“Let’s have the key,” I said, holding out my hand to Dewey. He dug into his jeans pocket and dropped the brass master key into my hand.
Nancy and Dave came walking into the fellowship hall and in Dave’s arms was the Reliquary of Nantwich. He put it down on one of the folding tables set up to serve the children’s breakfast.
“It was in the choir loft,” said Nancy. “Sitting on the organ console.”
I looked the old box over carefully and rubbed the old lock with my finger.
“Well, no harm done. Let’s get it back to the office,” I said. I pointed a finger at all the children, one at a time. “And not one word about this to anyone. You understand? Or I’ll throw you all in jail.”
The children all nodded vigorously.
“And that goes for you adults, too,” I said, looking at Kimberly Walnut and Emily. “Not one word. Now you kids go back to your coo-coo thing.”
“Cocoon!” said Kimberly Walnut. “It’s called ‘Cocoon!’”
•••
“So what’s the deal?” Nancy asked. “You were very adamant that no one says anything.”
“What if the Reverends Farrant and Overnight knew that a bunch of ten-year-old kids were traipsing around in the church, playing with a priceless relic from the Middle Ages?”
“They would not be pleased.”
“No, they would not,” I agreed.
Chapter 43
Most of the senators...er...”slugs”...made it out alive and plump. Some didn’t. Sophie was one of those that didn’t. The last thing she said to me as she was shriveling up like a piece of fatback in a sizzling frying pan was “Urrrgg hafrap!” Strong words.
“Get me outta here,” called Pedro. “I’m as sticky as lawyer pudding. Them slugs had their way with me.”
“Spare me the details,” I said, snipping his bamboo shoots with my pocket knife.
“How did you know to bring the salt shaker?” Pedro said.
“It was the kiss,” I said. “She could wear a disguise, but she couldn’t change that kiss. It was the taste of wet feet mixed with marinated ham that gave her away. How could a man ever forget that?”
“What about the Slugh Organ?” asked Pedro.
“Seems to me we’ve got an in,” I said, smiling like the cat that got the slug, then decided it didn’t like slugs, spit it out, and got a canary instead. “We’ve got the technology, and none of these senators is going to mess with us anymore. They’re running scared, as scared as Sarah Palin’s book editors.”
“So you’re saying...”
“I’m saying that the Queen Bishop is going to award the contract to the Slugh Organ Company.”
“Who is us,” said Pedro happily.
“Who is us,” I agreed.
•••
The twelve days of Christmas begin on December 25th and continue through January 5th. On the 6th of January, we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany—the coming of the Wise Men to the Holy Child, symbolizing the revelation of God-made-man in the person of Jesus Christ. The Biblical Magi, traditionally named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, represent the non-Jewish people of the world and paid homage to the infant Jesus with gifts of gold (the symbol of Christ’s kingship), frankincense (symbolizing his priesthood), and myrrh (foreshadowing his death). The Feast of the Epiphany begins the season of the same name that takes us to Ash Wednesday and into Lent.
The children had finished their Cocoon program after lunch and had all gone home fluttering like the butterflies they had been born to be. Kimberly Walnut had taken the rest of the day off. I suspected that I wouldn’t see her for the Epiphany service.
Meg and I got to the church about forty-five minutes before the service, and preparations were in full swing. Benny Dawkins was warming up in the aisle with his practice thurible. J.D. Overnight was supervising the embellishment of the litter on which the reliquary would rest—decoration that included boughs of fir and sprigs of holly. Two acolytes would carry torches, two others would carry the litter in procession.
Bishop O’Connell was busy chatting with Gaylen and Arthur Farrant, admiring the reliquary and asking questions about the history of the kingly remains. The Altar Guild was putting the finishing touches on the decorations, and the fellowship hall had been hung with greens and lit with candles for the reception and talk by Father Farrant following the service.
The choir wasn’t meeting beforehand, having been instructed to be in place for the processional hymn precisely at six o’clock, but many of them had already vested and were helping by setting out bulletins and cleaning up stray pine needles.
About twenty minutes before the service, people started to come in. Word of the bones had gotten around town quickly enough, and there had been articles in the two local papers advertising the event. Except for the Wednesday night prayer meeting at New Fellowship Baptist Church, we were the only game in town. NFBC was also loaning us Brother Hog, Noylene Fabergé-Dupont, and their son Rahab, all perched on the front row.
•••
Edna Terra-Pocks began the service with one of my favorite Christmas organ pieces, Bring a Torch, Jeanette, Isabella, arranged by Keith Chapman. I was up in the loft with her, turning pages with my one good hand. She finished up and put the music for We Three Kings, our processional hymn, onto the music stand and began to play.
Benny Dawkins, his incense pot smoking, came in first. He was followed by the cross bearer, the acolyte carrying our Epiphany banner, and the choir. Benny was beginning to swing in the first of what would be an evening of truly memorable maneuvers.
