“We also have a responsibility to safeguard what money we have,” Robert Corlew said. He moved his hand as if he were about to jam it into his improbably thick hair, but stopped himself. Clare, who had been trying for a year to discern whether he wore a rug or not, filed the gesture away in a mental folder marked EVIDENCE FOR TOUPEE.

Norm Madsen’s faded blue eyes looked thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Maybe we could knock up something quick and cheap to fix the immediate problem, and then work on raising money for the fancier roof.”

“Norm, with a leak this extensive, there is no quick and cheap fix,” Terry said.

Clare stood up. “Folks, this is rapidly becoming a replay of every discussion we’ve had about the roof since I came to this parish. I’m calling for a vote.”

“A vote?” several voices echoed.

“A vote, straight up or down. Big, honkingly, expensive, historically correct blowout, or affordable ticky-tack housing stock.”

“You make the alternatives sound so attractive,” Sterling said.

“I vote for expensive and accurate,” Clare said. “Robert Corlew.”

“Affordable. And I know-”

“Just the vote, please. Mrs. Marshall.”

“Historically accurate.”

“Thank you. Terry McKellan.”

He sighed. “I have to go with the cheaper alternative.”

“Sterling Sumner.”

“Historical accuracy at any cost!”

“Thank you, Sterling. Norm Madsen.”

The elderly lawyer’s face sank into thought. Thirty seconds passed. A minute. Finally, “The least expensive alternative. Sorry, Lacey.” He smiled apologetically at Mrs. Marshall.

She leaned over the pew and rested her thin, blue-veined hand over his. “You have to vote your conscience, Norm.”

Clare propped her hands on her hips. “Not too surprisingly, it’s three for and three against. So… it looks like the tiebreaker will be our brand-new junior warden.” Everyone looked toward the sixth vestry member, elected at the congregation’s annual meeting only two Sundays ago.