The Diva Wore Diamonds

by Mark Schweizer

  By the time the song was over, half the crowd was on the dance floor. John finished the song with a virtuosic rip, and the crowd cheered and stomped their feet in appreciation.

  “Thank you,” said Muffy, into the microphone. “This next song was written by my man. He’s sittin’ there in the back. Say ‘hello,’ Varmit!” She pointed back to the soundboard and Varmit raised an embarrassed hand.

  “It’s called My Skin Always Crawls Back To You, and it goes something like this…”

  The band began the intro—a slow, rolling, bluesy tune.

  In south Louisiana, in the swamp, down by a stream,

  I met you in the mornin’, you were looking like a dream.

  Then an armadillo bit you, now you’re feelin’ pretty mean;

  But I’ll never, never leave you, even if you are unclean.

  The drummer counted off the beat, the tempo kicked up, and the band was rocking.

  Now you’ve got a slight condition,

  you’re not feeling in the pink.

  It takes some getting used to, but I can’t believe you think

  A little case of leprosy would cause our love to shrink;

  And my skin always crawls back to you.

  You’re always mighty frisky

  when I come on through that door,

  But I never know what body parts are layin’ on the floor.

  My friends, they tell me not to hang around you anymore,

  But my skin always crawls back to you.

  Back to you, back to you, It’s all that I can do,

  Cause my skin always crawls back to you.

  I kiss you in the morning, but I have to do it quick,

  I kiss you in the evening, when we’re dancing back to hip,

  but how can I get all your love with half a lower lip?

  And my skin always crawls back to you.

  The dance floor was full again, most of the people doing a two-step, but a good number of them having already invented the “Leprosy Line Dance.” I suspected that it just was a minor variation of one of the hundreds of line dances that were popular in country and western bars all over the south, but it was impressive, nevertheless.

  I come home to a welcome, and I smell your after-shave;

  I have to do the smelling, cause your nose they couldn’t save.

  You pour a couple fingers and a glass of whiskey, too.

  And my skin always crawls back to you.

  The chorus was coming around again, and now there were even more people on the dance floor, including most of our group. In fact, only Meg, Marjorie, and I were still sitting.

  “You want to dance?” asked Meg.

  “I’ll give it a try,” I said. “But not in that line thingy. I can just about manage a two-step.”

  “How about you, Marjorie?” asked Meg as we got up. “You want to join us?”

  “Nope,” said Marjorie. “You kids go ahead.”

  I kiss you in the morning, but I have to do it quick,

  I kiss you in the evening, when we’re dancing back to hip,

  but how can I get all your love with half a lower lip?

  And my skin always crawls back to you.

  The last verse came around and the whole bar was jumping. I could see how this could be very intoxicating to someone who wanted to make a living on the stage. Muffy was in her element, and the rest of the band was grinning like a bunch of Cheshire cats.

  I find you fascinating though I think you will agree,

  That now you’re only half the man that you used to be.

  A leper cannot change his spots,

  I’ve caught them, don’t you see?

  Now your skin always crawls back to me.

  By the time the last chorus finished, there wasn’t any doubt who was going to win the two hundred dollar prize. I just felt sorry for the next band up. The Ambersons were a family band from Banner Elk, consisting of the father playing a guitar, the mother on autoharp, and two sisters singing harmony and playing the spoons. They specialized in mountain gospel.

  “I didn’t know you danced,” said Nancy, falling into her chair and downing her beer in two gulps.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “He just did it for me,” said Meg. “That’s true love.”

  “Great song!” Dave said to Muffy as she walked up to the table.

  “It was Varmit’s idea,” she said, still glowing from her experience. “He read this article about armadillos in Louisiana. Did you know they can carry leprosy? They’re the only animal that can, except for humans. Not only that, but there’s still a leper colony down there somewhere.”

  “I did know that,” Dave said. “Read it in a National Geographic.”

  “Well, it was fabulous,” said Meg. “I think you guys should play in Sterling Park sometime. People would love it. What do you think, Hayden?”

  I blinked. Then blinked again.

  “Hayden?” Meg said. “Are you okay?”

  “Son of a gun,” I said. “Of course. Leprosy! I know who did it. I know who murdered Russ Stafford.”

  Nancy looked at me. “Dadgummit! I thought I was going to get to solve this one.”

  Chapter 21

  “Here’s what I need you to do,” I said to Nancy, on what promised to be a beautiful Sunday morning. “You’ve got to go and make an arrest.”

  “Be happy to,” said Nancy. I’d given her a call just before we left the house and asked if she could meet me in the parish hall. “Russ Stafford was a weasel, sure enough, but we can’t have our citizens being pummeled to death with rocks during Bible School.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” I said. “I need you to set up outside of town and detain the Purcell Society before they make it in to church.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a long story. But they’ll be coming in on Highway 68 from Greensboro.”

  “You want me to arrest the whole Society?”

  “Well, there’s probably only going to be three or four of them. Don’t really arrest them. Just make sure they’re occupied for a few hours. They’ll be in a rental car.”

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Meg, as she walked up. She handed me a cup of coffee.

