“Is it a big one?” asked Nancy.
“Big enough,” said Pete. “It’s a twelve-seater, thirty feet tall.”
“Is there room in the park?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Pete. “We stepped it off, although the only place it can go is right in front of St. Barnabas. You know, where the Kiwanis Club sets up the Christmas Crèche. The rest of the park has too many trees.”
“You won’t get to ride it, you know,” I said. “You’re my best man. And someone has to dress as the turkey.”
•••
“I talked to them,” said Nancy, coming in to the police station just after lunch. “I went out to Camp Possumtickle. Luckily, they all had their clothes on when I showed up. Every last one of them said that Chad and Lacie were at the DANGL meeting in Galax from Sunday night until Tuesday morning when they all left. There was even a video of their “Christian Karaoke Night” they showed me—dated-stamped Monday night. Lacie and Chad do a mean duet rendition of The Prayer. I watched a bit of it.”
“They could have changed the date on the camera,” I pointed out.
“Except it wasn’t their camera. I don’t get the feeling that these people would lie to protect a murderer.”
“Were they naked?” asked Dave. “On the tape, I mean.”
“Naked as jaybirds,” said Nancy. “Except for their microphones.”
“Can we get a copy?” asked Dave hopefully, as a fleeting vision of Lacie Ravencroft leapt into his frontal lobe. “Just for archival purposes?”
“No, you may not,” said Nancy. “Oh, one more thing. Those DANGLs are pretty mad about the people in town trying to stop the sale of the camp. They told me that if the ‘so-called Society of Decency’ keeps up this policy of discrimination, they’ll be forced to come into town to hold a demonstration.”
“Lacie, too?” asked Dave.
Nancy glared at him.
“I’ve been busy, as well,” I said. “I called Jack DeMille’s office in Topeka. He’s out of the country, so they transferred me to his lawyer. I asked if the reward on Josh Kenisaw had been collected. He told me that it hadn’t.”
“That’s interesting,” said Nancy. “If I were that bounty hunter, I would have turned in Davis’ head by now.”
•••
That afternoon Nancy arrested Collette for shooting at a Minque that she had cornered under the gazebo in the middle of Sterling Park.
“You can’t arrest me, you Jezebel! You Athaliah! You dirty Rahab!” screamed Collette, face down on the ground, her hands cuffed behind her back. “I have a hunting license!”
“Call me one more name,” said Nancy calmly, “and I’ll lock you up in the old outhouse. You can’t shoot in town. Where did you get a pistol, anyway?”
“Dr. Ken’s Gun Emporium,” Collette grumbled. “He’s having a Minque sale.”
Chapter 26
Noylene had called a wedding powwow at the Beautifery and invited, or rather required, all parties involved to be present. Meg, thinking that I’d be very interested in the proceedings, had “invited” me to come along also. Meg was mistaken. I wasn’t interested. But Noylene had promised that pie would be served, so I was in. Pete, too.
“Now,” said Noylene, “are all eight bridesmaids here?”
“Four,” said Meg. “Four bridesmaids. That’s what we agreed on.”
Noylene sighed. “Okay. Four. Are they all here?”
“I have three,” said Meg. “Bev, Elaine, and Cynthia.”
“You can’t have just three,” Noylene explained patiently. “It’ll be unbalanced. The chop suey will be all wrong.”
“Feng shui,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” said Noylene.
“I asked Georgia, but she’s serving communion,” said Meg. “Nancy’s going to be on duty, so she can’t do it, either.”
“Collette said she’d do it,” I said.
“Collette’s crazy,” said Noylene. “How about Crayonella? She was in here yesterday for a manicure.”
“That would add a little local color,” I said, garnering an amused look from Bev and Elaine.
“Crayonella will be just fine, if she’ll do it,” said Meg.
“I’m sure she will,” said Cynthia. “I’ll give her a call right now.” Cynthia pulled out her cell phone and excused herself.
