The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) (9 page)

“
Sorry I’m late,” I said, taking my seat. “Duty called.”

“
We were just discussing our plans for Advent, now that you and Gaylen are down for the count,” said Bev. “Meg was saying that a friend of yours might be available to play the organ until you get out of that cast.”

“
Edna Terra-Pocks,” said Meg. “Hayden went to school with her. She’s supposed to be quite good.”

“
To be honest,” I said, “I haven’t heard her play for a number of years.”

“
Well, we don’t seem to have much choice, do we?” said Deacon Mushrat with a shrug. “I guess we could use one of those CDs with the hymns on them.”

“
She’ll do just fine,” said Bev quickly. Elaine and Joyce Cooper nodded.

“
I spoke with Bishop O’Connell this morning,” Bev continued. “He’ll be here this Sunday, but he’s booked for the rest of Advent. Gaylen said she’d probably be feeling good enough to handle the services by that next Sunday. That’d be...” Bev checked her calendar, “the Third Sunday of Advent. She doesn’t want to have to preach, though. I guess Donald can preach the sermon.”

Donald preened and screwed his mouth into a tight smile. “Awesome,” he said.

Bev looked down at the pad of scribbles in front of her. “Now, what about the choir?”

“
Well,” said Meg, “if we can hire Edna to play the organ, Hayden could certainly choose the music and direct.”

“
Good plan,” said Elaine. “But what about the music for this Sunday? Our cantata?”

Everyone looked in my direction.

“
Well, we have a rehearsal tomorrow morning anyway. If Edna can play the organ part, there isn’t any reason why we can’t do it.”

“
I’ll give her a call,” said Meg happily.

Just then Billy burst into the conference room. “Hey, did you hear? They just dragged a dead body out of the lake!”

Everyone looked in my direction...again.

“
It’s why I was late,” I explained.

“
And you didn’t say anything?” said Meg incredulously.

“
Well, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the emergency Advent meeting.”

“
Is it anyone that we know?” asked Joyce in a small voice.

“
No one that
I
know,” I answered. “I did see him last week at the auction over at the Frost place.”

“
Well, if he was just in town for Old Man Frost’s auction
last
week, what was he doing here
this
week?” asked Billy.

“
A good question,” I said. “You should be a policeman.”

“
Nah,” said Billy. “Don’t pay enough. I’d rather mow lawns.”

•••

Meg and I left the worship meeting and headed over to the Ginger Cat for lunch. An upscale lunch boutique that thrived on the tourist trade, the Ginger Cat had a knack for unpronounceable coffees, exotic teas, and a pretentious carte du jour that would do any snooty tea house proud. Since we’d managed to drag the meeting on past one o’clock, there was no problem finding a table and we chose one in the back.

“
Good afternoon, Elphina,” Meg said to our waitress, a waif of a girl dressed in black with jet black hair, who looked as though she could use a good meal over at the Slab rather than trying to subside on the employee-discounted octopus and celery salad with lemon juice. Meg glanced over the menu with a practiced eye. “I’ll have the zucchini and basil fusilli with bacon. And an iced tea.”

“
Is that your name?” I asked. “Elphina? I’ve never known an Elphina.”

“
It’s my vampire name,” replied Elphina, tossing her hair and revealing a thorned rose tattooed on the side of her neck. “It means ‘delicate one.’”

“
Well, Elphina, I’ll have a ham sandwich on rye,” I said, not bothering with the menu. “Hold the plasma. Just lettuce, tomato and a schmear of mustard.”

The waitress looked confused and the corner of her black-lipsticked mouth twitched as she stared at her pad, as if afraid to write my order on the paper. Her black fingernails flicked against the paper nervously.

“
That’s not on the menu. Do you mean our chipotle pork panini with roasted caper vinaigrette?” she asked hesitantly, regretting the question almost as soon as she posed it.

I raised my voice slightly. “No! No, I do not mean...”

“
That’s exactly what he means, dear,” interrupted Meg. “The panini. And bring him a cup of Nicaraguan Maravilla Gold.”

“
Yes, m’lady,” said Elphina, turning sideways and disappearing altogether.

“
I hope that was coffee you ordered for me,” I said with a sniff. “And when did vampires start coming out during the day and working at the Ginger Cat?”

“
It
was
coffee and don’t worry about the vampires,” said Meg. “It’s the ‘in’ thing right now.” She put both elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Now tell me about that man. You know. The dead one. The one in Lake Tannenbaum.”

“
Not much to tell. He was shot in the forehead and thrown into the lake. Kent’s doing the autopsy right now. No tire tracks either. Somebody carried him down the hill and threw him in.”

“
Maybe they made him walk down at gunpoint, then shot him,” suggested Meg. “Maybe it was a robbery.”

“
Could be,” I agreed.

“
And you have no idea who he is?”

