Mark rushed over, his face draining of color. He looked like a man watching his life unravel. “Isabella, calm down. It was just here. I saw it five minutes ago. Who touched the pillow?”

Isabella spun around, her finger extending like a weapon, pointing accusingly at a small boy standing near the front pew.

“Him!” she yelled, her voice vibrating with hysteria. “Leo! I saw him playing with the pillow just a minute ago! He’s been running around causing trouble all morning!”

Leo, Mark’s seven-year-old nephew and the designated ring bearer, shrank back against the heavy oak pew. He was wearing a tiny tuxedo that was slightly too big for him, the sleeves swallowing his small hands. His eyes went wide with confusion and fear, darting from his uncle to the screaming woman in the white dress.