The Mezzo Wore Mink (18 page)

“
Ordained
priests?” I asked.

“
Ordained by God,” came the self-satisfied answer. “We are the Exorkizein.

“
So let me get this straight,” I said. “You…” I pointed at Father Lemming, “are paying five priests fifteen thousand dollars to get rid of some demons that Carmel says are lurking in the walls of St. Barnabas.”

“
No,” insisted Father Lemming. “You misunderstand. I don’t think the vestry would ever go for that. Quite frankly, I don’t think they can see the danger, dontcha know. What I’m going to do is to have Carmel’s group come in and exorcise the demons. I will then make a donation to their non-profit ministry from my discretionary fund.”

“
You have that much in your discretionary fund?”

“
Sure,” replied Father Lemming. “Gaylen Weatherall had all kinds of money in there.”

“
Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering my conversation with Gaylen. “I talked to her about it in August. She was going to send a large donation to the women’s shelter in Boone, start a soup kitchen here when the weather turned cold, fund some scholarships to a summer camp…I can’t remember what else.”

“
Yes, well…whatever.” Father Lemming waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure we can make some donations to her causes as well, dontcha know.”

“
I don’t think the vestry will approve this expense,” I said.

“
They don’t have to,” he answered. “It’s
discretionary
.”

“
So why tell me?”

“
You, above all, know the danger and we may need your help,” said Carmel Bottoms. She folded her hands in a prayerful position in front of her and suddenly I knew.

“
This isn’t a scam is it?” I said. “You’re serious.”

“
This is a matter of life and death,” said Carmel gravely. “It is a battle in the spiritual realm for the very existence of St. Barnabas.”

Father Lemming nodded.

•••

Nancy was in the station when I came through the door. I meandered to the counter to see if perchance there was a rogue donut that had survived the morning foraging. The box was empty.

“
Need a donut?” she asked.

“
Or a stiff drink.”

“
I have some news about Thelma,” said Nancy. “I talked to her doctor and her psychiatrist.”

“
Psychiatrist?” I said, flopping down in one of the two office chairs. “Okay. Go.”

“
Dr. Weber says Thelma called in Friday with a sore throat but otherwise, as far as he knew, was physically fine. Just had a check-up last month. Then he sent me over to the psychiatrist. It seems that Thelma had OCD—a severe case apparently—and it was worse every time Doctor Sawyer saw her.”

“
Dr. Sawyer is the psychiatrist?”

“
Yep. Helen Sawyer.”

“
Hmm. Obsessive compulsive disorder,” I said. “I didn’t ever see any signs. Of course, I wasn’t around her very much.”

“
It had very specific manifestations.”

“
Which were?”

“
According to Dr. Sawyer, she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—step on a line.”

“
Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” I said, repeating the children’s rhyme.

Nancy pulled out her pad to check her notes. “Like that. Apparently her OCD didn’t apply to small lines that were part of a pattern, like wood grain or small tiles. But larger lines, big cracks in the pavement, painted street markers, large tiles of contrasting colors—all these could set her off. It really sort of depended on the situation. Dr. Sawyer said that she could give us a rough idea, but she never knew exactly how Thelma would react to any one thing.”

“
And how did Thelma deal with it?”

“
Dr. Sawyer said that, basically, as long as Thelma stayed on her meds she was fine. Even if she was off them and found herself outside, she could walk around whatever lines she saw until she could return home. They’d put wall-to-wall carpet throughout Thelma’s house so she was fine once she got back.”

“
What happened if she got stranded?”

“
It only happened once, according to Dr. Sawyer,” said Nancy. “She was in the Piggly Wiggly and dropped a gallon of grape drink. It broke open and splattered purple lines all over the floor. Thelma couldn’t move until they mopped it all up. They tried to help her over to a chair, but she wouldn’t go—just stood there shaking, unable to talk. Roger called the paramedics. He thought she was having heart failure. The hospital called it a panic attack and released her the next day.”

“
Have you checked her meds? Was she on them?”

“
I got a list from both doctors and Kent ran a scan. She was supposed to be taking Zoloft for the OCD, but her blood work came up negative for that. She was also taking something for osteoporosis and a cholesterol medication. Those drugs were both present. Her medical doctor had called in something to the pharmacy on Monday morning for a sore throat, but Thelma never picked it up.”

“
So what’s your conclusion?” I asked.

“
I think she got stuck inside that labyrinth,” said Nancy. “She walked into the middle, had a panic attack and couldn’t get out. She might have been there for two days for all we know. Finally she had a heart attack and died.”

“
I agree,” I said. “There are a couple of questions remaining.”

