Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon (22 page)

Four trombones and the organ, a somber and majestic combination, would accompany Thursday's service. The Good Friday service was chanted unaccompanied by our "Monk's Choir," i.e. all the men that were available at noon. Our Easter music included selections from
Messiah
and the traditional Easter hymns of St. Barnabas, hymns I didn't dare change. For those folks who only showed up once or twice a year, those hymns were important.

These services had been planned for months – months before Father Barna had arrived – and the vestry had made it clear to him that he was not to make any changes without their say-so. I hadn't heard any rumblings, so I was hopeful – although not entirely convinced.

I traveled the familiar, winding highway and reached I-40 in a little over an hour. Two hours later I was pulling into the driveway of Mrs. Margot Toth.

•••

"Mrs. Toth, I'm so sorry for your loss." I was sitting on a yellow sofa with clear plastic seat covers in the middle of a green shag jungle. It was a scene from the 70s, complete with a Formica kitchen table which originally had been bought for $79.95 including the chairs, but was now probably worth a fortune. Mrs. Toth was a sturdy woman, not much over five feet tall, with black hair tied into a tight bun. She had a no-nonsense look that, coupled with her arched Roman nose and thin, hard lips, gave the impression of a school matron of whom you would
not
wish to run afoul. She was wearing an apron over her plain cotton black dress and was continually drying her hands even though they obviously weren't wet. I had seen grief before, and hers was still fresh.

"You're that man from the newspaper," she said, staring at me intently. Her accent was slightly foreign, but not distracting, the clipped European accent of someone who had lived in America for a long while.

"Yes, ma'am, I am." She had obviously seen the article that had appeared in the paper. "I'm looking into your daughter's death."

She nodded. "I do not know how I can help you. She was very happy to get the scholarship and to be singing with the choir. She sent me a recording."

"I wonder if you know anyone named Kaszas."

She waited a moment, as if judging what I already knew before she answered.

"Yes, I do. Wenceslas Kaszas. We are Hungarian. The community in this area is not large, but it is not small either. We all meet regularly, and we sometimes have services in Magyar at St. Elizabeth's Church. Wenceslas Kaszas would be a hard person to miss."

"Yes, he certainly would. I ask because there may be a connection between Wenceslas and York Minster that I'm trying to piece together."

"I do not know anything," she said very slowly, enunciating each word. With that sentence, her eyes narrowed and her lips grew thinner than I thought possible, almost disappearing altogether. I knew from experience that this part of the interview was over.

"Is Kris buried here in Raleigh?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," Mrs. Toth replied, sadness pervading her voice "Yes, she is."

"Just one more thing. Did they send back Kris's effects? Her belongings?"

"They sent them back with the body. I gave them all to her cousin. She asked to have them. I was just going to throw them away. I do not want any of them here." Her head dropped, and tears ran down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them away. "I am going back to Hungary."

She looked up and nodded toward the fireplace mantle. "That came in the post yesterday," she said, gesturing to an old book with a well-worn leather cover. "The note said that it was her prayerbook."

"May I see it? I collect antique prayerbooks and hymnals."

"You may have it. It is not a prayerbook to me. It is a curse."

I got off the couch, walked over to the mantle and picked up the book. It was a clean copy of the 1662 edition, probably printed in the late eighteenth century and included the Psalms. It was a nice book to have, of course, but wouldn't be usable in a modern service. I had three or four like it back in St. Germaine.

"It will have an honored place in my collection. At least let me pay you for it," I offered, but she waved me off.

"It is part of the curse. This family lives under a curse." She wiped her eyes for the first time with her apron. "If that is all…" she said, indicating that my visit was at an end.

"May I use your bathroom?" I asked. "It's a long trip back."

She nodded and pointed down the hall. "It is the first door on the right."

I walked down the hall, visited the facilities and was washing my hands when I happened to glance at a family picture on the wall above the vanity. Although there were at least twenty people in the photograph, there were a few familiar faces. I looked closer and recognized Margot Toth. Beside her was probably Kris, but I couldn't tell for sure. The face looked the same, but the beard was gone and she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. But the easiest face to pick out was Wenceslas. He was standing front and center like the patriarch of a dynasty.

•••

I made a quick side trip to the Chapel Hill police station since I was in the area and chatted with Detective Mike Branson, an old friend of mine.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he said, shaking my hand over his desk. "You skipped the Atlanta conference last month."

"Yeah. Something came up. I couldn't get down there. Was it any good?"

"Mostly more of the same. A good networking opportunity though."

"Wish I could have made it."

"Anyway," he said, "What can I do for you?"

"I called down a few weeks ago about an investigation I was working on. The vic's name was Joseph Meyers. I wondered if you guys had come up with anything. He was from Chapel Hill, but we couldn't find any next of kin to notify."

"Was it a murder?" Mike asked.

"We don't know for sure. It might have been a series of unfortunate events."

"Let me check. Grab a cup of coffee. I'll be right back."