“Now,” said Noylene, “the actual wedding ceremony is at the end of the performance. That should give everyone time to change into their bridesmaid outfits.”
“What bridesmaid outfits?” asked Bev. “I thought we were wearing our Indian costumes.”
“That’s the plan,” said Meg. “My wedding dress was made by Jim Thundercloud. It’s quite lovely. White fringed and beaded doeskin with matching moccasins.”
“You mean y’all aren’t wearing matching bridesmaid outfits?” Noylene was appalled. “You’re at least getting your hair and nails done, aren’t you?”
Noylene was spared her latest disappointment by Cynthia’s interruption.
“Good news,” Cynthia announced. “Crayonella says she’ll be happy to do it. She’s honored to be asked.”
“Are you wearing an Indian outfit as well?” Noylene asked.
“Nope. I’ll be a belly dancer. I have my own costume.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” said Noylene in disgust. “We’re getting you three in the Dip ’n Tan. Y’all look like a trio of Pillsbury Dough Girls.”
•••
I was practicing on Friday morning—a voluntary by John Stanley, the hymns for Sunday, and the accompaniment for the communion anthem—and was almost finished when I was interrupted by a half dozen children scampering loudly into the choir loft, followed doggedly up the narrow stairs by a huffing and puffing Mrs. Tidball-Lemming.
“You kids get back here,” she wheezed, without much vigor. She’d gotten to the top of the stairs and three steps into the loft when the children, screeching like howler monkeys, dodged her clumsy attempts to corral them and shot back down the stairs. I watched from my perch at the organ console as they tore through the nave and banged open the door to the sacristy, finally disappearing to wreak whatever havoc they could find. Fiona looked at me, defeat etching her face.
“They’re Adrian’s from his first marriage,” she said. “Seven of those little brats. His first wife thinks it’s funny to tell them to do anything they want when they get here. She’s knows Adrian won’t discipline them. He’s got too much paternal abandonment guilt.”
“Hmm,” I managed. “And how long will the little Lemmings be with us?”
“We were supposed to have them for Christmas this year, but the ex found true love and decided to go to the Bahamas for Thanksgiving. Adrian told her we’d be happy to take them.”
“So they’ll be here for The Living Gobbler?”
“I guess I’ll have to write them a part,” said Fiona, her shoulders slumping. “I wonder what they’re doing now?”
In response, a huge crash came from the sacristy followed by the sound of breaking glass. A lot of glass.
•••
I didn’t go down to the sacristy, preferring to let the Lemmings clean up after themselves. I did hear quite a lot of screaming going on behind the closed door, but eventually the furor died down and I resolved to play through the voluntary at least once more before heading back to the office.
“Hayden?” said a low voice from the back of the loft. I recognized the voice immediately.
“Hi, Carmel. Come on up.”
“I’ve got some friends with me. May I introduce them?”
“Of course.”
The Reverend Carmel Bottoms came into the loft followed by four others, three middle-aged women and a young man, all wearing open academic gowns with an embroidered red cross on the left breast.
“We are the Exorkizein. It’s the name we’ve given ourselves. From the Greek.”
I nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Exorkizein. I’m Hayden Konig the organist. I thought you guys were c
oming weeks ago.”
“We had to wait until Thanksgiving holiday break,” said the pimply young man. “We’re still in seminary. All except Carmel.”
“Well, what do you think?” I asked, gesturing around. “Demons? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” said Carmel. “Demons. I sense at least five of them. I would name them for you, but that would give them more power.”
“Absolutely,” said the others. “It certainly would. No question.”
“Then do what you have to do,” I said. “Do you have your… umm…equipment? Bells? Books?”
“We have our wands,” said one of the middle-aged women.
“And candles,” added another.
“This may take some time,” said the third. “Our last exorcism took two weeks.”
“Take as much time as you need,” I said. “But could you start downstairs? I’ve got to practice a bit more.”
