“With my body, I thee worship,” I pledged, “and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Let us pray,” said Father Tony, oblivious to the smell. Then I heard a low growl come from under the platform where we were standing.
“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. For as much as Hayden and Megan have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, I now pronounce you…”
It was at that moment that all hell broke loose.
•••
Gamba, the vegan dog, had followed his nose under the giant dining table and found a nest of Minques taking refuge behind the orange material draping the front of the platform. He was not amused. Gamba was easily the match for one Minque, maybe two. But there were more. A lot more. The odds weren’t good. Still, he had quite a pedigree—half Rottweiler and half Dachshund, a tough little dog bred to hunt badgers. Added to that, he’d never tasted meat and seemed quite anxious to do so. All this may not have been the exact analysis of the situation that went through his little canine brain at that moment, but was probably a better explanation than his actual thought process, a process that went something like this:
“Roooowwwwwrrr!”
Minques shot from under stage like brown, furry bullets out of a scattergun. Crayonella screamed and tried unsuccessfully to climb up the nearest pilgrim. Bev bent over and smacked one of the creatures on the snout with her flowers.
“Get out of here!” she screeched. “You…you…Minque!”
Elaine and Cynthia had taken refuge by standing on the front pew, a position taken by most of the women (and some of the men) in the congregation as fifteen or twenty Minques beat a panicked exit toward the front doors with a mad Rott-wiener in hot pursuit.
•••
Dave and Nancy had their hands full. They’d planned to come into the church and watch the wedding ceremony, but the DANGLs had marched into town to protest the halting of the sale of Camp Possumtickle. The DANGLs had arrived in the park, bought Ferris wheel tickets from D’Artagnan, and subsequently disrobed, timing their demonstration so they’d be very visible, riding atop the Ferris wheel, just as The Living Gobbler came to a close. They had all twelve bucket seats filled with thirty-six DANGLs when Dave and Nancy, sitting in the office having a cup of coffee, spotted them and came running.
Dave and Nancy rounded up the ones on the ground, three and four at a time, and took them over to the Police Station. When the station filled up, they took them to the Slab. Dave called for help from the Boone PD, but Appalachian State had a home football game and they couldn’t spare the manpower for a bunch of Christian nudists.
•••
Collette had been walking into town from her basement apartment, determined not to have anything to do with the wedding, but curious nevertheless. She planned to stand outside and watch as the wedding party exited the church, but, upon reaching the square, found the town deserted, most of the occupants either out of town visiting relatives, inside relaxing, or at The Living Gobbler performance. Adding to her confusion were piles of clothes in the park. Lots of them. She grabbed her cell phone and tried to call Dave. Imagine her surprise and subsequent panic when she heard Dave’s ring coming from a phone sitting on top of a pair of khaki pants. She never bothered to look up into the Ferris wheel but ran screeching toward St. Barnabas.
Collette flung wide the doors of the church. The Minques didn’t even slow as they raced past her. “It’s the Rapture!” she wailed, bursting into the confluence of panicked Minques, vegetables, Indians, ticket-holders, assorted pilgrims, and one enthusiastic Rott-wiener. “We who are alive shall be caught up in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air—First Thessalopians 4:17! It’s the Rapture! It’s the Rapture and I’ve been left behind!”
•••
The Exorkizein, not content to wait until The Living Gobbler performance finished, had taken the occasion to light some candles in the choir loft and do a bit of wand waving while Marjorie was bewitching the audience with her rendition of Hiawatha. While the Exorkizein were busy watching the performance, one of the lit candles fell into the organ pipe case. They didn’t think much about it until they smelled the smoke. They tried, in vain, to open the case, but it was locked and they were far too late. All five of them had snuck down the stairs and were standing by the front doors just as Collette came in screaming.
•••
“Fire!” yelled Father Lemming, being the first to spot the flames. “Nobody move! You kids get out of here!” he shouted to his children. The cranberries headed for the front doors in a bunch. “Follow the Lemmings!” Father Lemming yelled over the panic, pushing people aside in his effort to get to the front doors. His wife, Fiona, was left on the stage along with most of the cast.
“We can go out the side door,” I said calmly to the folks in the front. “No problem. We have plenty of time. Father Tony will lead you out.”
Tony led the cast off the stage, into the transept and out the side door. Pete, Billy, and I hung back surveying the impending doom. The fire had now engulfed the organ loft and was licking at the roof. This building was built in 1904. We knew it wouldn’t last long.
“It’s a sad day,” said Billy. Pete and I nodded.
“Everybody out?” Billy asked.
I squinted down the nave and saw the last of the crowd disappear out the front door. “Looks like it.”
“Anyone call the fire department?” Pete said. “I don’t have a phone in this stupid turkey outfit.”
