Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines (6 page)

“We didn’t find anything at the house on Maple Street,” said Dave, then lowered his voice, “but we just got a call from a woman named Rachel Walt. She’s a real estate agent in Banner Elk.”

“Yeah?” I said. Nancy looked as though she was standing guard, hands on her hips, checking out the patrons at the other tables to make sure no one was overtly eavesdropping.

“She bought one of those houses yesterday,” continued Dave. “The first one that sold, the one on Oak Street.”

“I remember.”

He lowered his voice and bent low over the table. “She just called. There’s a dead body in one of the closets.”

“
What?!
” blurted Meg.

“Shh,” said Dave. “Keep your voice down, will you.”

“Are you serious?” whispered Ruby. “Another body?”

“Oh, yeah,” answered Dave. “We haven’t been over there yet. We were at the other house when I got the call on my cell. Nancy said you’d be over here eating lunch.”

“Well, it
is
Sunday,” said Meg, then turned to me, “You go on. I’ll settle the bill. Give me a call when you get a chance and let me know what’s going on.”

Chapter 6

We walked the two blocks from downtown to the corner of Oak and Greenaway. 317 Oak Street was an address that had some history to it. The house number hadn’t resonated with me during the auction, but as we walked up, all of us recognized it as the old Cemetery Cottage, so called because of the five tombstones set deep in the back of the property. These overgrown markers were from the 1860s and, although there had been some talk about moving the remains to a more suitable grave yard, either Mountainview Cemetery or Wormy Acres, nothing had been settled and the owners had been content to let the dead lie undisturbed.

The house was a nondescript 1920s vacation house, probably originally with no insulation, no electricity, and no plumbing, that had been converted sometime in its life to four-season living. It looked much like every other house on this block of Oak Street, small and set on a long, narrow lot. There was a raised front porch and the young woman I’d seen yesterday was standing next to the front door, wringing her hands.

“Oh, my God!” she said when she was sure we were within earshot. “You’ve got to do something!”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said as we climbed the steps. “We will. Let’s go inside and you can tell us what happened.”

She led us through the front door and into a small living room. I’d been right about one thing. Nothing had been updated in this house for several decades. Maybe since the 70s.

“My name is Rachel Walt. I bought this house yesterday. You know, at the auction.”

The young woman was in her late twenties or early thirties, very pretty. She was wearing a calf-length stylish winter coat and a fur hat. Her hands were stuck deep in her pockets. She was shivering, but probably not only from the cold.

“I was there,” I said. “Nancy was, too.”

“I remember you,” said Nancy.

“I’m a realtor in Banner Elk. I live there. I saw this auction come up and did some homework and figured that if I could get a property at a good price, I could flip it and make a nice profit.”

“I thought you got it at a good price,” I said.

“That’s what I thought, too. Then I find out there are a bunch of bodies buried in the back yard.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Nancy “This is the Cemetery Cottage. Everyone in town knows about it. It isn’t going to hurt the value any.”

“No,” said the agent, “but I’m dang sure that dead one in the back closet will.”

“Would you show us?” I asked.

Rachel Walt gave a shudder. “I guess. She’s right back here.”

She led us down a short paneled hallway and through a door on the left. A rather long, narrow bedroom by the looks of it, although there was no furniture. At the near end of the room was a closet and the door was standing open.

“Right there,” she said, and pointed toward the dark entrance.

Like Bud’s house, the power to this one had been turned off at some point, but we’d brought our flashlights. In addition, there was sunlight coming in the two windows of the bedroom. This woman, like the last one, was propped up against the side wall of the closet, legs stretched out in front of her, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were closed but her face was drawn and she looked to be shriveled. Dried up. She was wearing a skirt and a blouse and her feet were in what looked to be expensive shoes. Nice clothes. Church clothes.

“Amy Ventura,” said Nancy, shining her flashlight in the woman’s face.

“Yep,” I said.

“Who’s that?” asked Rachel. “Who’s Amy Ventura.”

“She’s lives up on Tinkler’s Knob,” Nancy said. “Makes a living as a grant writer. Works from home. I think she freelances all over, but I know she’s done some work for the Wings of Eagles Foundation and Big Sisters in Boone.”

“How do you know?” asked Dave.

“I’m on their boards,” said Nancy. “You know, Dave, it wouldn’t hurt you to get out and do a little community work every now and then.”

“She’s also works for the St. Germaine Town Council,” I said. “Cynthia knows her.”

“Huh,” Dave grunted.

“Did you already call the ambulance?” I asked Dave.

He shook his head, pulled out his cell phone and tapped it a few times. “I was hoping we really wouldn’t need one,” he said, then walked out of the bedroom into the hallway to talk.

