Liturgical Mysteries 01 The Alto Wore Tweed (26 page)

“O my GOD!” said Meg amidst the gasps from the crowd. “O my GOD! How could...? Is that...? I just don’t believe it!”

I was still trying to decide whether to shoot the bagpiper out of moral justification, but the sight of a male camel with love on its mind made me decide otherwise. If that camel got loose, anything I would do to the bagpiper, including shooting him, would be counted a blessing.

By this time, the entire cast of The Kiwanis Christmas had crossed the street to watch Seymour and his cohorts, all dressed as shepherds, trying to pull the camel from the staging area. Seymour has since told me that there is nothing quite so stubborn as a camel in full bloom, and it looked as though the twelve-hundred-pound animal wasn’t going anywhere until its dreams of dromedary desire were fulfilled. Just then, Bertram, the St. Bernard puppy who had squeezed under the rail to see what all the commotion was, attached its jaws to the camel’s hind leg, causing the animal to disregard all of its romantic notions and leave the stable at a dead run dragging a bevy of shepherds and the dog behind it down the snow covered street.

There wasn’t much talking in the aftermath, most of the spectators being stunned to silence.

Suddenly, from the crowd, came a sweet little voice.

“Mommy, is that an angel?”

All eyes raised to the star on the pole above the manger, shining through the swirling snow and illuminating the feminine form hanging unsupported about six feet above the stable. It settled slowly. It was a naked woman with, as it said in the brochure, “many anatomical enchantments.” Mrs. Horst, who had struggled uninjured to her feet, looked up, gave a thin wail and fainted.

“That one’s mine, too,” shouted Arlen from the back of the crowd.

• • •

Since it was now two degrees above zero with the wind beginning to pick up,
The
Crèches of St. Germaine
was canceled due to the weather at 7:23 p.m. And because there was no break in the Arctic front expected and the forecast was for three feet of snow, the next two nights were canceled as well.

?

“I glad we didn’t miss that one,” said Meg on the way back to the cabin. “And to think you wanted to stay home and decorate the tree.”

“We can still finish it I think. And I’ve been giving Archimedes about seven mice a day. He’s due for a few.”

“Where are you getting all the mice?”

“From Kent Muphee down in Boone. He can get frozen mice by the case. And don’t ask. I don’t know why he’d need them. Just that he can get them from his medical supplier. No formaldehyde. Just frozen.”

“So you have...?”

“Three cases in treezer. About six hundred mice. Oh, and a bag of baby squirrels.”

Chapter 19

My first shot missed, but my second hit Isabel in her right shoulder and spun her to the ground, causing her shot to go wild, hitting Denver Tweed in the leg and dropping her like a three-legged donkey on St. Swithen
’
s Day. Two down with one lucky shot. Lucky for Isabel, that is. I was aiming for her head.

“You realize, of course, that this mystery series may actually be the worst thing ever written. And I’m not kidding.”

Meg was scrolling through the chapters as I was putting the finishing touches on the tree.

I chomped thoughtfully on my R&J cigar, leaning out precariously on the ladder to place the star atop the now decorated conifer.

“I mean,
really.
A three-legged donkey on St. Swithen’s Day?”

“Hmmm,” I said, coming down the ladder and surveying the tree. “The choir seems to like it.”

The tree looked pretty good.

“They just
said
they liked it to be kind. Besides, you have enough chapters to fill their choir folders from now till Pentecost. I suggest you wrap it up and start a new mystery in the spring.”

“You just want me all to yourself,” I said.

“You’re such a clever lad,” Meg said.

Archimedes had graduated from the kitchen to the living room. Although the frigid air didn’t seem to bother him, he seemed to prefer the warmth of the fire and the plate of mousy snacks that Meg had left for him on the table. I had called my contractor and despite the cold weather and the Christmas season, gotten him to come out to the house and install an automatic window for lack of a better term—something of my own design. Archimedes could step up to the kitchen window, trigger the electric eye and the window would slide open, allowing Archimedes access to the warmth of the house. Likewise, he could return to the wild at his leisure. It took no time at all for the owl to learn the trick and it saved leaving the window open for him to arrive. I must say, the first time I saw the bird gliding noiselessly through the house, finally landing on the head of the stuffed elk above the fireplace, I was speechless—as was Meg.

I looked quickly over to Amber Dawn, Personal Trainer. She had reached the gun but still looked as unsure about her options as a nun on a double date--options that were changing as quickly as the towel boy in the Vatican basketball locker room.

“
Drop it, Amber. I don
’
t want to shoot you.”

“
You wouldn
’
t shoot me, would you handsome?” Amber squeaked, her lashes going into overdrive.

“
In a heartbeat, sweetheart.”

She didn
’
t believe me, but I was telling the truth. I proved it a moment later.

“You killed Amber? Amber Dawn, Personal Trainer?”

I nodded. “She had to go. It was her or me.”

“At least you spared us the gruesome details.”

“She’s dead all right. As dead as Morning Prayer.”

Isabel groaned, got to her knees and tried to level her own gun at me without success. Denver wasn
’
t moving.

“
Don
’
t do it Isabel. Or should I say
‘
Isadore.
’
”

“
How...how did you know?” He dropped the gun, his shoulders slumping faster than Pete Rose at a poker party.