The two torch bearers came in next, followed by the lay eucharistic ministers and the two acolytes carrying the reliquary. Arthur Farrant, J.D. Overnight, Gaylen Weatherall and Bishop O’Connell, all of them decked out in their finest raiments, completed the procession. Luckily we had five stanzas of the hymn to sing by the time everyone had to be in place.
When I was playing the organ, I was usually too busy pushing ivory to appreciate Benny’s artistry. Watching him work without having to worry about what notes I was playing was a pleasure. About half-way down the aisle, a second thurible appeared in his other hand—where he had kept it hidden, I had no idea—and he began to spin both, one in each hand: the pots moving in a blur, crossing back and forth in front of his body in a symphony of gold chains and smoke. He was subtle and fantastic in equal measure. Truly a master.
“Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” said Gaylen, when the procession had finished.
“And blessed be His kingdom, now and forever. Amen,” said the congregation.
Edna played the introduction to Glory to God in the Highest and the congregation sang.
“O God,” intoned Gaylen, when the congregation finished singing, “by the leading of a star you manifested your only Son to the peoples of the earth; Lead us, who know you now by faith, to your presence, where we may see your glory face to face; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.”
“Amen,” answered the congregation.
We moved smoothly through the service: the lessons, a hymn, a short sermon by Arthur Farrant about kings and relics, the creed, prayers, confession and the Peace. When the announcements began, Moosey crept up the choir loft stairs, peeked his head in and waved for me to come back and talk to him.
“I gotta talk to you, Chief,” he said.
“Can it wait?” I said. “The offertory is coming up. I should really be up here to conduct.”
“Nope. It can’t wait.”
“Okay, hang on one second.”
I waded through the choir to the organ and whispered to Edna.
“No problem,” she said. “If you’re not back, they’ll just follow me. We’ll be fine.”
I looked at Meg, sitting on the front row of the soprano section. She and Bev had been listening. They both nodded at me.
I followed Moosey down the stairs into the narthex. Dewey, Bernadette, and Addi
e were all waiting for me.
“We have to tell you something,” said Addie.
“Yeah,” said Bernadette.
“It was my fault,” said Dewey. “Well, me and Moosey.”
“What are you four talking about?” I said. “And keep your voices down.”
“We got that old box out of Dr. Weatherall’s office,” whispered Addie. “We just wanted to look at it.”
“So which one of you opened it?” I asked.
“How did you know we opened it?” said Bernadette.
“I saw the pick marks. I’m guessing it was you, Moosey. You use Bud’s set of shims?”
“Umm, yeah.”
“Well, what’s done is done. We can’t change it. I meant what I said, though. You all keep quiet about this.”
I heard Gaylen say the offertory sentence: “Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave Himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.”
“I’ve got to get back upstairs,” I said. “You kids go find a seat.”
“That’s not all,” blurted Addie.
I froze. “What’s not all?”
“When we were up in the loft, Dewey knocked the box over.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Dewey said. “Moosey hit my arm.”
“Then what happened?”
I heard Edna Terra-Pocks begin the long, fourteen measure introduction to Lo! Star-Led Chiefs.
“Everything fell out of the box,” said Bernadette. “It was all over the floor. There was a lot of dust and rags and stuff.”
“Mostly dust,” said Dewey.
“There were some brown sticks, too,” added Moosey. “And some little chunks of tree sap. They were pretty small.”
“So, you put it all back?” I said.
“We couldn’t,” said Addie in dismay. “Garth and Garrett thought it was so funny. They stomped it all into the floor with their big shoes. Then everyone ran off. It was just us four that tried to clean up.”
I heard the choir begin to sing.
Lo! star-led chiefs Assyrian odours bring,
And bending Magi seek their infant King!
“So, what did you do next?” I asked.
“Well,” said Moosey, “we cleaned up everything we could.”
“What about the box? I know you locked it back.”
“Yeah,” said Moosey, “but it didn’t have a rattle anymore, so we put some stuff in it.”
“What?” I asked.
“Chicken bones from dinner,” said Bernadette. “And some napkins.”
“It all rattled about the same,” said Dewey. “We didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“What did you do with the dust and stuff you cleaned up?”
“Umm...” said Addie, nervously.
“Umm...” said Bernadette.
Marked ye, where, hovering o’er His head,
The dove’s white wings celestial glory shed.
I looked hard at Moosey. “What?” I demanded.
“We put everything into one of the organ pipes. One of the ones in the front.”
“You didn’t!”
Moosey shrugged and tried his gap-toothed grin, but it fell flat.
“Not the rags,” Dewey said quickly. “We put the rags in the trash.”
“Here,” Moosey said, reaching into his pocket. He handed me two silver coins, ancient and struck only on one side. “I wasn’t gonna keep ’em.”