•••
“Hey, Nancy, you watching the game?” I flipped through the channels looking for the football game.
“Of course. Like Denver’s going to play and I’m not going to watch.”
“What channel?”
“Forty-two.”
I clicked over and settled back onto the leather-covered down cushions of the sofa. I had a big bag of Pete’s Barabba-que flavored Communion Fish, a bottle of ice-cold Imperial stout called Surly Darkness, and a willingness to finish them both before halftime.
“Let me ask you something,” I said into the phone. “You remember that day we were in the bookstore with Davis Boothe?”
“Yep.”
“And he was looking through the Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon?”
“Yep.”
“I keep trying to replay that conversation. Maybe he said something that we’re missing. I just can’t remember.”
“I was over looking at the books in the best-seller section.”
“But you were listening, right?”
“Well, sure, but….oh, no! Tennessee just scored!” Nancy screamed at the television. “You idiots! A 3-4 defense on fourth and one? What are you thinking?”
I leaned back, listened to Nancy’s tirade, and gobbled down a handful of Communion Fish.
“Sorry,” said Nancy, when she’d calmed down. “What was the question?”
“I was asking whether you remember the conversation in the bookstore right before Davis left.”
“Hmm. You guys were talking about that book. Meg said that she liked Rip Van Winkle. You said that you liked The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and that you had a dog named Iggy.”
“Not Iggy. Icky. After Ichabod Crane.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Catch the stupid ball!” Nancy hollered. “Don’t let those Oilers score again!”
“Oilers?”
“What? Oh, yeah. I meant the Titans. Tennessee used to be the Oilers. Now they’re the Titans. I hate it when they change mascots.”
“Huh,” I said, feeling something small and mousy nibbling at the edges of my brain-pan. “Hey, Nancy, can you check something on the internet for me?”
“Sure.”
“Google ‘Ichabod’ and ‘mascot’ and see if anything comes up.”
“Hang on.”
I had a sip of my Surly Darkness and waited for a moment.
Nancy came back on the line. “Well, blow me down a rathole. Washburn University.”
I laughed. “Now I know why Davis Boothe’s head never got turned in for the reward.”
“You going to tell me?”
“Yep.”
And I did.
Chapter 27
Dave brought the donuts into the police station promptly at nine, being exactly one hour late for work. It didn’t really matter to Nancy and me. We’d arrived at the station at seven to meet with Judge Adams and Todd McCay, the new Watauga County Sheriff. Judge Adams signed the warrant and the three of us made short work of the search and subsequent arrest. Meg came through the door two minutes after Dave carrying a box with five steaming pumpkin spice lattes from the Holy Grounds Coffee Shop.
“I thought you could use a treat,” said Meg. “You solved the case! Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did call you,” I said. “That’s why you came by, right? Anyway, we had to get a warrant, then go over and find Davis’ head and finally make the arrest. First things first.”
“Hey,” said Dave. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“You didn’t have your phone on, Dave,” said Nancy quietly.
“Oh. Sorry. I must have forgot.”
“We went by your house to pick you up.”
“Uh…I wasn’t home.”
“You were at Collette’s?”
Dave hung his head. “Yeah.”
“She’s crazy, Dave,” said Nancy. “I like you a lot, so as your friend, I’m telling you. She’s certifiable.”
“Who’s certifiable?” asked Pete, coming through the door. “Collette? Hey! I heard you solved the case!”
“We did,” said Dave. “All thanks to me.” Nancy snorted.
“So where was Davis Boothe’s head?” asked Meg.
“It was in Hyacinth Turnipseed’s freezer,” I answered. Meg blinked and looked shocked.
“Not the Upper Womb?”
“Nope. I finally remembered what I couldn’t remember…”
“With a little help,” added Nancy.
