The noise of bustling city traffic slowly gave way to music and singing as Richard walked toward the back of the church’s building. Following the sound, he happened upon the amphitheater, its seats peppered with children, the stage manned by a single adult in a pastel polo shirt with a ponytail, a laptop computer on a table, and an electric guitar. A projection screen behind him showed a verse of song lyrics. He appeared to be wrapping up a soaring, laconic instrumental solo.

“One more time!” he called out enthusiastically. The children groaned en masse. Hardly seeming to notice, he belted out the chorus.

Our God is an awesome god
He’s hip and bitchen and gnarly
Jesus Christ’s tomb is empty
I believe, I believe!
Heaven awaits the good at heart
The truth has set us free
I sing the praises of our Lord
Won’t you sing them with me?

Whipping his hand in the air, he held the last vowel for two full notes, rising half an octave in the middle. “I can’t hear you!” he yelled before repeating the chorus. Either the kids were vocalizing out of key, or they were indiscriminately whining. “I still can’t hear you!” he roared before yet another refrain. “Are you not entertained?” he bellowed, confusing a generation of youngsters that had never heard of that movie, much less seen it.

Richard noticed grownups walking from the parking lot toward the amphitheater. The singer saw them at about the same time, for he quickly stomped a pedal and bridged into another elliptical instrumental. The backing-track playback swelled to a crescendo and then, in a welcome display of God’s mercy, went silent.

The kids broke out in thinly-veiled aggression. “Finally! Ugh!” “Praise the Lord, it’s over!” “I’m concerned about your hearing, pastor.” “Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

The grownup smirked. “Not bad, Caleb. That was actually halfway witty.” Giggles erupted among the children; a few gave Caleb high-fives. “I hereby declare you the half-wit of the day!” Their faces fell in unison as they bolted past their amazed parents, who turned slowly to follow their children.

“See you next week, kids!” the singer proclaimed.

“God forbid!” a single voice called out, followed by a mass of juvenile snickering.

He didn’t notice Richard approach; his head was bowed and he continued to pant heavily, out of breath.

“Excuse me, my good fellow,” Richard opened. A weary gaze slowly rose to contemplate him. “No more, please,” he pleaded. “I can’t do any more for the day.”

“Sorry to impose…I just had a few questions.”

Once again, he stared at Richard. “Oh…my mistake. I assumed you were from the bishop’s office. You know, the suit and everything.”

“No, I’m a private detective. Richard Schmutz, at your service. And you are…?”

He extended a hand. “Roger Rudnick, temporary youth pastor.” He took another deep breath as they shook hands. “I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time. I’m utterly exhausted.”

Richard watched the train of cars slowly navigate their way out of the parking lot. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

Roger’s eyes beamed. “That sounds great. There’s a decent shop just down the block.” He slowly pulled himself to a standing position.

“So, a private detective, huh?” Roger asked as they both walked away. “No aloha shirts for you, I guess?”

“No, I have to wear a suit and tie, or else no one takes me seriously,” Richard grumbled. “I assure you, Magnum P.I. is a total myth.”

The coffee shop was neat and tidy, yet had the usual laid-back, bohemian style. Richard sipped his coffee as he pondered why a business dedicated to getting its customers wired opted for such a balmy ambiance. Perhaps they sold more coffee if the environment wasn’t getting their customers’ blood pumping. The halcyon milieu seemed to have no effect on Roger; he had pounded his first cup, and was now imbibing a second.

“Wow, thanks, man,” Roger said between gulps. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Think nothing of it,” Richard assured. “You looked like you really needed it.”

“Did I ever!” Roger gushed. “Those kids were murder, and I only had the one song prepared.”

“And no one to help,” Richard observed. “You had to do that all by yourself?”

“Everyone else left early,” Roger explained. “We don’t have major services during the week, just youth day camp and some support groups. I guess they assumed I could do this without them…they didn’t even ask, they just up and left.” He took a large sip before continuing. “I’m sure if I bring it up, they’ll just ask God for forgiveness…and assume they received it.” He snorted bitterly. “Fat lot of good that does me.”

“How does one become the youth pastor?”

Roger let out a hollow laugh. “By default. Our last one left, and the priests have been filling in on a rotating basis.” He looked up wearily. “I’m normally the lead guitarist in the church choir. But I hurt my hand during a particularly intense shredding solo, and now I have to recuperate.”

“You’re still playing guitar, though,” Richard noted.

