Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (4 page)

I looked away. Though I think Pete and Beth are a great match, I wouldn't interfere. Matchmaking can be hazardous to your well being. If the couples like each other—great. If they don't, you lose two friends.

When Roger called to give me his moving date, I frowned. He'd picked a Friday. If he'd waited until Saturday, I could have rounded up a crew to help.

On Thursday after choir rehearsal, I assembled a tray of cold cuts, salads, cake and rolls. The next morning I loaded the food, a thermos of iced mint tea and an assortment of dried mint in my car.

Ten minutes later I parked in front of the Gulliver apartments. Roger stood on the sidewalk and watched a crew of sullen men unload his furniture. Twenty minutes after my arrival the movers tackled the piano. My heart thudded against my ribs until the instrument was off the truck and being wheeled into the elevator. One look at Roger's face told me he had experienced the same palpitations. We rode the elevator with the upright that had been painted ivory.

While he directed the movers, I unpacked the boxes marked for the kitchen and put dishes, pots and pans and other assorted things on shelves. Roger appeared in the doorway. “You don't have to do this."

"I want to. I know how hard moving is. After my house was converted, I had a crew of family and friends to help with the move upstairs."

"You were lucky."

"If you'd waited until tomorrow, half the choir would have helped."

"But they don't know me."

"They will...Oh, your welcome dinner is scheduled for next Friday."

By one o'clock the movers had left. I arranged spices on the shelves and was amazed by the variety. He must like to cook. As I worked, I realized how little I knew about him. He had a knack of steering conversations from himself. There'd been time the day he'd found his apartment, but he'd plied me with question after question.

When I put the last jar on the shelf, I took the tray from the refrigerator and placed it on the alcove between the kitchen and the living room. “Lunch break."

"There's enough food to last the entire weekend,” he said.

"That's the idea. Gives you time to shop at leisure. There are only delis within walking distance and their prices are outrageous."

He sat at the table and filled two glasses from the thermos. “Since you've organized the kitchen, all that's left is the music room."

"Good.” I made a sandwich and put some salad on a paper plate.

"Let me have the name of your piano tuner so I can call him this afternoon. Tracey had a phone installed."

I raised an eyebrow. Duty above and beyond a real estate agent. Then I recalled how he'd charmed three very different women during the interview lunch. By Halloween he'd have half the women in the congregation fawning.

After lunch he made his call. Then he reached for my hand. “Let's take a walk."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"To the church, I'll give you a private concert."

Once again, the wonderful music he'd produced on an inferior instrument played in my head. I wondered what marvelous sound he'd evoke here. “A fair payment for a bit of lunch."

He laughed. “If this is a bit, I'd like to see sumptuous."

"Wait until Friday. Seeing all the spices on your shelves has challenged me.'

As we walked along Main Street, he matched his stride to mine. I pointed out sites of interest. “These three blocks are known as Antique Row. The library is in the next block between an antique shop and a craft boutique. Judith is head librarian and she's always willing to make copies of music and flyers."

He nodded. “I'll remember that. She's the woman who sucks up attention."

His perception of Judith was on target. “Energy-filled is another way to describe her."

We turned at the corner and entered the short side street heading to the church. As we neared St. Stephen's, I watched Roger's expression change from interest to admiration.

The gray granite, Gothic-like building sparkled as though bits of silver were embedded in the stones. The carved oak doors appeared to have been gilted.

Roger halted and raised his eyes to the round stained glass window high above the street. “Impressive. I didn't pay attention to the building the last time I was here. The organ and the music were what I focused on. What a grand instrument."

"Sometimes I believe St. Stephen's is an ancient miniature cathedral transported here. There's such a feeling of age. I have a book at home that details the history. I'll loan it to you."

We strode past the privet hedge to the side door. “The main doors are locked unless there's a function. During the day, these are unlocked. Edward will give you a set of keys."

He held the heavy oak door for me. A rustling noise in the bushes made me turn. The gray cat the choir had befriended appeared on the walk and stared at us. Roger all but pushed me inside and closed the door.

I flipped the light switch and the gloom of the dark hall vanished. We entered the sanctuary. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows along the side walls and cast muted shadows on the oak pews.

Roger turned and examined the mosaic tiles of the nave. “It's more beautiful than I remembered."

