The Serenity Stone Murder

by Marianne Jones

  “It’s nice to meet you. I heard you play on Sunday. It was lovely.”

  The other woman shook her hand and murmured a polite thanks.

  “Oh, Mary’s marvellous,” raved Eina. “We were so lucky to get her. It’s not that easy to find church organists these days, especially such gifted ones.”

  “Why is that?” Margaret asked, glad to see the conversation switching tracks, and wanting to keep it that way.

  “Fashion, I guess,” Mary said. “Organ music isn’t used as much as it once was. Churches are switching over to guitars and drums and that sort of thing. It’s a new generation.” She shrugged.

  “Well, that’s a shame,” declared Louise. “I know we have to change with the times, but we don’t have to throw out everything traditional. There’s a lot of lovely organ music. Bach’s fugues, for example.”

  “You listen to Bach?” Mary asked with interest.

  “Oh, yes. He’s wonderful!”

  To Margaret’s relief, the two women began an animated conversation about music, and the subject of murders and sleuthing fell by the wayside. She helped Eina carry plates out to the side tables. The basement had been spruced up since the weekend, with a huge royal blue quilted banner on one wall, proclaiming in large gold appliqué letters, Celebrating 100 Years of God’s Grace. Covering the wall below the banner was a display of yellowed newspaper articles, photographs, church bulletins and certificates. She decided to sneak a peek at the display before more people arrived and crowded around it for a look. It was fun to see the pictures of women in a variety of dress styles spanning the decades.

  As she studied the row labelled 1920-1929, she saw a young man in a dark suit who bore a striking resemblance to Thomas Greenfield. “That has got to be Thomas’s father,” she murmured, leaning in to get a closer look. There was a collage put together from snapshots from Sunday School Christmas concerts, from the older small, faded black and white photos through to the more modern colourful digital pictures. The photography had improved through the years, but the children looked much the same, in their shepherd bathrobes and angel nightgowns, wings tilted and halos askew. One picture in particular made her smile—a small Mary and Joseph kneeling before the baby Jesus in the manger. The tableau would have been perfect, except that the young Joseph had chosen that moment to insert his finger in his nose.

  “Isn’t that priceless?” Eina appeared at her elbow. “Thomas will have a fit when he sees it. That’s him, you know.”

  “That’s Thomas?” Margaret said, laughing. The idea of the serious-minded Thomas being caught in such an indelicate pose was too funny.

  “Oh yes. That’s him alright. I’m the Mary beside him. My parents kept that picture all these years. Thomas won’t see any humour in it at all, but it’s too great not to share.”

  “Don’t you think the poor man has suffered enough embarrassment for one week?”

  “It would do him good to lighten up a bit. He’s a fine fellow, but a little too tightly wound for his own good. He takes things far too seriously.”

  “You’re probably right, but it’s a little late in life for him to change now,” Margaret said, moving on to examine a display of St. Stephen’s choirs through the years.

  “Who’s this?” she asked Eina, pointing at a short, balding gentleman who had been captured as he posed smiling in front of the choir in many of the earlier pictures.

  “That’s Will Bradshaw,” Eina’s voice softened as she bent to take a closer look. “He was our long-time organist and choir director. A truly lovely man. He had such a gentle way with the choir. We all loved him to bits. Don’t get me wrong,” her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “Mary does a great job. She’s very talented. But you know how it is, when the choir has formed a bond with someone over a long period of time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sadly, he passed away a few years ago from a sudden, massive heart attack. It left us all reeling. There was no warning. And we all loved him so much.”

  “Is that when Mary took over?” Margaret asked. “I just assumed she had always been the organist.”

  “Well, not right away,” Eina said, brushing cookie crumbs from her shirt. “It’s not that easy to find a church organist these days. It’s a dying art. We were making do with a retired organist from one of the Presbyterian churches and advertising in The Anglican Journal across the country. We weren’t getting a lot of interest in the position until Mary applied.”

