“The light comes through the restored glass differently on clear autumn mornings, Pastor,” Helen said, setting the vase on the polished altar rail.

I took three golden chrysanthemums from the linen basket on the bench and trimmed their stems with my pocketknife.

“Arthur’s usual seat in the fourth row is empty,” she said, tapping her clipboard twice on the dark oak.

“He sent his formal resignation to the church board secretary at nine o’clock yesterday morning,” I said.

Helen stopped, lining up six red hymnals along the choir bench.

“Are you ready to face forty people who spent three days listening to gossip?”