  “Hayden wants me to arrest the Purcell Society.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” said Meg.

  “It’s for the good of the town, Meg,” I argued.

  “I won’t hear another word! Now you get in there and tune the harpsichord. It sounds as though Lurch has been banging on it.”

  •••

  Zeb and Darius, the two bears, had shown up early like the professionals they were. By the time all the kids had arrived and donned their Hebrew garb, the two basses had warmed up, gotten into their costumes and gone through their duet with Zeb’s wife, Clarice, accompanying them on the piano. Codfish was in his costume as well, but after running through his aria, he disappeared into the parking lot to give Stuart’s grandfather a great deal on some farm-raised perch.

  “Moosey brought his frog with him!” said Mary. “Eeew!”

  “Don’t be such a tattletale,” said Moosey. “That’s just Ribbet. He’s in my pocket. I couldn’t leave him at home. Pauli Girl’s cleaning the house.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Line up on the steps. Let’s do our warm-ups. We’ll only have time to go through this once before the service.”

  “This Bluetooth works great,” said Zeb, fiddling with the Borg-like object protruding from his ear. “I’m going to remember this when we do Love for Three Oranges next year.”

  “Do we have time to rehearse the dance?” asked Cynthia. “It would be good to go through it once more.”

  Moosey’s frog let loose a tremendous “Braaaaap!”

  “Eeew!” squealed Mary, as the boys rolled on the floor, laughing.

  “Moosey!” I said. “Give Meg the frog.”

  “I don’t want the frog,” said Meg.

  “Well…” I looked around. “Put him in the piano bench. He’ll be fine
.”

  “Ye dreadful bears to me draw nigh and hear a Prophet’s awful cry!” sang Codfish from the back of the church.

  This brought more giggles from the chorus and smiles from everyone else.

  “Let’s warm up,” I said. “Then do our run-through.”

  •••

  “Hayden! Great to see you again!”

  “Well, I do declare,” I said. “Gaylen Weatherall!”

  “Congratulations! I heard you’d gotten married.”

  “I did, indeed. What are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d be arriving till sometime next month.”

  “I brought Dad back early. He’s going into an assisted living facility in Boone, so there wasn’t any sense in his staying out in Colorado and being miserable.” She tapped on her chest. “Emphysema,” she said.

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “He smoked for forty years, then finally quit, but it was too late, I guess.”

  “I know you’d have liked to stay out there for a while.”

  “Yes, I would have, but these things happen. I’m still a bishop.”

  “So I gathered. I guess we’ll be the only parish in the country with a bishop as our rector.”

  “I’ll have to check on that, but you may be right. Is Meg here?”

  I pointed to the choir loft. “Up there, I think. We’re doing a special musical presentation this morning.”

  “I heard. I can’t wait to see it.”

  •••

  For a Sunday in late June, the crowd for the service was pretty good. Attendance at St. Barnabas tended to go down in the summer months and back up in the winter when people were more likely to contemplate their own mortality. Nothing like a minus-ten degree windchill to freeze the immortal soul. When it was seventy-five degrees and beautiful out, it was easy to believe that God could be found anywhere, and that you’d just as likely encounter him on one of Watauga County’s fine golf courses as you would sitting in a stuffy old church.

  The opening hymn was Be Thou My Vision, and the adult choir processed up to the front, back down the side aisle and up into the choir loft. I had to play the Gloria, then make my way down to the front for the performance. Before the kids made their entrance, we’d hear the Old Testament lesson and the Gospel reading. The first lesson is the story of Elisha, of course, but read from the beginning of the chapter. The lectionary readings all end just before the bears show up. Odd, that. The rest of the Old Testament lesson was the reading for Transfiguration Sunday. Elijah is whisked away in a fiery chariot and Elisha, his disciple, remains with a “double-portion” of God’s grace. Then, a couple of verses later, he cleans up the water supply and wreaks havoc on the Bethel youth group.

  The readings were duly proclaimed and it was time for the kids to come down the aisle to the sombre tones of the overture. I looked around the church, searching for members of the Purcell Society, and spotted four faces in the back that I hadn’t seen before. Bingo! Three men dressed in rumpled suits and a middle-aged woman wearing a hat. I gave them a nod.

  The only instrumentation for the piece was the harpsichord. The instrument was a nice one, handmade by Ian Burch, with a big, ringing sound. There would be no problem hearing it. At least, I thought, as long as the bears’ Bluetooths were working.

  As the children reached the front steps, Codfish Downs, Zeb Martin and Darius Reeves, all standing in the back, sang the first trio.

  Elisha, prophet, man of God,

  The Fertile Hills of Judah trod.

  God’s judgement to these Hills did tell,

  Until vile youths upon him fell.

  I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Codfish coming up the aisle. With his grizzled beard and lack of hair, he looked every bit the crazed prophet, due for a taunting.

  The kids sang:

  Go up, thou Baldhead, yea go up.

  Take thy mantle, take thy cup,

  And to the birds now prophesy.

  We find your preaching very dry.

  Go up, thou Baldhead, grant us ease.

  O prating prophet, take thy leave.