  “That was a stroke of luck—or answered prayer,” Margaret commented. “So Mary’s not from Thunder Bay?”

  “From Timmins, actually. Father Brian wasn’t sure about her at first, but she turned out to be great.”

  “Why, what was the problem?” Louise joined them at that moment.

  Eina glanced around and lowered her voice. “I’m not really sure. Father Brian would never say exactly, but there were rumours about her having problems back in Timmins. You know how small towns can be.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good notion about small towns and the rumour mill,” Margaret said. “Why, was she stalking the church gardener there? Ouch!” Louise had jabbed her with an elbow.

  Eina moved to a corner away from the display tables. When they were a safe distance from the people milling about and socializing, she spoke in a confidential tone. “No, it had something to do with a dispute with a neighbour over a tree.”

  “A tree.” Margaret gave Eina her best deadpan expression. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yes, it seems that one of them was complaining that the other’s tree roots were threatening their sewer system.”

  “I don’t understand. That’s not an uncommon situation between neighbours. Why would that make Father Brian nervous?”

  “Because things were getting pretty heated between them when the neighbour’s shed mysteriously burned down.”

  “Are you serious?” gasped Louise. “You’re not suggesting that Mary had anything to do with that?”

  “I’m not, no, of course not! But there was a lot of talk—enough to cause Father Brian some hesitation.”

  The sound of organ music upstairs interrupted their conversation. Feeling slightly guilty, as though Mary Carlisle might have overheard, Eina said, “Well, ladies, it looks like things are about to start. People are heading upstairs.”

  The evening’s events were enjoyable. Father Brian and the planning committee had decided to keep things light on preaching and heavy on celebration. They watched some hilarious skits highlighting funny moments in the church’s past, as well as some songs by a hastily-rehearsed choir of former members who had moved away, returning to the church just for the centennial. Congratulations and greetings were offered by various local dignitaries and a young girl sang a song she had written to the tune of Five Hundred Miles, called A Hundred Years. Finally, the evening programme ended with an invitation for everyone to attend the weekend activities and a blessing from Father Brian for the refreshments downstairs.

  “Oh, this was fun,” exclaimed Louise, dabbing at her mascara where tears of laughter had done damage to her makeup.

  “Yes, it’s been a great evening,” Eina agreed. “Do you two mind sticking around for a little while? There are some people I’d still like to catch up with.”

  Louise and Margaret decided to escape the crowd and go for a walk outside while Eina did her visiting. The evening was warm, and it was a relief to escape the crowded church for the fresh air outside. They strolled all the way down to the marina, sitting on a bench and simply enjoying the breeze off the water stirring their hair. The sound of gulls crying echoed through the air as the birds wheeled overhead. A few settled on the ground near the two women, fixing their piercing eyes on them, obviously expecting to be fed.

  “What a shame we didn’t bring some bread crumbs or something,” Louise commented.

  “No way,” Margaret grunted. “You give those beggars anything and you’ll be swarmed by all their greedy relatives. They don’t give up.�
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  They sat watching joggers and families passing for a while as the breeze grew cool.

  “Well, do you think Eina’s done socializing yet?” Margaret finally said.

  “We could walk back,” Louise agreed. She was nervous about being out at dusk, although she would never admit it to Margaret. As they approached the church, they noticed that there were now far fewer cars parked in the lot than had been there when they left.

  “Looks as though things are winding down,” Louise said.

  “Yes. I suppose we should see if they need any help cleaning up.”

  Walking around the church, toward the back door which was closer to the kitchen, they heard voices floating up toward them from the caragana hedge around the corner. Thomas Greenfield’s voice was raised in anger and it sounded like Mary Carlisle was pleading with him. Margaret put a restraining hand on Louise’s arm just before they stepped around the corner. She didn’t want to embarrass either Thomas or Mary.

  “What in heaven’s name were you thinking, Mary, saying a thing like that? I’ll never live this down. Nobody will let me. You had no right!”

