Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (18 page)

She stared. “You're doing it too. What have I done?"

"Nothing. I'm chilled to the bone."

As she made the tea, she studied me. Finally, she pulled the cup from the microwave and sat across from me. “Tell me what's going on."

I inhaled the aromatic steam and sighed. “Roger's dead."

"What? When? How?"

"This afternoon. I found the body."

She shook her head. “How awful for you. Where?"

"At the church. In the sanctuary. He fell from the choir loft."

She shuddered. “An accident?"

After weighing how much to tell her, I decided to keep my story brief.

"Maybe, maybe not. I don't think he was pushed. I think someone startled him. You know how deeply he immersed himself when he practiced. Someone from the police will talk to you. Your blue scarf was found in the choir loft."

She frowned. “My scarf. I don't understand."

"When was the last time you wore it?"

Her forehead furrowed. “Sunday. I think I left it at the Simpsons. At least, I haven't seen it since then and I've torn the house apart. I even asked Martin if he'd seen it."

"And you didn't wear it home?"

"Pete was in a hurry to escape the bad vibes. I didn't stop to look for it."

"Did you tell Pete it was missing?"

"Why? It's just a scarf and not an expensive one. Does this make me a suspect?"

"Hardly. You've an alibi unless no one at the hospital saw you."

"They saw me all right. We had a code at change of shift. Who do you suspect?"

"It could have been an accident."

"You don't believe that. I can tell by your voice."

"No, I don't, but I have no proof.” I lifted the cup. “Something worries me. Marcie had a problem with him this afternoon. He hurt her. Happened about an hour before I found the body."

"Not Marcie.” She shook her head. “What kind of problem? One that could be a cause for murder?"

"The police will think so."

"She wouldn't. She's one of the most stable people I know. She's been dealing with Judith all her life and that takes strength. If Marcie was going to kill someone, I'd vote for her mother."

"I agree.” I put the cup in the saucer. “Let me be on my way."

"What are you going to do?"

"Investigate."

"Don't put yourself in danger."

"You sound like Pete.” I put on my coat and stopped at the door. “I almost forgot. Will you bring Robby tomorrow evening or Saturday morning?"

"Probably Saturday morning around eight. Since I'm a murder suspect, the weekend could be called off."

"Once your alibi is confirmed, you won't be."

She stood in the doorway. “Did Roger...did he...” She shook her head. “He did and I hate him for that."

"She'll be all right. My son found a therapist and Martin took her to meet the woman."

I opened my umbrella and instead of going home, headed around the corner and down the block to the Simpsons. I wanted to check on Marcie and to further my investigation.

I rang the bell and waited. My foot tapped lightly against the porch floor. The rain had changed from mist to wind-driven droplets and I was glad for the shelter of the porch. When no one answered, I rang again. Finally, the door opened a crack.

"Mrs. Miller.” Marcie widened the opening and threw her arms around me. “Thank you for being there and for finding the counselor for me. She was wonderful."

"Then you're all right?"

"Sort of. They're going to charge him. I'll have to testify."

"Don't worry."

"It won't be fun, but it has to be done."

Before I could tell her about Roger, Judith's strident voice drown my words.

"How could you let her tell those lies? You've ruined my life.” Her voice grew louder. “Marcie Simpson, where are you? I'm not finished."

"I'm talking to Mrs. Miller."

"Get rid of her. She's the one to blame. How am I going to face people? My daughter entices a man, a gifted musician, a man who loves her mother. Then she cries rape. Jealousy, that's what it is. He wants me."

"Judith, you don't mean a word of this,” Martin said.

Judith strode into the hall. She held a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Mother, for once, I wish you'd think of someone other than yourself."

"Roger wasn't the man he presented on the surface,” I said. “We should have investigated his background more thoroughly."

Judith laughed. “Please, you're being ridiculous. Roger's too good for St. Stephen's. My daughter invented her story and she's going to confess her lies to the police. He must be protected from scandal."

"I didn't lie.” Marcie faced her mother.