  These stones we throw to fire thy shame,

  And send thee back to whence thou came!

  “Braaaaap,” went the frog. I looked over at the piano. The lid to the bench was up just about an inch and the frog was struggling out, its amphibious body squashed almost flat as it pulled itself through the opening with webbed fingers and elbows. Its head, not able to fit easily through the crack, was twisted in a grotesque fashion, and its mouth was hanging open, revealing a blackish tongue that dangled lewdly, as it wriggled to free itself.

  Thou wretched youths, sang Elisha. I shall now hie,

  To yonder cave, where Ursine Brethren lie.

  The frog popped free and landed on the slate floor with a plop like the sound of a three-pound, uncooked meatloaf being dropped on the kitchen floor. The kids all looked over at the noise. Mary grabbed Ashley’s hand and made a horrible face.

  Elisha continued:

  Awake, awake shake off dull sleep,

  awake from slumber, dark and deep.

  Ye dreadful bears to me draw nigh

  And hear a Prophet’s awful cry.

  These viperous youths, their mocking scorn,

  Shall come to naught this cursed morn.

  Billy Hixon, the head usher, had been sitting in the front pew, due to the fact that he was mostly deaf and also liked a good show. He heard the frog splat when it hit the slate—a testament to the sheer volume of it—and hadn’t quite decided if, being head usher, he was required to corral the frog and banish it from the proceedings. He was pretty sure it wasn’t part of the show, but he thought he remembered frogs in the Bible somewhere. While he was pondering this, the bears entered.

  Awake, awake! Make ready then your bitter tomb,

  The prophet now has sealed your doom!

  The effect was startling. Two seven-foot bears singing bass is neither sight nor sound for the faint of heart. I noticed several people in the congregation perk up immediately.

  With teeth and claws and fetid breath,

  we now consign you unto death.

  The children looked terrified, as well they might be. I think they might have been acting, but these guys looked pretty scary. However, it was at this point in the duet that Zeb’s Bluetooth started to pick up police radio signals. I knew this because the two bears were scheduled to sing a repeat of their opening flourish, Awake, awake! What came out was:

  Awake, awake! We have a ten fifty-seven on Elm.

  Call for some back-up. Proceed with caution.

  A moment later, Darius’ Bluetooth picked up the same signal.

  Roger that. Make ready then, thy bitter tomb,

  And have thy prophet call for an ambulance.

  I reached up, grabbed Dave’s Blackberry off the harpsichord and tossed it into the baptismal font, a pretty good throw considering the font was a good five feet away. Now the bears couldn’t hear, but at least they wouldn’t be singing the police report.

  “Braaaaap!” went the frog.

  The children and the bears began the Munching Dance. The bears, having no idea there was a three-pound bullfrog under their feet, were happily stomping around in the way that bears do. Billy decided that, if one of the bears happened to get lucky, or unlucky, as the case may be, and end the frog’s theatrical career, that would also be the end of the show. He slid down off the pew, all six foot-six, two-hundred sixty pounds of him, and crawled on his hands and knees toward the action.

  Cynthia had taught the kids a very stately Baroque dance where each quartet held hands and stepped together in rhythm until one of the bears took a stylized swipe at one of them. Then that child would shriek, throw a red velvet streamer into the air to symbolize the slaughter of another youth-gone-wrong, and collapse in a heap. I knew the bears couldn’t hear, but they were lumbering sorts, anyway, and not suited for dancing. Not like those Russian bears.

  Moosey kept one eye on his pet and the other
on the stomping paws of the bears. Billy, on the other hand, was intent on watching only the frog. If it jumped just a little farther his way…

  “Braaaaap,” went the frog, and took a mighty leap right toward Billy.

  Moosey was in the group nearest the frog and jumped a split-second later. He might have caught Ribbet in mid-leap, had Billy not been attempting the same maneuver. The resulting crash took down the remaining dancers. They tossed their ribbons into the air with yelps of surprise. One of the bears, who was taking a slow swipe at Moosey, overbalanced when he wasn’t there and tumbled to the floor in a sort of slow-motion somersault. The other bear, startled to be the only one standing, looked around in confusion, then reached down and helped his partner up. They stared at each other for a moment, then gave exagerated shrugs, and shuffled back down the aisle to join Elisha, who had retreated to the back of the sanctuary as per his stage instructions.

  Moosey had a firm hold on the frog. Billy made it back to his pew, although we could still hear Elaine laughing from the balcony. Right on cue, all of the children got up and stood in a straight line with Moosey in the middle. He turned Ribbet—miraculously unscathed—to face the audience, put his hands under the frog’s arms, and held him up. The frog’s long, amphibious fingers clung to Moosey the way a kitten might hang onto a branch after an ill-advised leap. Its white belly, mottled body and powerful legs dangled a good eighteen inches below Moosey’s hands, and it looked out at the congregation with unblinking, bulbous eyes. Then Moosey lifted his pet aloft, took a deep breath, and sang to make angels weep.

  Farewell mother, weep not for me,

  For blessed Paradise I see.

  To taunt Elisha wrong were we,

  And death our punishment must be.