The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (27 page)

"Rosebud?"

"Toby's nickname for me. Isn't that right, Snookums?"

Toby nodded and executed a flap-ball-change. Then he smiled and snapped open his blade.

I shuddered. But not from the cold.

* * *

After the vestry meeting on Sunday afternoon, I sent Nancy over to Davis Boothe's house to take his statement, get some pictures of the damage to his Volvo and file a police report. I didn't hear anything from her until later that evening when my home phone rang.

"Hi, Nancy," I answered. "You know that life was much easier when we didn't have phones."

"I'd just have to come out and get you," she said.

"What's up? Can't that police report wait until tomorrow morning?"

"Sure it can. This is something else. Beverly Greene just called. She heard some dogs barking and growling in the front yard. She turned on her front lights and there, lying in the grass, she saw a dead sheep."

"A what?" I asked, not sure I had heard correctly.

"A dead sheep. I'm out here now. What a mess! Whoever threw it out must have cut it open right before they tossed it. Anyway, the neighborhood dogs have been at it, and it's all over the front yard."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Bev. "I can't look at it."

JJ had come out along with Billy. Bev had called them both after Nancy had given her okay.

"We'll clean it up," said JJ. "Don't worry about it." She and Billy pulled on their rubber gloves and picked up a couple of contractor trash bags that Billy had brought with him.

I viewed the carnage from the porch, having already walked through it. It was one of the Harwood's Suffolk ewes, easily distinguished by their white coats, black faces and legs. The Harwoods were the only ones around here that raised Suffolks. I imagined that Frank Harwood would be even less pleased than Bev.

"Hey, JJ," I heard Billy say. "What's black and white and red all over?"

"Shhh. That's not funny."

I walked into the house and found Bev standing with Nancy in the dining room.

"Did you hear anything?" I asked.

"No. I just came out when I heard the dogs barking. There was nothing here when I got home just after dark, so it must have happened between seven and when I came out—around nine, I guess. I'm just sick. Who would do such a thing?"

"Someone's been causing trouble all over town for the past couple of days," said Nancy. "First Gwen, then Davis, and now you."

"Small comfort," said Bev. "I don't like being part of a pattern." She turned to me. "Where did you go after the vestry meeting, Hayden?"

"A walk in the park, then home."

"And you've been there the whole time?" Bev's tone had become accusatory.

"The whole time."

"Did Meg come over?"

"No. I haven't seen her since church."

Bev crossed her arms in front of her, turned her back on me and directed her next question to Nancy.

"Will you be able to catch whoever did this?"

"Listen, Bev," said Nancy, "whatever you're thinking, stop it." She lowered her voice, took Bev by the shoulder and walked her out of almost everyone's earshot—everyone except me—and I pretended not to hear their conversation.

"This has nothing to do with Hayden and you know it," Nancy began.

"But I
don't
know it," said Bev. "This whole thing has me unnerved. Everyone's talking about him, you know."

"I know. We'll figure it out."

"Better do it soon."

* * *

I had just arrived home when my home phone started ringing.

"Yeah?" I answered.

"Hayden, it's Nancy."

"I know," I said, unable to keep the weariness out of my voice.

"Bad news. You know Joe Perry?"

"Sure. He's a member of St. Barnabas although he doesn't really attend except Christmas, Easter and his children's baptisms. Black guy—works over at the college in Banner Elk. He's an English professor, I think."

"That's him. About an hour ago, someone burned a cross on his lawn. Eight feet tall and four feet wide wrapped in burlap soaked with diesel fuel. He didn't know it till a neighbor called the fire department. He's really furious. His wife and two daughters are scared to death."

"My God. What's going on?" I wondered aloud.

"Hayden…I hate to ask this…but where have you been for the past hour? I've been trying to get hold of you."

"I've been driving around listening to Beethoven's Sixth, trying to figure this out. I haven't had my cell phone since this morning. I thought I left it in the truck.

Silence.

"Nancy, I didn't do this."

"I know, boss. I was just thinking."

"I'll go out to Joe's."

"Don't worry about it. I took his statement and the family is staying with friends tonight."

"Do me a favor, will you? Call Joe before he leaves and ask him if he was ever in the military. Then give me a call back."

"Will do. I'll call you in a few."

I walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a much-needed beer and set it on the kitchen counter. Then I laid out a couple of mice for Archimedes and gave Baxter his nightly treat of dog biscuits that purported to freshen his breath, but unfortunately did little to squelch the terminal case of canine halitosis that cursed him—or me, since he didn't seem to mind it. Then I opened the last of my Malheur Black Chocolates, walked into the den, and fell into my chair. The phone rang ten seconds later.

