Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon (13 page)

I pulled out my cell phone and called directory assistance. A moment later I was, as I was informed, connected with my party at no additional cost.

"Hello?"

"Hi, there. It's Hayden."

"Hayden! To what do I owe this wonderful surprise?"

"I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"How sweet. The trip was just fine."

"How's the weather over there in Durham."

"Chilly, but sunny. Just the way I like it."

"That's great. Can you hang on a second?" I put my hand over the phone, then came back on a moment later. "Listen, something just came up here. Can I call you back a bit later?"

"Sure. Bye now."

"Bye, Lindsey."

I looked at Peppermint. He lay on his back, his wig half off, and his eyes wide open. Stuffed in his mouth was the front half of a balloon animal. This clown had choked to death on a balloon wiener-dog. I looked closer. Curled around one giant rubber shoe was another of Harley Ray's snakes.

An accident? Maybe. But I didn't think so.

Chapter 10

"This is just great!" Pete Moss said sarcastically as he poured my coffee. "No crime in St. Germaine for fifty years. Then I'm elected mayor and we have two murders inside eight months." Pete was referring to the demise of Willie Boyd, a case that I had solved just after Christmas.

"That's the way it happens sometimes," said Nancy.

"Yeah. But both of them in the church? That's just creepy," said Noyleen, putting some family-style bowls of breakfast goodies in the middle of the table where Dave, Nancy and I could all partake of the bounty. "That would never happen at First Baptist. We love everybody."

"You're right about that, Noyleen," I said, taking a big helping of grits. "That's the beauty of the Southern Baptists. They know how to avoid a scandal."

"Heard about the autopsy yet?" Dave said, eager to change the subject before Catholicism came up.

I nodded. "I called earlier and talked to Kent Murphee down in Boone."

"And how're things at the coroner's office?" asked Nancy.

"Slow. Anyway, he said that the preliminary cause of death is asphyxiation. But there's a contusion on the back of Peppermint's head, so either he hit it on the counter when he fell, or he was knocked unconscious before the balloon was stuffed in his mouth. I didn't see any blood on the counter, but that doesn't mean anything. The lab guys will find it if it's there."

"The only things heavy enough to do any damage, at least within grabbing distance, were a couple of brass flower urns next to the sink. No prints though. The Altar Guild keeps those urns polished and if one of them was used, I doubt that the murderer had time to wipe it off. He might have been wearing the gloves lying on the sink. There are a few pair of white cotton gloves in the sacristy that the ladies wear whenever they handle the brass to prevent tarnishing and preserve the finish. I don't think we'll get anything from the gloves, but I sent them down to the lab anyway."

Nancy, presuming correctly that our meeting had started, put down her fork, pulled out a yellow legal pad and began writing furiously.

"Name?" she asked.

"Peppermint's real name was Joseph Meyer. He lived in Chapel Hill although he'd moved there within the last two years. Before that, he listed a residence in Florida. He was a professional clown. I got his resumé from Brenda."

I pulled a sheet out of my pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the table between the platter of country ham and the bowl of fried apples.

"He actually taught courses at the Ringling Brothers Clown College in Venice."

"Italy?" asked Dave.

"Florida. He was forty-one years old, unmarried, and apparently made his living doing birthday parties and church services. I put a request in for his tax returns, so we'll know more about that later. I called the phone number he listed and got an answering machine. I couldn't find any next-of-kin. The Chapel Hill police are trying to find a relation."

I paused in my recitation. "That's all I have," I concluded. "Questions?"

"Any suspects?" asked Pete, wandering up.

"None."

"How 'bout your new girl-friend?" mumbled Nancy under her breath, not daring to look up.

"Careful," I said, in my most menacing, mind-your-own-business tone. "She's accounted for. She was back home in Durham."

"And you know this because…?"

" I checked."

"Well, it is a little odd. Her showing up and then this clown getting killed."

"I agree. That's why I checked."

"How about your dwarf?" said Dave.

"He's not
my
dwarf," I sighed. "I think he's been out of the country, but it wouldn't hurt to find out when he's getting back. I know he wasn't at church yesterday."

Nancy wrote it down, and I knew she'd follow up on it.

"That it?" I asked, looking around the table. "Let's finish this food then."

"By the way," said Dave. "Other than the obvious, how was the Clown Eucharist."

"It was the best one I've ever attended," I said. "Next time I'm making Nancy the Chief Clown. Apparently, it's a dangerous job."

"Be glad to," said Nancy, taking the last biscuit and patting the gun at her side. "Top billing, God willing."

•••

It was a bad time to fly back to England, but I already had my tickets. I was tying up loose ends at the house when Nancy called in.

"Guess what?" she said.

"I'm all a-quiver with anticipation."

"Your dwarf flew in on Saturday night. He got back into town at about midnight."

"He's
not
my…oh, never mind. Saturday night, you say?"

"Yep," said Nancy. "You want me to bring him over for a chat?"

"Not yet. I'll talk to him when I get back on Thursday. Keep an eye on him though."

"Will do. Have a good trip."