  “I’m sorry, Thomas, please don’t be angry with me. I was trying to help. I didn’t want the police to suspect you!”

  “I don’t need your help! For crying out loud, woman, leave me alone.”

  Mary uttered an “Oh!” that made Margaret feel sorry for her. Even if the organist did act foolish about Thomas, her anguish seemed genuine.

  “Thomas, you must believe that I meant well. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

  Thomas sounded unmoved. Or maybe he believed the blunt approach would be the kindest in the long run. His sigh was audible. “Mary, I want you to hear me. I don’t love you. I never have, and there is not the slightest possibility that I ever will.” He turned, striding toward the back door, finally disappearing into the church, leaving Mary standing alone in the garden.

  Louise made a barely audible noise expressing sympathy for Mary, who was visible in the low light, tears rolling down her pale cheeks. Margaret felt sorry for Mary and embarrassed at having witnessed the scene. She fervently hoped that Mary didn’t spot them standing awkwardly and hoped the shadows would hide them.

  Unfortunately, her hope was in vain as something caused the stricken woman to glance their way, stiffening when she realized that her humiliation had been observed. Before Margaret or Louise could react, Mary strode over to them, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. Leaning toward Margaret so closely that she inadvertently took a step back, Mary barked, “What are you two doing, spying on me?”

  “Spying? Oh, no, Mary, we’re not! We just came around the corner to go back inside,” blurted Louise.

  Mary kept her eyes trained on Margaret. “Don’t lie,” she growled. “I know about you two, how you’re always snooping around, digging into other people’s business. Don’t you have lives of your own?”

  Margaret was shocked speechless, but Louise responded quickly, “Honestly, Mary, we weren’t spying on you. I can see you’re upset right now and don’t know what you’re saying—”

  “The hell I don’t! Wasn’t your friend Eina just saying this evening that you’ve been—how did she put it—‘sleuthing’ about that man Whalen’s murder? What business is that of yours?”

  Now Louise had no answer, but Margaret had finally recovered sufficiently to put an end to the conversation. “Mary, we have no quarrel with you. We’re going inside now to find Eina and see if she’s ready to leave.” Looking and sounding calmer than she felt, she opened the back door and went down the stairs, Louise close behind. They weren’t quite fast enough to miss Mary’s parting words, though.

  “People that mess with me live to regret it!”

  They found Eina in the kitchen, wrapping up leftover goodies and putting them away in the refrigerator for the next day’s coffee break. She looked up and gave them a smile.

  “There you are, you two. I was just wondering if we were going to have to send out a search party.”

  “We just wanted to give you plenty of time to gab with your old friends,” Margaret said lightly, although she was still dazed from her encounter with Mary. Fortunately, Eina was ready to leave. The kitchen was in capable hands, so they were able to make a quick escape, much to Margaret’s and Louise’s relief. After their confrontation with the enraged and humiliated Mary Carlisle, they were anxious to get away as soon as possible.

  “You two are quiet this evening,” Eina commented as she swung her car into the driveway.

  “Just tired, I guess.” Margaret didn’t think it would be wise to share what they had witnessed with Eina, and apparently Louise concurred. Mary had suffered enough already without the embarrassment of the whole church knowing.

  Besides, Margaret was still feeling shaken. There was something so intense about Mary’s demeanour, something that went beyond the bluster of a distraught and mortified woman. When Mrs. Whalen’s lawyer had confronted her on the street, Margaret had felt justly embarrassed, but not as unnerved as she did now. There had been something malevolent about the look in Mary’s eyes, as though she had translated the shock and pain from Thomas’s rejection into hatred toward the first people that came along.

