their rector and taken their petition directly to the bishop? That kind of authority-flaunting behavior would have been unthinkable during old Father Pinckney?s time. ?What happened?? I demanded.
?That?s what we don?t know,? Lucille replied defiantly, as if I were painfully dumb. ?The bishop?s office says they formally replied to our request to halt guitar music. But of course we never heard from Olson on the matter. You know that man would have misplaced his tax return. He probably never even filed, and not that he?s dead, the IRS will come looking and the church will have to pay ? ?
?Ah, Lucille,? interjected Zelda sweetly, ?you mustn?t get yourself upset talking about the music again. ? ?
Behind us, Bob Preston snorted.
?Well,? I said desperately, ?why don?t you stay and we can talk more about it after the next service?? Then I remembered that I had agreed to join Bob and Agatha for brunch, because I wanted to milk them for information. ?Zelda, I?d really love to hear you play the organ again ? ?
?Ha!? cried Zelda. Her nostrils flared. She looked like a poodle refusing to eat what had been set before her. She gestured significantly at the musicians testing their tambourines. ?There?s no way I?m playing that blather they call music at the next service. I am a professional.?
Trying with a remarkable lack of success to suppress more laughter, Marla overdiligently smoothed down the pleats of the green-and-pink dress and announced, ?I?ll talk to you about lasagna, Goldy. When it comes to pasta, I am a professional. I just don?t do cookies.?
I shot her an exasperated look and lightly touched Zelda?s arm. ?Please … wait. Was it someone from the Altar Guild who left the afghan for me??
Zelda stared at me, her miserly mouth drawn into pinched folds. ?Oh, poor Goldy, how should I know?? She patted my hand and turned to Lucille. ?People think I know everything about this parish, and I?m always the last to know anything. Come along now, Lucille, we must get you back home to rest.?
Lucille pointed her dimpled chin in my direction. ?Do they know what happened to your fiance?? she demanded brusquely. Recalling her suspicious interrogation of first Arch and then Boyd, I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
I said, ?We?re all hoping for good news.?
?I see.? Lucille raised one pencil-thin white eyebrow. ?Did they figure out that message he left? We?ve put it on the prayer chain, you know, that the police will be able to decipher it. We?re going to discuss it a prayer group tomorrow.?
I turned venomously toward Marla, who shrank back in mock horror. Her plump, bejeweled fingers sheltered her face. Bob Preston guffawed. ?You might as well have put it in the Post.?
Trying to keep anger out of my voice, I asked Lucille what time the prayer group meeting was scheduled. This was one meeting I needed to attend, if for no other reason than to shut everyone up. But I hoped that I wouldn?t need to, that they would find Tom before then.
?Now, Goldy,? warned Lucille, ?you know we take our praying seriously.?
?So do I. And, I was wondering, are we praying for anyone with the initials V.M.? Or does that stand for Virgin Mary or something? I mean, since you know what was in Tom?s note, have you studied it??
?Virgin Mary? What in the world ? ?
?Initials, then. Praying for anyone named V.M.??
Lucille huffed, ?Except for Victor Mancuso, I don?t know. Perhaps it would be good if you did come, dear, you could remind us to ask.? She touched a row of silver curls, then seemed to have an inspiration. ?Would you like to bring some lunch? Just for about eight people. You?re so good at that! And it?ll help you get your mind off your other troubles. Fish for Lent, of course. Do you have any??
?Fish??
?No? Well,? Lucille confided, ?how about shrimp??
I said, ?Oh, sure,? in a sarcastic tone that was clearly lost on her before she breezed off with Zelda. Well, I?d certainly been busy. After the service I was going out for brunch with the Prestons; tomorrow, I was making lunch for the entire prayer group. Nothing like food to quell anxiety.
?Now don?t be mad at me,? Marla began defensively. She kept her voice low. Bob Preston had moved off but was nearby, button-holing a fellow Kiwanian. ?You never said that note was a secret.?
?All right, all right,? I conceded. ?Listen, I know how you can make it up to me.?
?But I didn?t do anything.?
?You?ll like this, I promise. It?s your kind of thing. I need to know more about whether Father Olson was having an affair. Please, it?s important.?
When Marla had finished registering astonishment and was muttering that she?d be delighted, I spotted Father Doug Ramsey out of the corner of my eye. Leaving Marla, I moved unobtrusively in the direction of our late rector?s assistant, the purported ecclesiastical intelligence agent.
?Need to chat, Father D.?
Unfortunately, I startled him; his first tentative sip o hot coffee splashed down the front of his white alb and stole.
?Oh, dear, I?m sorry,? I said.
His delicate, triangular face was more rueful than his voice. ?Don?t worry about it,? he said uncertainly. ?I can sponge it out.?
I said I was mixing together some muffins between the services, and could we sponge out the stains in the kitchen and chat? There were some things I was wondering about, things the police had said to me about him and the bishop.
Doug Ramsey did not immediately reply. His doleful brown eyes fearfully roamed the room. I followed his glance and saw Mitchell Hartley chatting reconcilably with Canon Montgomery while Bob Preston regaled some new-comers. Agatha gave her motherin-law Zelda a tentative hug as she departed, then stood uncomfortably next to her husband. She had taken off the dour black coat and wore a light orange outfit the color of a Creamsicle. I knew the Prestons? orientation was of the charismatic sort, and that coming early for the second service meant Bob would have more of a chance to draft folks into Bob-projects. The narthex was nearly empty, and the service was not due to begin for thirty minutes. Still, Father Insensitive Ramsey seemed oddly nervous. Interesting.
Where do you want to talk?? he said under his breath.
?In the kitchen,? I whispered back. ?No one will suspect. If we go outside, people will wonder what it is we?re being secretive about.?
?Oh, Lord, that?s not what I want,? he said with a gulp. He ran his fingers through his black ringlets.
I smiled at him. ?If we go in the kitchen, people will think we?re doing dishes. They?ll avoid us like one of the plagues that struck Egypt.?
Without further ado, I strode purposefully into the church kitchen, which was empty. Doug Ramsey reluctantly followed. I silently offered a clean, wet sponge to him, and he dabbed at his alb.
Then I got out the eggs, evaporated milk, oil, and premeasured flour I?d brought and said, ?First of all, I?m wondering who has access to the set of keys to Hymnal House and the Episcopal camps vehicle.?
He scowled. ?That?s what the police want to know about the bishop? For heaven?s sake! They keep that set of keys down at the diocesan office in the winter. For special events, someone from the parish goes to get them. Why on earth do you need ? ?? He cast another anxious glance around. ?Don?t you think I should be doing something out here? So it won?t look suspicious.?
?How are you at lining muffin tins?? I thrust a box of paper cupcake liners at him and gestured at the muffin pans.
?Uh ? ?
?Okay,? I continued briskly, ?why do the police think you?re the bishop?s spy??
?Ack!? His face turned bright pink. For once he wasn?t able to think of some long set of words to justify and amplify his response. ?Well, I ? ? he began finally as he opened the box and shook out a tower of pastel liners. He stopped and looked at them as if they were cockroaches. ?You know I was hired by Father Olson ? ?
?Cut the crap, Doug. Why did the bishop recommend you for this post??
He held a pale blue liner between the very ends of his index finger and thumb. After a moment?s hesitation, he dropped it in a cup, inspected it, did the same with a green one, then a pink. At this rate, the tins would be ready by sundown. He said, ?How did you know the bishop recommended me??
Did this pompous dork think people in this parish didn?t talk/ Rather than explain, I merely revved the electric
