Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (7 page)

While I ate I noticed Pete had joined Beth and Roger. His rugged good looks stood in contrast to Roger's smooth handsomeness. Pete said something to Beth and she laughed. Roger instantly claimed her attention. I sighed. Another woman looking for male approval and just as likely as Marcie to be hurt.

Once I finished the main course, a problem because of the number of interruptions for conversation, I headed for the dessert table. Edward and Laura carried plates to the picnic table and sat across from me.

"Marvelous cake,” Edward said. “I pray you'll make several for the bazaar. There's always a marvelous response to your cake."

Laura chuckled. “She's making three and we're raffling them. You'll have to buy a lot of tickets."

Edward groaned. “You know I never win a thing."

"If you don't win, I'll bake one."

"Marvelous, simply marvelous.” He clapped his hands.

"Beth, it's not fair.” Judith's strident voice caused me to look up and a number of conversations to stop. She weaved an unsteady path around groups of people. “You can't have them both.” She held out a hand. “Roger, come with me. There's something we have to talk about."

Roger rose. Judith clung to his arm and steered him toward the house. Just in front of the picnic table, she stumbled. Roger caught her. She plastered herself against him and kissed him.

My eyes widened. This was the first time I'd ever seen Judith do more than flirt.

"I'm better than she is any day,” she said.

Beth seemed to shrivel. Martin approached the pair. He pried Judith loose and pushed her toward the house. He beckoned to me and I followed.

When I opened the kitchen door, I heard Judith's strident voice. “Martin Simpson, don't tell me I'm drunk. I've only had a couple glasses of wine. I've never been drunk in my life."

"Just drink the coffee and eat some of the food. Then you can go back to the party."

"You don't understand. Send Marcie to me. I want to talk to her about her behavior today."

"You're going to eat while I go out and see to our guests. Mrs. Miller will stay with you. You don't want people talking about you."

"All right."

Martin appeared in the kitchen. “Talk to her. She'll listen to you.” The door closed behind him.

I walked through the dining room and entered the living room that took up half the space on the first floor. Judith's loud wail reached me.

"Tom, I hate you. You hurt me. Why don't you love me?"

Who was Tom? I crossed the room and sat beside her. “Judith, it's all right. Tom's not here."

"Mom, he hurt me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why won't you believe me? He hurt me but I'll hurt him back. He's out there in the garden with the pasty-face one. I know he wants to make me jealous. Then he'll hurt me again."

An old boy friend? An abusive relationship? In her drunken state had she confused the past with the present?

I handed her the coffee Martin had prepared. “Drink this."

She drained the cup. “That was awful. Did you put something in it again?” She tried to stand, wavered and then straightened. “Going to bed."

She staggered across the room and collapsed on the steps. What had Martin put in the coffee? Was she dead? I crossed the room, felt her pulse and was relieved to find it steady and strong. I left the house, found Martin and told him Judith was on the steps leading to the second floor.

He sucked in a breath. “I'll put her to bed. Thanks. She gets over-excited when there's a crowd."

I was about to advise him to seek professional help when Roger's boisterous laughter caught my attention. The scene with Judith didn't seem to have affected him. He sat at the picnic table and appeared to be holding court. For a moment I wondered if there was any substance beneath his shining surface. Then memories of the wonderful music he produced pushed that thought aside.

"Mrs. Miller,” he called. “Edward was telling me about your battle with the Vestry over dancers in the sanctuary."

That had been years ago, but many of the same people who'd opposed the idea still controlled St. Stephen's purse strings. Even though they had no direct control over the music trust, they'd stomped on the idea of anything lacking what they deemed “dignity."

"That's a scene I'd rather forget."

He grinned. “You'll get your wish. Liturgical Dance will perform the first Evensong."

"How did you manage that?"

"A touch of flattery, a lot of ego-stroking. The second Evensong will feature medieval instruments and sacred music. For the third the choir will perform Mozart's Requiem. Stop by the office and I'll show you the entire schedule. I'm proud of the selections.” He grinned. “I've allowed them to convince me to do one of the performances."