“I’ll call Kent and give him a heads up,” said Nancy. “When we’re finished here.”

“So, tell me what happened,” I said to Rachel. “How exactly did you find her?”

Rachel nodded, thought for a moment and made a face. “I came here right after church. I go to Arbor Dale Presbyterian in Banner Elk. I drove up, unlocked the door, and came in. I was looking around. You know, going into all the rooms as one does. At the auction yesterday, someone — I don’t remember who — said to me, ‘I see you bought the old Cemetery Cottage.’ Then, when I didn’t know what they meant, they said that there was a graveyard at the back of the property. So I was getting ready to go out there next when I opened the door to that closet and there she was.

“Did you touch anything?” I asked.

“Of course not. Well, the door knob I guess. I dialed 911 and they patched me through to Officer Dave out there. Then you guys all walked up. What’s the deal? You don’t have a police car?”

I ignored her.

“Nope,” said Nancy. “We’re just bumpkins, not like your fancy police force in Banner Elk.”

Rachel’s face flushed. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“We’re going to have to keep you out of the house for a couple of days,” I said. “Just till we figure out what happened to Amy Ventura. We’ll need your contact information.”

“I understand,” said Rachel. She handed me one of her business cards. “Just let me know when you’re finished. And if you ever need a good realtor
…
”

“You’ll be the first one I call,” I lied.

Rachel Walt walked out of the room and we listened to the front door open, then close with a bang. Dave came back into the room.

“The bus is on the way,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Now call the electric company and get the power turned on here and in Bud’s house, too. Today. Don’t take any excuses. If they have to send someone out, get them to do it, but I’m reasonably sure they only need to press a button somewhere.”

Dave nodded and turned his attention back to his cell.

I took Nancy’s arm and steered her back to Amy, then squatted and pointed at her left ear. “Missing earring,” I said softly, then stood up. “We’ve got to call Jeff and Helen Pigeon and get into that house they bought yesterday.”

Nancy looked confused for a moment, then understanding crept across her face. “You don’t think
…
?”

“I hope not.”

Chapter 7

Helen Pigeon informed us that Jeff wasn’t home — he’d gone to a Sunday School men’s retreat and wouldn’t be back until after supper — but she would be glad to come and meet us. Ten minutes later, Nancy and I were waiting on the covered porch of a Victorian style house on Cherry Bluff Lane. We’d walked over since our vehicles were still downtown and the address was only three blocks away.

“I checked on the next of kin for Darla Kildair this morning,” Nancy told me as we walked. “I couldn’t find anyone. No husband, no family that I could locate. She was married once, but divorced back in 1996.”

“How about Amy? You know if she’s married? Any kids?”

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know. I knew who she was because I’ve sat in a few board meetings with her, but I didn’t know her well.”

Helen drove up, parked on the street, and joined us on the front porch of the house a minute later.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Afternoon, Helen,” I said. “We just need to look inside. There’s been a problem with the other two houses sold yesterday.”

“What kind of problem?” Helen was fumbling with a ring of keys trying to find the one that fit. “Dang it! Jeff put the key on this ring with our other ones. We have three other houses that we rent out.”

“Yeah,” I said, ignoring her question. “Jeff told me that.”

“I haven’t even gone in yet. Right after the auction, Jeff took off for that retreat, and I was in Hickory yesterday. I didn’t get back till last night and the electricity isn’t turned on, so I didn’t bother to come over. Then, church this morning
…
”

She found a key that worked and the door swung open. She led the way in.

“Helen,” I said, “why don’t you wait outside? We just need to do some checking.”

“Why can’t I come in?”

“It’d be better of you waited on the porch.”

Helen scooched around me and made for the living room. “Oh, I won’t be any bother. Why don’t I just look around as long as I’m here?”

“Helen,” growled Nancy, “get on the porch and stay there or I’ll handcuff you to the railing.”

“Well!” said Helen, in a highly offended tone. “Well, I
never!
”

“We won’t be long,” I said. “You can go on back home if you’d like. We’ll be happy to lock up after we’re finished.”

“I certainly will not! I’m going to wait right here until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Suit yourself,” said Nancy, glaring at her. “But you step inside this door again before we give you the okay and I’ll take you to jail.” Nancy liked to play “bad cop.”

“You don’t have a jail,” sniffed Helen, “but I’ll stay on the porch.”

Nancy and I went straight for the bedrooms. In the second one we checked, we found the body, this one with a purse clutched in her hands. She was stretched out in the closet like the others and wearing a stylish pant suit. Our flashlights revealed a middle-aged woman, medium length salt and pepper hair, eyes closed.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Nancy.

I had my phone out and was getting ready to call Dave. Before I’d punched in the number, the lights in the bedroom came on.