"Hayden?"

"Yeah."

"Joe Perry was in the Marines for two years. He served in Desert Storm. How did you know? You have this figured out?"

"Part of it. I'll tell you tomorrow."

* * *

I called Meg as soon as I hung up with Nancy.

"How did the rest of the vestry meeting go?" I asked after I filled her in on the latest rash of crimes.

"Nothing much after you left. A few people voiced concern that you might have been serious when you resigned. I said that you'd probably get over it, but Father George said that it might be for the best. So, I think your resignation has, most likely, been accepted."

"Fine with me," I snapped. "I've had just about as much church politics as I can stand."

"Don't get angry with
me.
I'm on your side."

"I know. Sorry."

"You're forgiven. We're meeting on Tuesday afternoon at Rob's office to review the accountant's report on the stock certificates and decide whether or not to sell them. My inclination is that most of the vestry will vote to do so."

"That's just stupid! There's something very wrong about the whole deal."

"I agree."

"Anyway," I said, "the real reason I called was to ask you out on a date."

"A real date? With flowers and dinner and such?"

"Absolutely."

"Wonderful! When?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"You men are all alike. Calling a girl with one day's notice. I don't even have time to get a new dress."

"Hmmm. I guess…maybe…Friday then?"

"No, tomorrow's fine. There was a dress in the window at Merle's that I wanted anyway. I just didn't want you to take me for granted."

"Never."

* * *

I had never ordered flowers before, but it seemed a good time to start. I walked down to the florist behind the church.

"Hi, Sandy," I said, banging the door and ringing the little bell as I went in. "I need to order some flowers."

"You've never been in here before. What's the occasion?"

"Well, um..." I hemmed. "You know..."

"I know exactly! Now, what would you like?"

"Well," I said, looking around. "How about some daisies?" It was a flower I knew and I figured I'd be safe with it.

"We don't have any," she said, sweeping some cut flowers that looked awfully familiar off her counter and onto the floor out of sight. "You mean roses?"

"Um...what about those?" I asked pointing to some bright purple carnations.

"Those are for the high school homecoming dance. They're all sold. How about some roses?"

I spotted some large flowers in the glassed refrigerator. The sign said "zinnias." They were orange and, I thought, quite fetching. "What about some of those?"

"Unfortunately, they are infected with a rare botanical disease. I have to send them back. How about some
roses,
Hayden?" She glared at me.

"Roses, eh?"

"Yes. Red roses. Two dozen."

"What about pink? Or yellow?"

"Pink roses are given to represent admiration or sympathy. Yellow roses are for friendship. You'll want the red. Two dozen."

"Two dozen?"

"Yep," she said, writing the order on her pad.

"I'll need them..."

"Pick them up tomorrow," she said, still writing. "Four o'clock."

Chapter 22

On Monday morning, the door to the office opened and D'Artagnan strode in, his green Mohawk flopping as he walked.

"I need a search warrant," he announced.

"A search warrant?" asked Dave. "For what?"

"I know where the Virgin Mary Cinnamon Roll is."

"Where?" asked Dave. I merely watched in amusement.

"I can't tell you. I just need a search warrant."

"First of all," explained Dave, "you have to have a name on the warrant. They're very specific. Second, you have to have probable cause for a search, and third, you can only get one from a judge and you can't do that unless you have the first two."

"So, I can get one from a judge?"

"Sure you can," I said. "I suggest Judge Jim Adams in Boone. There are none in St. Germaine. Please tell him I sent you."

"Thanks, I will," said D'Artagnan, exiting the office. Coming in, as he was leaving, was Georgia.

"Hayden," she said, "you need to come over to the Slab right away. Father Tony is there. Wes has been killed in a car accident!"

"Oh, no!" I said, following her out the door with Nancy on my heels. Father Tony Brown was the priest at St. Barnabas before he retired and Wesley was his son. "I didn't think about Tony."

We ran across the street and down to the Slab, banging the door open and spotting Tony, sitting with Pete at one of the back booths. He looked terrible—pale and unshaven and smoking a cigarette, a habit he had given up ten years ago.

"What happened?" I asked as I slid in across from Tony.

He looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. "Wes was killed in a car accident. There was a message on my answering machine at about three o'clock in the morning. It was from you."

"It certainly was not."

"It sounded like you. It had your number on the caller ID…"

"Did you call him?"

"No. There was no reason…"

"What's Wes' number?" I asked, holding my hand out for Nancy's cell phone. Tony pulled out his pocket calendar and read me the number. I dialed it as he called it out. Wes lived in Boulder. It was still early in Colorado.

The phone rang once. Then twice. On the third ring, a groggy voice answered.

"Hello?"