Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (2 page)

The largest and loudest of the groups clustered around Judith Simpson. She sat on one of the brocade-covered chairs near the front windows and looked like a queen on her throne. The majority of the group was male.
No real surprise.
At one time or another, every male in the congregation, married or not, had flirted with Judith. Each had held her attention until she decided to blow them off with cruel remarks.

Her brown eyes slant, giving her an almost Oriental look. Straight dark hair cut to shoulder length adds to the image. As she spoke, her hands moved in exaggerated gestures. A constant flow of kinetic energy crackled as she stroked the new tenor's arm. He smiled.

Martin ended the moment of seduction by handing her a cup of coffee. Bearded, balding and overweight, he appeared to be a weak man, but beneath the surface lay a nurturing kind of strength. Did he mother his daughter as well as he did his wife?

Judith looked up at him. From across the room, I saw resentment on her face and in her body language. Her shoulders stiffened. Her mouth pulled into a tight line. Martin whispered in her ear. She nodded.

"Beth, Beth, darling,” Judith called. “Are you coming to the Pub with us?” Her shouted invitation rose over the hum of conversation.

"I'm taking Mrs. Miller home,” Beth said.

Judith waved at me. “Come with us and get away from this stuffy crowd. I need a drink before I perish. The well's been dry too long.” Brittle laughter followed her words.

"Another time."

"Beth?” Judith asked.

"It's late. Marcie has school tomorrow. Your daughter's so conscientious she won't nap while she's watching Robby. I'll send her home."

Judith rose. “Spoilsport. Don't worry about Marcie. She'd welcome an excuse to cut school. No music classes on Friday. If it weren't for them, she'd be a drop-out.” She put a hand on Beth's shoulders. “Take Mrs. Miller home and join us."

Beth stiffened. “Maybe."

"I'll have a drink waiting for you. Maybe you'll find a man.” She rubbed against Martin. “Three years since your husband's death. I don't know how you've survived. Men are so...so..."

Beth's face flamed. She reached for her jacket. I put on my coat. Judith, Martin and several other people strolled from the room.

Beth shook her head. “I don't know why I let her get to me."

"She likes to watch people squirm. Don't let her hurt you."

"It's not fair.” Beth grabbed her music folder. “She has a string of men. Maybe I hope some of her allure will rub off."

"Have you ever watched a cat play with a mouse? That's what she does. You don't need her friendship."

Beth sighed. “I've watched her drive people out of the choir with sneers and gossip. I couldn't handle that."

"You're stronger than you think."

"Not if I lose my sitter by making her angry. Marcie's at my house as much as she's at home. Judith's wrong. Marcie's making A's and B's in all her classes."

Does even her own daughter bear the brunt of her viscious tongue? I pushed open the heavy oak door. I began to regret my decision to head the search committee. Who would be Judith's next victim?

"Judith, are you coming?” Martin's shout startled me.

"I'm feeding the cat. I want to catch him and bring him home."

Beth and I paused at the head of the walk. Judith had crouched beside the privet hedge that surrounded the garden between the church and the parish house that once served as the manse. A gray cat hid in the bushes.

"You're allergic,” Martin said. “Come on. Everyone's waiting."

Judith dangled something above the cat's head. As he stretched, she raised her hand. “The party won't start until I arrive.” The cat snatched the food and vanished. Judith rose.

"Your good deed.” Sarcasm tinged my voice.

"I've named him Shadow and I'm determined to catch him. Maybe a bit of catnip will do the trick.” She smiled. “Beth, I will see you at the Pub.” A note of command filled her voice.

During the ride home, I thought about Judith and the cat. If Beth and I hadn't appeared, would she have teased the animal into a frenzy? Beth, Marcie, Martin, the cat. Who next? How was Marcie handling her mother's behavior?

"Do me a favor."

"Sure,” Beth said.

"Tell Marcie to stop by. I haven't heard her play since Christmas."

"I'll tell her when I get home."

"Thanks.” If Judith's attitude had tainted her daughter, Martin should be told.

