Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines
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* * *
In late May, Meg and I stopped into Bun in the Oven bakery to buy some bread. Diana greeted us.
“Did you get into the book yet?” she asked Meg, wrapping up the loaf of tomato basil rye.
“I started it last night,” said Meg. “It’s a slow beginning.”
“You’re not lying,” said Diane.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
“Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche,” said Meg.
“Are you kidding?” I said with a laugh. “On purpose?”
Diana said, “No kidding. It starts out ‘Supposing that Truth is a woman — what then?’ After that, it becomes obtuse.”
“Obtuse, you say.”
“Incredibly,” agreed Meg. “Sarah Black put it on the list. Why? I don’t know. I believe that I may tough it out to the end of the prologue, then get the Cliff Notes.”
“I already have the Cliff Notes,” said Diane. “You can borrow them when I’m finished. It’s my turn to pick the next book, by the way, and we’re going to read Bleak House.”
“Dickens,” I said. “A good choice.”
“Don’t leave yet,” said Diana, “I have some day-olds for Dave in the back.”
“Would you also get me a lemon cannoli?” asked Meg. “I’ve really been dying for a lemon cannoli.” She put a finger to her chin and said, “And asparagus. I’ve been craving asparagus, too.”
“Sure. One cannoli coming up. I don’t have any asparagus, though. You should check with Stephanie. She grows the stuff.” Diana disappeared into the kitchen.
Meg gave me a strange look. “I guess this is as good a place as any,” she said.
“As good a place for what?”
“To break the news.”
News?” I asked. “What news? Are you divorcing me?”
“And you call yourself a detective,” Meg said. “Look around.”
“We’re buying a bakery?” I guessed.
Meg giggled. “No, silly. Cannoli and asparagus cravings … Bun in the Oven …”
My blood ran cold.
* * *
Marilyn was back on Tuesday from her National Literary Device Convention. We’d gotten Anne Dante out of the office and parked her on the back seat of a Greyhound with a month-long bus pass in her hand. Where she ended up was no concern of ours.
“Did you learn anything?” I asked Marilyn.
“Sure did,” said Marilyn. “For instance, did you know that hyperbole is a literary device wherein the author uses specific words and phrases that exaggerate and overemphasize the basic crux of the statement in order to produce a grander, more noticeable effect.”
“I think that hyperbole is, without a doubt, the single greatest thing in the history of the universe,” I said.
“Really?” said Marilyn, her eyes big as boiled eggs. “That’s what I think, too!
“Fix me a cup of java and let’s discuss it,” I said.
It’s good to be a detective.
About the Author
Mark Schweizer lives in the foothills of the Blue Ridge where he writes mystery books and works in the parochialesoteric branch of church music. He tends to make up words on a daily basis.