Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines (20 page)

This was Benny’s entrance and most thurifer’s bread and butter, but even more impressive was the censing of the altar during the Great Thanksgiving, that part of the service that leads us into communion. Most priests, at this point, will take the pot from the thurifer and swing it clumsily at the Eucharistic elements like they were trying to douse them with lighter fluid. To his credit, Father Dressler allowed Benny to do it.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” Father Dressler said as two smoke signals rose slowly from the cloud surrounding the altar, looking like nothing much until they were ten feet above everyone’s heads, then morphing into two characters: the Alpha and the Omega. Then the Alpha character became a dove that swooped through the middle of the Omega, and winged its way heavenward.

“Holy smokes!” I muttered, then smiled at my own joke. “Holy smokes
…
”

* * *

Moosey and Bernie performed admirably in their acolyting debut, nothing being set afire that wasn’t supposed to be. The choir wasn’t atrocious, although most of them found that kneeling and getting back up with a stiff choir ruff on was totally different from performing the same feat unruffled. Almost all of them needed help from the two ushers stationed on either side of the center aisle. Despite each member of the choir genuflecting, none of the congregation, including myself, followed suit.

The communion anthem was worse than the offertory anthem, neither of them being particularly good, and the Psalm wasn’t their best effort either. The Chevalier didn’t bother to conduct with either a head-nod, a look, or the occasional a free hand. The choir would be able to handle his style eventually, but not at first blush.

And, as was expected, Meg was fit to be tied.

Chapter 25

Pete, Meg, Cynthia, and I were sitting in the Slab on Monday morning having a cup of coffee. Meg was waiting for Bev to come in, then they were going down to Asheville to meet with some other investment folks about opening a branch of their nonprofit down in the big city. Pete was taking a break from cooking, and Cynthia wasn’t working tables this morning since it was her morning over at the courthouse.

“Who hired this guy anyway?” asked Cynthia. “The priest, I mean. He sounds singularly awful.”

“I was not on that committee,” said Meg. “I don’t remember who all it was, but Bev was on it, that’s for sure.”

“Joyce Cooper, Mark Wells, Bob Solomon, me, and Georgia,” said Bev, appearing at the table. She pulled up a chair from an adjoining table and squeezed in. “Also Fred May and Francis Passaglio. We’re all meeting on Thursday. It’s the first time we can get together. An emergency meeting.”

“I guess you all should start looking for a full-time rector sometime soon,” I said. “Like, maybe immediately.”

“I guess,” said Bev, “but you know that Father Dressler has already been courting his minions: the dispossessed, disenfranchised, the unappreciated, the poor in spirit. He’s been at St. Barnabas two weeks and already has a claque. He’s garnering support for his application even before it’s been accepted. He’s told several people privately that they’ll be on the vestry within the year and then they can help him affect the changes that need to happen.”

“How do you know that?” Meg asked.

“Because Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle can’t keep her trap shut, bless her little blabbermouth’s heart. We’ve got to do something soon or it will be too late.”

Meg and Bev both glared across the table and gave me the stinkeye.

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’m on sabbatical.”

“You’re the whole reason we’re in this mess,” said Bev. “If you were still in the choir loft, at least there would be some semblance of normality. You could ride herd till this guy blew out of here.”

“You’re not blaming this on me,” I said. “This one’s on you.”

Bev sighed. “I know. Can’t I just pretend it’s someone else’s fault?”

“You can blame Pete, I guess,” I said.

“Sure,” said Pete. “Why not?”

“I’m so mad I could just spit,” said Meg. “You know, he just came right out and fired Marjorie. She’s been in the choir since Abraham was in knee pants!”

Cynthia laughed. “What did you just say?”

Meg put her head down on the table. “I know! I’m so upset, I’m using my mother’s expressions!”

“There’s a big rehearsal tonight,” I said to Pete and Cynthia. “It could even get worse.”