Judith stabbed the cigarette at Marcie's face. The girl evaded the thrust and dashed to the stairs.

"You'll pay.” Judith glared at me. “I warned you not to spy."

"Roger's dead."

Judith screamed. Martin dropped the glass he held.

Marcie gasped. “Dead? How? Mrs. Miller, you didn't —"

I shook my head. “He fell from the choir loft this afternoon."

Judith drained her glass. “It was an accident."

"Of course it was,” Martin said.

My next words were for effect. “The police are still investigating. I'm sure they'll talk to you. Judith, did you go to work today?"

"We both did,” Martin said. “Judith even worked late. She got in just before Marcie and I returned from the hospital."

"Dead...He can't be dead. He wanted me. I know he did.” Judith strode to the bar and grabbed the bottle. Scotch splashed into her glass and onto the bar. “Oh lord, that wonderful man is dead."

Marcie vanished upstairs. Though I wanted to follow her, Judith blocked the way to the stairs.

"Why did you come here?” she asked. “Get out."

I stepped onto the porch and turned to Martin. “Tell Marcie to stop by tomorrow."

He followed me. “Thanks for taking care of Marcie this afternoon. She has a therapy session Saturday after her classes in the city. Do you think she'll be all right?"

For once I heard concern in his voice for someone other than his wife. “She's strong. What are you going to do about Judith?"

His shoulders straightened. “I don't know.” He met my gaze. “If Roger wasn't already dead, I'd make sure he was. He has some kind of power over Judith that I don't understand. She's not herself."

I heard steel in his voice and I wondered if my thoughts about Roger's death were wrong.

Judith screamed. The sound of glass breaking made Martin turn away.

"Send Marcie home with me."

"She'll be all right. She's in her room with the door bolted. Judith will have a few more drinks and pass out.” He sighed. “She loves me, you know."

I left the porch and walked home. Was alcohol his way of keeping Judith chained to his side? Rain beat against the umbrella. The wind sent gusts to wet my coat and my face.

At home I made the proverbial mint tea and sat to wait for Pete's arrival. I was sure he'd arrive on my doorstep with demands and accusations.

His arrival took longer than I'd expected. The next morning, I'd just returned from my walk when Robespierre pushed through his entrance. I reached for a can of food. A staccato knock sounded at the door and diverted my attention. I crossed the room and answered the summons.

"You're meddling again,” Pete said.

I emptied the can of food into Robespierre's dish. “Tea's ready and so are cinnamon rolls. Good morning to you. What took you so long?"

He rolled his eyes. “Explain."

After filling two mugs, I pulled the pan of rolls from the oven. “What makes you think I'm meddling?"

"Excuse me. What else can I infer from the way you flitted around the neighborhood spreading the news of Roger's death."

"It was hardly a secret. The local radio had already made the announcement."

"You told Beth about her scarf."

I shrugged. “I needed to know when she wore it last and you know very well she had no part in his death. Her alibi is solid and well-documented."

"And the Simpsons?"

"I went to check on Marcie."

"Another little detail you neglected to mention yesterday.” He reached for the cinnamon roll.

"She didn't kill him."

"How do you know that?"

"When I arrived for my first attempt to see him, she ran from the church. I'm almost certain I heard the organ. I brought her here and made arrangements for her to see a counselor. Martin came and took her to meet the woman at the ER."

He leaned his elbows on the table. “Why did you want to see him?"

"I'd discovered some things about his past."

"Such as?"

I told Pete the things I'd learned. “So I was going to force him to resign. But I arrived too late."

Pete drained his cup. “Always knew he was a sicko. So who killed him?"

"I have a theory but no proof."

"Finding proof isn't your job.” He finished the cinnamon roll. “The chief wants to list this as an accidental death. It could have been. Either he was startled by someone or something."

"I vote for something."

"Mrs. M! What else haven't you told me? Has someone arrived at your door with a confession?” His voice held a note of exasperation.

But I wasn't ready to expound my theory. “Not yet."

