The Mezzo Wore Mink (19 page)

“
Let me understand,” I said. “Thelma said that she was having a tryst with Chad Parker.”

“
Not exactly,” said Mattie Lou. “Oh, I’m sure she was smitten. She always fancied herself quite the siren, even in her later years. And she
always
lied about her age.”

Wynette nodded in agreement. “She was much older than us, of course. She married right before the war, but her husband was in the infantry and killed in Italy. Anzio, I think. She had one daughter who was behind us a few years in school.”

“
Did Thelma marry again?” I asked.

“
No, she didn’t,” said Mattie Lou. “And she’s been a harridan ever since. I can’t tell you the number of marriages she’s broken up.”

“
Is the daughter still around?”

“
Dead,” said Mattie Lou.

“
Dead,” agreed Wynette.

“
Any other family? Next of kin?”

“
Not that we know of,” answered Wynette.

“
The coroner says she was eighty-eight.”

“
That’s about right,” said Mattie Lou. “Eighty-eight years old and getting massages—buck naked—from a thirty year old! Scandalous!”

“
Well, I think that’s the way they do it,” I said. “Massages, I mean.”

“
Oh, I know, dear. I’m not a
complete
moron. Still, at
her
age!”

I laughed. “Back to Sunday?”

Wynette continued the narrative. “On Sunday afternoon, Thelma called me up after church and asked if we would go with her to the Upper Womb. I said no, of course.”

“
Of course,” agreed Mattie Lou.

Wynette went on. “Ask Ruby, I said.”

“
Sure, ask Ruby. She’s your best friend,” added Mattie Lou.

“
So Thelma started crying. ‘Ruby’s out with Meg,’ she says. Then she tells me she’s been doing therapy with Chad Parker. Massages every day, herbal teas, some kind of aroma nonsense, the works. Now he wants her to do this labyrinth thing.”

“
You see,” explained Mattie Lou, “they’ve painted this labyrinth on the concrete behind the house. In the garden.”

“
I’ve seen it,” I said.

Wynette picked up a butter knife and a piece of bread. “You don’t mind if we keep spreading chicken salad while we talk, do you, dear?”

“
No, of course not.”

“
So,” Wynette said, “Thelma wanted us to go with her. She was scared to death of this labyrinth but told me that Chad insisted that she do it. She said that
he
said that it would help her overcome her fears and find spiritual renewal.”

“
You know about Thelma’s…umm…disorder?” asked Mattie Lou.

“
Yes. OCD.”

“
Right,” said Wynette. “Can’t step on a line. So she tells me ‘you can just imagine how scared I am.’ ‘What about your medication?’ I ask. ‘Chad is teaching me how to live without it,” she says. ‘Please come with me. I’m still scared.’ I think she was lying. She just wanted to show off. She certainly wouldn’t have asked us otherwise. When we got there, she was hanging all over Chad Parker like a cheap suit.”

“
It was disgusting,” Mattie Lou agreed.

“
But we said we’d do it,” said Wynette.

Mattie Lou shrugged. “Actually, I was a little curious.”

“
Me, too. Not that I’d get one of those naked massages or anything. Anyway,” continued Wynette, “we walked into the house and Chad and his wife…” She paused and pursed her lips, trying to remember a name.

“
Lacie Ravencroft,” I said.

“
Yes, Lacie. They gave us a tour of the house and then invited us into the kitchen for a cup of tea while they explained the labyrinth.”

“
Then they took us into the garden,” said Mattie Lou, “and did what they called a Guided Meditation. There was this Celtic sounding harp music playing and we walked around the maze.”

“
It took an hour!” exclaimed Wynette in disgust. “Lacie kept making us stop and ‘center our spirit selves,’ whatever
that
means! I could have been in and out of that thing in about two minutes! I mean, it wasn’t hard.”

“
Well,” I said, “I don’t think it’s a puzzle.”

“
Whatever it is,” Wynette sniffed, “I wasn’t impressed. The tea was good though.”

“
Then you left?”

“
Yes,” said Mattie Lou. “But Chad gave Thelma a key to the back gate. He told her that she should do the labyrinth every day now that she knew how. He said we were welcome to come along.”

“
Did Thelma have any problem with the labyrinth? I mean, as far as her OCD was concerned?”

Both ladies shook their head.