Nancy nodded. “Where’s her purse?”

“
Right. And why was there a krummhorn in the bushes? Have you looked in her house?”

“
Dave’s over there now.”

“
Make sure he looks for her meds. Purse, too. Any prints on the krummhorn?”

“
Just hers and some smudges.”

“
How about Davis Boothe’s doctor?”

“
What am I, three people?” said Nancy. “I’m still looking. There are one hundred ninety-two doctors or clinics in Boone. That doesn’t even include the rest of Watauga County.”

“
Sorry,” I said with a grin. “I’m going to get a donut and head over to talk with the two ladies who accompanied Thelma Wingler to the labyrinth on Sunday.”

Nancy flipped a few pages in her pad looking for the names she’d gotten from Chad Parker. “Wynette Winslow and Mattie Lou Entriken.”

“
I know just where to find them. I’ll stop by the Appalachian Music Shoppe, as well.”

“
Have a good time,” said Nancy. “I’ll keep calling doctors’ offices.”

“
By the way,” I said, “did you hear that Collette was back in town? She’s working at the Slab.”

I heard Nancy’s growl as the door of the office closed behind me.

Chapter 12

Wynette Winslow and Mattie Lou Entriken were in the church kitchen. I’d seen them earlier on my way out. They were fixing chicken salad sandwiches for the Salvation Army kitchen in Boone, something they did every Thursday afternoon.

“
Afternoon, ladies,” I said. “I was sorry to hear about Thelma.”

Mattie Lou looked up and smiled a greeting. “Yes,” she said. “It was a shock.”

“
It certainly was,” added Wynette. “We just saw her on Sunday.”

“
That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“
Really, dear?” said Mattie Lou. “Whatever for?”

“
I heard that you two and Thelma had an appointment at the new spa.”

“
Yes, dear, we certainly did,” said Mattie Lou.

“
Can you tell me about it?”

“
I’ll be happy to tell you about it,” said Wynette. “I thought the whole thing was ridiculous.”

“
Really?”

“
Absolutely.” Wynette put down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. Wynette and Mattie Lou were a pair of apple-cheeked grandmothers, both in their seventies, that had been best friends since childhood. Now their hair was snowy and their figures a good deal rounder than the pictures I’d seen of them in ancient church directories—always together, always laughing. They were two of the matriarchs of St. Barnabas.

“
As you may know,” Wynette began, “I didn’t care much for Thelma Wingler. She was a mean woman. Petty and vindictive.”

“
Malicious,” added Mattie Lou.

“
Spiteful,” said Wynette. She looked over at Mattie Lou for help.

“
Unforgiving.”

“
Exactly. Unforgiving and cruel.”

“
Positively malignant,” finished Mattie Lou. “Not that we wish to speak ill of the dead.”

“
Of course not,” I said. “Could you tell me about Sunday?”

“
Certainly,” said Wynette. “Would you care for a sandwich, dear?”

“
No, thanks.”

“
Are you sure?” asked Mattie Lou. “We have plenty.”

“
No, I’m fine. Thanks though. About Sunday…?”

“
Thelma called us up on Sunday afternoon, didn’t she?” said Wynette.

“
She did,” said Mattie Lou. “She hadn’t even been to church. In fact, I hadn’t seen her in church for several weeks.” She looked at me and laid a finger beside her nose. “The reason will soon become evident.”

“
She’d been having appointments at the spa every Sunday morning. ‘The Upper Womb’ she called it,” said Wynette.

“
That’s the name of the spa,” I said.

“
Huh,” snorted Wynette. “Anyway, Thelma had been going to her ‘appointments’ for several weeks.” Wynette used finger quotes around the word “appointments.”

“
That floozy,” said Mattie Lou, under her breath. “Appointments indeed…”

“
Could you elaborate?” I asked.

“
Well, we don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” said Wynette sweetly.

“
Oh, hell,” said Mattie Lou. “I don’t mind. Thelma had been going over there for massages every day since she saw that man in the Piggly Wiggly.”

“
Chad Parker?”

“
That’s him,” said Wynette. “Big, good-looking boy.”

“
Very good-looking,” added Mattie Lou. “If I was forty years younger…”

“
Yes, but you’re not. And neither was Thelma. That didn’t stop her though. And she didn’t mind telling us about the affair in graphic detail.”

“
She was having an affair with Chad Parker?” I asked. “Thelma?”

“
Well,” said Wynette, “
she
called it an ‘affaire de coeur.’ I’m not at all sure Mr. Parker was reciprocal in his involvement. At least not unless he was paid.”