Zelda at the organ. Clearly, he didn?t? want to risk announcing what could be a disputed hymn. The newly hired organist never made a reappearance.
As the service continued, I fought rising worries about Tom. I imagined him in pain; I saw him in his coffin. I shook my head, cleared my throat, and tried to sing. That proved impossible. I flipped aimlessly through the hymnal. People turned to frown at the slapping noise of the pages. I reached forward quickly to put the hymnal back in its rack. It fell on the stone floor with a decisive bang, which brought me more disapproving glances, including a glowering look from Montgomery.
Montgomery retrieved my attention with a short, theatrical silence before the sermon. ?I know some of you have come to enjoy the … lines that I occasionally compose, so I will take the liberty to share some with you now.? He cleared his throat patted on his middle-parted hair, and puffed up his chest again. I pressed my lips together.
?Ah, Lord!? Montgomery intoned. ?How we wax lyrical/when speaking your work in miracle!? He paused, then raised his voice to a shout. ?But truly! What is most divine/is seeing you in bread and wine!/And what we seek from you the most/is Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!?
It must have been the stress. An irrepressible gurgle of laughter came out of me. Montgomery charged down the nave, his shoulders stiff with rage.
?Are you always so disrespectful?? he roared. His mottled face was now an unhealthy crimson as it shuddered close to mine. His breath smelled like a very old person?s.
I said in a low voice, ?No. Sorry.?
Montgomery?s face withdrew slowly from mine. I was irresistibly reminded of a large, angry turtle who had abruptly decided to go back to the dignified encasement of its shell. The shell at that moment was the canon?s ? actually Father Olson?s ? imposingly voluminous red robe. Montgomery pivoted, and seemed to will control of himself. In the long, ensuing silence, he walked majestically, crimson robe flowing and shoulders stiff, back to the pulpit. Hey! I wanted to yell after him. I thought you liked me!
I wondered what Boyd was thinking about his introduction to the Episcopal Church. The graying heads in the congregation turned to each other, confused by the lack of direction. A few shot me sidelong glances. I ignored them Canon Montgomery stood stolidly facing the altar, his back to us. Doug Ramsey cleared his throat desperately, looked to Montgomery for direction, got none, and reluctantly started on the prayers of intercession. My mind was elsewhere. I had never been yelled at by a priest, only by my abusive ex-husband.
And we most humbly beseech thee, of thy goodness, O Lord, to comfort and succor all those who, in this transitory life, are in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity.
Tom Schulz had made me a lovely chocolate-raspberry cake the first night we had made love.
?Tom!? I said with a low groan, then blushed as more disapproving eyes studied me. Again I regretted coming to this service.
For servants departed this life in thy faith and fear, especially our beloved priest, Theodore Olson. Parishioners sniffed and coughed. George Montgomery slowly crossed himself. Lucille Boatwright knelt, stiff and stony-faced.
Then the intercessions were complete and the acolytes bustled with the offertory plates. Zelda Preston peeked out from behind the wall next to the organ and announced the anthem. Finally jolted back to reality, Montgomery declared the offertory sentences at the same time that Zelda took off on her organ solo and Marla slid in next to me in the next-to-last pew. A waft of rose-scented perfume enveloped her.
?Good God! Did the canon go off or what?? she hissed under her breath. ?Anyway, I think what Episcopalians seek the most/is tea and marmalade and toast. Agree??
?Please don?t.? I felt dizzy. ?I thought you came to the later service.?
?ordinarily I do, not because I?m a charismatic and believe in the gifts of the spirit and all that. Actually, what I believe in is the gift of sleep. But I woke up early and called your house to see if there were any developments. Arch said you were here at church, and I was worried about you so I came. And I should have been worried about you. I came I when Canon From Hell was shooting his mouth off in your face. I was dying for that cop back there to pull his gun, or something, but I just heard his beeper go off, and now he?s left ? ?
Before she could finish, I was squeezing past her out of the pew and running down the nave. I sprinted past the Sunday School rooms to the choir room. The door was just closing; I lunged to hold it open.
Boyd was already talking into the receiver. He held up on finger when I opened my mouth to ask him what was going on. Then he shook his head.
?Okay,? he said. ?Bob Preston, go it. How quick can you get a car to me at this church? Great.?
Boyd replaced the receiver. My heart was pounding.
?Now don?t get your hopes up,? he told me, seeing my face. My heart sank to new depths. ?We think Schulz is still alive. We found the car he was transported in, abandoned in a ditch near Deer Creek Canyon.?
?Oh, God ? ?
Boyd sighed heavily and scratched the to of his dark crewcut. ?It?s a Nissan four-wheel drive, not a van. The van in the note must have been for vanity plates. The said EPSCMP, for Episcopal camps. The vehicle belongs to the Episcopal diocese of Colorado.?
9
I grabbed the bar holding the hangers for the choir robes. ?The don?t know where he is??
?Not yet. No discernible footprints away from the car. The kidnapper must have had another vehicle already parked there.?
Pain stabbed my head and a rock-size lump formed in my throat. I couldn?t accept the facts Boyd was relating with the flat tonality I should have become used to already. I said, ?The vehicle belonged to the diocese of Colorado? Do they know who was driving it? Was the vehicle stolen? How do you know Tom was ? ?
Boyd slid a matchstick into his mouth and leaned against the wall. He ticked points off on his fingers. ?First we think Schulz was in the vehicle because, again, we found some of his stuff.?
?More? Like what this time??
Boyd shifted his weight and looked doubtful.
?Please,? I begged, ?tell me.?
?Well, we think we found his socks shoved under the front seat.?
?What?? Boyd did not, after all, joke.
?Look, Goldy, it?s just the way it was by the creek bank. Schulz, fell, was pushed, got hurt, covered with mud. But at the same time, he was trying to drop stuff, give us clued, build a trail, that?s what we?re supposed to do in that kind of situation. So you figure, now he?s in the Nissan. He?s in the back seat, he?s restrained.? AT the thought of Tom bound and perhaps gagged, I felt a grown rising but suppressed it. ?He can move his feet so he takes off his shoes, eases off his socks and wedges the under the front seat, then slips his shoes back on so?s the person who took him won?t notice.?
?How do you know they were his socks??
Boyd chewed on the matchstick and crossed his arms. ?Because he also wedged his college ring down between the seats in the back. University of Colorado, with his initials and the date. Look, I gotta go.?
?But … he hardly ever wears that ring. And I thought you said he was hurt, limping, or something, how could he… ??
?Looks like there was blood on one of the socks.. And I guess he was gonna wear the ring to the wedding.? He shrugged.
Too much. I stared out the choir-room window at the cold morning sky. The early-morning scattered clouds had ballooned and moved in. The sun had disappeared.
He said, ?I need to get outside and watch for the department car. They left me at your place and now they?re saying they need to come get me.?
?Let?s go, then,? I said, and directed him out the same door Marla had taken me through the day before, when we were trying to escape the chaos of my nonwedding.
When we were outside, he said, ?Remember when I wanted to ask you about Agatha Preston??
?Yes, sorry, she called me yesterday, all hysterical. Wanted to know if I had seen him.?
Boyd ferreted his faithful notebook out of his pants pocket. ?Keep talking,? he ordered as we walked toward the snow-covered parking lot. ?Seen him-who??