“
I
’
ve known for years. I just chose to keep your secret. Isadore Gerhardt, famous cross-dressing music evangelist from Pascagoula, Mississippi. I caught your act at the Southern Baptist Convention in
‘
74. I knew you were in love with Amber, but the only way she
’
d be with you was if you were the Bishop.”

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a gigantic shape loom toward me. I spun on my heel and shot quickly, two shots without aiming, my .38 held tight against my hip. The two bullets hit Denver hard but barely slowed her down. She had pulled the leg loose from the piano and was getting ready to finish me when my next shot hit the mark. A puzzled look crossed her face as she sank to the floor.

“
That
’
s six,” said Isadore with an evil grin as I stood contemplating the carnage. He picked his own gun back up off the floor, this time in his left hand.

“
Six what?”

“
Six bullets. Two at me. One at Amber. Three at Denver. Looks like your luck has run out, shoofly.”

My gun was still in my hand as I mentally added the shots that I
’
d fired. He was right and he knew it. He raised his gun slowly so that I
’
d have time to reflect on my mistake for a final few seconds.

That
’
s when I shot him. Unfortunately for Isadore, a Taurus .38 Special has seven chambers.

• • •

Rhiza showed up at exactly nine o’clock. I had the coffee made and was working on some of my famous omelets when she walked in. She was back in her society mode, trading the jeans and old sweatshirt of her last visit for the casual chic of J. Crew. Her hair was perfect as usual, her makeup, sublime. She looked like a million bucks.

“Have a seat,” I said. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I’ve missed these omelets. Are you sure you can’t tell me your secret?”

“So you can give it to your cook? I think not.”

Rhiza got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Warm you up?” she asked.

“I will presume you’re referring to my coffee and answer in the affirmative.” She giggled and filled my mug to the top, then returned to the table.

“I guess we should talk.”

“I guess we should,” I said putting her plate in front of her.

“You see, here’s the thing...”

“Don’t let your eggs get cold.”

“OK. Hey,” she said, suddenly remembering. “How’s the owl?”

“He’s great. I fixed the window so he can go in and out. He’s out now, but he’ll be back soon. He’s discovered central heating.”

She nodded and pushed her eggs around on the plate, not doing any serious damage.

“You see, here’s the thing,” she began again. I had a feeling this speech was rehearsed. I decided to be proactive as they say at the police academy.

“Listen, Rhiza. Are you having an affair with Loraine Ryan?”

“Um...no.”

“No?”

She sighed. “The short answer is ‘no.’ The long answer is still ‘no,’ but a bit more complicated.”

I waited for her to go on as I dug in, not wanting my own breakfast to get cold.

“Malcolm and I are having problems. You remember?”

“Mmhmm,” I nodded in the affirmative, my mouth being full.

“Well, I started going in to Loraine for counseling. It was Malcolm’s idea. He’d gone a few times and said she was wonderful. So I went.”

I had finished my mouthful and took a sip of coffee. “And then what?”

“Then I found out he was sleeping with her.”

“So you were telling the truth?”

“Yes, it was the truth. Sort of. You see, sleeping with her...it’s part of her therapy.”

“What?!”

“You know she’s a trained therapist.”

“I don’t care if she’s a trained seal! She
cannot
do that. You know better.” I had stopped eating and was now just looking at Rhiza in disbelief.

“I know it. But when you’re in the sessions with her, she just makes it seem so...so...plausible, I guess. Like it’s the right thing to do.”

“And was this part of
your
therapy, too?”

“It was supposed to be. I was with her in her office around ten at night. Her door was locked, but then Willie came in using his pass key.”

“Ah...then Willie came in.”

“We hadn’t done anything, but I admit it probably looked bad. I grabbed my stuff and got out of there fast. I haven’t been back. Not for therapy anyway.”

“Why would Malcolm tell me that you’re having an affair with Loraine?”

“Probably because he’s still going to sessions with her. I think he wanted to stop. I even begged him. But he’s still seeing her twice a week. Now with this murder thing coming up again, I think that he knows you’ll find out that Willie walked in on us. He wants you to know about it in advance and agree to keep it confidential. That way, he can keep seeing Loraine and I’m the bad girl. Unfortunately for Malcolm, he doesn’t know our history.” She paused. “Your eggs are getting cold,” she added.

“How would I find out what Willie saw? I mean, I’m a good detective, but we’ve come up blank on just about everything.”

“Because he told someone.”

“Who? Who did he tell?”

“Willie was in love with Loraine. He sent her notes, followed her around like a puppy. When he walked in on Loraine and me, he got really angry.”

“So who did he tell?”

“He told the bishop.”

“He did what?!”

“He called the bishop and told him that Loraine and I were having an affair.”

“That’s grounds for Loraine’s immediate dismissal. Why would he do that if he was in love with her?”

“He was mad at her. I guess he felt betrayed. Anyway, the bishop called Loraine and she denied the whole thing. So did I. Of course, I was only asked if I was having an affair with Loraine, which I wasn’t. So it was Willie’s word against hers. She filed a sexual harassment lawsuit as a smokescreen so it would make Willie’s testimony less credible. But when the inquiry began and I was called to testify, I would have had to tell the truth. I told Malcolm as much.”