Chapter Thirty-eight
Friday morning Blake found a note from Mary under his office door. She hoped he was not sick, and did he find the organ key? He smacked himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand for forgetting about choir practice and about the key. He dug it out of his desk drawer and hustled out of his office to the organ. The key fit. He put it in an envelope and scrawled Mary’s name and a note of apology, and left it on the bench.
At ten o’clock he heard the organ begin to play a soft prelude and muffled voices, some recognizable—people arriving to set up for Millie’s funeral. He resisted the temptation to join them. He had learned from hard experience that his presence in the chancel meant everyone deferred to him, instead of doing their job, no matter how small. Better to stay out of the way.
Schwartz called and told him the results of the ballistics test had not arrived, but he did have a version of the taped message that the county lab had massaged electronically to correct for the speaker’s attempt to disguise his or her voice. He wanted Blake to listen to it in the hope he could recognize the caller. Blake said he would, but not until later that afternoon. He had a funeral. Then he remembered his list of names taken from Waldo’s house. He told Schwartz how he came by it. He listened patiently to a lecture about the rules of evidence, and asked if Schwartz could try to find out something about the people on the list who were not from the church. He read them to Schwartz, who said he would see what he could do and call back and that he should be prepared to hand over the list.
At ten minutes before the hour, he vested and went into the sanctuary. Mary waved him over. They had not been together since the previous Friday and except for a few phone calls, two of them bad, the rest good, had not had any real contact. However awkward he felt, Mary showed no sign of discomfort.
“Thank you for the key,” she said, still smiling.
If the eyes are the window to the soul, he thought, a smile must be the candle in the window.
“You missed all the excitement last night.”
“Choir practice with you must always be exciting,” he said and basked in her blush. “You mean something else happened?”
“People coming and going. First Dan Quarles came in and walked out. Then he came back and demanded to know where you were. Since nobody knew, he left again. He looked upset, by the way. Then Grace Franks barged in. I thought she wanted to speak to her husband but she just looked around and left. Then she came back and asked the same thing—where were you? She walked out again, and while she was gone the phone rang and it was Dan’s wife wanting to know where he was. He missed Rotary or something. Then Grace came back, banging that big purse of hers, and told Bob he’d have to get a ride home, she was leaving for good. Then the Sheriff came and asked where you were. Oh, Blake, life would have been so much simpler, not to mention quieter, if you had just come to choir practice.”
It was Blake’s turn to smile.
“Nobody seemed to know what music Mrs. Bass liked,” she continued, “so I picked some old favorites. Mrs. Garroway seemed to think they would do. They’re not all slow, though. Do you think people will be upset if they are too peppy—for a funeral, I mean?”
He assured her that they would not be. She returned to her playing, a small frown on her face.
“I think there may be something wrong with this organ,” she said. “It sounds like it is developing a cipher, a squeak, in this register.” She ran a scale and he heard the noise, which sounded more like a wheeze than a squeak to him.
“It’s an old and overrated organ,” he said, and added, “We’re still on for tonight?”
She smiled and nodded but kept her eyes on the sheet music in front of her.
He moved away, letting her deal with her peppy hymns and squeaks, and walked the length of the church. Rose and her sister were busy putting photographs on tables and easels they had set up in the narthex. He scanned them. There were dozens of pictures, some recent, showing Millie at any number of church bazaars, her face beaming. There were pictures of younger Millies: on one knee in her cheerleader’s uniform, holding a megaphone that seemed as large as she; on a cruise with friends; at ten or twelve years old at Disney World, with a couple Blake assumed must have been her parents. It was an amazing display.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“Her attorney let us in the house after we met with the funeral people,” she said. “We culled through scrap books and so on. These are the best of the lot. We found all sorts of things.”
The hearse arrived at eleven. By then mourners filled nearly two-thirds of the pews. Blake shook his head in wonder. The Wednesday Bible Study had done its homework, it seemed. A limousine pulled up behind the hearse and a middle-aged man got out. Dexter Wayne, it turned out, was the extent of the mourners from Millie’s immediate family.
“She had some nieces and a nephew in Ohio. When I contacted them, all they wanted to know was how much they stood to inherit. When I told them nothing, they hung up, every single one of them. I’m the executor of her will, by the way,” he added. “I don’t know how you people do things, but would it be all right if I said a few words?” Blake assured him it would be fine, welcome, in fact.
He oversaw the placing of the plain white pall on the casket, and with three pallbearers on either side, and men from the funeral home at the head and foot of the casket, the processional into the church began.
I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.
Blake intoned the ancient anthem as the casket, pulled and pushed by funeral home employees, moved slowly up the center aisle.
