Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] Page 2

  "The substitute and I will bumble along. We won't have a new organist before fall."

  "But the Passion Sunday Evensong —"

  "I've found an excellent quartet, but I have to let them know this week."

  His pout reminded me of one from a child who has dropped his candy in the mud. “If you must. This is such a disaster."

  "Hardly.” I rose. “Should I submit bills for our expenses or will you give us money from petty cash? We'll need money for gas and meals."

  "Submit the bills. The Vestry prefers that. This group isn't as trusting as others in the past have been."

  I left the office and headed home. Sunlight glared off the banks of snow lining the walks. Bits of old ice formed ragged patches on the concrete.

  "Watch your step, Mrs. M.” Pete Duggan, my neighbor and a local police officer, fell into step beside me. His down jacket nearly matched his dark red hair. “Last time you had an accident, you got involved in a murder."

  "Then I'm glad you're here. Once was enough."

  His hazel eyes twinkled. “What happened to the knife?"

  "What knife? I don't remember."

  "Right.” The knife he referred to, the one used to kill my tenant, lay on the bottom of the Hudson River.

  We reached the corner. “I'm crossing here. I have to see Beth Logan about church business."

  "Beth Logan?"

  I laughed. “Don't tell me there's an available woman in town you don't know. She's a widow. She and her six-year-old son live in the old Perkin's house. Sings in the choir and is a nurse at the hospital."

  "Haven't had the honor.” He grinned. “Church business—missing robes—vanished communion wine?"

  "Nothing criminal.” I studied him and wondered when he'd settle down.

  "So what are you up to?” he asked.

  "Acting as temporary choir director and heading the search committee for a new organist."

  "Good for you. Should keep you out of mischief."

  "I'm crushed."

  He laughed. “I don't believe you. Let me walk you to her house. Maybe you'll introduce me."

  "Beth is not to be trifled with."

  His eyebrows lifted. “You wound me. When I'm involved with a woman, I'm serious."

  "For a limited engagement."

  "Someday I'll surprise you.” He held my arm and steered me across the street.

  A child's laughter rang clear. “Bigger. Let's make it bigger."

  "Then how will we get the head on the body?” Beth asked.

  "Maybe I can help,” Pete said.

  Beth whirled. Her eyes narrowed. Then she saw me and her expression relaxed.

  Robby eyed Pete. The boy's blond hair stuck out around the edges of his blue knit hat.

  "Beth, this is Pete Duggan, a friend of mine. He decided to help an old lady across the street and found me instead. You're home early."

  "It's a comp day. I have to work this weekend."

  "Then I'm glad we don't begin our visits until next week. Just left Edward. He wants us to finish the search yesterday."

  While Beth and I talked, Pete lifted the snowman's head and placed it on the body. “Why don't you wait in the house?” she asked. “The snowman is my project. Your friend seems to have taken over."

  "He has a habit of doing that. Let me help, too."

  When the snowman had button eyes, a radish nose and a bright green scarf instead of Beth's favorite blue one that her son had tried to liberate, she invited us in for hot chocolate and cookies. The sight of a box of store-bought cookies made me wince.

  "Pete, here's my key. There's a tin of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies on top of the refrigerator."

  He caught the key ring. He looked at Robby. “Want to come with me? I think they want time for women talk.” He winked.

  "Egotist. It's church talk."

  "Can I go, Mommy?” Robby asked.

  "Let him. He'll keep Pete honest."

  Pete laughed. “What's the matter? Don't you trust your favorite cop?"

  "Are you really a policeman?” Robby asked.

  "A policeman?” Beth echoed.

  "I'm surprised you never met him when you worked in the ER. I'm sure he's been there a time or two. He's all right. Used to be my paperboy."

  Beth tucked a scarf in the neck of Robby's jacket. The door closed behind them. She stood at the door and watched until the pair reached the top of the driveway. She turned. Sadness glistened in her eyes and I knew she'd thought about her dead husband. “Let's finish before they return."

