Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines

by Mark Schweizer

  “That’s the one,” said Nancy. “Thanks.”

  She pulled out her pen and started reading the article silently to herself, then stopped, circled a sentence and said, in her best law enforcement voice, “A-ha!”

  “Aha?” I said.

  “A-ha! I have solved it!”

  “Solved the murders?” Pete said.

  “Practically.”

  “Let’s hear it then,” I said.

  Nancy laid the newspaper on the table and spread it out so we could see where she drew her circle in blue ink, then read, “The detectives at the scene acknowledged that all the women were found in the same circumstances, although it is not known whether the missing earring was common to all three victims.”

  “Well, that’s true enough,” said Meg.

  “Sure it is,” said Nancy. “Here’s the thing. Helen snuck into the room with us just after we found the body. Then she got queasy and went into the hall. When she was outside the bedroom, I checked and pointed out the missing earring to Hayden. But Helen didn’t ever see that. She wasn’t there. That’s what we were missing.”

  Meg said, “Maybe she heard you talking about it.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I remember exactly what happened. Nancy never uttered a word because Helen was in the hall. She pulled Crystal’s hair back off her shoulders, checked her earrings, then put her hair back.

  Nancy nodded. “So Helen had no way of knowing at that point that Crystal was missing an earring. She came back into the room, but we were already standing back up.”

  “Couldn’t she have heard it from one of the Bookworms?” asked Cynthia. “You told them, didn’t you?”

  “Not until after the paper came on the next Friday. We didn’t tell anyone. Kent knew, Dave, and us. You or Pete didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  “Not me,” said Cynthia, looking over at Pete. He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “How about Mom?” said Meg. “She was the one who discovered the similarities to the book.”

  “Didn’t tell her,” I said, shaking my head again. “She read See Your Shadow, but we never said anything about the missing earring to her.”

  “There it is,” said Nancy triumphantly. “Another case solved.”

  “Dadgummit!” I said. “I should have caught it. That’s the kind of detective stuff I’m really good at.”

  Meg leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m sure you would have figured it out eventually, sweetie.”

  “That Helen Pigeon!” said Nancy in disgust. “I knew I should have arrested her straight away.”

  “No harm done,” I said. “Why don’t we have another cup of coffee and then go and get her?”

  We would have done just that, but at that exact moment, who should come into the Slab but Helen Pigeon and Monica Jones? They took a table next to the large front window and positioned themselves so they could watch the snow which was beginning to fall again. It was a pretty snow, light and sparkly in the half-sunshine. Looking closely, you could make out the individual snowflakes as they drifted in, big as quarters. Noylene, who had been privy to our conversation eyed the couple warily, not sure whether to go over to the table or not. I nodded to her. Let Helen have her last cup of coffee, I thought. She won’t be getting anything this good in the big house.

  We finished leisurely, chatting about the weather, St. Barnabas politics, and Meg and Bev’s new project in Asheville. Then Nancy and I excused ourselves and walked over to Helen Pigeon’s table.

  “Helen,” I said. “We’d really like to speak with you.”

  “Can it wait?” said Helen. “Monica and I are on our way into Boone.”

  Monica said, “Maybe we should postpone our trip, Helen. The snow is really coming down.” She gestured toward the window and we could see she was right. “I don’t want to go down the mountain in a snowstorm.”

  “You’re right,” said Helen. “I hate to miss the sale at the Mast General Store, though. I guess I took a personal day for nothing.”

  “You’re skipping school?” asked Nancy.

  “I have four months left before I retire and about three years in personal leave built up. At this point I can afford to take a day here and there.”

  “That’s great,” I said. We’d appreciate it if you’d come with us to the station. We have a few questions for you. It’s about the evening we found Crystal Latimore in your house. We need to rely on your memory for a couple of things.”

  “Have you discovered something?” said Helen, excitement evident in her voice. “Can I help with the investigation?”

