The Countertenor Wore Garlic (The Liturgical Mysteries) (8 page)

Cynthia ignored me. "Then there's the Daughters of the Confederacy booth. They're selling homemade baked goods." She named the groups and counted them off on her fingers. "Friends of the Library, the Town Council, the Moose Lodge, the DaNGLs..."

"The DaNGLs? What are
they
doing?" The Daystar Naturists of God and Love were our local Christian Nudists, headquartered over at Camp Daystar, formerly Camp Possumtickle, about three miles from town.

"Selling pumpkins, I think," said Cynthia. "The Piggly Wiggly didn't get any in. Never fear, they all promised to wear clothes." Cynthia rummaged through her jacket pockets, then gave up. "I've got a list somewhere. Anyway, I'm not in charge. I was just out here checking to see if everything was going as scheduled. Just for your information, official town trick-or-treating is scheduled for Saturday night after the carnival. Halloween is on a Tuesday this year, and Tuesday is a school night."

"You're a diligent public official. I'm fairly sure that Pete, had he been mayor for yet another term, would have taken two weeks off and headed for Canada to do some fishing right about now."

"There's something to be said for that," Cynthia said. "You know St. Barnabas is putting up a hay-maze back behind the church?"

"Yep. I heard about that. I think Billy's in charge."

"And Salena Mercer's going to be at Eden Books in the late afternoon to do a book signing before heading to Asheville later that evening. She has a midnight signing down there."

"The vampire book author?"

"Uh-huh. Georgia's daughter knows her agent and wrangled the appearance. Mercer's quite famous and is only doing two signings in North Carolina. I suspect there will be hundreds of fans here."

"Crazy vampire fans?"

Cynthia held both her hands aloft in a we'll-see gesture. "It is Halloween weekend, after all. I'm just saying..."

My phone dinged. I took it out and looked at the text, then bid Cynthia good luck and took what was left of my ten dollar cup of coffee (maybe $1.35 or so) across the park to St. Barnabas. According to my instant message, Gaylen Weatherall was in the parish hall reiterating her farewells and Meg indicated that I was "invited to attend" since she'd seen me sitting in the park talking to Cynthia, a well known serial belly dancer. No problem.

"Well, I'm off," Gaylen said to me as I walked in. "I was just leaving. I figure that it's about a three-day drive."

"It's been a pleasure," I said, offering her a hug. There were several folks sitting at the round table. Marilyn and Meg were there. Kimberly Walnut, of course, our Director of Christian Formation, sipping, as was her morning ritual, on a can of Red Bull. Joyce Cooper, Bev, and Elaine and Billy Hixon rounded out the company. Billy was the Junior Warden and in charge of the physical plant of St. Barnabas. Like Meg's, his term of service was up in January. He ran a landscaping company that held most of the city contracts and many of the private ones including St. Barnabas, Mountainview Cemetery, Wormy Acres, Sterling Park and the Christian Nudist camp, to name a few. Right now, he had a head full of hay straw and a nose red enough to guide Santa's sleigh.

"You might need an antihistamine," I said when I saw him.

"Dough kiddig," he replied. "Dis hay is killig be."

"Why don't you get your crew to help put the maze together?" Elaine said.

"Dey are, bud I had to go pick ub da hay," said Billy. He snorted violently. "Sebed hudred bales."

Gaylen shook her head and smiled. "I'll miss you guys."

"We'll miss you, too," said Meg sadly. The others at the table nodded their agreement.

"Well, I've got to go before I start crying." Gaylen turned on her heel and disappeared out the door. We all sat there for several minutes, none of us saying anything, the silence unbroken except for Billy's snorts and tootles. Finally he stood up.

"Bell, I'b god to ged back to work," he said. "Be hab da layout dud, bud stackig all dat hay id goig to take sub tibe."

"I can't understand a word you're saying," said Kimberly Walnut.

Billy threw his hands in the air and stomped out.

"This is our Worship Committee meeting," said Bev. "Pull up a chair."

"You tricked me," I said. "I don't go to meetings on Wednesdays."

"Or Thursdays," said Joyce, "or Fridays, or any other days probably, now that Gaylen's gone."

"We have to take the bull by the horns," said Bev. "Here's the deal. Vicar McTavish says he has his hands full with the work of planting a new church up on Grandfather Mountain. He'll be happy to celebrate the Eucharist on Sundays. But that's it. We won't see him during the week."

"That's a relief," said Kimberly Walnut. "Now, there are a couple of things I need to talk to you all about. The first is our 'Congregational Enlivener.' I found one in Raleigh who's just great and he said he'd love to come up! Only five hundred dollars!"

"Five hundred dollars?" said Elaine, aghast. "For what?"

"To enliven the congregation," Kimberly Walnut explained patiently. "You see..."

"I've really got to go," I said. "Just to be clear,
we're
in charge of the services. McTavish is just preaching and celebrating the Eucharist. No nineteenth century Scottish Psalters? No Genevan hymnals?"

"All he requires is that the old King James Version of the Bible be used exclusively. He's gotten permission from the bishop to use the 1928 prayer book. We told him we couldn't do it this week because we didn't have any."

I raised my eyebrows.

"They were stored in one of the closets of the old church. They all burned in the fire and we didn't bother to replace them," said Bev.

"Ah," I said.

"
Luckily,
" said Bev with exaggerated sarcasm, "Lord's Chapel down the road has enough of them for us to use, but they're in storage. We can pick them up next week."

"That
is
lucky," Elaine said.

"And," added Bev, "Vicar McTavish will be doing the Children's Moment. He thinks that the children might need a healthy dose of the Bible. The
real
version."

Kimberly Walnut blanched. I suppressed a grin.

"Well, what could be the harm in that?" I said.