“Oh, that?” Roger waved his hand flippantly. “Nah, I’m just noodling. Nothing complicated. Most of the jams are inspired by my physical therapy exercises. Slow, gentle, and repetitive.” He took another huge gulp of coffee.

“I’m sure you have it under control. I was just being concerned.”

Roger smiled. “Thanks. But performing songs with them is a lot easier than the alternative. One time I made the mistake of trying to answer their questions. I vastly prefer singing.” He adopted a mocking impression of a teenage boy, punctuating the end of the quote with a jaunty pointed finger. “If God is all-powerful, can He create a stone that’s so heavy that He himself can’t lift it? Ha ha ha ha!” He then switched to a tween girl’s voice and wobbled his head. “So, like, if God can do anything, can He like, get lost?” He groaned in frustration. “Where do they come up with these? I keep telling myself it’s just God testing me, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Roger erupted with a nervous laugh. “Listen to me, ranting about children. I probably sound like a real bastard right about now.”

“Not at all,” Richard assured. “I still have terrible memories of kindergarten, being tormented mercilessly by five-year-olds and six-year-olds. I’ve never had the luxury of believing in the myth of the innocent child.”

Roger cackled loudly, startling a few nearby customers. “I’ll drink to that!” He clinked Richard’s cup with his before taking another huge gulp.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about a completely different group of children.”

Roger froze. “More children? No! No more.”

“These are adult-sized children,” Richard explained. “They’re tenants in the same building as yours. Ever heard of the Cadres Of Harmony?”

Roger grimaced. “Oh…them.” His expression lightened. “I’m glad someone’s finally doing something about them.”

“If only,” Richard sighed. “I’m working for them right now. One of their members has been killed.”

“Well, that explains it. They’ve been moodier and more dramatic than normal lately. I thought another member had left them on bad terms. You should have seen that!” He shook his head lightly. “Oh, how they carried on.”

“Are you familiar with them at all?”

“Only indirectly, and yet all too well. They’re customers.”

“You mean at your coffee stand?”

Roger looked pensive. “That, too. I meant…they attend our support groups.”

Richard jumped slightly. “Yikes. How’s that working out?”

“About as well as you expect. They’re all really messed up inside.” Roger sipped his coffee before continuing. “We put up with them because a church isn’t a museum for saints, it’s a hospital for sinners. And because of what the Good Book says about what we do for the least of our brothers. And those people are as least as it gets.” He chuckled to himself. “Definitely members of the Least Generation.”

Richard pulled out his notepad. “I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me about them.”

Roger blanched. “That means I’d have to think about them.” He sighed loudly. “Well, first, there’s the pastel unicorn princess. I can’t remember her name.”

“Kelly,” Richard read from his notes.

“We had to kick her out of the battered women’s group because she wasn’t actually battered. She complained stridently about how her father is always putting her down and stifling her ‘actuality’, whatever that means. We suggested she join our ‘teenagers on the edge’ group, but she felt insulted by that. She ghosted us afterwards. Not that we miss her.” He looked Richard in the eye. “So I guess she’s still alive, then?”

“Very much so. The deceased one is Jaden Donnelly. Code name Saint.”

Roger smirked. “They told you their code names? Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose?”

“Don’t ask me!” Richard pleaded. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Roger looked thoughtful. “Jaden. Yeah, I remember him a little better than the others. He seemed like a nice kid. Too nice for that group. I always wondered why he was involved with them at all. Plus…one day, he came to me with a really odd request.”

Richard smiled thinly. “Holy water?”

Roger’s eyes opened wide. “Hey, you really are a private detective!” He snickered. “How did you know?”

“Well, it was difficult to miss your church’s name emblazoned on the bottle. All around the bottle.”

Roger smiled wistfully. “Yeah. One of our ministers has a marketing career on the outside. He’s really big into branding, and how we can advertise our church through merchandise and tie-ins.” He shrugged. “And who am I to say we shouldn’t? Even churches must keep up with the times. Holding a High Mass in Latin just doesn’t bring them in anymore.”

“Did he say why he needed it?”

“Sort of. He said he was fighting an ‘unspeakable evil’,” Roger informed, making air quotes with his fingers. “I never found out what he meant. I assumed he was talking about the government or the police, but strictly speaking, I have no idea.”

“That’s OK,” Richard assured as he scribbled in his notepad. “It’s more information than I had before. Anything is helpful. Do you happen to know why Russell left?”