I snatched the coins from his hand and dropped them into my pocket. “Not a word!” I hissed at the four children. “Not one word of this to anyone. You understand?”
“Yessir!” they said in unison, relieved that I wasn’t going to shoot them.
“Now get on into the fellowship hall and see if there is anything you can do to help Mrs. Sterling.”
They took off out the front door and around the outside of the building like rabbits just as the choir was heading into the final page of the anthem. The anthem ended with a quiet organ postlude, but if I knew Edna, and I was sure I did, she had decided to rewrite the ending and go out with a splash. I raced up the stairs just as the choir finished and signaled to Edna, with my good arm, to keep it down. It was no use.
Just as I knew she’d do, she put the expression pedal to the floor, opened all the stops, and came down on the last chord with all the juice she had.
The great noise went up. “Pa-toomph!” went the pipe, then joined the cacophony of its brothers and sisters. The dust of the king shot up into the air, played in the light for a moment, and then settled gently on the heads of those sitting in the back of the church. Several people thought they felt some small particles land in their hair, but they brushed them away without a care. The choir didn’t know what happened, but they’d heard the popping sound and seen the explosion of dust.
“Huh,” said Marjorie. “Ain’t that something? We oughta swab them pipes out more often.”
Postlude
Diana Terry decided to leave town, as we expected she would. When I told Meg about her, she was horrified, but still grateful.
“If it wasn’t for Diana, you’d be dead,” she said.
“Well, you, too.”
“Probably,” Meg agreed, “but let’s not forget that she did kill Deacon Mushrat.”
“I’m not forgetting it for a moment,” I said. “Even though we had no evidence to arrest her, I gave her name and picture to the FBI. They’ll keep an eye on her. But I have a feeling we’ll see Diana Terry again.”
The Nantwich Reliquary and the chicken bones made their way back to England after a highly successful tour that raised over thirty thousand pounds for St. Hywyn’s church. Father Arthur Farrant was more than pleased and sent us a lovely note upon his return. Our sexton was a little perturbed with all the dust that had suddenly appeared in the nave, but a good cleaning took care of everything.
The two coins from the reliquary ended up in my desk drawer, right under my typewriter, until I could figure out what to do with them.
Gaylen’s jaw healed within a couple of weeks and, when the wires came off, she was back to her old self. The same could be said of my arm. Edna Terra-Pocks stayed on through January but then found another part-time organist position closer to home. I was glad to get back, but it was a few weeks before I could get my fingers to move the way they did before the accident.
Brother Hog and Noylene decided to get married. Noylene went ahead and added Brother Hog’s moniker to her own, becoming Noylene Fabergé-Dupont-McTavish. Little Rahab got his little tail snipped off the same day he was circumcised. Two weeks late, Brother Hog said, but Noylene got a two-for-one from the doctor, and she never could resist a bargain. Dave Vance was sad. He’d been hoping to watch little Rahab get dunked into the baptismal font by his tail.
Big Mel continued to win trophy after trophy, and became even more of a legend than the St. Germaine Christmas Parade had made her. She published a book on the Big Mel philosophy of “winning through intimidation” and went on the tour circuit of toddler beauty pageants.
Mr. Christopher Lloyd got his own show on HGTV called The 14 Layers of Style. It was cancelled after four weeks when Mr. Christopher was caught on tape by Entertainment-TV flogging his chintz with Raoul the cameraman.
Nancy Parsky had a wonderful vacation, returning from her holiday bronzed and happy. Dave (whom she decided to take with her at the last minute) didn’t come back either bronzed or particularly happy. In fact, Dave came back the color of a boiled lobster and had some rather shocking tales to tell about being repeatedly strip-searched in the Belize airport.
Marjorie never did start her blog, technology being what it was and Marjorie being who she was.
Brother Hog retired from New Fellowship Baptist Church, un-retired his revival tent, found himself a new Scripture Chicken, and hit the back roads with a will. His reputation preceded him and he had no lack of offers of a place to pitch his tent and preach the gospel.
Bud went back to school to major in business. He had a new goal, a business plan, an
d a dream to open his wine shop. I’d guard his investment until he was ready. Elphina, privy to the knowledge of his eventual windfall, vowed to wait for him.
Pete and Cynthia went turkey hunting. Both survived.
St. Barnabas turned its sights toward Epiphany, Lent and Easter, the seasons rolling by like clouds across our beloved Appalachians—days turning to months, and then to years. People would come and go, clergy and musicians would come and go, fashions would come and go. St. Barnabas would endure.
•••
“Marilyn,” I said to my secretary. “Pack your bags. We’re going on vacation.”
“Really? Where are we going?”
“Kooloobati. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”
“Isn’t that where the chockobats live?”
“So I hear, doll-face.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear.”
I smiled. It was good to be a detective.
The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) Page 21