Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon
Page 16
"I haven't been up to the church today. He didn't show up for the service last night. I thought that a bit odd, if not refreshing."
"No one has seen him since yesterday morning. He came in and gave Marilyn his sermon title for Easter and disappeared. I've alerted Tony, and he has a sermon ready for Sunday if he needs it. He was going to help with the service in any event."
Suddenly the glass door to the Slab banged open and Dave stuck his head in.
"Careful of that door," Noylene called out.
"Sorry," said Dave, perfunctorily. Then spotted me at the table. "Hayden, you'd better drive up to your house. Your silent alarm's going off."
"Call Nancy," I said, "and have her meet me there."
Chapter 20
The drive up to my place took a good twenty minutes. I had installed a burgler alarm at Megan's insistence. It worked off the phone system and rang in the St. Germaine police station. The problem was that half the time I was always forgetting to set it. This was one of the mornings I remembered. I had fed Baxter, put him outside to chase whatever wildlife he could scare up, punched in the code, locked the door and headed into town.
I drove up into the mountains, pulled into the long gravel drive and slowed down as I neared the house. I had the feeling that something was very wrong. There was a car by the back door. Through my windshield, I saw Archimedes sitting on a branch by the kitchen window, looking at the ground. I reached under the seat of the truck and took out a .38 revolver, then opened the glove compartment and removed a box of shells. I loaded the gun, left the box of shells on the seat and stuck the revolver in the back waistband of my jeans.
I got out of the truck, left the door ajar and walked to the back door. There, lying next to the kitchen steps was Baxter. He'd been shot, but was still alive, lying still, his eyes closed and his breathing regular. When I bent down and scratched his ears, Baxter's eyes opened and he raised his head. I could see that the wound was high on his shoulder and wasn't bleeding too much. Probably a small caliber bullet, and if I were any judge, he'd be just fine.
I eased the kitchen door open and walked gingerly inside, immediately noticing quite a ruckus coming from the den. As quietly as I could, I made my way through the house, hoping to catch the invader by surprise. As I pushed the door to the old cabin open, I saw that I hadn't surprised anyone. There, standing in a pile of my antique hymnals and prayerbooks, a small, 9mm automatic in her hand, was Jelly Barna.
"Where is it?" she snarled, looking even more unattractive than usual. Maybe it was the gun.
"Kris' prayerbook. I know you have it. I talked with Margot this morning."
"It's there on the shelf," I said, pointing to my collection. I had close to four-hundred hymnals, Bibles and prayerbooks printed anywhere from the sixteenth through the nineteenth centuries. It was almost impossible to tell them apart by looking at the spines. Most of the printing was faded and the leather binding worn. Jelly was standing in the middle of about fifty of the books, having rifled quickly through them before tossing them to the floor.
"Let me see your gun," Jelly said. "Or I'll kill you right now."
I reached behind my back and pulled my revolver from my waistband. I didn't have any doubt that Jelly would do exactly what she said.
"Slowly. Take it out with two fingers. You make one quick move and I'll take your head off. I only shot your dog in the shoulder because I love animals. You I won't mind killing."
I held my gun out with two fingers, privately cursing my stupidity. Nancy would never let me live this down. That is, if I lived at all.
"Toss it," commanded Jelly, her 9mm still aimed directly between my eyes. I tossed it onto the couch where it bounced and settled, infinitely inviting, but out of reach.
"Now," said Jelly, lowering her gun slightly and pointing it at my midsection. "I'm just curious. How did you know?"
I shrugged. "Kris was strangled by a pair of pantyhose. They weren't hers – she was wearing garters – so I figured the murderer was probably a woman. I e-mailed your picture over to the Minster Police. The one from the Feng Shui website. One of them recognized you as Kris' cousin from America. You knew what Kris was planning. It had been planned for years. But you're not from the Kaszas family. You had no interest in seeing the diamond returned. You wanted it for yourself, so you followed Kris into the treasury and killed her. But she had already hidden the diamond."
"It's in the prayerbook. It has to be."
"See for yourself," I said. "Second shelf from the top, third book from the left."
Jelly kicked some books aside and made her way to the end of the shelf, all the while keeping her gun trained on me. She pulled the volume down and quickly found the hollow place in the spine. It was, of course, empty.
"Where is it?" she said.
I shrugged.