“I’m sure someone has,” I said. “Most of the department was here anyway. They’ve all got to go home and get their gear, then get the truck and make their way back. Could be a while.”
“What about your gun?” asked Pete. “In the organ bench?”
I shrugged. “You guys head around front. There’s no telling what’s going on out there. I’ll go make sure the Parish Hall is clear.”
•••
The park in front of the church was bedlam. The audience and cast members who had rushed out the front of the church were watching in horror as the flames burst through the roof of the narthex and started engulfing the bell tower. The supply of power to the Ferris wheel, coming from St. Barnabas Church, suddenly shut down as the breakers shorted out leaving thirty-six naked DANGLs swinging back and forth in the glowing firelight of the burning church. Three of them, occupying the lowest swing, slid under the safety bar and dropped to the ground. The rest of the folks on the Ferris wheel could do nothing but sit and watch.
The other DANGLs, the ones who had been locked up, simply turned the deadbolts and came back into the park. Both the police station and the Slab Café could be easily unlocked from the inside, not having been built to restrain prisoners. The DANGLs all stood there—naked as jaybirds—watching the church burn. I saw Lacie and asked her if I could get her a blanket. She declined with a shake of her head. A couple of feet away, Mr. Christopher was talking to Chad, but didn’t offer to get him a blanket.
Gamba, no longer a vegan, had caught four of the Minques, killed each of them, and was piling the parts of them he didn’t eat in front of the church steps. Once he dropped his Minque remains onto the pile, he headed back into the park after yet another one.
Once everyone was safe, there wasn’t anything Dave, Nancy, or I could do except wait, like the others, for the fire department. The members of Ian’s Early Musik Consort had gathered on the front lawn and were counting their instruments. I waved to Kent and he gave me a wave in return. The Lemmings, father and cranberries, were huddled under an oak tree. Fiona was there too, giving Adrian a very large piece of her mind.
The St. Germaine Volunteer Fire Department was on the scene quickly, all things considered. Their main job, as the fire chief explained to me, was to confine the fire to the sanctuary and try to save the Parish Hall and
the surrounding buildings. I found Moosey trying to talk to a fireman and sent him over to the gazebo. Then I went searching for Meg.
“Has anyone seen Collette?” asked a frantic Dave. “Someone said she went into the church! I need to call her, but I can’t find my cell phone. I must have dropped it.”
I shook my head and gave a quick look around and pointed to the front steps. “Nancy has her phone. She’s over with the firemen. Use hers.” I caught his arm as he started to run off. “I’m sure Collette came back out, Dave. I didn’t see anyone in there and I was the last one to leave.”
Meg and Father Tony were standing together across the street in front of the Slab. I made my way across the park, weaving through the clumps of people: some huddled together sobbing: others, shaking their heads in disbelief: still others, watching the fire stoically.
Meg had a blanket around her shoulders. I thought she’d be crying, but she wasn’t. She watched as the fire engulfed the bell tower, tilting her head as it collapsed inward in a shower of sparks. We heard the bell crash to the floor. She gave a small, sad smile.
“It’s the end of something, isn’t it?” she said.
“And the beginning,” I said. “We’ll build it back.”
“Hey,” she said, suddenly looking at me. “Are we married or not?”
I thought for a moment. “No. No, I don’t think so. We never got to that part.”
“Of course, you’re married, you nitwits!” said Father Tony. He waved his hand absently in front of him in the sign of the cross. “I now pronounce you man and wife, blah, blah, blah. You may kiss the bride.”
And I did.
Postlude
No one in St. Germaine, including Dave, ever saw Collette again. The firemen sifted through the wreckage during the next few days looking for her body, but it wasn’t to be found. There was some talk from folks in her church about putting up a monument in the park. They even designed a triptych and commissioned Beaver Jergenson to carve it out of a giant stump with his chainsaw. It portrayed the three saints who had never experienced death, but were taken directly to heaven—Elijah, Enoch, and Collette. Cynthia Johnsson, the new mayor, declined the offer of a permanent installation.
There were two other miracles that night, people would later say. The first was that nothing but the church had burned. The fire department, working far into the night, couldn’t save the parish hall, but even with the proximity of St. Barnabas to the other buildings on Main Street, the flames were confined to the church. The second miracle was the one they still talk about. The congregation came to the square the next morning, intent on having a service of Thanksgiving in the park in front of the charred ruins. There, sitting amongst fallen leaves of gold, orange and red, was the St. Barnabas altar, the communion elements set in their place.
•••
“Marilyn,” I said, “how about some java?” I tugged my hat down over my eyes, kicked back in my chair, and lit up a stogie. Marilyn came in with a cup of joe, wearing a mink, high heels and a smile.
It was good to be a detective.
The Mezzo Wore Mink Page 24