"I'll do that. Where's Beth?"

"She took her son home. Marcie went with them so I imagine Beth will be back."

Edward and Laura headed toward the gate. Ralph, his mother and a few of the older choir members had already left. “Tell her I'll call. It's time for me to depart."

I located Martin. “Have Marcie bring my bowl and cake holder over tomorrow or whenever."

He heaved a sigh. “Thanks for seeing to Judith. It's been years since she's taken on this way. Since her mother died. I didn't realize how much wine she'd had."

I didn't believe him, but allowed him his fantasy—for now. This wasn't the time or the place to discuss Judith's problems.

"At least you didn't send Marcie to her. The child doesn't need to be involved in that sort of scene."

"That's why I sent her to Beth's. By tomorrow Judith will have forgotten what set her off."

I wanted to shake him. Judith was sicker than he knew. To me, she had hovered between the past and the present and garbled them.

When I reached the house, Pete sat on one of the white wicker chairs. “Is there a problem?” I asked.

"Beth,” he said.

"What happened?"

"I walked them home and hoped she'd invite me in. She sent me away. I didn't mean to cause a scene. If I'd known Mrs. Simpson would react like that, I wouldn't have stayed."

"I'm glad you have that much sense."

"That Roger's a real jerk, but she won't hear anything against him."

"Do you blame her after the way you've acted and the things I've heard you say? Maybe you'd better re-tune your attitude."

"Maybe you're right. I guess you're not into dispensing sympathy."

"I've had my fill of other people's problems today.” I entered the house and closed the door.

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After the picnic, I saw little of Beth or Roger. Though the quiet days were welcome, my curiosity burned to know what was happening. With Roger's capable leadership of the choir, there was no need for my involvement. Still, I wondered if Roger had managed to break up Judith's clique.

On the afternoon of the first Evensong, Lars came for me. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

"I was ready twenty years ago, but the Vestry wasn't. So you suppose if I'd been a man they would have agreed?"

"For shame. Are you accusing our Vestry members of chauvinism? This year we have a woman on board."

"A first? Or is it a second?"

He shrugged. “Does it matter? There are seldom any members willing to give up their places. Let's go before all the good parking spaces are gone."

We parked a block from the church and strolled up the sidewalk. As always I was struck by the beauty of the building.

Edward stood at the church door. “Lars, Katherine, this is so exciting. A first in the history of St. Stephen's. Roger was so masterful with the Vestry. Wouldn't Katherine have been impressed if she'd heard his masterful address?"

Lars nodded. “Absolutely."

The twinkle in his eyes brought a smile to my lips. “I'm sure I would have been. Maybe I should have come. Members of the congregation are welcome to add their views."

"Good grief, Katherine. You would have found a way to antagonize them."

"Not me. My days of pushing for freedom of artistic expression and experimentation in alternate modes of worship are over."

Lars dug his elbow into my ribs. “We'd better find a seat. Looks like a good turn out.” He dropped some bills in the offering plate that stood on a table beside the doors into the sanctuary.

Though I spotted several of my friendly enemies seated in rigid silence in the last few pews, I headed for a center seat. Watching those judgmental faces might be fun, but I knew Roger would accompany the dancers and his music mattered to me more than just desserts.

I'm not sure I enjoyed the troupe of large women who stomped through several biblical stories. My granddaughter was a talented dancer who often choreographed her own dances. She seldom uses awkward body positions like these women did.

Following the program Lars and I joined the majority of the attendees in Fellowship Hall for a reception. I complimented the dancers on their energetic presentation and circulated.

Roger drew me aside. “I need to ask you a favor."

His smile made me want to agree with anything. “And what's that?"

"It's for the Mozart Requiem in November."

"You're brave to tackle it. What are you doing about soloists?” There were several singers who'd appeared at St. Stephen's in the past few years I could recommend.