“
She was fine,” said Mattie Lou. “And on the way home, she was happy to describe her private sessions with Chad. Did you know they use scented oils?”

I nodded.

“
She was getting a cold,” said Wynette. “Said her throat was hurting. Probably from lying naked on that massage table.”

“
I doubt it,” said Mattie Lou, shaking her head. “That upstairs was very warm. Anyway, now that the weather’ll be warming up a bit, we’ll probably all get colds.”

Wynette nodded her agreement. “Hot, cold, hot, cold. It’ll play havoc with your sinuses.”

“
It’s going to warm up?” I said.

“
Just for a bit,” said Mattie Lou. “Don’t you watch the Weather Channel?”

“
Nope,” I admitted.

“
Well, you should.”

•••

Ian Burch was in front of the Appalachian Music Shoppe, locking the front door, when I walked up.

“
Dr. Burch,” I said, “I wonder if I might ask you a few questions before you lock up?”

Ian Burch, PhD, gave a huff and a shrug of resignation and unlocked the door to the shop. “Come in, if you must,” he said. “But I really must leave in about half an hour.”

“
That’s not a problem. I just need a couple of minutes.”

“
All right then.” Ian folded his arms, chewed on his lower lip and stood in expectation of the third degree.

I had stopped by the police station and picked up the krummhorn on the way to the Music Shoppe. Now I opened the plastic bag and took it out, making a production of holding it carefully in a handkerchief.

“
Do you recognize this?” I asked.

“
It’s a krummhorn.”

“
Yes,” I said, “I know. Is it from your shop?”

“
Umm. It could be, I suppose.”

“
Let me help you out, Dr. Burch. Did you sell a krummhorn to an eighty-eight year old woman on Monday morning?”

“
I’d have to check my records.”

“
You’re not in any trouble and you only have a half hour,” I said. “So, let’s start again. How many instruments have you sold since you’ve been open?”

Ian Burch’s shoulders slumped. “Umm…that would be one.”

“
Was it a krummhorn?”

“
Yes.”

“
Did you sell it on Monday?”

“
Yes.”

“
To Thelma Wingler?”

“
Yes.”

“
Is this it?”

“
I suppose so. I mean, how many krummhorns are floating around? But it was in a box. Brand new.”

“
Can you tell me why it doesn’t work?”

“
Doesn’t work?”

“
We tried to play it down at the police station. No luck.”

“
Let me see.” Ian took the krummhorn with the handkerchief. “Can I touch it?”

“
Sure.”

Ian handed me back the handkerchief, put the krummhorn to his lips and blew. As I expected, there was a burst of air but no sound.

“
Huh,” said Ian. He pulled the mouthpiece off the instrument and looked down the barrel. “Well, here’s the problem. There’s no reed.”

“
No reed?”

“
I showed the woman how to play it. Well, how to make a sound anyway. But we used the one here.” He took an identical krummhorn off the wall and pulled off the mouthpiece.

“
See?” He pulled a reed loose and handed it to me.

“
So what happened to the one in Thelma’s krummhorn?”

“
I have no idea. Maybe she didn’t put it in.”

“
Excuse me?”

“
The reed comes separately. It’s in the box in a small plastic case. You have to put it in the instrument.”

“
Did you tell Thelma this?”

“
Well, no,” he admitted. “But it’s all right there in the instructions.”

“
What time did she come in?”

“
It was about ten o’clock Monday morning.”

“
Okay. Thanks.”

•••

“
They came and got the Minque,” said Pete. “Took ‘em long enough. I had to leave it in the walk-in till they got there. The stupid thing ate about a case of lettuce.”

“
Well, I’m glad it’s back at the farm,” I said.

“
Oh, sure,” said Pete. “
That
one. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only one to escape.”

“
No?”

“
No.”

“
How many?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“
One hundred eighty-seven.”

“
Holy Moses! How did this happen?”

“
Roderick Bateman said that one of the employees left the gate unlocked after feeding. It didn’t take them long to scatter.”

Chapter 13

Liturgical hairpieces. It was the best idea for televangelists since Oral Roberts got his makeup tattooed on. Making them out of mink was a stroke of genius. Mink had a sheen that showed up under television lights like six pounds of pomade without the stink. The only problem was the cost. Tel-evangelists usually went through four or five wigs a week and I didn’t see them dishing out the big money when regular squirrel wigs could be had for seven bucks apiece.