  "Do you have the next three weekends after this one off?” She nodded. “Good. There are five of us. I think we should take two cars. The first church is a two-hour drive and more than a half hour of Judith's company and I'll start twitching. Then there's Ralph. I've finally contracted intolerance."

  She laughed. A mischievous twinkle cleared the last trace of sadness from her eyes. “I've got intolerance, too. We'll take my car. It's small."

  * * * *

  When Beth arrived early the morning of our first trip, she was alone. “Where's Robby?"

  "Pete's taking him to Sunday School and then to some indoor recreation place. He's quite taken with my son."

  "And the mother?"

  She wrinkled her nose. “He's indifferent. Maybe I'm too serious for him."

  We walked to her car. A pale sun shone in a clouded sky. The air held a bitter chill.

  Our trip took us nearly a hundred miles north of the Hudson River town where we lived. Roger Brandon was the first applicant.

  After our arrival in the small upstate town, we parked across the street from a large red brick church. Martin, Judith and Ralph entered the church ahead of us. Morning sunlight streamed through a series of narrow stained glass panels. Beth followed me down the aisle to a seat in one of the center pews. The rest of our group settled in the last row.

  Once the prelude began, I closed my eyes. Gooseflesh rose on my arms. Why was such a superb musician buried in this out-of-the-way place? In that instant I knew we had to have him and I revised the salary Edward had mentioned upward.

  When the last note of the postlude ended, I remained in my seat so filled with music I was unable to move. Finally, I followed Beth to the vestibule where the other committee members waited.

  "What did you —"

  I shook my head to cut off Ralph's question. No sense airing our business for everyone to hear. We remained in the vestibule after the minister left his position at the door.

  Judith's quick intake of breath signaled the approach of a tall, broad-shouldered man. Light shone through the stained glass windows to illuminate his handsome face and to burnish his red-gold hair. There was a mystical quality in his expression. He smiled at Judith and then Beth. He took my hand. “You must be the committee from St. Stephen's. I'm Roger Brandon."

  I introduced myself and the others. Outside, I pulled my coat closer. The temperature hadn't risen from the early morning chill. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk? We have some questions and I'm sure you do, too."

  "There's a restaurant five miles out of town. Why don't you follow me there?” His voice was as rich and vibrant as the music he charmed from the organ.

  "That would be terrific."

  When we were in the car, Beth sighed. “Is he as good as I think?"

  "He's brilliant...stunning...words can't describe. I want him at St. Stephen's."

  "So will Judith. Did you see the way she stared?"

  "Let's not worry about Judith's collection. First we have to see if he's interested. Then I have to convince Edward and the Vestry to offer more money."

  The elegant restaurant had a small private room. As we talked, the distance from Roger's playing allowed me more objectivity.

  Why was he so eager to leave his present church where he'd been organist for less than a year? Of course, St. Stephen's offers a challenge and exposure. Still, the longest he'd remained in one church had been two years. At thirty-two, he'd been musical director for seven churches. Though his gypsy ways troubled me, I remembered his tremendous talent and I coveted him for our music program. Perhaps his many moves could be blamed on his youth. This thought erased my qualms.

  Judith sat beside him. Her attempts to claim him failed. He gave equal attention to every committee member.

  "When can you come?” Ralph asked.

  "August,” Roger said. “It wouldn't be fair to break my contract here."

  Ralph frowned. “We need an organist for Passion Sunday and Easter."

  I glared. “You know that's impossible.” I turned to Roger. “Could you come to St. Stephen's as a guest organist, say in two weeks?"

  "I'll see if one of my students is available to take over here."

  I gave him my phone number. Before the waitress brought the check, Ralph pushed his chair back. “I have to get back. This is my busy season. I have two clients coming this evening.” He strode to the door.

  Judith made a face. Martin covered her hand with his. “Let's go. Do you want to hear Ralph complain for the entire ride home?"

  Beth, Roger and I lingered over coffee and dessert. After the bill was paid, he walked us to Beth's car. “It's been a pleasure,” he said.

