white cake."

Bruce appeared to be used to this sort of thing. "Yes, Aunt Ernestine."

"And please find a piece a bit larger than that. I'm not diabetic, for heaven's sake."

"Yes, Aunt Ernestine." Bruce disappeared again.

"He's a dear boy," Ernestine said, with a small sigh. "But not much up here," she added, tapping the side of her skull. "I don't know what he'd be like today if he hadn't had me to take care of him."

Probably a lot happier, Ben suspected, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Oh, Ruth! Ruth!" Ernestine waggled her fingers at her elderly friend. "I was just about to discuss our problems here at the church with Ben."

"Oh, my," Ruth replied. "These last few weeks at St. Benedict's, ever since the trial, have been such a strain. Many families have left us, you know. And the ones that have remained have been very disappointed."

Their disappointment, Ben assumed, being that they hadn't been able to oust Father Beale, despite their best efforts.

"I think it will all blow over," Ben opined. "You just need to give everyone a little more time."

"I hope you're right. But if this church is to survive, there are going to have to be some changes. Father Beale must recognize that he can't simply go on doing whatever pleases him. He has a parish to consider."

"Of course."

"In fact, I think I'll find Father Beale and talk to him on that very subject. I wonder if he's in his office?"

For Father Beale's sake, Ben hoped he wasn't. Ruth left, Ernestine departed in a different direction, and Ben managed to return his attention to his cake, which for wedding fare, was not half bad. A few minutes later, he felt Christina giving him a gentle nudge. "Have you been watching the woman with the blue hair?"

Ben scanned the parish hall. "That doesn't quite narrow it down."

"Ernestine. Ruth's friend."

"Not in the last ten seconds. Why?" Ben spotted her at the other end of the room, chatting with George Finley, another member of the vestry. "What about her?"

"That's the third man I've seen her approach. And every time she does, the man gives her something. And then she takes that little notebook out of her purse. For that matter, I saw her get that out back in the dressing room, when the minister of music came in. What do you think it is?"

"Who knows? She's probably lining up volunteers for a bake sale or something."

Christina's eyes narrowed. "I don't know. My great-aunt Bettie used to have something like that. It was her account book. She made a record of every penny she ever earned or spent, right down to the last postage stamp. She was seriously tight."

"Must be that Scots blood."

"Quite possibly."

"There she is!" Paula came running toward them, still decked out in her bridal regalia, her full-length train trailing behind her. "Come on, Christina. It's time for me to throw the bouquet."