Im sure everyone knows by now that Father Olson was tragically killed yesterday. Bob Preston paused to be certain everyone had heard him. His eyes swept the room. In the sudden hush, the only noise was the clicking silver ends of his bolo tie. We put the news out on all the phone trees … He tilted his head to one side and raise his voice. The funeral will be Tuesday morning at ten. At the first service, this announcement had been accompanied by tiny, discreet sniffs. Now sniffles developed into a wave of lamentation that quickly rose to a crescendo. People clutched each other as they wept; they patted each others backs and offered tissues. Father Olson had been, after all, one of them.
We believe he did not die in vain. Bob Prestons voice soared over the sobs. WE believe that he did not die in vain!
Amen! Yes, Lord! accompanied this announcement.
Father Doug Ramsey opened his eyes wide and tilted his head to catch Canon Montgomerys attention for an (-told-you-so glance. I wondered if Canon Montgomery thought all this was better or worse than people snickering at his poetry. I perused the congregation for Mitchell Hartley. He sat in the pew across the nave from me, his red pompadour bobbing as he appeared to agree with Bob Preston.
Now you know, Preston bellowed, Father Olson would have wanted us to continue with the prayer list. We need to pray for Victor Mancuso. Father Olson laid hands on him in the hospital, and were waiting for the tests to come back. We need to keep praying for Roger Bampton, who continues to show no sign of illness!
In the midst of the tears, the congregation burst out clapping. Montgomery closed his mouth and twitched. Doug Ramsey put his face in his hands. I didnt dare look at Mitchell Hartley again. Bob Preston went through the rest of the names on the list, pausing to make comments on the progress, or lack of progress, of each person. I began to squirm when we got to the part of the list entitled for those in troubled relationships. My fears were confirmed when we heard of Hal and Marie, that Marie was still drinking and we needed to pray for strength for Hal. But the worst was yet to come.
Bob Preston held up his right index finger. It boasted a silver ring with a hunk of turquoise the size of a small boulder. At first I thought he was going to make an announcement about the jewelry raffle, but when he stabbed the air in my direction, my heart sank. We need to pray for somebody who doesnt usually come to this service. WE need to pray for Goldy back there, he bellowed ruefully.
All eyes turned to me. I thought I was going to throw up.
… As youve probably heard, Father Olson died before Goldys wedding. Goldys fiancé, Bob consulted the yellow pad importantly, Homicide Investigator Tom Schulz, found poor Ted Olson in his final moments on earth. But then something happened to Investigator Schulz; no one knows what. The police think maybe he was abducted. But he left a note before he was taken. He stopped to take a deep breath. So Jesus, he intoned, clamping his eyes tight, as if he were about to blow out candles on a birthday cake, we just want to ask for strength for poor Goldy and that the Sheriffs Department will be able to find the notorious criminal who did this!
AMEN!
My throat closed. My skin had turned clammy. I have to get out of here. When Montgomery finally began the opening lines of the General Confession, I nipped into the kitchen, removed the muffins from the oven, and placed them on the counter to cool, then trotted out to my car. I remembered from Montgomerys course that the confession was generally omitted at the Palm Sunday liturgy, at the discretion of the celebrant in this case, Montgomery himself. But the canon clearly felt that the folks at the later service needed a dose of communal penitence. I, on the other hand, didnt want to confess anything. I didnt look back.
Ten minutes later I sat facing an enormous insulated pot of bad coffee at Carls Stagecoach Stop, a restaurant on Aspen Meadows Main Street. The Stagecoach Stop had been pure cowboy until Carl, a restaurateur from Zurich, had bought the place a year ago and attempted to make it Swiss.
Business is gonna fall off, Tom had announced when wed celebrated our engagement by coming here for breakfast. Carl needs to put back what everybody likes. Müsli with Fruit wont hack it without Stagecoach Steak and Eggs.