“No, I never asked,” Roger admitted. “But he sure stood out. He was a really flashy type. Always had expensive clothes, expensive jewelry, expensive gadgets, and had to point them out to everyone. I remember the day he brought in his katana, and told me all about its history.” He shuddered. “Longest eight minutes of my life. Felt like an hour. He got extra creepy when he talked about poisoning the blade.”

“Really.” Richard made several circles in his notepad.

“I don’t know anything about swords, but his katana just looked so thin and flimsy. Like the end would just snap off. I didn’t tell him that, though…I figured it was best not to irk someone holding a sword.”

“Wise choice,” Richard agreed, a twinkle in his eyes. “Do you think he would have hurt anyone with it?”

“I doubt it,” Roger surmised. “I can’t really say, though; I didn’t know him that well. Harmony comes across as a bunch of rich kids play-acting at anarchy, getting bailed out by their parents when things go too far. Still…I suppose it’s possible.”

“Any impressions of the others you’d like to share?”

Roger sipped the last of his coffee. “There’s the big hairy guy; I can’t remember his name. He wanted to join the worship band. He’s a good enough instrumentalist, but his style was just too unconventional for us. Also, he was really bad at following the sheet music.”

Richard kept taking notes. “Not exactly a prelude to murder, but who knows what’ll develop.”

Roger looked crestfallen. “And then there’s Darian.”

Richard chortled. “I know what you mean. He’s…a character.”

Roger flashed a haunted look. “You don’t know the half of it. He’s a neurotic mess. He was in several of our support groups, until we finally had to ask him nicely to seek professional help. I don’t know if he ever did.” He looked pained. “Who knows, maybe the killer is one of Darian’s alternate personalities. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I sure hope not,” Richard groaned. “That would be a terrible twist. I’d probably have to hang up my hat. Still, I should probably question him more. Any idea where he hangs out?”

Roger winced with apparent agony. Richard looked concerned. “What…?”

“I don’t know how to say this, but…I’ve seen Darian leaving Harmony’s HQ late at night.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Roger held his stomach gently. “He was in full costume. An animal costume. Some sort of brightly-colored horse, with colorful accents, and a sweater tied around his waist.”

Richard grimaced. “Why would a grown adult go out at night dressed like that? I can only think of one reason.”

Roger covered his eyes and pinched his temple. “Me too. A furry club. And with those colors…a gay furry club.”

Richard paused, then made several long strokes in his notepad. “Suddenly, I’ve decided to question him last. To wait as long as possible.”

Roger rolled gently with giggling laughter. “I don’t blame you! Maybe some mysteries are best left unsolved.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Richard burbled.

“I think I still have Russell’s contact info,” Roger revealed. “I can try to set up a meeting with him for you. Don’t know if that’ll help, but it keeps you from having to deal with Darian.”

“I’d appreciate that!” Richard beamed. He looked at his notes. “Anything else?”

Roger’s face twisted into a leering smirk. “No, but there’s one member I wish I knew better. The blonde girl.”

“That would be Alexandra,” Richard informed. “I know what you’re thinking, but be careful…from what I can tell, she’s the scariest one of all.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Roger dismissed. “But that’s the dream, isn’t it? Find a hot sinner and try to convert her? It’s all about the challenge! But I’ve never been able to exchange a single word with her. She’s elusive like a banshee.”

“You could try Cahoots,” Richard revealed, checking his notes. “It’s a restaurant in mid-town. She’s a waitress there.”

“I’ve heard of that place. A few of the ministers go to lunch there, and keep inviting me to join them. Guess I’ll take them up on it!”

“Plus, I think it would be safer to meet Alexandra in a public place.”

“Wise choice,” Roger agreed. “Actually, that reminds me of the one upside to being the youth pastor – flirting with the single mothers! Anything to avoid the depressing singles ministry. At least the single mothers were attractive to someone…even if only once.”

“There you go!” Richard chimed. “Maybe that’s God’s plan!”

Something in Roger’s pocket beeped. He pulled out his phone and looked at it. “Oh, my ride’s finally here,” he informed. “I’m sorry, I need to get going.”

“Not at all,” Richard assured. “You’ve been most helpful. And I might be back to pick your brain some more.”

“Any time,” Roger assured. “But maybe not when I’m so worn out.”

“Fat chance of that,” Richard countered. “People talk more when they’re tired.”

Roger paused to behold Richard. “You really are a good private detective, aren’t you? I’d be well advised not to underestimate you.”

Richard just smiled cryptically as he toasted Roger with his empty coffee cup.