  "For me as well,” Beth said.

  "I could listen to you forever.” As far as I was concerned, Roger had the job at St. Stephen's.

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  Chapter 2

  ~

  Kyrie

  -

  On the Wednesday after Easter, I stood in the kitchen and stared at the gloomy sky. The threat of rain had kept me from the garden and the spring clean up. I gathered the knickknacks I'd collected over the years and dusted or washed wooden or porcelain figures, some musical and some whimsical. There was little f
or me to do around my apartment. Last year when I'd broken my leg, my son had hired a woman to help me. She still came in once a week to clean.

  The phone rang. I sat in the window seat and reached for the receiver. Robespierre shifted to make room. When he wants, he can curl in a small space, but most of the time, he sprawls.

  "Mrs. Miller, Roger Brandon here."

  "What can I do for you?"

  When he'd come to St. Stephen's to play, he'd created quite a sensation. Edward had been so impressed by the music he'd offered Roger the job even though the other candidates hadn't auditioned. I'd heard about the flap this caused with the Vestry, but Edward had prevailed. He usually does.

  Roger laughed and the phone vibrated. Robespierre purred. I sighed.

  "Maybe it's what I can do for you,” he said.

  "And what would that be?"

  "The Vestry here voted to buy out the rest of my contract. I finish the end of May. It seems the job is wanted for the niece of the largest contributor when she graduates."

  "How do you feel about that?"

  He coughed. “It will give me time to settle in and organize music for the coming year. The program at St. Stephen's is larger than here. I called to see if you know a real estate agent I could contact."

  "I know several."

  He laughed again. “I knew you were the right person to call."

  "Do you want an apartment or a house?"

  "An apartment will be fine."

  "Let me make some calls and get back to you. Do you have a price range? Apartments are few and expensive around here."

  He named a figure that made me think he wasn't completely dependent on his salary.

  "It's a shame I have a good tenant. I could have rented you the first floor of my house."

  "That would have been great."

  "When do you want to come?"

  "I'm free most days."

  "One problem. My apartment is a one bedroom so I can't put you up overnight. I can call Judith Simpson. She has a guest room.” Though I knew she would be glad to have first dibs on him, I didn't want her to scare him off. Still, I didn't want him to stay in a motel.

  "Don't bother. I can drive down in the morning and back in the afternoon.” He gave me his phone number. “I'll be waiting for your call."

  I scratched Robespierre's head and chewed on an errant thought. Was there some reason other than church politics behind the contract buyout? Don't borrow trouble. The warning didn't comfort me.

  My first call was to Tracey Stanton, a member of St. Stephen's. She had a thriving real estate business.

  "Apartments,” she said. “A rare commodity."

  "It's for Roger Brandon, our new Minister of Music."

  "Maybe I do have something. I've just taken over as rental agent for the Gulliver Apartment complex. There are two units opening in the upper building, not as nice as the river apartments, though. I can put a hold on one of them, but I'll have to list it by the weekend. Can he come before then?"

  "I'll let you know which day will be convenient for him."

  "Terrific. By the way, what's he like? I missed church the Sunday he was there."

  A picture of Roger Brandon and the way the light from the stained glass windows had burnished his hair swept into my thoughts. “Tall, broad shoulders, red-gold hair, strong hands. Judith couldn't keep her eyes off him. Does that tell you anything?"

  "What about her fingers?” Tracey coughed. “Forget I said that."

  "I've yet to see Judith touch any man except Martin. She just shops."

  Tracey laughed. “I'll remember that the next time she casts her eyes on one of mine. Tell me more about Roger Brandon. He sounds...attractive."

  "He is, and smooth and charming. His voice is deep and mellow. He's the kind of man who when you're with him makes you think you're the only woman who exists. And his musical talent is beyond description."

  "I've heard that. Why is he coming to St. Stephen's? If he's that good, wouldn't he aim for a bigger church?"

  The question in her voice drew mine to the surface. Why was Roger coming to St. Stephen's? Our music program has a reputation for excellence, but most organists of his caliber head for a big city position or hit the concert circuit.