“With a lot of help,” I added. “Think back to when we were in Eden Books the day before Davis killed himself. We were talking about The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon and Davis was thumbing through the book. I said I liked The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”
“And I said I liked Rip Van Winkle,” said Meg. “I remember.”
“And I mentioned that I had a dog named Icky for Ichabod Crane.”
Everyone nodded.
“And then Hyacinth said ‘Where I’m from, the college mascot is the Ichabods.’”
Everyone nodded again.
“That’s it,” I said.
“That’s what?” said Pete.
“That’s the part I couldn’t remember—the part about the college mascot. Nancy looked it up. The only college in the country that has a mascot called the Ichabods is Washburn University in Topeka, Kansas. Davis Boothe, or rather, Josh Kenisaw, was a freshman at Washburn when he was convicted of killing Senator DeMille’s daughter in a drunk driving accident.”
“And when he heard Hyacinth Turnipseed mention the Ichabods, he knew she’d found him,” added Nancy. “And that she now had his fingerprints on the book.”
“And he killed himself rather than go to prison,” said Meg. “How sad. What did Hyacinth say?”
“What could she say?” I said. “Davis’ head was underneath some frozen pizzas in the freezer in her basement. She did claim she’d broken no laws.”
“Has she?” Pete said.
“Oh, yeah,” said Nancy. “When we searched Hyacinth’s house, we found Thelma’s purse and keys. They were in the basement as well. We know that she was in the garden when Thelma died. At the very least we can get her on depraved indifference murder and theft.”
I nodded. “Hyacinth met Thelma there and offered her money for Davis’ head. She was probably amazed when Thelma refused. But then Thelma had an OCD attack in the maze and all Hyacinth had to do was wait. She didn’t know that Dale Patterson was waiting on the other side of the hedge.”
“And when the krummhorn didn’t work, Thelma tried to get his attention by throwing it over the hedge,” added Nancy.
“But why didn’t she collect the reward?” asked Pete. “After she had Davis’ head?”
“I’m sure she was planning on it,” I said. “But she fell and broke her leg. She was in the hospital for a few days, and then she was in a wheelchair with a full-time nurse. She couldn’t get back down into the basement, so she called us over to give us a fake reading to throw suspicion on Lacie Ravencroft.”
“And the life insurance policy in the safety deposit box? The numbers she saw during he
r reading?” asked Meg.
“Made up to throw us off the track and keep us busy.”
Nancy nodded in agreement. “By the way, Senator DeMille’s office is denying all knowledge of any Hyacinth Turnipseed.”
“There’s a surprise,” said Pete.
“Where’s Hyacinth now?” asked Meg.
“Todd McCay took her over to Boone for booking.”
“What about Chad Parker and Lacie Ravencroft? Surely they’re not innocent in all of this?” said Dave.
“We don’t have any real evidence except Lacie’s so-called confession, and I’m afraid that won’t hold up in any court,” I said. “I was just fishing for information. She wouldn’t have said anything if I’d Mirandized her. I expect we’ll be asking them to leave town though.”
•••
“Oh, my GOD!” screeched Bev, as she was hoisted out of the Dip ’n Tan. “Just look at us!”
Crayonella Washington gave a tremendous whoop. “Y’all look great! Couldn’t be better!”
“What’s the matter?” said Noylene, “I put in a triple dose, no extra charge. Y’all want to match, don’t you?”
“Noylene!” wailed Elaine, looking down at her chocolaty skin. “Crayonella is black! Of course we don’t want to match!”
“Well,” said Cynthia, “I guess I can be an Arabian belly dancer.”
“Nubian is more like it,” said Bev, with a sob. “How long till this stuff wears off?”
“Well, you’ll get darker for a day or two, then start to fade in a couple of weeks,” said Noylene.
“Darker?” gasped Elaine in horror. “Darker? How much darker?”
“Oh, just a bit,” said Noylene with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think y’all look fabulous! Now, let’s talk about your hair.”
Chapter 28
The Mezzo Wore Mink Page 22