abruptly he jerked himself into a better posture, like a suddenly
animated scarecrow pulling loose of its supporting cross, and he went
inside, pushing the door only half shut behind him.
“Stay,” I whispered to Orson.
I went down the stairs, and my ever-obedient dog followed me.
When I put one ear to the half-open door, I heard nothing from the
basement.
Orson stuck his snout through the eighteen-inch gap, sniffing, and
although I rapped him lightly on the top of the head, he didn’t
withdraw.
Leaning over the dog, I put my snout through the gap, too, not for a
sniff but far enough inside to see what lay beyond. Squinting against
the fluorescent glare, I saw a twenty-by-forty-foot room with concrete
walls and ceiling, lined with equipment that served the church and the
attached wing of Sunday-school rooms: five gas-fired furnaces, a big
water heater, electric-service panels, and machinery that I didn’t
recognize.
Jesse Pinn was three-quarters of the way across this first room,
approaching a closed door in the far wall, his back to me.
Stepping away from the door, I unclipped the glasses case from my shirt
pocket. The Velcro closure peeled open with a sound that made me think
of a snake breaking wind, though I don’t know why, as I’d never in my
life heard a snake breaking wind. My aforementioned flamboyant
imagination had taken a scatological turn.
By the time I put on the glasses and peered inside again, Pinn had
disappeared into the second basement room. That farther door stood
half open as well, and light blazed beyond.
“It’s a concrete floor in there,” I whispered. “My Nikes won’t make a
sound, but your claws will tick. Stay.”
I pressed open the door before me and eased into the basement.
Orson remained outside, at the foot of the stairs. Perhaps he was
obedient this time because I’d given him a logical reason to be.
Or perhaps, because of something he had smelled, he knew that
proceeding farther was ill-advised. Dogs have an olfactory sense
thousands of times sharper than ours, bringing them more data than all
human senses combined.
With the sunglasses, I was safe from the light, yet I could see more
than well enough to navigate the room. I avoided the open center,
staying close to the furnaces and the other equipment, where I could
duck into a niche and hope to hide if I heard Jesse Pinn returning.
Time and sweat had by now diminished the effectiveness of the sunscreen
on my face and hands, but I was counting on my layer of soot to protect
me. My hands appeared to be sheathed in black silk gloves, and I
assumed that my face was equally masked.
When I reached the inner door, I heard two distant voices, both male,
one belonging to Pinn. They were muffled, and I couldn’t understand
what was being said.
I glanced at the outside door, where Orson peered in at me, one ear at
attention and the other at ease.
Beyond the inner door was a long, narrow, largely empty room.
Only a few of the overhead lights were aglow, suspended on chains
between exposed water pipes and heating ducts, but I didn’t remove my
sunglasses.
At the end, this chamber proved to be part of an L-shaped and the next
length, which opened to the right, was longer space, and wider than the
first, although still dimly lighted. This second section was used as a
storeroom, and seeking the voices, I crept past boxes of supplies,
decorations for various holidays and celebrations, and file cabinets
full of church records. Everywhere shadows gathered like convocations
of robed and cowled monks, and I removed my sunglasses.
The voices grew louder as I proceeded, but the acoustics were terrible,
and I still couldn’t discern any words. Although he was not shouting,
Pinn was angry, which I deduced from a low menace in his voice. The
other man sounded as though he was trying to placate the undertaker.
A complete life-size creche was arrayed across half the width of the
room: not merely Joseph and the Holy Virgin at a cradle with the Christ
child, but also the entire manger scene with wise men, camels, donkeys,