  "Let me go so I can call him."

  "Thanks for the business."

  Before calling Roger, I dialed the church. An idea had rooted in my mind but I needed Edward's support. He answered and I spoke. “Guess what happened?"

  "Katherine, you know I have no patience for guessing games."

  "Roger Brandon just called."

  He groaned. “Don't tell me he's not coming. That would be horrible news."

  "He's coming in June instead of August. His present church has decided to let him leave then."

  "Why couldn't they have fired him before Easter?"

  "They haven't fired him. They're buying out his contract."

  "They're utter fools. I wonder if we can benefit from their foolishness?"

  I leaned my head against the window frame. “We can. Perhaps he can relieve me of my duties in June and play for the summer services."

  Edward made a humming sound. “How splendid, but the Vestry will never agree to pay three salaries for June."

  "They'd only have his. The substitute wouldn't mind. She can't handle the stress and demands of the music. You can tell the Vestry I'm ready to collapse.” I chuckled. “Maybe not. Several of the members would cheer."

  "How can you say such a thing? You're quite well loved at St. Stephen's. After all, we are a community of Christians."

  "Who are people with likes and dislikes. If everyone loved me, I'd sprout wings. Don't ask the Vestry. Just inform them of the benefits."

  "I might stir them up again, but I'll try."

  "Good. I'll let Roger know."

  "Katherine!” His voice squeaked. “You can't say anything until there's a decision."

  "Would you like me to come to the meeting and hold your hand?"

  He sputtered. “D...D...Don't...don't even consider the possibility. Every time you've attended, you stir a nest of scorpions. I will deal with the matter."

  My smile broadened. It's been years since I've attended one of the sessions. The threat of my presence always stiffened his spine. “Thank you."

  After hanging up, I went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of mint tea. When would Edward realize he was dealing with people and not a community of potential saints? While the tea steeped, I called Roger and then Tracey.

  * * * *

  The next morning, a beautiful spring day, shortly before ten, Roger arrived. As his dark sedan pulled up to the curb, I rose from the garden plot where I'd been cleaning away the debris of winter. Bright tulips, daffodils and hyacinths formed borders between the beds of just sprouting varieties of mint.

  Robespierre stretched and ambled across the lawn to the yard next door where Maria Prescott was enjoying the sun and the baby she and Paul had adopted in Spain. The cat sat on the edge of a bright blanket and stared at the infant. We all wondered how he would act when Carlos began to crawl.

  Roger and I reached the steps to the porch at the same time. He clasped my hands. “Your directions were great. It's good to see you again.” He stepped back and studied the house. “I like. A Victorian, right?"

  "Thanks, and yes. Would you like to come in? Tracey called to say she'd be late."

  "I don't want to interfere with your schedule."

  "I haven't one. Come upstairs. I'm ready for a tea break."

  He followed me into my “Painted Lady.” “Why are you on the second floor?” he asked.

  "I like to watch the river, and there's a window seat in my living room that gives me a great view.” I paused at the foot of the stairs. “Would you like a bit of breakfast?"

  He shook his head. “I ate before I left and I'm sure I'll take Tracey to lunch."

  "A cup of mint tea, then."

  "There's no need to entertain me. You were working in your garden."

  I laughed. “The weeds will be there tomorrow. That's the beauty of being retired. No schedules.” He followed me upstairs and I showed him into the living room. While I poured heated water from an electric kettle, he played some scales on the piano. “Go ahead and play."

  The notes of a Chopin Etude held me so spellbound I nearly forgot my mission. He played with a mastery I envied and I'd had my share of successes in my youth. How could the other church bear to let him go? He had manners, charm and talent.

  After Roger left with Tracey, I returned to my garden chores. I marked the plot where I wanted to plant a few vegetables. My neighbor's sons would dig the ground after school. As I worked, I prayed Roger would relieve me of my choir duties. Dealing with the cliques and abrasive personalities exhausted me mentally and shortened the chains around my patience.