The Treble Wore Trouble (The Liturgical Mysteries) (23 page)

Postlude

I sat at my desk looking out the window at a city that never slept and was therefore pretty cranky. Pedro LaFleur poured the Irish Whiskey and I lit up
a couple of stogies using my new, double cigar lighter
that Marilyn got me for Christmas. Marilyn was a
peach. I could hear her typing in the next room, then
I could hear her not typing.

"It's 2010," said Pedro. "And Carrie Oakey is still dead. You know who killed her?"

"Sure," I said. "I knew all the time."

"Yeah?" said Pedro. "Who?"

"At first I thought it was Marilyn. The window wasn't open, like I told Hammer. A pigeon had just smacked into it. So the shot had to come from inside. The doorway, actually. Marilyn's desk. But then I remembered that she'd taken the day off."

"I knew you'd figure it out," said Marilyn, appearing
at the door. She sashayed across the room and porquayed onto the couch.

"So if it wasn't Marilyn," said Pedro, "who was it?"

"It was Karilyn," I said. "Marilyn's evil identical midget twin sister. From the waist up, you can't tell them apart. She was at the desk when I left, eating a radish and reading a romance novel." I shrugged. "Marilyn hates radishes and she can't read."

"Karilyn wanted to be a leprechaun," Marilyn
said, "but Carrie Oakey was shutting down the franchise.
Anyway, now she's fled the country. I think she's in Arkansas."

"Well, that's that, then," said Pedro, getting up. "Another case solved." He swallowed what was left of his cigar. "I've gotta go, too. I've got a date with a dame named Hortense. She owns a dairy farm over in Wisconsin."

* * *

The Indians found Varmit before we did. At least we think it was the Indians. We couldn't ever prove anything. They were pros. Varmit could have paid them off and disappeared with the rest of the insurance money, but we had put a hold on his bank account as soon as we returned to town. He could have come to us for protection, but I guess he was feeling contrary. Too bad. Blueridge Furs was seized by the bank which, in turn, called and asked the animal shelter to come and get seven hundred thirty-pound Minques. The animal shelter declined, but, rather than let the animals starve in their cages, the Fish and Wildlife Commission, upon learning that they were, in fact, sterile, took them deep into the wilderness and let them go. Actually, the word in the hills was that they took them deep into the wilderness
of Tennessee
and let them go. The reasoning was that, since they wouldn't be reproducing, they'd live for a few more years, provide food for bears, coyotes, and other predators, then die out. But really, does it ever turn out that way?

Mr. Christopher's body was recovered and sent back to Alexandria, Louisiana, his hometown.

Noylene wasn't about to let Brother Hog take Little Rahab on anymore revival trips without her, so she worked her schedule around Rahab's ever-expanding schedule. He became quite the phenomenon, eventually getting his own half-hour show on the Trinity Broadcasting Network with Dr. Hogmanay McTavish acting, of course, as his Holy interpreter. Brother Robert E. Lee went along.

Portia turned out to be quite the investment. With Moosey and Bernadette's help, the Truffle Pig Coalition cleared about twenty-six thousand dollars the first summer. We paid for the pig, put a healthy amount into both Moosey's and Bernadette's college funds, gave them a little "fun money," and still had enough left over to take a great beach vacation on Emerald Isle. Meg, Cynthia, Pete, Nancy and I rented a house for a week and ate fresh seafood every night. Dave, who had decided not to invest in our pig, was left to mind the store while we were gone. No murders were committed during that week, and Dave took full credit.

Rosemary Pepperpot-Cohosh pled guilty to one violation of The Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act and was fined ten thousand dollars. The government didn't bother to prosecute the church. Bear Niederman tried to cut a deal and give up Mother P as the head of a bald eagle poaching ring, but, once the game wardens got a warrant to search Bear's home and taxidermy shop, there was no deal to be had. They found the tail feathers of three other eagles, plus pelts of several endangered species, including a few Carolina northern flying squirrels and a red wolf. Bear was sentenced to a year in jail and a fine of fifty thousand dollars. Mother P's fine had already been paid since the ten percent required by the court for her bond was still in the clerk's account.

Terry the Electrician never did ask Stacey the Banker out on a date, but several months later he received an invitation from a plastic surgeon in Charlotte to be the first man in North Carolina to receive a toe transplant. Terry waited until five toes were available, then drove down to Presbyterian Hospital where he underwent the six-hour procedure. Three of the toes didn't take and eventually dropped off. He put them in a jar of moonshine and kept them on his kitchen counter as a conversation piece. But two of the digits did manage to hang on and, after a few years, he was even able to wiggle them. Terry was thrilled.

The St. Germaine Little Theater decided that
Welcome to Mitford
wasn't really for them, and chose
Brigadoon
for their summer show. Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle would be directing.

Helen Pigeon's bloodhound, Flash, won Best of Breed in the Asheville Dog Show. Buford did not place.