"Tell me what you know."

"Later. Do me a favor. You might set yourself up for a ribbing though."

"No undercover work.” He reached for a second roll. “These are great."

"Thanks. Have Beth's scarf tested for catnip."

"Why catnip?"

"Part of my theory. I'm not even sure it's possible."

"Your theory or the testing?"

"Both."

He walked to the window and stared into the backyard. “Don't put yourself in danger. I'm depending on you to watch Robby this weekend."

"Then all is right with you and Beth? When I talked to her last evening, she was worried because you were cold and formal."

He nodded. “Yeah, I was. The shock of finding her scarf hit my insecurities and I reacted.” He groaned. “I groveled. I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"Have you told her?"

He nodded. “She's afraid it's happening too fast. I took my mother's engagement ring to have it cleaned. Do you think it's too fast?"

"Sometimes love swoops in like a hurricane. Good luck."

"Thanks.” He returned to the table. “What was with Brandon?"

"I think he was a sociopath. He thought...he had some twisted notions or maybe this was his idea of fun. I wanted to confront him. I wanted to know if he was sick or just rotten."

"Good thing he died before you found him. You could have been the one to go over the balcony."

I sighed. “I wish I'd investigated his background before he was hired. He seduced me with music and with his charm. Right now, I'm worried about Marcie. Her mother's not cool about this."

"Mrs. Simpson is not cool about anything. She's a real piece of work, and I imagine your prime suspect."

"Could be."

"What about her husband?"

"Another possibility."

"So I have this scarf tested. Then what?"

I glanced at my watch. “There are a couple of things I need to do. Meet me at the church at ten."

He frowned. “I'm sorry the rack was banned. If we had one at the station, I'd make you talk. The church at ten. Be careful."

"Always."

After he left, I made several phone calls. Then I found my props. When I put an open can of cat food in a plastic bag, Robespierre glared as though I'd stolen his prize possession. Then I tied some catnip in a scarf. He meowed and turned his back.

"Sorry. There's a purpose here and you're not involved."

I put on my coat, grabbed my handbag and props and left the house. My familiar trailed to the car and sat on the sidewalk until I backed out of the driveway.

Mine was the only car parked in front of the church. On Fridays, Mary often worked late and Edward seldom made an appearance. I strode up the walk and used the key I'd been given when I'd acted as choir director to unlock the door. Then I set about catching the stray Judith had named Shadow.

My wait was short. He crept from the bushes and began to eat. I grabbed him. Five steps took me and my clawing captive to the door. I stepped inside, let the door close. Then I released the cat.

He streaked down the hall toward the sanctuary. I reached the door in time to see his tail vanish around the partially open door. I entered and pushed it shut. Though I didn't see the cat, I knew there was no escape. As I headed down the aisle, I dangled the doctored scarf.

When I reached the choir loft, I put my handbag on one of the chairs and prepared to wait for Pete. The only illumination came from the round stained glass window above the organ pipes and the smaller windows at the head of each set of steps.

I glanced at my watch. Seven minutes and counting. Where was the cat? Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I spotted Shadow under a chair near the front of the soprano section. I slid from chair to chair slowly and cautiously.

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The sanctuary door closed with a bang and I prepared for action. I stooped and dangled the catnip filled end of the scarf near the cat's hiding place and slowly lured him toward the console. I hoped to recreate what I believed had happened yesterday.

"Roger, Roger, where are you?” Judith's shouts bounced off the stone walls. Panic gathered in my gut. My pulse thundered. I couldn't catch my breath.

She was at work. I'd checked before I left the house. I'd called the Simpsons. No one had answered. Then I called the library and the woman at the desk assured me Judith was in her office. Without leaving my name I'd hung up. Had the call alerted her? Did she know I was here?

Foolish thought. How many members of the congregation drive a silver car with red racing stripes? Next time I'd choose a less conspicuous model.

The cat scurried back to its corner. My back ached. Even if Judith spotted me, I had to straighten or risk remaining in a permanently stooped position.