Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines (15 page)

“We were too busy today for church,” explained Bernie. “We’ll be there next week though. We’re going to be acolytes.”

“Excellent!” Meg said. “I’m sure you will do a fine job.”

“Does Kimberly Walnut know about this?” I asked.

“Dunno,” said Moosey.

“Father asked us,” said Bernie.

“Father?” said Meg. “Your father?”

Bernie giggled. “No, not
Daddy.
Father. That’s what the new priest said we should call him. Just ‘Father.’ Anyway, we have a new job!”

“We’re ambulance drivers!” said Moosey. “Well, when we’re not being acolytes or delivering wine.”

“That’s right,” added Bernie. “Dr. Jackson says we can be the ambulance for sick animals around town. That way people won’t have to wait to bring them in. Of course, we can only do it on weekends and after school till the summer. Then we’re full-time.”

I noticed that there was a medium sized animal crate in the bed of the cart.

“What about when you’re in church?” I asked. “You know
…
acolyting.”

Moosey and Bernie looked at each other and shrugged at the same time.

“I guess we’ll have to leave,” said Moosey. “If it’s an emergency, I mean.”

“Of course we will!” said Bernie. “We took an oath.”

“You did?” said Meg. “An oath?”

“Well
…
no
…
but Dr. Jackson said that lives depended on us. It’s the same thing. I’m going to be a vet when I grow up, just like her. I love animals!”

“I love ‘em, too,” said Moosey, “but I’m going to be an ambulance driver when I grow up. We just got back from taking Miss Hannah’s big ol’ fat cat to the hospital. Dr. Jackson said he was okay, just a hairball or something, but she’s gonna keep him overnight. Lookee here! We got pagers!”

He held out a pocket pager for us to see and Bernie held out hers as well, fishing it from the pocket of her coat.

Moosey said, “If there’s a pick up we’re s’posed to make, Dr. Jackson’s nurse sends us a page. Cool, huh?”

“
And
we get paid!” crowed Bernie. “Three dollars a piece for every delivery.”

“You two are living the dream,” I said. “Be careful and don’t get in any wrecks.”

“We won’t ‘cause
I’
m the driver,” Moosey said, looking sternly at Bernadette.

“For now,” Bernie replied sweetly, in that way that pre-women have of knowing they’ll get their way sooner or later. “You’re the driver
for now
…
”

Chapter 19

The city resembled nothing so much as the nose of a giant woodchuck in excellent health: cold, black, and wet. We decided that Pedro would go undercover. A cantor of his standing would be as welcome as flowers in spring, tra-la.

“These crinolines are bunching up,” he said, chomping on a stogy, “and this lace is sticking to me like feathers to a freshly tarred heretic.”

“Quit complaining!” I barked, not like a groundhog bark, although I probably could have managed it which would have seemed very clever, this being a groundhog story and all, but quite frankly, I didn’t think about it until later, so the bark came out more like a medium-sized dog bark: maybe an Affenpinscher or even a pensive seal.

“Easy for you to say,” said Pedro, not barking. “I’ve got nowhere to stash my heater.”

“Stick it in your tunicle.”

“Yeah,” agreed Pedro.

I said, “Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong end.”

“Could be,” agreed Pedro. “What’s the wrong end of a groundhog?”

It was a question for the ages.

* * *

My cell phone rang on Monday morning. I’d just arrived at the police station, having made my way down the mountains in good time. There was still some snow to be sure, but yesterday’s sunshine had cleared the roads nicely. I answered the call.

“Hayden Konig.”

“Hayden? This is Alison Jeager. From the Bookworms.”

“Good morning, Doctor. How can I help you?”

“Well,” she said, “I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we had lunch. I did know all three of the victims. They were all patients of mine. I didn’t want to say anything, because I didn’t feel the rest of the Bookworms needed to be aware of that fact.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” I said. “How about the rest of it? Is it true that you hadn’t seen Crystal Latimore for a few years?”

“No, that wasn’t true. I saw her three weeks ago. She had been complaining about feeling very tired and had a low-grade fever that she couldn’t shake so she came in. It was time for her yearly physical anyway. Her blood work showed that she was in the early stages of leukemia. Specifically chronic lymphocytic leukemia. It progresses slowly.”

“Had you told her?”

“Oh, yes. The last time I saw her was when I told her. I prefer to give news like that face to face. She was going to make an appointment with a cancer specialist I recommended in Greensboro, but I never heard from her after that.”

“Okay,” I said. “How about Amy Ventura?”