Of course, he had been right. When Tom and I had visited again two months ago, the menu had been revamped, and the waitresses uniforms had been transformed into something along the lines of Dale Evans-meets-Heidi. Listen to that, Tom said, point to one of the speakers. It was not the usual piped-in German folk music. But Carl hadnt reverted to pure country music, either. Tom had raised his bushy eyebrows and commented, Waylon Jennings plays the polka.
Be all right, I urged the image of Tom Schulz in my mind. It would be at least half an hour before either of the Prestons showed up for our brunch. To protect myself from people who might want to disrupt my solitude, I piled Father Olsons Bible as well as the tome on feasts in front of me. With a not-quite-steady hand I poured myself some of the coffee better than Carls cappuccino, which tasted like milky motor oil opened the Bible to look for Judas.
I perused through similar stories of the betrayal in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The common thread was that Judas offered to betray Jesus to the high priests for a sum, that at the Last Supper Jesus knew what was coming and confronted Judas, who left. Later, in the Garden of Gethsemane, Judas arrived with an armed crowd. By kissing Jesus, Judas betrayed him to the soldiers. Things didnt turn out too well for Judas when he was paid his thirty pieces of silver. According to the story, after the Crucifixion he hanged himself.
I reread the stories. What could Olson possibly have meant when he gasped B. Read Judas as he was dying? Had Tom been able to figure out what Olson meant by that command? Who was B.? Read what about Judas?
I put the Bible aside and picked up the book on feasts to look up Chad. Not the country in Africa, not half of the singing group Chad and Jeremy. There was a muddied photograph of Litchfield, England, where Chad had been buried in A.D. 672. Trained in the Celtic Christian tradition, Bishop Chad had been humble and devout. I noted the trademark of the Society of Chad, two entwined snakes that certainly looked Celtic, like something you might find in the Lindisfarne Gospels. I did not see how a society named after Chad could have as its nemesis these people who are ruining the church. But the thought of conversing with Doug Ramsey again about these people did not fill me with enthusiasm.
Excuse me? Goldy?
I looked up to see a gaunt-faced Agatha Preston hovering above me. Her apricot-colored sweater, skirt, and headband made her skin look jaundiced. Over a wide lace collar that was absurdly girlish, her only adornment was a long, expensive-looking double strand of jade beads. Her streaked hair was woven into two tight braids.
Yes, Agatha. Hello.
Hello. Well. First of all, I want to apologize for that phone call yesterday. She looked around at the assortment of bikers, churchgoers, and yuppies-in-corduroys and added, I was quite upset, and I just sort of fell apart. Her delicate fingers fumbled with her jade beads. Bob couldnt come, or rather, he might arrive in a little bit, he had to stay at church to talk to the police … Hymnal House. She glanced down at the book in my hands. Im sorry. Were you studying? Without waiting for my reply she looked around for a waitress. Im hungry. Arent you?
She was making me nervous. Sit down, Agatha.
Oh, sure. She pulled out her Swiss-style wooden chair with its heart-shaped back. A waitress wearing a ruffled blouse, skirt edged in fake leather fringe, and cowgirl boots thumped up.
Im ready, I said crisply. Ever partial to European fare, I ordered Müsli with yogurt and blueberries while Agatha stammered, changed her mind twice, and finally settled uneasily for a cheese omelet. The waitress slapped her order book closed and hightailed away.
Start with the phone call yesterday, I commanded with a smile and swig of coffee.
Her blue eyes turned huge. Well, it all really starts b
efore that. She hesitated. You see, you work, or I guess I should say, you work outside the home, so your relationship with the church is different. Color flooded her sallow face.
My relationship with whom in the church is different? Different from whose relationship?
Your relationship with the other women. From the other women. They just … dont expect the same things of you. You get respect. I mean, I always wanted to do volunteer work, especially since I thought it would help Zelda… you know …have support. Shes gone through so much.
And did it?