By the end of February, the committee had eliminated all but three of the twelve applicants for the full-time position as music director. Though many churches are trimming their music programs, St. Stephen's can afford to expand. A trust fund insures the presence of a full-time director even if the minister can't be paid.

After our schedules for visits had been set, I stopped in the parish office to see Edward. The secretary, another Mary, showed me in. Edward jumped to his feet and held a chair for me. His large book-lined office had a small conversation area near the French doors that overlooked the garden. Last night's snow covered the lawn and the flowerbeds with a blinding blanket of white.

"You've found an organist,” he said.

"We've selected three candidates and have set our first trip for next Sunday."

He rubbed the balding spot on the top of his head. “Can't the process be hurried? I can't believe we'll have an Easter season without a...an outstanding organist. It's never happened before."

"The substitute and I will bumble along. We won't have a new organist before fall."

"But the Passion Sunday Evensong —"

"I've found an excellent quartet, but I have to let them know this week."

His pout reminded me of one from a child who has dropped his candy in the mud. “If you must. This is such a disaster."

"Hardly.” I rose. “Should I submit bills for our expenses or will you give us money from petty cash? We'll need money for gas and meals."

"Submit the bills. The Vestry prefers that. This group isn't as trusting as others in the past have been."

I left the office and headed home. Sunlight glared off the banks of snow lining the walks. Bits of old ice formed ragged patches on the concrete.

"Watch your step, Mrs. M.” Pete Duggan, my neighbor and a local police officer, fell into step beside me. His down jacket nearly matched his dark red hair. “Last time you had an accident, you got involved in a murder."

"Then I'm glad you're here. Once was enough."

His hazel eyes twinkled. “What happened to the knife?"

"What knife? I don't remember."

"Right.” The knife he referred to, the one used to kill my tenant, lay on the bottom of the Hudson River.

We reached the corner. “I'm crossing here. I have to see Beth Logan about church business."

"Beth Logan?"

I laughed. “Don't tell me there's an available woman in town you don't know. She's a widow. She and her six-year-old son live in the old Perkin's house. Sings in the choir and is a nurse at the hospital."

"Haven't had the honor.” He grinned. “Church business—missing robes—vanished communion wine?"

"Nothing criminal.” I studied him and wondered when he'd settle down.

"So what are you up to?” he asked.

"Acting as temporary choir director and heading the search committee for a new organist."

"Good for you. Should keep you out of mischief."

"I'm crushed."

He laughed. “I don't believe you. Let me walk you to her house. Maybe you'll introduce me."

"Beth is not to be trifled with."

His eyebrows lifted. “You wound me. When I'm involved with a woman, I'm serious."

"For a limited engagement."

"Someday I'll surprise you.” He held my arm and steered me across the street.

A child's laughter rang clear. “Bigger. Let's make it bigger."

"Then how will we get the head on the body?” Beth asked.

"Maybe I can help,” Pete said.

Beth whirled. Her eyes narrowed. Then she saw me and her expression relaxed.

Robby eyed Pete. The boy's blond hair stuck out around the edges of his blue knit hat.

"Beth, this is Pete Duggan, a friend of mine. He decided to help an old lady across the street and found me instead. You're home early."

"It's a comp day. I have to work this weekend."

"Then I'm glad we don't begin our visits until next week. Just left Edward. He wants us to finish the search yesterday."

While Beth and I talked, Pete lifted the snowman's head and placed it on the body. “Why don't you wait in the house?” she asked. “The snowman is my project. Your friend seems to have taken over."

"He has a habit of doing that. Let me help, too."

When the snowman had button eyes, a radish nose and a bright green scarf instead of Beth's favorite blue one that her son had tried to liberate, she invited us in for hot chocolate and cookies. The sight of a box of store-bought cookies made me wince.

"Pete, here's my key. There's a tin of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies on top of the refrigerator."

He caught the key ring. He looked at Robby. “Want to come with me? I think they want time for women talk.” He winked.

"Egotist. It's church talk."

"Can I go, Mommy?” Robby asked.

"Let him. He'll keep Pete honest."

Pete laughed. “What's the matter? Don't you trust your favorite cop?"

"Are you really a policeman?” Robby asked.