“I’m sure it will,” moaned Meg.

“I’m thinking about not going,” said Bev. “Maybe it’s time we
all
took sabbaticals.”

“You could,” I said, “but that’s probably what the Chevalier wants. Then he’ll go over to the university, hire a bunch of ringers using the music fund money, and run the rest of you volunteers out of there.”

“
What?
” said Bev. “Over my dead body! This is
our
choir!”

“You want something to eat?” Noylene asked, putting down a clean place setting and coffee cup in front of Bev. “Or are you just taking up space like the rest of ‘em?”

“Just taking up space, thanks,” said Bev, “but I would like some coffee.”

“‘Course you would,” grumbled Noylene.

“What wrong, honey?” Meg said to her. “You are way out of sorts this morning.”

“It’s Hog,” she said. “He’s making me crazy. I gotta go over to Boone and get him some medicine. And, of course, I gotta go this morning. It can’t wait till tomorrow!”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” said Meg.

“Not as far as I’m concerned. He saw on TV that he’s got reptile disfunction.”

“Huh?” said Cynthia. “What on earth is that?”

“Reptile dysfunction,” said Noylene. “I guess that means his reptile don’t work.”

“Ohhh,” said Cynthia, then laughed. Meg joined her.

“It ain’t funny!” snarled Noylene. “Those pills are ten bucks a piece. I’ll tell you this much. They sure ain’t worth ten bucks to
me
. I wouldn’t give you a plugged nickel!”

The cowbell jangled against the glass door and I saw Nancy come in. She shed her coat, hung it on the wall and wandered through the maze of tables to where we were sitting in the back. She pulled up yet another chair, and we all scooched closer to make room.

“I thought of something,” she said. “You remember when that article came out in the
Tattler
? The one about the victims?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Do we still have a copy somewhere?”

I shook my head. “I don’t.”

Everyone else at the table also answered in the negative.

“Hang on,” said Noylene. “Lemme look in the back. I’ve got a stack of those things that I save for wrapping used color foils. Which week you looking for?”

“Two Fridays ago,” said Nancy, and Noylene disappeared into the kitchen.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“Something Helen said to Annette. Its been bothering me for two weeks and I finally figured out what it was.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” said Cynthia. “What was it?”

“Hang on,” said Nancy. “I just need to read the article again.”

Noylene walked out of the kitchen and handed Nancy a copy of the
Tattler
. The headline read “Foreclosed Properties Cloak Gristly Murders.”

“That’s the one,” said Nancy. “Thanks.”

She pulled out her pen and started reading the article silently to herself, then stopped, circled a sentence and said, in her best law enforcement voice, “A-ha!”

“Aha?” I said.

“A-ha! I have solved it!”

“Solved the murders?” Pete said.

“Practically.”

“Let’s hear it then,” I said.

Nancy laid the newspaper on the table and spread it out so we could see where she drew her circle in blue ink, then read, “The detectives at the scene acknowledged that all the women were found in the same circumstances, although it is not known whether the missing earring was common to all three victims.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” said Meg.

“Sure it is,” said Nancy. “Here’s the thing. Helen snuck into the room with us just after we found the body. Then she got queasy and went into the hall. When she was outside the bedroom, I checked and pointed out the missing earring to Hayden. But Helen didn’t ever see that. She wasn’t there.
That’s what we were missing.
”

Meg said, “Maybe she heard you talking about it.”

I shook my head. “Nope. I remember exactly what happened. Nancy never uttered a word because Helen was in the hall. She pulled Crystal’s hair back off her shoulders, checked her earrings, then put her hair back.

Nancy nodded. “So Helen had no way of knowing at that point that Crystal was missing an earring. She came back into the room, but we were already standing back up.”

“Couldn’t she have heard it from one of the Bookworms?” asked Cynthia. “You told them, didn’t you?”