“She’s been a patient of mine for six years. General good health. Comes in regularly for an exam and occasionally when she gets sick. I treated her once for a sprained back, once for strep throat, and a few times when she had the flu. A year and a half ago she came in with TMJ. I prescribed some pain medication and referred her. Basically, though, a clean bill of health.”

“Darla Kildair?”

“Darla didn’t have any specific complaints. Just general aches and pains associated with middle age.”

“Any medications?” I asked

I heard the rustling of some papers, then, “Premarin — that’s an estrogen replacement — and Lisinopril for high blood pressure.”

“Did these three women know each other? That you know of?”

“Not that I know of.”

I thought for a moment. “How about your waiting room? Were they ever all scheduled for an appointment within, say, an hour of each other?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check with my office manger and get back to you.”

“Would you do that?”

“I’d be happy to. I’m sorry for the deception. You understand.”

“I do. Thanks for calling, Doctor.”

I told Nancy about Alison Jaeger’s call when she came in.

“Humph,” she sniffed. “Pretty convenient.”

* * *

Dave had just come in from the donut run when the door to the station banged open and Kimberly Walnut appeared. Her shoulder-length, mouse-brown hair was an un-coiffed mess and her makeup had been applied with far less care then usual. She was a nut, but usually a well-put-together nut.

“I just heard!” she screeched. “I called Bun in the Oven to order some pastries for this morning’s staff meeting and Diana Evarts told me that I’m probably next on the list!”

“What list?” asked Dave. He was standing behind the counter perusing his box of donuts.

“The death list!” shrieked Kimberly Walnut. “A lawyer, a hair dresser, a publicist, and a
woman priest.
”

“A minister, actually,” said Nancy, choosing a donut of the chocolate cake variety.

“I’m the only one!”

“Well, the only one in St. Germaine,” I said. “I’m sure there are more than a few others in the surrounding towns. Keep in mind that two of the women were from other communities.”

“I want police protection!” demanded Kimberly Walnut.

“We can have Dave move in with you for a week or two,” said Nancy. “Do you have an extra bedroom?”

Dave’s eyes got big and he tried to say something, but his mouth was occupied with Bavarian cream.

“No police protection,” I said. “If you were an intended victim, you’d probably be dead by now.”

“You don’t know that,” said Kimberly Walnut, her screeching turning to a whine.

“Maybe you could take a sabbatical like Hayden,” suggested Nancy. “Go to England or somewhere.

“There’s a staff meeting in a half hour,” Kimberly Walnut said, now glaring at me. “Nine o’clock sharp.”

“And this has do with me?”

“Father Dressler said you should be there.” She spun on her heel and slammed out the door.

“Wow,” said Dave, finally swallowing. “She’s in a snit. Are you going to go to the staff meeting?”

I sighed. “I guess. There’s now a Candlemas Evensong looming on the horizon. If I have to preside over another rehearsal, I should probably at least give the choir the correct music.”

* * *

There are few things more exasperating than a Monday morning church staff meeting and Father Gallus Dressler didn’t do anything to take the edge off.

“I prefer Monday mornings for staff meetings,” he announced, walking in five minutes late, the tails of his cassock flapping behind him. “It gives us all a chance to think about the service yesterday and discuss it while it’s fresh in our minds.” He came flouncing in with a stack of file folders in one hand and a large wooden box that he carried by its handle in the other. The folders were placed in front of him, the box disappeared beside his chair.

Seated at the conference table where our staff meetings were generally held was; Marilyn, there to take notes; Kimberly Walnut; Joyce Cooper, the church treasurer; Carol Sterling, the head of the Altar Guild; and Bev Greene, currently head of the Worship Committee. Bev had been appointed by the vestry at the beginning of the year, at my suggestion, after the last rector had departed. Before Bev, Kimberly Walnut had been acting as the Worship Committee all by herself, with the help of her disciple, Heather Frampton. Beverly had put the committee back together, but she was the only one of them present this morning.

Usually, these meetings were preceded and accompanied by coffee. No such luck this morning, although there were some pastries on a glass tray in the center of the table. Five pastries. I stood, reached to the center of the table and took one. Father Dressler followed my example a moment later. None of the ladies bothered.

“Now then,” the priest said, placing both hands on the top of his folders. “I have an announcement to make.”

“Shouldn’t we begin with a prayer?” Bev asked sweetly.

“Yes, yes,” muttered Father Dressler. “Of course we should. Hayden, would you be so kind?” He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Bev caught my eye and gave me a smirk.