For none of us liveth to himself and no man dieth to himself. For if we live, we live unto the Lord; and if we die, we die unto the Lord. Whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.
Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors.
Once in front of the altar, Blake prayed and the congregation recited Psalm 90. He read parts of an epistle and led them in the twenty-third Psalm. Mary played “Nearer My God to Thee.” Not one of the peppy ones, Blake thought. He followed with a scripture reading.
He waited and then said, “The number of our days is three score and ten. So the psalmist writes, but someone took from God the right to decide who shall live and who shall die and denied Millie her seventy years. That person ended Millie’s life and thereby blew out one of God’s candles. The world is a little darker now. I have asked some of Millie’s friends to speak this morning, to remember her for us before we say our final goodbyes.” He nodded to Rose, who stood and walked to the pulpit.
“I did not know Millicent Bass very well,” she began. “And that is a failure on my part. I have attended this church for more years than I care to say. And Millicent was here, too, for twenty of them. How is it that you can share something like worship with someone for two decades and not know anything about her? As I thought about that, I decided that even though any opportunity I might have to talk to Millicent was ended, it was not too late to find out about her, and also decided that I would never put myself in the position to have to say these words again about any of you, or have them said by you, of me. You may rest assured I will be all over you in the next weeks and months.
“Millicent did not have an unhappy childhood. I don’t know how else to say it. She never had the experiences many of us have of great joy and excitement, but on the other hand, there were few dark moments either. Her parents were not rich, and what little they did manage to save, they spent on Millie—on
cheerleading uniforms, on books and clothes and trips. They died when she was still in high school. She went to work right after graduation. Her marriage failed and she turned in on herself, I think. Yet, as I went through a few of her things, I found hundreds of records, recordings on vinyl, CDs, even old forty-fives and seventy-eights. She kept an ancient record player so that she could play those old chestnuts. Her taste in music ran from forties crooners to the classics. Judging from the books on her shelves, she loved to read and seemed particularly fond of murder mysteries. I suppose there is an irony there.”
Blake listened as Rose finished and the others from the Bible Study took their turns speaking. In the twenty minutes or so that followed, he saw faces in the congregation slowly soften. The set expressions, which ranged from bored to openly hostile, disappeared and were replaced with attentiveness and even a few tears. At last Dexter Wayne took the pulpit and introduced himself.
“I am a distant cousin of Millicent’s,” he said, “and like the speakers before me, did not know her well. I am, however, the executor of her will. I doubt any of you knew it, but my cousin, while not a rich woman, had some independent means. Twenty years ago, an uncle died and left her an income from an annuity. As she had no family, she named this church as her beneficiary. She also willed her property and the few valuables she had to you. The sale of these items, I estimate, should bring something like two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to you, and the annuity will continue for ten years paying the sum of about thirty thousand dollars per annum.” The congregation stirred and murmured. They were hearing about a Millicent none of them knew.
“I asked her why she wanted to give so much to you and she said she loved this church. It was her family and you always left your fortune to your family.”
He sat down and the room fell silent. Her family.
Blake let them sit in silence for several minutes and then led them in prayer. He placed his hand on the coffin and said the commendation and then followed it out of the church.
Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and giving life to those in the tomb.
The Sun of Righteousness is gloriously risen, giving light to those who sat in darkness and in the shadow of death.
The Lord will guide our feet into the way of peace, having taken away the sin of the world.
Christ will open the kingdom of heaven to all who believe in his Name, saying, Come, O blessed of my Father; inherit the kingdom prepared for you.
Into paradise may the angels lead thee; and at thy coming may the martyrs receive thee, and bring thee into the holy city, Jerusalem.
Mary played hymns as the people filed out. Most left to return to jobs or other preoccupations, but a few lingered, waiting to drive to the cemetery for the interment.
An hour later, he returned with the group that witnessed at the graveside. A reception had been set up in the basement. Trestle tables were covered with white cloths, and food prepared by the kitchen volunteers filled plates and saucers. He nibbled at the food, counted it as lunch, and wandered around the room. Rose approached him.
“You were right,” she said. “The only thing to do was to find something good in her. You know, I thought about what you told me on Wednesday and I wondered about it. It seemed so contrary to everything I ever believed. But you know what I discovered? That hate, even a tiny bit, is like a glowing coal in your heart, and if you don’t extinguish it, sooner or later it will consume you. With Millicent dead, the only way to put out that little fire was to do what you made me do. Thank you.”
“It’s a lesson for me, too, Rose. I always knew the right words to say, but I never experienced their truth until today. The truth is, very few people have ever taken my advice as seriously as you all did. Now I am a believer in my own words. Isn’t that something?”
“You are going to be just fine here with us. You have a lot to teach us, and it seems we have some things to teach you, too.”