I poured myself a cup of bad coffee and busied myself reading all of Mike's commendations hanging on the wall. He was back a moment later, followed by a much more attractive officer wearing a uniform.

"Here's the file. Joanie's been collecting the stuff that's come in. She can answer your questions if anyone can." He handed it to me and I sat back down, opening the manila folder and flipping through the pages. Some of these I had already seen.

"Couldn't find a next-of-kin?" I asked.

"Nope," said Joanie. "We went through his house. Nothing. We did find some medical records. They're in the back there. We asked the doctor, but Meyers didn't list anyone to contact in case of emergency. The doctor was a referral from a psychiatrist. We talked to him also. Same result."

"Emphysema," I said, skimming the doctor's report. "We found that."

"It was bad. He also was overweight, had a hole in his lung, a slight heart arrhythmia and was subject to severe panic attacks that totally incapacitated him. An altogether unhealthy fellow. The psychiatrist had prescribed Valium. The medical doc wanted him to cut down on the dosage. Is this any help?"

"I think it is. Did you talk to the psychiatrist?"

"Yep," said Joanie.

"Were these attacks brought on by anything in particular? Crowds? Performing? Did the psychiatrist say anything about stage-fright?"

"All of the above plus some," said Joanie. "The panic attacks didn't show up until a couple of years ago. He didn't have any money that we could locate – no savings accounts, no retirement– so he had to keep working. Here's the kicker. Meyer even developed a fear of clowns, if you can believe that."

"Imagine that." I shook my head. Peppermint had a fear of clowns.

"That wasn't the worst. The worst was ophiciophobia. I remember that one because I have it too. Probably not as bad as he did."

"And that is…?" I asked, looking up from the report.

"The fear of snakes."

•••

I called Dr. Dougherty from my car on my way home later that afternoon.

"Hi Karen. In your role as an esteemed medical professional, could you give me some information?"

"If I can."

"Aldactone," I said. "I hope I'm pronouncing it right."

"You are. It's the brand name for spironolactone. It used to be a drug for high blood pressure, but it's not prescribed much anymore. There may be other applications. Hang on a minute."

Karen came back on a few moments later. "I
thought
I remembered something else. Spironolactone is now mainly prescribed to block testosterone, especially in women. It's quite effective at controlling excessive hair growth – the medical term is hirsutism – but the doses are much higher than for high blood pressure. It's also a diuretic, so you have be careful to drink plenty of water."

"I remember that part. I was taking it for high blood pressure about ten years ago."

"Ever heard of hirsutism?"

"Strangely enough I have. Thanks for your help."

"No problem. I'll talk to you later."

•••

"Wonderful news!" said Georgia, as soon as I showed up at the church. "The FOOSCHWAG has been disbanded! The vestry has decided that Feng Shui is not an appropriate direction for St. Barnabas to be heading in."

"Really? And it only took them six weeks to decide this?"

"Jelly is livid, but tomorrow the movers are coming to return everything to normal."

"No kidding?"

"Pews, altar, paraments…everything," said Georgia, barely able to contain her delight. "And about time, too."

"What about Father Barna's application for the position? Any word on that?"

"Let's just say that his approval rating isn't as high as his opinion of himself."

•••

I was running late the next morning, but managed to answer the phone on the fifth ring as I was coming out of the shower. For the first time all year I hadn't bothered to set my alarm – I never did in the spring and summer, relying instead on Mother Nature to wake me. She had let me down. The weather, a lovely week of early spring sunshine had, overnight, turned miserable. The temperature dropped about twenty degrees, and a storm had come in behind the cold front. It was overcast and raining when I finally awakened, brewed a pot of coffee and jumped into the shower. I came out a few moments later.

"Hello?" I said, trying to tie my robe with one hand and juggle the phone with the other.

"Hayden? It's Lindsey."

"Lindsey. How are you? To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

"I'm here in Boone and I thought we could get together."

"You're in Boone? Is there another conference at Appalachian State?"

"No conference. I'd just like to see you."

"You came all this way just to visit?"

"Well, I've been thinking about you quite a bit."

"I must admit, I've been thinking about you, too. Thanks for coming up. I have some work to do up at the church, and then I need to check in at the office. Do you want to meet me there?"

"No. Why don't you come on over to Boone. I'll meet you in the lobby of my hotel. It's the Broyhill Inn on Blowing Rock Road."

"OK, I can get there around eleven. Is that good for you?"

"That's just fine." she said. Then added in a low voice, "I can't wait to see you."

"Me too. Bye."

•••

As soon as I hung up with Lindsey, I put in a call to York Minster and got Officer Frank Worthington on the phone.

"Any word on the case?" asked the Minster Policeman. "Hugh said you might have a lead."

"I might. I wonder if you could look at a picture for me and tell me if you recognize the person."

"If I can. Do you want to fax it?"

"I'll e-mail it, if that's all right."

"I'm at the computer now. The address is [email protected]. I'll get it in a few moments."

"It's on the way," I said, as I hit the send button. "I'll call you back in about five minutes."