"I'm working with four members from the choir. Ralph for one. He has an incredible voice."

"I'm not singing. Voice was never one of my strengths. Besides, I'd charge.” Rumors had circulated about Roger's plans for the Evensong collections, but he hadn't been here long enough to understand their purpose.

He laughed. “That's not what I want. I'd like you to do something you're good at."

My smile deepened and my resistance melted. Age doesn't bring immunity to seduction. “I can't imagine what."

"I want to fill the sanctuary with sound by having the choir stand in the nave. Since I can't play and direct, I'd like you to be up front. Isn't the Requiem one of your favorites?” He grinned. “I'm sure you want it to be perfect."

More flattery and more warm feelings. “I'll try, but if it doesn't work —"

"I refuse to consider the possibility. We'll be a super team. Come to the church on Friday and we'll go over our scores."

"Why don't you come to the house for lunch?"

He arched an eyebrow. “The cat."

"I'll send him to play with Carlos.” My hand rested on his arm. “He's really a gentle creature. Maybe he and I can help you over your fear."

"Phobia.” He rubbed his hand over a faint tracery of scars on his left arm. “I've lived with this for a long time and I'm not about to change. If I lose my fears, my music might suffer."

"You could be right."

Judith's wild laughter rose over the hum of conversation. Roger tensed. “She drives me crazy by feeding that stray cat. The others have lost interest, but she persists. Comes every day and brings food."

Lars strode toward me. “Definitely an interesting program.” He took my arm. “Ready?"

"Yes.” I turned to Roger. “Friday at noon."

"Should I be jealous?” Lars pulled the door open and held it for me. “I believe half the female population is enamored."

"Only half?"

"That's enough to turn this place upside down. “What's up?"

"He wants a favor. The choir is performing the Mozart Requiem for the November Evensong. He's asked me to direct.” I explained why.

Lars opened the passenger's door. “For that I'll delay my New Mexico trip. Why don't you come with me this year? You'll need a break after working hard.” He caressed my cheek. “I can offer some interesting diversions and spectacular scenery."

For the past five years he has spent six months in New Mexico and six months here, though not in single stretches. Two of his children have settled there and two have remained in the East.

"What would your children think?"

"Whatever they want. Kate, we're both alone and available unless you're hiding something. You're retired. Why not?"

His question startled me. At one time, a year or so after my husband's death, I'd dreamed of life with him. His children, especially his youngest daughter, had made life miserable for us. Since then I've learned to cherish my independence.

"You know it won't work. We're both used to going our own way. I've no desire to spend half my year in the Southwest when my only child lives here."

"We could find a compromise."

I shook my head. “I'm too old for an affair or marriage. Those are diseases of the young."

His laughter boomed. “You're a wonder and probably right. At least one of my children would worry you were after my money."

Which was a considerable fortune. I understood which child. In the past few years I've developed a good rapport with the other three.

Monday was one of those lovely September days with a bright sky and temperatures in the seventies. I was in the garden gathering the last of the tomatoes. Autumn, my favorite of the seasons, had arrived. The combination of the dramatic colors of the changing leaves, crisp days and nights is a stimulant for me.

"Mrs. Miller."

I turned and saw Marcie standing on the walk. “Hello, child."

"Can I help?"

"That would be lovely. Carry two of the baskets to the porch.” I lifted the third.

Robespierre appeared and nearly knocked her over with the force of his greeting. Twenty-three pounds is a lot of cat.

Marcie put the basket down and bent to pet him. His purr became a rumble nearly as loud as a car engine. Finally she stopped scratching his head and followed me into the house. The cat ambled at her heels.

Upstairs, I spilled a little dry food into his dish. He believed he must eat every time he returned from a jaunt. I've learned how much food to add to his dish so he eats it all and leaves nothing for the ants who struggle to the second floor every summer.

Marcie sat at the table. I poured mugs of mint tea and waited for her to speak about what clouded her dark eyes. She sipped and stared into the distance.