  “You certainly can and will,” I said, helping Helen to her feet. Nancy had her coat and handed it to her.

  “You’ll excuse us,” I said to Monica, who, unlike Helen, seemed to know something was amiss. Monica nodded and watched us warily.

  We walked out into the weather and down the sidewalk toward the police station, the snow muffling our footsteps. We didn’t say anything to Helen and I sensed that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. One block later we walked into the station. Dave was sitting at his desk behind the counter, working on his laptop, and looked up as we entered. I ushered Helen into my office and offered her a chair. I took the one behind my desk. Nancy stood. Dave listened in from his desk.

  “Helen,” I said. “We have a problem.” Good cop.

  Helen now looked scared.

  “Remember back when we were in your house and Nancy told you to stay on the porch?”

  Helen nodded mutely.

  “You didn’t stay on the porch. You came into the house, followed us to the back bedroom and walked in on the body of Crystal Latimore. Remember that?”

  She nodded again, her eyes widening, and her lower lip beginning to quiver.

  “You got a little queasy and went into the hall, then came back in to the bedroom while we were working the crime scene. Do you remember the last thing I told you before you left?”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” asked Helen in a quavery little voice.

  “You’re damn right you need a lawyer!” barked Nancy. Bad cop. Helen’s head snapped around and she looked with horror at Lieutenant Nancy Parsky, one hand on her gun, glowering, now all business.

  Helen broke down in sobs. “All right. I admit it. I’m so sorry …” She buried her head in her hands.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” said Nancy. “That means no crying.”

  Chapter 26

  “Everything you say can be used against you in a court of law,” continued Nancy. “You have the right to an attorney.”

  “Wahhhhh,” wailed Helen, no longer able to contain her anguish.

  I interrupted. “Helen,” I said, “why did you do it?”

  “I didn’t mean to,” she blubbered. “No one was supposed to find out!”

  “How could you think no one would find out?” said Nancy. “Of course, we’re going to find out.”

  Helen tried to get hold of herself, failed, and then sobbed, “She told me no one would know.”

  “Who told you that?” I said.

  “Annette.”

  “Annette Passaglio?” I asked.

  “She said no one would know it was me that talked to her for the newspaper article. She said I’d be a confidential source! Confidential! I should have known she’d give me up!”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Nancy. “We’re not talking about the stupid article. We’re talking about killing those three women.”

  “What?” said Helen. “You think I killed them?”

  “Yeah, we do,” growled Nancy. “You killed them and put them in the closets.”

  “I never did!” exclaimed Helen, the tears gone as fast as they appeared. “I could never kill anyone.” She paused, then shrugged and said, almost to herself, “Well, maybe that Julia Krenshaw.” She looked at me and glared. “Did you know that she took my parking spot twice last week? That’s my spot over by the library! I’m a volunteer. I came by the police station and told Dave, but oh,
nooo, he’s too busy! The police are always sooo busy!”

  “Helen,” I said. “Back to the point. The story in the newspaper said that Crystal Latimore had a missing earring.”

  “She did, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but how did you know that?”

  “Everyone knows that,” said Helen. “It’s common knowledge.”

  “It is now,” said Nancy, “but it wasn’t then.”

  Confusion clouded Helen’s face. “Huh? I don’t understand.”

  “When the story came out,” I explained, “there was no way you could have known about the earring. But you did. You knew that Crystal only had only one earring.”

  “Oh, my God!” said Helen, her eyes growing big as saucers. She lowered her voice to a trembling whisper. “Do you think I really might have killed them? Like one of those dual personality killers, or maybe homicidal somnambulism like in that movie that was just on HBO?”

  “Oh, brother,” said Nancy. She looked at me and rolled her eyes skyward.

  “How exciting,” said Helen. “Of course, I’ll have to use the sleepwalking defense.” She wrinkled her nose in thought. “I wonder if I can sleepwalk over to Julia Krenshaw’s house. I’ll give her a surprise, I can tell you.”