Her laugh was dry and brittle, a youve-got-to-be-kidding laugh. Im like their little pet. Hers and Lucilles. She raised her voice. Cmere, Agatha! Answer the phone sixteen times a day! Go fetch! Stuff these envelopes! Mail out these raffle invitations! And whatever you do, dont have any fun! Youre doing this for the church! She regarded me intensely. People talk about heaven all the time, but you know whats weird? I think a lot about hell. And who Id like to have there. She smiled conspiratorially. Do you ever think about that?
Lets see. I sipped coffee and tried to think. I saw the IMAX film on Antarctica. I thought that would be a great place for my ex-husband to spend eternity.
Oh. She giggled and twirled a streaked braid with her index finger.
How about your husband? Does Bob have fun in the church? Or is he one of the hell-folks?
Agatha thrust her head back and giggled even louder, as if now I was being really naughty. Oh, bob, well, you know. He loves to run things, and he has the time to do it now. In the spring and summer he does construction projects like Habitat for Humanity, in the fall he goes out with Sportsmen Against Hunger, and they just have a blast shooting off their Remingtons at all those poor, innocent elk
Did Father Olson get respect?
Color again climbed her neck above the ch9ildish lace collar. I felt as if Id said Underpants! to a conservative seventh grader. Ah, she said, I wouldnt know. I guess Id have to say no.
So … how did you know about this lack of respect for him.? Through your volunteer work?
Well, yes. Zelda and Lucille informed me it was my turn to be head of the Episcopal Church Women. She was frowning at something over my shoulder. Father Olson was also… .counseling me. You know, she added, suddenly earnest, he could have gone to any parish/ Everyone loved him. Well, almost everyone …
Did you love him? I asked impulsively.
She blushed again and twirled the braid so tightly I thought she was going to pull it out. I didnt think that I did, I mean, I just admired him, but then I heard this thing on Stories of the Weird about how people can be soul mates, you know? Thats why I wondered if youd seen him, you know, his body? Was there much … blood? Did he suffer? Her eyes probed my face.
Oh, Lord. I said, When you called, I didnt know if you meant Olson. I immediately felt somewhat light-headed, probably a side effect of dealing with an underappreciated woman who claimed to be worried about me, yet who put great stock in Stories of the Weird. I dont think he suffered too much, I improvised. Who didnt love Father Olson?
Agatha wrinkled her nose and absentmindedly fingered the milky green beads. Oh, you now, some people thought he was just showing off with a fancy car, trying to act rich, but he wasnt, he just needed to get around! Ted didnt believe in having a lot of money. Ted just believed in love, you know, dont you?
Instead of answering, I poured us both more coffee. She frowned at it.
Gosh, I guess I should have ordered tea. I always drink tea, but it just hasnt seemed cold enough lately, but its not quite warm enough for iced tea
Agatha!
The vacant eyes were suddenly startled What? She pulled her row of tiny bottom teeth in front of her top teeth and wrinkled her forehead.
Where was your husband yesterday?
Yesterday? You mean Saturday?
yes. Where was Bob all day?
Gosh. Um. You mean, like in the transcendental sense?
I mean, like was he at the hardware store, was he at the barber, what?
Agathas youthful face remained puzzled. But as the overhead speakers began another set of cheerful Alpine square dancing music, her features brightened. With Aspen Meadow Kiwanis. Yes, you know. Theyre building a house, for Habitat for Humanity, off Main Street on that empty lot where the house burned down last year, remember? And the guy who owned it was in Saudi Arabia or something, so he sold it to the Kiwanis for next to nothing. The lot, I mean, anyway
And Bob was there all day.
Well, most of the day, I guess. He came home terribly exhausted and I was just so upset about Father Olson, and on the phone with you … .Why?
Agatha, was Bob, I leaned toward her, jealous of your relationship with Father Olson?
Only when I didnt clean the house on the days we did our counseling work She stopped abruptly, looking stricken.
Did you ever work with P.R.A.Y.?
Pray? About what?
The waitress arrived with our food. The Müsli with yogurt and blueberries spilled out over a wide porcelain bowl. I took a mouthful. Creamy yogurt coated the sweet, juicy blueberries and luscious crunch of Zurich-style granola. I was suddenly ravenous. It felt as if years had gone by since I had eaten anything. Melted cheese cascaded down the side of Agathas steaming omelet. She made mm-mm noises as she dug in.