I had nothing handy so I went with the
Chorister’s Prayer.
I had several good graces for blessing food, some sentences for funerals, and more than a few collects committed to memory, but this one seemed right for the occasion:



Bless, O Lord, us Thy servants who minister in Thy temple. 
Grant that what we sing with our lips, we may believe in our hearts, and what we believe in our hearts, we may show forth in our lives. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

“Amen,” everyone echoed, then Father Dressler said, “As I indicated before I was interrupted
…
”

“By our opening prayer,” said Bev.

The priest ignored her. “
…
I’d like to announce that I will be handing in my formal application for the position of rector of St. Barnabas to the vestry. I feel God’s leading in this decision and it may be that with my application on file, the hiring process may be quite a bit shorter than originally thought. If all goes well, St. Barnabas may have a new full-time rector within a month.”

“You’ve only been here a little over a week,” said Bev.

“Yes, but I’m quite capable of assessing the essence of a congregation very quickly. It’s one of my gifts. I feel that this church would be a fine match for my particular skill set.”

“And that skill set is
…
?” said Bev. Bev was the only one weighing in on this announcement. I didn’t particularly care whether he turned in his application or not. The others probably feared for their jobs.

“I think that’s a conversation better left to the vestry and the search committee,” he said with a smarmy smile, probably not realizing that Bev was a member of both. “Now, to business. As you know, I’ve announced a Candlemas Evensong for a week from Wednesday at five o’clock, February 2nd. Hayden, you will rehearse the music
this
Wednesday, but the Chevalier will be here on Saturday, so you may feel free to continue your sabbatical after your rehearsal.”

I smiled at him.

“The Chevalier?” said Carol.

“He will be our musician for the foreseeable future.”

“Six months, anyway,” I said.

“Indeed,” said the priest with a small smile.

“Does he have a name?” asked Joyce.

“The Chevalier Lance Fleagle. He has a master’s degree from Oberlin.”

“Ooo,” said Bev. “Wow.”

If the priest noticed her sarcasm, he didn’t acknowledge it. “He and I are both members of the Order of St. Clementine. He chooses to use the honorary title of ‘Chevalier.’ You will all respect that please.”

“Of course we will,” said Bev. “What’s the order of St. Clementine?”

“It’s not like the Elks,” I said. “Not one bit.”

“The Order of St. Clementine is inspired by the statutes defined by Ladislaus the Posthumus in 1441. We are pledged to the chivalric virtues.”

“Oh,” said Bev.

Father Dressler continued. “I have gotten the names of two young people who I have been told will make fine acolytes. I shall begin their training this Wednesday evening.” He ruffled through a couple of sheets of paper, then came up with the names. “Bernie Kenton and Mossy McCollough.”

“That’s ‘Moosey,’ I believe,” said Carol.

“Moosey?” said Father Dressler, making a note on his pad. “That’s an odd name.”

“A nickname,” I said.

“Oh, that explains it.”

“Yes,” I continued, “his given name is Moosehead Rheingold McCollough.”

Father Dressler looked up at me, decided I was joking, and went back to his note taking. “Anyway,” he said, “if there are no objections, I’ll take these two and a couple of others into training. They will make their first acolyture this Sunday, but they will be installed at the Evensong. Make no mistake, this will be the solemnest of services! I think we should probably make an announcement that babies and small children should not be in attendance. Now, do we have a nursery available on Wednesdays?”

All of us looked at Kimberly Walnut, not just for affirmation of the nursery, but for some objection or comment as to the suitability Moosey and Bernie as acolytes. I had no problem with either of them, but they were two of Kimberly Walnut’s
arch-nemeses, having been two thorns in her side since she met them during the first Bible School she put on three years ago when she was hired as our Director of Christian Formation. Kimberly Walnut was pale and chewing on the inside of her lip, but she didn’t say anything except, “Yes, we’ll have a nursery available.”

“We will have a service of Evensong
and
Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament,” Father Dressler said. “I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the service
…
”

“Actually, we’re not,” I said. “We’ve done Evensong, of course, but we haven’t followed it with the Benediction.”

“It’s quite simple really,” said Father Dressler. “It’s simply a blessing of the congregation with the Eucharist at the end of a period of adoration. The consecrated host is placed in a monstrance set upon the altar. We shall have a reasonable time for reflection as the choir sings the
Tantum Ergo
. I will bless the people with the monstrance. Then we will repeat the
Laudes Divina
e — the
Divine Praises
— and the Blessed Sacrament will be returned to the aumbry as the choir sings Psalm 117.