Meg lost our Lenten bet and I held her to her promise. She cooked me hamburgers three times a week from Easter all the way to Pentecost. I had to adjust my exercise program accordingly, but it was well worth it.

We wriggled through Lent, mixing and blending the liturgy, and eventually bursting forth out the other side into a glorious Easter. Kimberly Walnut, in an effort to be culturally inclusive with our neighbors across our southern border, decided that it would be a wonderful idea to incorporate a little-known Mexican tradition on Good Friday afternoon. This tradition was "little-known" because Pete had invented it on the spot, then got Manuel Zumaya, the cook at the Slab, to back him up. Kimberly Walnut was enthralled by the very idea of being culturally diverse.

And so it was that, after our Good Friday noonday service in the church, all the young children of St. Barnabas (who were on Spring Break that week, anyway) gathered in the garden behind the church for the Blessing of the Paschal Piñata — a large papier-mâché Easter Bunny hanging by his neck from a six-foot-tall cross planted in the azaleas. Kimberly Walnut told the children the "ancient Mexican legend" about the Easter Bunny and how he swallowed all his eggs to keep them from being stolen by El Diablo, the evil fox. El Diablo captured the Easter Bunny, hung him from a tree, and beat him with a stick for forty days, but the rabbit never gave him the precious eggs. Then a rainbow appeared in the sky and El Diablo had to finally let the Easter Bunny go.

Pete and Cynthia, both in attendance, were dumbfounded. Meg was aghast. Even I was taken aback.

"El Diablo?" Cynthia said to Pete. "Forty days? A rainbow?"

"I got most of it from a
Dora the Explorer
cartoon," said Pete. "I didn't think Kimberly Walnut would go for it."

"Okay," said one skeptical kid after he'd heard the story. "But how does this have anything to do with Jesus? Isn't Easter about Jesus?"

Kimberly Walnut was taken aback. She hadn't planned for questions, preferring to start the whacking immediately after the telling of the ancient legend. "Well ..." she started, "in this story the Easter Bunny represents Jesus and the eggs represent, uh ... humankind, sort of." Then she did the expedient yet unforgivable thing and said, "What do you think, children? How is the Easter Bunny like Jesus?"

"Oh, my stars," muttered Rosemary Pepperpot-Cohosh, dropping her head into her hands. "Bev was right. She
really is
a nut."

"They both dress in white," said one little girl. "But the Easter Bunny has a bow-tie. I don't think Jesus wears a bow tie except maybe when he goes to Cracker Barrel. I think I saw him there once, but Mom said it was just a lunatic, so stay out of the bathroom."

"They're both invisible," suggested a boy. "Like that wizard in Harry Potter."

"I know!" said another boy, waving his arm frantically in the air. "I know! They both come out of a hole and make people happy."

Meg stifled a snort.

"Rabbits and Jesus both taste good with wine," said little Charlie Whitman. "That's what my Uncle Matt says."

"That's a good one," said Pete, chuckling. "A communion joke!"

"They both have long, furry ears," chirped the girl who spoke first, happy to keep contributing. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "except for Jesus."

"I get presents on Christmas
and
my birthday," said a very young girl who'd obviously forgotten the question. "I
like
to get presents!"

"That's right, honey," interrupted Mother P, intervening before things got too far out of control. "We get presents because people love us. We get them on our birthday, at Christmas, even on Easter. But the best present is from God. God gave us Jesus. On Easter, the colored eggs remind us that God loves us more than anything. Does everyone understand?"

All the heads nodded.

Mother P quickly blessed the piñata and the children took their sticks and thumped the Easter Bunny vigorously until he broke apart and all the plastic Easter eggs spilled out. It took a while, but the kids were happy to oblige. "Take
that
, Easter Bunny!" yelled the little girl who liked getting presents. "Take
that!
"

Each of the eggs contained a scripture promise and a chocolate kiss. Most of the kids ate the chocolate, threw the scripture lessons on the ground, and went home. It was at that point that Rosemary decided to forego the blended service for the foreseeable future and vowed to have several stern meetings with Kimberly Walnut.

St. Barnabas turned its sights toward the coming year. Easter Season would be followed by Pentecost, then eventually Advent, and another Christmas. Our adventures would continue. It is Meg's opinion that in St. Germaine, North Carolina, anything is possible. Anything? No.
Everything
is possible.

* * *

"Hmm," said Marilyn, after Pedro had gone. "It's 2010. Ain't that something?"

"Yep," I said. "Pedro bought us a couple of years. Enough time to get our lives in order, do some serious repenting, go to church, tell our loved ones how we feel about them
..."

"Or," cooed Marilyn, giving me a come-hither wink and languoring longly on the sofa, "a couple of years to do just about anything we want." She patted the sofa cushion beside her and smiled like Mona Lisa right after she ate that canary. "After all, the end of the world is right around the corner."

It's good to be a detective.

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