  I’m just imagining things, she tried to reassure herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over her as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day the ladies spent an exhausting morning hiking up the nearby Mount McKay with a group of people from the church, including Father Brian. Everyone, especially Louise, who had brought her camera, enjoyed the amazing views of Lake Superior and the Slate River Valley. Their guide, Grace Murray, told them a few interesting stories regarding the local aboriginal culture, including the fact that the mountain’s Ojibway name was Animiki wadjiw, meaning Mountain Abode of Thunder. The group finished up their morning hike by picking fresh blueberries from the bush.

  Upon their return to the city, everyone decided to share lunch at a local, historically-significant, restaurant called the Hoito. Famous throughout the city—and across Canada—for its Finn pancakes and rich history, it also boasted a menu that included a variety of traditional Finnish dishes. It was busy, as usual, and Father Brian and Eina enjoyed regaling Margaret and Louise with stories of the century-old restaurant’s history of selling inexpensive breakfasts to Finnish bush-workers in the early 1900s and of the many celebrities that had eaten in the restaurant over the years.

  As they stepped back out of the basement restaurant into the bright August sunshine, the group prepared to go their separate ways.

  “Do you have plans for the afternoon?” Grace asked with polite interest.

  Eina stifled a yawn.

  “I can’t speak for these two,” she said, smiling at Louise and Margaret. “But after all that fresh air and exercise and a full tummy, I think I’m ready to go home and have a nap.”

  “I like the sound of that,” said Margaret. “The rest of you enjoy your sightseeing or shopping or whatever else you have planned. We’ve had a pretty busy week. A little rest sounds pretty good right about now.”

  “And I should be getting home to check on Vince,” Louise added. “He’ll probably be desperate to get out by now.”

  They said goodbye to the others and climbed into the car. As they headed back to Eina’s house, they agreed that it had been a thoroughly enjoyable day thus far. The sun beat through the windshield of the little car, and their eyelids were getting heavy as they pulled into Eina’s driveway.

  “We can talk about our plans for the evening after a rest,” Eina said, retrieving her mail from its box. “What’s this?” She held up a plain sealed business envelope with “Margaret Brodie” printed on the back. There was no stamp or address. “For you,” she said, handing it to Margaret.

  “That’s odd,” Margaret looked at it and gave her friends a quizzical glance.

  “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Louise said. “Hurry up, open it!”<
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  Inside was a plain sheet of computer paper. Margaret unfolded it and read the hand-printed message.

  Mind your own business. You and your busybody friend.

  Margaret felt a distinctly unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. She held the paper out for the other two to read.

  “Oh my gosh,” said Eina, suddenly awake. “That’s awful!”

  “Who on earth would have sent this?” said Louise, her brown eyes wide.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Eina responded grimly.

  Suddenly wide awake, she stomped inside and called, “Roger?” Hearing no response, she went through the house in search.

  Louise and Margaret looked at each other.

  “This is kind of scary,” Louise said.

  “Nonsense,” Margaret blustered, but felt less confident than she sounded.

  “Roger’s not here,” Eina announced, coming back to where she had left Margaret and Louise standing in the hall. “Darn. I would have asked him if he’d seen anything. I’ll check with my neighbours.”

  She headed to the kitchen where the phone was.

  “Do you think we should tell her about what happened last night with Mary?” Louise whispered.

  “I didn’t think so before, but now . . . maybe we should.”

  “But we’d have to get Eina to promise to keep it quiet.” Louise slumped onto the couch in the living room, pursing her mouth in thought.

  “That might be a hard promise for Eina to keep.” Margaret paced around the small, tidy room. Suddenly she stopped and looked at Louise.

  “What about Father Brian? We could tell him the whole story. He’s used to keeping confidences, and he must know Mary fairly well. He’d probably have a pretty good idea if this was the sort of thing she would do or not. And he seems like a pretty level guy. He might have some suggestion about how to handle this.”

  Louise liked the idea of talking to Father Brian and readily agreed not to say anything to Eina for the time being.

  After a few minutes Eina rejoined them. “Well, I struck out,” she announced. “None of the neighbours that I talked to saw anything or anyone.”