“Not until after the paper came on the next Friday. We didn’t tell anyone. Kent knew, Dave, and us. You or Pete didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Not me,” said Cynthia, looking over at Pete. He shook his head. “Nope.”

“How about Mom?” said Meg. “She was the one who discovered the similarities to the book.”

“Didn’t tell her,” I said, shaking my head again. “She read
See Your Shadow
, but we never said anything about the missing earring to her.”

“There it is,” said Nancy triumphantly. “Another case solved.”

“Dadgummit!” I said. “I should have caught it. That’s the kind of detective stuff I’m really good at.”

Meg leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m sure you would have figured it out eventually, sweetie.”

“That Helen Pigeon!” said Nancy in disgust. “I knew I should have arrested her straight away.”

“No harm done,” I said. “Why don’t we have another cup of coffee and then go and get her?”

We would have done just that, but at that exact moment, who should come into the Slab but Helen Pigeon and Monica Jones? They took a table next to the large front window and positioned themselves so they could watch the snow which was beginning to fall again. It was a pretty snow, light and sparkly in the half-sunshine. Looking closely, you could make out the individual snowflakes as they drifted in, big as quarters. Noylene, who had been privy to our conversation eyed the couple warily, not sure whether to go over to the table or not. I nodded to her. Let Helen have her last cup of coffee, I thought. She won’t be getting anything this good in the big house.

We finished leisurely, chatting about the weather, St. Barnabas politics, and Meg and Bev’s new project in Asheville. Then Nancy and I excused ourselves and walked over to Helen Pigeon’s table.

“Helen,” I said. “We’d really like to speak with you.”

“Can it wait?” said Helen. “Monica and I are on our way into Boone.”

Monica said, “Maybe we should postpone our trip, Helen. The snow is really coming down.” She gestured toward the window and we could see she was right. “I don’t want to go down the mountain in a snowstorm.”

“You’re right,” said Helen. “I hate to miss the sale at the Mast General Store, though. I guess I took a personal day for nothing.”

“You’re skipping school?” asked Nancy.

“I have four months left before I retire and about three years in personal leave built up. At this point I can afford to take a day here and there.”

“That’s great,” I said. We’d appreciate it if you’d come with us to the station. We have a few questions for you. It’s about the evening we found Crystal Latimore in your house. We need to rely on your memory for a couple of things.”

“Have you discovered something?” said Helen, excitement evident in her voice. “Can I help with the investigation?”

“You certainly can and will,” I said, helping Helen to her feet. Nancy had her coat and handed it to her.

“You’ll excuse us,” I said to Monica, who, unlike Helen, seemed to know something was amiss. Monica nodded and watched us warily.

We walked out into the weather and down the sidewalk toward the police station, the snow muffling our footsteps. We didn’t say anything to Helen and I sensed that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. One block later we walked into the station. Dave was sitting at his desk behind the counter, working on his laptop, and looked up as we entered. I ushered Helen into my office and offered her a chair. I took the one behind my desk. Nancy stood. Dave listened in from his desk.

“Helen,” I said. “We have a problem.” Good cop.

Helen now looked scared.

“Remember back when we were in your house and Nancy told you to stay on the porch?”

Helen nodded mutely.

“You didn’t stay on the porch. You came into the house, followed us to the back bedroom and walked in on the body of Crystal Latimore. Remember that?”

She nodded again, her eyes widening, and her lower lip beginning to quiver.

“You got a little queasy and went into the hall, then came back in to the bedroom while we were working the crime scene. Do you remember the last thing I told you before you left?”

“Do I need a lawyer?” asked Helen in a quavery little voice.

“You’re damn right you need a lawyer!” barked Nancy. Bad cop. Helen’s head snapped around and she looked with horror at Lieutenant Nancy Parsky, one hand on her gun, glowering, now all business.

Helen broke down in sobs. “All right. I admit it. I’m so sorry
…
” She buried her head in her hands.

“You have the right to remain silent,” said Nancy. “That means no crying.”