  “Go on home, Helen,” I said, sighing. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

  “And don’t leave town,” Nancy added in disgust.

  * * *

  “Well, that was two hours I’ll never get back,” huffed Meg when she climbed into the truck.

  “I take it you did not enjoy the emergency Monday night rehearsal.”

  “No one enjoyed the rehearsal. It was like pulling teeth. Pulling them, then putting them back in and pulling them again.”

  “Ouch.”

  “We bludgeoned the Anglican Chant for forty-five minutes working on ‘shading’ and still didn’t finish. I’ll tell you this much. That man is a walking advertisement for gun control.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “If anyone in the choir had been packing heat, he’d be stuffed under the organ right now.”

  I chuckled and pulled out of my parking space at the police station. I’d brought Meg to choir practice in the truck, then spent my time at the station doing some after-hours work. It had started snowing midmorning and had continued off and on all day. The roads were still fine, but four-wheel drive was a better option once we got off the main thoroughfares. The truck was old, but the heater worked like a champ.

  “He gave the solos in the Mag and Nunc to Ian,” said Meg.

  “That might be interesting. Ian’s a good countertenor.”

  “It’s not interesting. They fawned over each other until I thought I would vomit.” She raised her voice in theatrical exaggeration. “Ohhh, Dr. Burch, how do you think this mordent should be executed? Ohhh, Monsieur Chevalier, we should approach the embellishing note from above in the way of Pierre La Fromage in his treatise of 1432. Ohhh, Dr. Burch, I kiss your feet. How lucky we are to have your expertise!”

  It was a good imitation of both men and I laughed in appreciation. “How about Marjorie? Was she there?”

  Meg shook her head sadly.

  “I’ll go by and talk to her,” I said. “Does the choir have a plan?”

  Meg sighed. “I talked to a few members as we were walking out and told them about him hiring a new choir from scratch using the music fund money. They agreed that we’d stand it as long as we can, just to keep that from happening. Once he’s ensconced, we may never get him out.”

  “That does happen,” I agreed. “I’ve seen it more than a few times. How about Georgia? She’s the Senior Warden. Was she there tonight?”

  “She wasn’t there. She didn’t sing yesterday either. Maybe she’s under the weather.”

  “Maybe she threw up her hands and she and Dwain went on a cruise. It’s about that time of year.”

  “Maybe,” said Meg, then changed the subject. “How much is in that music fund? If he does hire a new choir, how long can he keep going?”

  “Depends, but it could be a long time. I’ve been putting my salary into the fund since I got rich. We’ve used a lot of it over the years, but I think there’s probably close to two.”

  “Two thousand?” said Meg.

  “No dear. Two hundred thousand.”

  “Kripes!” Meg said. “It’s been years since I was Senior Warden and I didn’t worry about the fund because you were in charge, so tell me again. The church musician has complete discretion over the money?”

  “Yep. Sweet, huh?”

  “The priest can’t get at it? The vestry either?”

  “Nope. Sole discretion of the church musician. He does need to be transparent and everything goes through the vestry to keep all the spending above board, but the funds are at his disposal for the musical needs of the church.”

  “How about an interim church musician?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “An interim needs to hire instrumentalists, buy music, stuff like that.”

  “How about a sabbatical replacement musician?”

  “Same deal. If the Chevalier wants to hire twenty choral singers tomorrow and pay them each a thousand dollars a month, he can do it. At least until the money runs out.”

  “Oh, my,” said Meg. “Does he know this?”

  “All he has to do read the guidelines set down for the music fund.”

  “I’m sure he’s already done that,” said Meg.

  “Pretty sure he has.”

  “He probably thinks he’s died and gone to church musician heaven.”

  “It is a sweetheart deal,” I said. “Of course, since he’s drawing a salary …”

  “Your salary,” said Meg.