“Huh,” I said. “Dave’s on the ball. I didn’t even tell him to get this house turned on as well as the other two.”

“Yeah,” said Nancy, “he’s a smart guy.” This was high praise from Nancy. In the old days, Dave had quite the crush on Lieutenant Nancy Parsky. She tolerated it, then rather enjoyed it, then they’d become a couple briefly, then the infatuation had worn off and Dave had found other romantic interests. He was currently seeing his old fiancée, Collette Bowers, who lived in Wilkesboro, about an hour away. Nancy had nothing but contempt for Collette, but, as far as I could tell, she and Dave had found middle ground and were good friends.”

There was a closet light, but it hadn’t been left on. I flipped the switch and an old fluorescent bulb sputtered to life. I squatted down beside Nancy.

Nancy had her latex gloves on and the purse out of the woman’s hands. She rifled through it, then pulled out an overstuffed wallet and opened it.

“Crystal Latimore,” Nancy said, reading the driver’s license. “5427 Highway 105 in Linville. The picture matches.” She thumbed through the wallet. “Credit cards, a St. Germaine Library card, insurance card, some receipts. Usual stuff. All with her name on it.”

“What’s going on?” said a voice behind us. Helen’s voice. She was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “All the lights came on! Did you find something?”

Nancy stood up angrily and when she did, Helen spotted the woman’s legs stretched out straight across the closet floor.

“Oh my
GOD!
” she screeched. “Is that a dead person?”

“Helen Pigeon,” Nancy said, fury in her voice, “you’re under arrest for being a pain in the
…
”

“Hang on,” I said. “She was bound to find out in a few minutes anyway.”

“I don’t care,” said Nancy. “I’m going to cuff her.”

“Who is it?” asked Helen, ignoring Nancy and sidling into the room for a better look. “Anyone we know? A woman? Has she been murdered?” She tried peeking around my shoulder to get a better look.

I got to my feet. “We don’t know, Helen,” I said. “All we know right now is that she’s dead.”

“That’s Crystal!” shrieked Helen, seeing the woman’s face. “Crystal Latimore! Wait a minute
…
” Helen’s eyes narrowed in consternation, then realization dawned and they grew wide. “Wait
…
just
…
one
…
minute
…
There were dead bodies in the other two houses, weren’t there?”

“Can I arrest her
now
?” asked Nancy, in disgust.

Helen suddenly looked very uncomfortable, not green exactly, but maybe half way there. “I’m feeling sort of
…
umm
…
you know. May I go into the hall for a minute?”

“Sure,” I said. “You take your time.”

Crystal was as frozen as the other two corpses. Nancy, kneeling next to the body, pulled her shoulder length hair away from her face, one side, then the other, then looked up at me and nodded. A missing earring. She let the hair drop back to her shoulders.

“I’m okay now,” said Helen, coming back into the room. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually fine around dead people.”

Nancy and I gave her a look we reserved for lunatics.

“What I mean is,” said Helen with a nervous laugh, “that, you know, when I have to go to a funeral or something, the dead body doesn’t bother me. I’m happy to stand and chat all day!”

Nancy and I exchanged glances.

Helen fluttered her hands, then bleated nervously, “No, not with the dead person. I know that the dead person can’t chat or even hear what I’m saying, but what I mean is that I’m happy to talk to other people hanging around the dead person, but not the dead person because that would be a ghost and I don’t believe in ghos
…
”

“I get it,” I said, interrupting, then stepped back. Nancy stood and moved aside as well.

I said, “How do you know Crystal Latimore?”

Now that I was out of the way, Helen stared down at the body. “She goes to our church. You know, Mountain Grace Fellowship at Price Park.”

“Do you know if she’s married?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Helen, still staring. “At least, if she is, I’ve never met her husband. Of course, he might just not come to church.”

“Kids?” I asked.

Helen shook her head. “No, but they might be grown and live somewhere else. She’s in her forties I guess.”

“Forty-five, according to her license,” said Nancy. She took out her phone. “I’ll call Dave and have him send the ambulance over here when they’re done at Oak Street.”

“I
knew
it!” said Helen, her face lighting up with a certain excitement.

“Helen,” I said, “you are now going home and we’re locking this house up. You’re not saying anything about this to anyone, because we have to notify the next of kin. It would be very unchristian of you to spread this news before we’ve done so. You understand?”

Helen visage became somber immediately. “I understand, Hayden. May I tell Jeff at least?”

“Yes, but you give him the same warning. We have to try to get hold of Crystal’s family.”

“Poor Crystal,” Helen said, then turned and walked out of the bedroom.

“She’ll be on the phone the second she hits her front door,” said Nancy.