Requiem Murder Part 18

"I'll be cool. Friends.h.i.+p. This is a first. Sure hope we don't get stuck on that step."

I laughed. "I think you can handle it."

He walked me to the door. Before I had the key in the lock, Robespierre burst through the pet door. He

rubbed against my legs and b.u.t.ted Pete.

Pete squatted and rubbed the cat's head. "I know I haven't been around lately, but your person's short

on dead bodies."

"I wish you wouldn't joke about this."

"You having premonitions?'

"Nothing like that. Once was enough."

He turned and jogged down the street. At the corner, he waved.

The next afternoon I walked to the church to discuss the drive for the Food Cupboard with Edward.

Every November the local churches collect food and money for perishables. This year I was the chairwoman for St. Stephen's and I was on a mission. After I heard how much money had been collected at the first two Evensongs, I decided to pet.i.tion the Vestry to donate the offerings from the Requiem for the drive. Knowing how seldom the members agreed with anything I proposed, I decided Edward should make the pitch. First I had to neutralize Roger's appeal to Edward's pride.

Roger had persuaded the Vestry to give the choir the money from the first two programs. It seems he had an idea for the choir to tour England. While that was a nice thought, in the twenty-five years since the Evensong programs had started, the offering had always been donated to special charities.

Edward listened to my pitch. "Katherine, I just don't know. Just think how glorious it would be for the

choir to sing at Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's or St. Stephen's in London."

"That would be nice, but think of how many hungry people could be fed with the offering. When Charles and I began the programs, we wanted the offerings to be donated to worthy causes, not for pride and vanity."

He nodded. "As usual, you're absolutely right. There's something about the way he sells his ideas that sways the Vestry. I'll remind them of the purpose of the events. At least they have to vote on each of the offerings."

"Thank you."

Edward and I stood at the French doors and looked into Memorial Garden. The gra.s.s had browned and the bushes were bare except for the row of holly along the privet hedge.

Edward opened the door. "We're extending the wall in the spring."

Beneath the stones in the wall that stands in the center of the garden are the ashes of former members of

the congregation. The names are engraved on metal plaques.

"Why?"

"There are requests for more s.p.a.ces than we have left."

"What happens when the garden's a solid wall."

"Neither you nor I will see that day." He sighed. "The Vestry shouldn't have sold the land behind the

church. We would have had s.p.a.ce for any number of projects."

"You can't blame me for that Vestry decision. Happened before either of us came here."

He laughed. "Katherine, you're so refres.h.i.+ng." he turned and entered his study.

The side door of the church opened and Marcie ran out. Her face was flushed and her hair mussed.

"Want to walk home with me?" I strode across the garden.

She stared at her shoes. "Can't. Mom's picking me up and I'm late."

"How was your lesson?"

"Fine."

Something was wrong. Her voice was barely above a whisper. What had Judith done now?

"I thought you had your lessons at his apartment."

"That's voice. Dad said I could take organ lessons. This was my first."

A car door slammed. Judith marched up the walk. Anger radiated from her. I stepped into the shadows

cast by the towering hedge.

"Where were you? I've circled the block five times. Your lesson was over at four."

Marcie's shoulders slumped. "We were...talking about music and I forgot the time."

"So what else is new? You are totally inconsiderate and your father encourages your behavior. Well it's

not going to continue. Get in the car and wait for me. I have to talk to Roger."

"Mom, don't say anything to him, please."

"Do you think we spend our time talking about your petty problems. We have more important things to

discuss." Judith strode away. "I matter to him. You don't."

After she entered the church, I stepped onto the walk. "Courage, child."

Marcie looked up. "She's chasing him and she doesn't realize how foolish she looks to people. She's too

old for him." She scuffed the toe of her sneaker. "Mom likes young men. That's why I don't bring boys home. I get so embarra.s.sed about the way she acts. My friends laugh at her."

I didn't know how to reply to that. I struggled to find an answer.

"I wish she was dead." Marcie whispered the words.

"Marcie!" There had been anger and desperation in her voice. Before I could say any more, she scurried to the car. Surely she wouldn't act on her anger.

As I walked home I wondered if Martin knew how his daughter felt about her mother, or if he saw the real Judith.*

Several days later the discovery of some overdue library books sent me uptown. The walk was a welcome break in my day. Since rehearsal week was in full swing and the first two practice sessions had lasted until nearly midnight, I had skipped my usual morning walk.

The soloists had joined us and my fears about Judith had been realized. The tonal quality of her voice had remained expressionless. Roger didn't seem to notice, but several of the choir members had made faces when the quartet sang. His lack of concern puzzled me. What kind of hold did she have over him?

At the library I browsed in the new arrival section and hoped there were somethings that would strike me. Since my taste in reading is eclectic, there usually were several choices. Three books seemed interesting. As I approached the check-out desk, Judith emerged from her office and stood on the small landing that overlooked the main room.

"Mrs. Miller, I need to talk to you about Marcie."

The note of demand in her voice nearly made me refuse, but curiosity won. "Let me check out these books."

"I'll be waiting."

A short time later, I climbed the short flight of stairs to her office. She stood by the window. When I

entered she whirled and startled me.

"You've got to stop encouraging Marcie to believe she can have a career in music. I've tried but she won't listen."

I leaned against the door. "She's extremely talented."

"So was I. I wanted to be an architect. My teachers encouraged me but I learned that wasn't a woman's

field. Neither is music. To be a real woman, you have to know how to attract a man." She laughed. "I've mastered that."

"But Marcie's not you."

She paced from the window to the desk. "He won't let her do it. He stole my dream. How else did he get what I wanted?"

"Who are you talking about?" I asked.

She ignored my question.

The doork.n.o.b pressed into my back. My thoughts centered on escape, but I wouldn't turn my back on

her. The way her eyes glittered scared me. She moved to within inches of my position. The smell of alcohol made me cough.