Chapter 11

"You're either pro-clown or anti-clown," said Mr. Pickles, "and since you're working for the bishop, we know where you stand," which, at the moment, was in the middle of the center ring, surrounded by a nightmare of Ringlingian proportions.

They moved in like Yuppies into renovated Brownstones--or maybe loft apartments on the upper West side; not those cheap, rent-controlled lofts converted from old run-down warehouses, but the nice ones designed by radical feminist architects with hyphenated last names--their clownish teeth mimicking the sounds of a Portuguese castanet band in an all night Flamenco parlor. Suddenly, a shot rang out.

"Freeze, you mugs, or I'll fit you for wooden kimonos
!
" yelled Kit, Girl-Friday. "Now blow before I burn powder."

"Huh
?
" said Tonk-Tonk.

"You heard me. Breeze, ya bunch of daisies, or I squirt metal. Go climb up your thumb before I show you the Harlem sunset."

The clowns looked confused.

"I think she'd prefer you leave," I said, translating. "You too, Lilith."

Lilith took her snake and spun on her heel, or what was left of it.

"This ain't over, shamus. We'll be back."

•••

The flight to England was uneventful, although tiring. I took the opportunity to work on my literary masterpiece, knowing that Lent was coming to an end and I had to finish up. But writing on the laptop didn't give me the same feeling as typing on the old man's typewriter. When using his typewriter, I felt an affinity with Chandler that the iBook didn't communicate. I'd re-type it all when I got home, of course, but the experience was incomplete – cheapened by technology. I closed the computer and thought hard about the case at hand.

Kris Toth, a songman at York Minster, had been killed; strangled after having been knocked unconscious. Kris had been studying on a fellowship and a position as a baritone in the Minster choir. Slender, with medium length black hair and a good-looking beard, Kris was by all accounts a pretty good baritone despite the interesting fact that he was a she. She was strangled with her own pair of black pantyhose.

The autopsy revealed that Kris Toth suffered from hirsutism, a condition described to me, a layman, as one in which too much hair grows on a woman's face or body. Hirsutism, which runs in families, can be caused by hair follicles that are overly sensitive to male hormones (called androgens) or it can be caused by abnormally high levels of these hormones. These levels may also be caused by tumors, but this wasn't the case with Kris, her pathology being termed "idiopathic hirsutism." She was apparently very healthy when she was killed. There are treatments or, at least, cosmetic remedies for the condition, but Kris chose to remain bearded.

She was found, dead, wearing a Victoria's Secret outfit underneath her choir robe and clutching a pectoral cross, in the middle of the Roman ruins. The case that had contained the cross also contained a chalice containing a flawless, 32-carat diamond. Presumably, an accomplice killed her. The fourth finger of her right hand was Superglued to her thumb.

The provenance of the cross was interesting. It was thought to have been worn by Czar Nicholas II when he was assassinated in 1918. Valuable, of course, but nothing compared to the diamond set in the chalice, which was subsequently discovered to be missing and replaced with a CZ that had been super-glued into place. The missing diamond was insured for 1.3 million pounds, but the insurance company didn't want to pay.

The video surveillance had been turned off by persons unknown sometime during the forty minutes in which the Evensong took place. Kris Toth had left the service about halfway through and didn't return. Other choir members thought she was feeling ill. The reason that the Minster Police hadn't noticed the problem with the cameras was that the policeman on duty had a daughter singing in the choir, and he had stepped into the church to hear her solo.

There were a couple of problems. Why, if Kris was simply trying to steal the diamond, would she take the cross as well? The diamond had been replaced, and if she had left the cross and walked out, no one would have been the wiser. Replacing the diamond with a cubic zirconium might not have been discovered for years, but taking the cross almost guaranteed that she'd have been caught. She'd left the service in an obvious fashion. The cameras were turned off. She'd be the prime suspect in the theft. It appeared to me that the murderer placed the cross in Kris' hand after she was dead, locked the case and then left. One question remained. Did the murderer also get away with the diamond? I thought not.

If the murderer had taken the diamond, the logical thing for him to do would be to kill Kris and escape, leaving all the cases intact and locked; not drawing attention to any single one in particular. A murder in the Minster would be horrible, but would be forgotten soon enough. As it was, I suspected the murderer used the cross as a method of drawing attention not away from the chalice, but
toward
it, intending that we would indeed discover the substitution. If this was his intent, then the murderer was still expecting to be able to recover the diamond and was counting on someone to lead him to it. That someone was me, and this made it all very personal.

•••

The train pulled into York twenty hours after I left St. Germaine, and I was still groggy despite having caught a few winks off and on during the journey. I made my way through town, then stopped at the Minster School to say hello to the headmaster, Geoffrey Chester. Geoffrey had helped me in my last murder case and I always stopped in to say hello.

"Need any help on this one?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "What do you know?"

"Not a thing. It's mystery to everyone."

We chatted for a few moments before he rushed off to class. I made my way to Hugh's house, set my alarm for 4:30 and fell asleep in the guest room. Two hours later, I took a shower and, feeling refreshed, headed over to the Minster for Evensong.