“
None. No identification at all. Of course, there may be fingerprints on file, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

“
Hiya, Chief,” said a voice from behind me.

“
Hi, Bud,” I said, looking over my shoulder, but recognizing Bud’s voice immediately. “Come have a seat.”

“
Sorry I had to run off after the auction, but I had to get back to campus. I had a big final on Monday and our study group was meeting.”

“
That’s okay,” I said. “Meg and I have been enjoying the wine.”

Bud went white in his chair.
“What!?”
he hissed, leaning over the table.
“Enjoying the wine!?”

“
It’s very tasty,” said Meg. “And it should be, seeing that it cost $275 a bottle.”

“
No!”
shouted Bud, then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You aren’t supposed to drink it!”

“
Why not?” I whispered back.

“
Because we’re partners,” said Bud. “You might have bought it for $275 a bottle, but it’s worth a lot more.”

“
Really?” said Meg.

“
Really. Chateau Petrus Pomerol. It’s a Merlot—one of the favorite wines at the White House during the Kennedy years.” Bud sat back in his chair. “That’s the official name, Chateau Petrus, but even its label refers to it as simply ‘Petrus.’ The grapes are usually harvested early and left to mature slowly. The panoply of exotic aromas and flavors typically encompass black raspberry, mulberry, iron, cocoa powder, and truffle, while expensive new oak emanates from its rich purple robe.”

Meg and I looked at each other in astonishment. Bud was in his element now.

“
Petrus 1998.” Bud closed his eyes and looked as though he’d been transported to a vineyard in Italy. “The finish is something to wait for as it caresses the palate. A truly exquisite vintage.” He opened his eyes and peered at me. “It should reach maturity after the year 2012.”

“
So this is an investment,” I said.

“
Yep. It’s legendary and extravagantly priced. But this wine, from a prime vineyard on well-drained clay soil atop the Pomerol plateau in Italy, has for decades stood as the greatest example of Merlot in the world. Petrus is a wine that is extraordinarily creamy and thick but with the substantial tannic underpinning to ensure decades of development in the bottle.”

“
And this means...?” I said.

“
That after 2012, this wine will probably double in value.”

“
Making it worth...?” I coaxed.

“
Making it worth about $7000 per bottle. Three cases. Thirty-six bottles. That’s $252,000. It could even go higher!”

Bud looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was.

“
I already did the math,” he whispered.

Meg’s eyes went wide. Mine, too.

“
You’re sure?” I asked.

Bud nodded. “I’m sure.”

“
Well, do the math again with thirty-two bottles instead of thirty-six,” I suggested, giving him a crooked grin. “’Cause Meg and I drank four of them.”

“
Oh, man,” said Bud, a hangdog look coming over him as he slumped in his chair. “I should have told you.”

“
Well, don’t worry about it,” I said magnanimously. “We drank it. We’ll take it off our end.” I looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re telling me that
right now
this wine is worth over a hundred thousand? And in a couple of years...”

Bud crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“
Yep.”

“
And we drank $28,000 worth of Merlot?” said Meg in a small, terrified voice.

“
Oh, yeah,” said Bud.

•••

Dr. Kent Murphee had been the Watauga County medical examiner for the better part of twenty years. When he called the station late on Friday afternoon, Nancy had already clocked out for the day and Dave was nowhere to be found, not that he should have been working. Dave was usually off on Fridays. I called Meg and she agreed to give me a ride into Boone if she could drop me off and go over to the mall for an hour. I happily agreed. The cast on my arm was such that I couldn’t really drive my pick-up truck. My 1962 Chevrolet, for all its wonderful features—a great stereo, a pretty good spare tire thrown into the back, a twelve-mile-per-gallon original V8 engine, and enough power to tow Rush Limbaugh out of a Rib Shack—didn’t have what anyone might label “power steering.” It was a two-handed job just to keep the truck in the middle of the road most of the time. I was used to it, of course, but Meg hated it, and so wouldn’t switch cars with me. I could have easily driven her Lexus.

“
Why don’t you buy another truck?” she said, when I suggested the switch.

“
I just need it for a few weeks. If I bought it, I’d be stuck with it.”

“
Then rent one. For heaven’s sakes, Hayden. You’re a millionaire. Remember?”

“
Yeah. Okay. I’ll rent one.”

But I hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Meg dropped me off and headed to the mall and I found myself sitting in Kent’s office, preparing to join him in his traditional afternoon bourbon.

Kent was well into his fifties and dressed, on this day as every day, in his tweed jacket, tie, and vest. His pipe was resting in the ashtray on the edge of his desk, and a slight drift of smoke rose from the bowl, although Kent was obviously letting it extinguish itself. He ran a hand through a shock of rather long salt-and-pepper hair, greeted me with a smile, and pushed a glass of his special blend across the desk at me while I sat.