Kimberly Walnut cleared her throat. "A-
hem.
"

Bev looked annoyed. "What?"

"About the Congregational Enlivener..." Kimberly said.

Bev's shoulders slumped. "Oh no."

"Gaylen gave me the go-ahead two months ago," said Kimberly Walnut. "I called him and he only had one date open and I had to sign the contract. He'll be here a week from Sunday."

"Gaylen gave you the go-ahead?" said Bev.

Kimberly looked at Bev with exasperation. "I asked her about it as soon as I heard about him. I have it right here in my notes." Kimberly Walnut held up her legal pad. "Gaylen said 'Not now. Maybe in a couple of months.' You were standing right there next to her. That's in my notes, too."

"
Maybe!
" said Bev, looking at her calendar. "Gaylen said 'maybe!' Not 'Go hire a 'Congregational Enlivener' for All Saints' Sunday!'"

"How was I to know we're celebrating All Saints' Sunday on November 5th?" whined Kimberly Walnut. "It's not even on my calendar. It's not like it's Easter or something. Anyway, I already ordered the Spirit Sticks."

I just shook my head and sighed. "We always do it on the closest Sunday to the 1st of November. Or on the Sunday after if All Saints' Day falls on a Wednesday."

"So what else is going on during the All Saints' Sunday service?" asked Joyce.

"The usual, I suppose," I answered. "We'll have the reading of the roll of the departed during the prayers, the All Saints' collects, and some appropriately saintly music. I'll email all the information to Marilyn for the bulletin. If you're having a Congregational Enlivener, you might want to clue in the vicar."

"I'll call him," said Bev, then paused in thought. "No, wait. I don't have his phone number."

"Don't forget," I said. "We have a short All Saints' service scheduled on Wednesday the 1st, before choir practice. I'm guessing Vicar McTavish will be presiding?"

"We're all guessing," said Bev.

Marilyn jotted all this down on her pad. "You're still doing movie night on Saturday, right?" she asked. "The 'Big Finish' to the Halloween carnival? I saw the flyer at the bookstore."

"Yep," I said. "
Nosferatu.
Five o'clock sharp. I borrowed a big screen and a projector from New Fellowship Baptist. The kids are selling popcorn and we've arranged for the Altar Guild to help clean up and get everything ready for Sunday morning."

"I'm bringing the grandkids," said Marilyn. "I'm also preparing some program notes."

"That's great! Thanks!"

"Who's going to help the vicar serve communion this Sunday?" asked Meg. "Any of the Eucharistic Ministers involved?"

"Nope," said Bev. "No one. He's doing it himself."

***

Choir practice went about as usual. Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, joined us again in the alto section and we were starting to sound pretty good. He came in early, managed to take Martha Hatteberg's chair before she got there, and relegated her to the front row. Being a charter member of the BRAs, she glared at him, but since he was still a guest, bit her lip and didn't say anything. Tiff was back from her trip and so was Sheila. They flanked Ian and both tried to be friendly, but he seemed to be only interested in speaking to one of them.

Chapter 6

The carnival was slated to begin at eleven with the costume contest, but when Meg and I arrived at ten, the kids were already pestering the folks who were running the booths to hurry up and get things rolling. Meg had business downtown, a meeting with one of her Lowcountry clients who was coming up for the weekend. I parked in my designated spot on the square—the one right in front of the police station carefully marked "Reserved for Chief Konig"—gave Meg a kiss, then got out of the old truck and surveyed the downtown activity. The door to the station opened a second later and Nancy joined me on the sidewalk.

"I heard you driving up," she said. "You might want to get that truck tuned up before winter."

"Maybe," I said, "but I think you were hearing the
Sacrificial Dance
from
The Rite of Spring.
I had the stereo on pretty loudly."

"I don't know why Meg puts up with it," Nancy said.

"Me, neither," I said. "Do we have donuts inside?"

"Is a five-pound robin fat?" answered Nancy. "Dave brought some in about a half-hour ago. We're out of coffee, though. We might have to walk over and get some."

"Come on," I said with a nod toward the Slab. "We can get a couple of to-go cups."

We walked into the café a couple of minutes later. This being Saturday, and a busy Saturday at that, there were no tables available and, judging from the line, there wouldn't be any tables available until a week from Tuesday. Someone had even taken Nancy's RESERVED sign and put it into the refrigerated pie case behind the Boston Creams. Nancy growled, but didn't say anything. Pete was nowhere to be seen, probably having his hands full in the kitchen. Cynthia, Noylene, and Pauli Girl McCollough were handling the rush with aplomb. All three were balancing coffee pots, cups, full plates, empty plates, and whatever else might be required, all the while maneuvering expertly between tables and customers in a dance that's been going on since Nooka, the first waitress, plunked a big piece of mammoth meat on the table at the Tusk and Tarpit and demanded a seashell for her trouble.

"'Morning, Hayden!" called Mattie Lou Entriken from a table against the far wall. She waved me over in her direction. "C'mere a minute, will you?"

Mattie Lou was having breakfast with Wynette Winslow and Wendy Bolling. Mattie Lou and Wynette, now both in their seventies, had grown up in St. Germaine and been best friends since they were girls in pigtails. Wendy was a newcomer, only having lived here for the last fifty years. All three had outlived their husbands and all three were matriarchs of St. Barnabas. They'd been on, and in charge of, every church committee you could think to name and if I had a question about St. Barnabas, I usually went to one of them first. Mattie Lou and Wynette could be found in the church kitchen every Wednesday morning making sandwiches for the Salvation Army in Boone. Wendy occasionally joined them, but she was now on the Altar Guild, and so looked ever-so-slightly down her nose at the two other ladies. They pretended not to notice. Mattie Lou was also the church historian and was a pack-rat when it came to St. Barnabian minutia.