Dan Quarles slid up to him.
“A question, Father Fisher,” he said, looking nervously at Rose and her friends.
“Sure, how about over here.” Blake led him into a corner.
“I want to ask you about confession. Do you believe in the seal of the confessional? I know we don’t practice auricular confession like the Roman church does, but we do have it, don’t we?”
“Most denominations do, Dan. They may not call it that, but in a one-on-one meeting with a minister, a pastor, or a priest, what is said in confidence can and should be sealed. I have only two exceptions to the rule, and I tell people up front about them. I will not seal child abuse of any sort, and I will not seal murder. I know that is a break in the generally held tradition, but I cannot see how withholding that kind of information does God’s work. If I know or hear of either of those, I call the cops.”
Dan scowled as he spoke. “I see,” he said, and stalked off as if pursued by some personal demon.
Ike Schwartz appeared at Blake’s elbow. “Got news for you, Reverend,” he said.
“That’s a nice change. Have something to eat and tell me.”
“Already ate. What is this, a wake?”
“Close enough. What’s your news?”
“The gun used to kill Krueger is the same one used on Bass,” he said. “The FBI is confused. They think the killer believed Millie saw him or something and had to remove her as a material witness, but they know it’s a stretch. They are not keen on this being just a local affair—they have jurisdiction issues.”
“So we know the killings are linked at least. Now all we have to do is figure out how and why.”
“All I have to do is figure out how and why. You are not part of the equation.”
“Well, what about the names I gave you? They ought to give me some part in this. Did you find out anything about them?”
“I did. There’s something very funny about those names.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
The two men settled in Blake’s office. Schwartz managed to fold his long-legged frame into the cracked oak chair in the corner and made himself comfortable. Blake tilted back in his chair, pulled out a top drawer, and put his feet up. He kept the top of his desk too cluttered to accommodate feet. They could hear the rattle of dishes and the murmur of voices in the kitchen below as the clean-up crew removed the leftovers and remnants of the reception. The door slammed from time to time as people left, shouting farewells.
“I’ll take that list now,” Schwartz said.
Blake retrieved the folded paper from the drawer and handed it to him.
“What will you do with it?”
“Check it for fingerprints.”
“Mine and Krueger’s?”
“Presumably.” Schwartz pocketed the paper.
“No question about the ballistics test? The bullets came from the same gun in both murders, that’s certain?”
“As certain as those things ever are. Both victims were shot at close range with a .32 caliber pistol. The lab guy guesses it was an old Colt automatic. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“You think someone used my gun to kill them?”
Schwartz stared at him.
“Oh no, Sheriff, you are not going to put me back on your list. And until you find the gun, you have no reason to, and I have a lawyer.”
“Speculation is not the approach I want to take. Frankly, I like you for the murders as much as the next guy, if only there was a next guy. The problem here is you are the only guy at the moment. I hope you don’t find that too reassuring. I will keep you off my list for the time being.”
“Thanks a lot. So what’s so funny about the list of names?”
“There are three lists, as near as I can tell. The first, call it the ‘A’ list, has seven names on it, all of them from your church. That is if you count Miss Miller. The
next list, ‘B’, has four names. They are all people who live within three blocks of Krueger’s house. Miss Miller belongs on that list, as well, which means it is five names long and the ‘A’ list, six. Go figure. And finally there is another list, ‘C’, names I cannot place. There are six names on that list. The best I could do is check a phone book, and that didn’t tell me much except all the names that matched those on our list live in and around Roanoke, Salem, and Buchanan.”
Blake looked at the list again. He discounted Mary. Schwartz was the sheriff—let him suspect Mary. Blake chose to exonerate her. The most familiar names were Dan Quarles and Grace Franks. Well, she had a key and could break into his house to lift a gun; so could Quarles, and he wanted to confess to something. But then all of the church names could, too—everybody has a key. The others were relatively unfamiliar to him. He told Schwartz he thought Quarles and Grace were his choice for suspects.
“These others are off the charts as killers with a motive. The others are folks in what we call the Christmas, Easter, Sometimes Sunday pool. They come to church rarely, high holy days and so on. Almost never see them otherwise. I leave it to you to figure what the acronym for that pool is, by the way. I cannot see any possibility there. Unless….”
“What? Unless what?”
“Unless Waldo, that is, Krueger, knew something about them that I don’t.”
“Like what?”
“No idea. Secrets probably. People like to keep them. If someone discovers what they are, and they are damaging.…Well, it was just a passing thought.”
“If any more of those thoughts pass by, give me a call. Now, you want to listen to this cleaned-up tape for me?” He pulled out a small tape deck and played the tape.
2 - Secrets: Ike Schwartz Mystery 2 Page 20