"A policeman?” Beth echoed.

"I'm surprised you never met him when you worked in the ER. I'm sure he's been there a time or two. He's all right. Used to be my paperboy."

Beth tucked a scarf in the neck of Robby's jacket. The door closed behind them. She stood at the door and watched until the pair reached the top of the driveway. She turned. Sadness glistened in her eyes and I knew she'd thought about her dead husband. “Let's finish before they return."

"Do you have the next three weekends after this one off?” She nodded. “Good. There are five of us. I think we should take two cars. The first church is a two-hour drive and more than a half hour of Judith's company and I'll start twitching. Then there's Ralph. I've finally contracted intolerance."

She laughed. A mischievous twinkle cleared the last trace of sadness from her eyes. “I've got intolerance, too. We'll take my car. It's small."

When Beth arrived early the morning of our first trip, she was alone. “Where's Robby?"

"Pete's taking him to Sunday School and then to some indoor recreation place. He's quite taken with my son."

"And the mother?"

She wrinkled her nose. “He's indifferent. Maybe I'm too serious for him."

We walked to her car. A pale sun shone in a clouded sky. The air held a bitter chill.

Our trip took us nearly a hundred miles north of the Hudson River town where we lived. Roger Brandon was the first applicant.

After our arrival in the small upstate town, we parked across the street from a large red brick church. Martin, Judith and Ralph entered the church ahead of us. Morning sunlight streamed through a series of narrow stained glass panels. Beth followed me down the aisle to a seat in one of the center pews. The rest of our group settled in the last row.

Once the prelude began, I closed my eyes. Gooseflesh rose on my arms. Why was such a superb musician buried in this out-of-the-way place? In that instant I knew we had to have him and I revised the salary Edward had mentioned upward.

When the last note of the postlude ended, I remained in my seat so filled with music I was unable to move. Finally, I followed Beth to the vestibule where the other committee members waited.

"What did you —"

I shook my head to cut off Ralph's question. No sense airing our business for everyone to hear. We remained in the vestibule after the minister left his position at the door.

Judith's quick intake of breath signaled the approach of a tall, broad-shouldered man. Light shone through the stained glass windows to illuminate his handsome face and to burnish his red-gold hair. There was a mystical quality in his expression. He smiled at Judith and then Beth. He took my hand. “You must be the committee from St. Stephen's. I'm Roger Brandon."

I introduced myself and the others. Outside, I pulled my coat closer. The temperature hadn't risen from the early morning chill. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk? We have some questions and I'm sure you do, too."

"There's a restaurant five miles out of town. Why don't you follow me there?” His voice was as rich and vibrant as the music he charmed from the organ.

"That would be terrific."

When we were in the car, Beth sighed. “Is he as good as I think?"

"He's brilliant...stunning...words can't describe. I want him at St. Stephen's."

"So will Judith. Did you see the way she stared?"

"Let's not worry about Judith's collection. First we have to see if he's interested. Then I have to convince Edward and the Vestry to offer more money."

The elegant restaurant had a small private room. As we talked, the distance from Roger's playing allowed me more objectivity.

Why was he so eager to leave his present church where he'd been organist for less than a year? Of course, St. Stephen's offers a challenge and exposure. Still, the longest he'd remained in one church had been two years. At thirty-two, he'd been musical director for seven churches. Though his gypsy ways troubled me, I remembered his tremendous talent and I coveted him for our music program. Perhaps his many moves could be blamed on his youth. This thought erased my qualms.

Judith sat beside him. Her attempts to claim him failed. He gave equal attention to every committee member.

"When can you come?” Ralph asked.

"August,” Roger said. “It wouldn't be fair to break my contract here."

Ralph frowned. “We need an organist for Passion Sunday and Easter."

I glared. “You know that's impossible.” I turned to Roger. “Could you come to St. Stephen's as a guest organist, say in two weeks?"

"I'll see if one of my students is available to take over here."

I gave him my phone number. Before the waitress brought the check, Ralph pushed his chair back. “I have to get back. This is my busy season. I have two clients coming this evening.” He strode to the door.