  “Yes, my salary, there won’t be anything added to the fund. There’s not even a music line item in the budget because we didn’t need one. Anyway, don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in June.”

  “I am worried,” said Meg. “What if those two take over?”

  “I don’t see it happening,” I said.

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Um … no. Not really. But these things tend to work out.”

  Chapter 27

  Gliding silently through the gloaming of a nameless Mesozoic sea, the giant mosasaur was blissfully unaware of the trilobites clicking ravenously in the primordial slime far below, trilobites that due to their easily fossilized exoskeleton would become part of the strata and eventually find their way through the rock crusher at the Mercury Concrete Factory and into the sidewalk where we now stood. 68 million years later, Klingle looked at me with a cold, fishy eye.

  “What’s it gonna be, Klingle?” I asked. “Is it the big sleep for me?”

  “Ja, ja. Der grosse Schlaf.”

  “Mind telling me what you’ve got to do with the St. Groundlemas merger?”

  “I have nothing to do with it.”

  “Then why not pack those 38s back in your dirndl and call it a day?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You are bound to discover the truth.”

  I waited for her to unburden her soul. They all unburdened their souls just about now. They couldn’t just shoot and shut up about it. They had to tell me a tale. It was what separated me and Pedro from the mosasaurs.

  “I murdered Anne Dante,” Klingle pringled. “I had to. She was responsible for my father being eaten by snow tigers in Mexico after the expedition was lost in an avalanche.

  I nodded knowingly. “Deus ex Machina, eh? I should have seen it coming.”

  “Huh?” ringled Klingle. “Don’t you want to hear the rest of my story? I think you’ll find it fascinating and then I can shoot you knowing that you at least will have some appreciation, however brief, of the ignominy that I’ve suffered. What has Deus ex Machina got to do with anything?”

  Bang! went Pedro’s gat, bang! bang!

  “Deus ex Machina,” repeated Pedro after he’d calmly put three dingles into Klingle’s shingle. “A rather debatable and often criticized
form of literary device referring to the incidence where an implausible concept or character is brought into the story in order to make the conflict in the story resolve and to bring about a pleasing solution.”

  “Glad you shook loose of the cantoring,” I said. “I thought it was curtains for sure.”

  “Nah. Not curtains. Petticoats,” said Pedro, adjusting his crinolines. “I gotta get back. They’re just now getting to the Credo and the I have a reputation to protect.”

  * * *

  “Another dead end,” said Nancy. We were sitting in the police station, puzzling our dilemma. Dave was out, hopefully writing some traffic tickets.

  “I agree,” I said. “Helen Pigeon didn’t do it. We’re missing something. We need to find out what the three women had in common.”

  “Do we revisit Dr. Jaeger? They were all her patients. So far that’s all we have.”

  I nodded. “I guess so. I can’t see that she was involved in this though. Do you still have that photo of Darla’s medicine cabinet on your phone?”

  “Yep. I’ll shoot it to the desktop.”

  A few seconds later, she opened the photo up on the large monitor on Dave’s desk, then pointed to the bottle of pills. “Premarin,” she said. “The prescription date is last November. Dr. Alison Jaeger, prescribing physician. Filled at the CVS in Boone. No automatic refills.”

  “Nothing special,” I said, looking over her shoulder. “How about the drug store?”

  “Maybe,” said Nancy, “but almost everyone I know uses that CVS.”

  “The pharmacist?” I said. “A pharmacist would certainly be well versed in aconite. As well as every other poison for that matter. Jed Pierce works down in Boone. Is he at the CVS?”

  “I don’t know. I can find out real quick,” said Nancy, pulling her phone back out. “You think Jed has a connection with the three victims?”

  “He lives in town,” I answered. “He would have known Darla for sure. Maybe he saw Crystal on television. There were lots of people around town that knew Amy. It’s not that much of a stretch.”

  Nancy’s cell phone connected and she asked a couple of questions of the person on the other end.