"Don't you move a muscle," said a voice behind me. It was Nancy. "If you so much as blink, I'll drop you like a three-legged donkey on St. Swithen's day." I had to smile. Someone, at least, had been reading my work. Still, I didn't relish being in the middle of two angry and determined women, both of whom were brandishing loaded weapons.
"Just drop the gun, Jelly," I said. "It's over."
"Well, I guess I'd rather go to an American prison for killing you than an English prison for killing Kris," she said simply, her arm extending and her finger tightening on the trigger.
The sound of a gun blast filled the room.
Chapter 21
I poured myself a drink, lit a cigar, and put my feet up on the desk. Another case was in the bag, and I was feeling as clever as a weasel in a chicken suit. I slammed back the booze in a single gulp. Suddenly a shot rang out; a woman screamed, or maybe it was just the hooch. The door opened and there she was. Lilith. Lilith Hammerschmidt and her singing snake, Rolf. And I was on the barking end of a forty-five.
"You killed him. The first man I ever truly loved," sobbed Lilith.
"Who's that, Lilith?"
"Race. Race Rankle. He was the only one who understood me."
"I didn't kill him, Lilith. The clowns did. It's all yesterday's news."
"You did it. And I know why. Before I contracted leprosy and changed my name to Lilith, I was Evette Nimue."
Now I remembered. Race Rankle's associate priest. No, it didn't pay to go skinny-dipping with an associate priest carrying political ambitions, no matter how attractive she is. I had soured the deal. When Evette disappeared, Race made it his business to know mine. He'd been blackmailing me for years. He found out about the kickbacks I was receiving from the Methodists for information. Those Methodists always wanted to stay one step ahead. But when I refused to go along with his Leper colony scheme, he was going to turn me in. I had to kill him. But I still had questions.
"Lilith, why was he wearing an evening gown?"
"He wasn't like that. We were going to a costume party."
I didn't buy it, but I shrugged it off. What people wore was their own business.
"So what are you going to do now, Lilith? Shoot me?"
Tears welled in her eye. "I think I will."
She tried to pull the trigger, but the last of her remaining fingers dropped to the floor along with her Roscoe. She hit the carpet on all threes, scrambling for the gun. I opened my desk drawer, calmly pulled out my thirty-eight and plugged her where she was.
"Sorry, Lilith. I can't have you squealin' to the bishop."
"Take care of Rolf for me," she whispered as she fell lifeless to the floor.
I nodded and scooped up the snake. There was still time to enter the Bishop's Invitational Choral Tournament, and I knew a place where the hamsters ran free.
•••
"He's going to be OK?" asked Megan.
"Baxter will be fine," I said. "The vet removed the bullet. There shouldn't be any complications. He'll be limping for a while though."
"Thank goodness."
"What about me? You're not even concerned about me?"
"You've got Nancy to take
care of you. And it's a good thing, too. What were you thinking?"
"Well, obviously I made a couple of mistakes. I underestimated the culprit."
"I'll say. Is she going to make it? Not that I care. I hate that woman."
"She's in critical condition, but she should make it. Nancy doesn't miss."
"Well, I hope for Nancy's sake that Jelly pulls through. She doesn't need that on her conscience."
"I agree."
"And the diamond?" Meg asked.
"Down at the bank in the vault. The Minster is sending someone for it."
"You're so clever. What about the reward?"
"I gave it to the Minster music fund."
"What about Father Barna? Did they ever find him?"
"The police picked him up in Raleigh, but he's denying that he knew anything about his wife's plan."
Meg nodded. "I hope that you're getting Nancy a very nice early Christmas present."
"It's not even Easter yet."
"An Easter present then."
"I'll do it," I said. "What do you think? A motorcycle?"
"That should do it."
Postlude
"Marilyn," I called. "How 'bout that Java?" I pulled my hat low over my eyes, lit a stogie and leafed through a hymnal. I needed four hymns for the third Sunday of Easter and they weren't exactly leaping off the page. Marilyn sauntered in, her hips swinging like Benny Goodman's rhythm section. She pursed her lips and placed a cup of joe on the corner of the desk.
"Rocki Pilates is here to see you," Marilyn purred. "She says to tell you she brought some watercress sandwiches."
"Marilyn," I grinned, "you're a peach. Now take the rest of the day off."
"With pleasure."
•••
I clicked the 24 lb. bond out of the old typewriter and placed it face down on the stack of paper sitting beside the well-used machine. Then I switched off the antique green-shaded banker's light and called it a day. Lent was finally over and tomorrow was Easter.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 4
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 4