Agatha, I ventured after a moment, do you have any idea who might have wanted to hurt Father Olson? Someone who could have killed him? Anybody who might have been a traitor?
Who, me/ Have an idea? No. She chewed an enormous mouthful of omelet thoughtfully. No, really. But listen, Ive been so worried about you with what happened to your fiancé and all
What do you know about Victor Mancuso?
Vic ? Oh. Nothing. Her face brightened again. Didnt they make an announcement about him? I do know about Roger Bampton. He had leukemia, and then he got better after Ted … Father Olson laid hands on him. Do you really think miracles happen? Or do you believe that its just all in our minds? On Stories of the Weird
Id guess I have to talk to Roger. Talk to his doctor or something.
Well, I saw Roger. When he was sick. She put down her fork and made a face. He looked awful. His skin was the color of deer feces, you know, when its been there for a while
Agatha, Im trying to eat Müsli here.
Oh, sorry. Well anyway, Im not one of those people demanding to see the blood tests, before and after.
Whos demanding that?
Oh, Goldy, I dont know.
I wondered in anyone had ever tried to give this woman a lie-detector test. Would she pass or fail? Or would she just not understand the questions/ I said, Was Ted Olson his own worst enemy?
She put down her fork and sighed. People wanted stuff from Ted all the time, thats what Im trying to tell you, nobody respected him. I mean as a person. Everyone wanted a little bit of him, as if he were some kind of stuffed animal or something. No one would notice a little bit of stuffing missing, do you know what I mean?
I guess I dont.
She doused her coffee with creamer and wigged her mouth disapprovingly. They wanted him to take care of them. They wanted him to pray for them. They wanted to talk to him about issues in the parish, and mostly what they wanted was for him to get so-and-so to stop doing something. Or get someone to start doing something.
Was there anybody who wanted him to do something, and he didnt do it?
Come on. She took a small sip of coffee, approved of it, and sipped more. He couldnt do everything. He was supposed to have Mondays off, you know.
And did he?
Oh, no. People would call, call, call all day. One day he just didnt answer
the phone. You know, when there was that big problem over the music. Zelda wanted to find out if hed heard from the bishop, and when he didnt answer the phone, she drove all the way out there and stalked right up to the door and banged on it.
And did he answer?
Of course he didnt! But then she came around back! Agatha was indignant. Peering through his windows and trying to see what was going on1 So she opened the back door and she shrieked, I knew you were home! Your car is right there in the driveway! like shed just won a game or something. That woman is impossible. I dont care if she is my motherin-law.
I spooned up some more Müsli and tired to think of how to phrase the next question.
Did Ted tell you all this, Agatha?
Well, she said with another sip of coffee, I was in counseling with him at the time.
He was your counselor that day at his house?
She looked up. A shadow crossed her face. Oh, Bob honey, we didnt see you come in.
12
Bob Preston peered down at our plates, then glanced around the restaurant. He sat tentatively, frowning at the Western-style light fixture hanging down over our table.
This is awfully bright, he announced. Makes it hard to see. He proceeded to start unscrewing the bulb. Unfortunately, it was too hot. Bob yelped, dipped his fingers into his wifes ice water, carefully wiped them on the clean napkin of the place setting in front of him, and unscrewed the bulb a few more revolutions before dipping, drying, and unscrewing again. Finally he had the bulb out. He reached across and with extreme delicacy placed it on the empty seat at our table for four.
Agatha tilted her head to focus on this little drama. Poor bob, she murmured sympathetically once the lightbulb was dispensed with. Cant stand bright light.
Ahhh, said Bob Preston when Heidi/Dale rushed up. But before she started to take his order, she sent a confused look at our light fixture. Dont worry about it, Bob assured her with a wave of pinkened fingers. All we need you to do now turn off that damn noise.
The Last Suppers gbcm-4 Page 14