As we headed up the dark right hand stairs to the choir loft, I switched on the lights. Roger sat on the organ bench and turned knobs and adjusted stops. Finally, he began to play scales. Notes swelled to fill the emptiness. I crept down the stairs and slid into one of the center pews.

Roger had his back to me. The organ bench sits flush with the balcony railing. A solid wooden back kept the organist from moving back too far.

The rich tones of the music vibrated through my body. As the piece he'd chosen moved to a finale, I found myself on my feet facing the loft. There was an almost sensual quality to his movements. The muscles in his back rippled beneath his tee shirt. The lights made his hair gleam like gold.

When the last note sounded, I fought to catch my breath. “Bravo! How did you know the Widor Toccata was one of my favorites?"

He bowed. “It's a show piece. You know, I'll have to remove the back of the organ bench. Having it there inhibits me."

If his playing was inhibited, how much more glorious could it be? I mentally gauged the distance to the stone floor and shivered.

"Do you realize how far you'd fall?"

He laughed. “I've no fear of heights.” He dashed down the steps. We left the church together. When we parted at the corner, he pressed my hand. “See you next Friday."

"Not Thursday night?"

"Doubtful. I'll take the rest of this month to explore the area. I think I'll like it here."

As I strolled home, I thought of how little I'd learned about Roger, the man. The musician side of him seemed clear.

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On Thursday I began preparing for the buffet dinner I'd arranged to introduce Roger to selected members of St. Stephen's. Though several of the guests had offered to bring food, cooking is one of my pleasures and I remembered the rows of spices on Roger's shelves. I refused the offers.

Beth called and asked about coffee. Knowing my addiction to mint tea wasn't shared by everyone, I accepted her offer of the fixings and an urn. Then I asked her to stop at the liquor store and buy enough red and white wine, for a dozen people.

The number of guests was dictated by the size of my apartment. Though the rooms are spacious, I had no desire to have people eating in my bedroom or a clique gathering in the dining room or the kitchen. If the weather had been nicer and the chance of rain nil, I would have used the yard.

When my “Painted Lady” had been a single family dwelling, my apartment had been the bedroom floor. The walls had been gutted. Five bedrooms and a bath had become four rooms and bath.

Besides the search committee, I'd invited Edward and Laura, Ralph Greene's mother, Bob and Betty Peters and Lars. The last three were the only members of the Vestry who have always supported me.

By Friday morning when Bessie came to clean, I was icing the chocolate cake I planned to serve as dessert. Jars of pickled shrimp waited to be decanted into a cranberry-glass bowl. A cheese ball chilled in the refrigerator. The aromas of roasting beef and ham flavored the air in the apartment.

"Sure do smell good in here.” Bessie paused just inside the kitchen with her hands on her ample hips. “Must be having a party."

"To welcome the new organist at St. Stephen's."

Though my junior by ten years, white frosted Bessie's tight black curls. “I worked ‘crost the street from the church yesterday. He sure do make pretty music.” Her dark eyes shone. “Best I get this place slicked up."

"Don't push yourself."

She laughed. “You know me better. ‘Sides one cat and one old lady don't make much mess."

As she worked, she sang. I added harmony to her

melody. By the time she reached the kitchen, I'd completed dinner preparations. The unseasonable warm weather had made me decide on a cold buffet. At the moment, the temperature in the kitchen topped a hundred. While I have several window air-conditioning units, they weren't in place. I needed to corral my son and one of my neighbors for the grunt work.

Bessie cleaned the alcove of the L-shaped kitchen first. I fitted the ham and roast beef in the refrigerator, turned off the oven, and breathed a sigh of relief. When my guests arrived, the apartment would be cooler. I grabbed my purse.

"Where you off to?” Bessie asked.

"To have my hair done."

Her grin broadened. “You and your hair. When you gonna let it go natural?"

"Never.” I closed the door and headed downstairs.

When I returned, I found a note from Bessie with a list of phone calls. I called my daughter-in-law and let the rest go until another day. Then I sliced the meats, moistened them with basting juice and arranged them on platters. Small bowls in the center of each plate held a special sauce. Chutney for the ham and horseradish for the beef. I heaped fresh baked rolls in two baskets, arranged the salads, decanted the shrimp and set out the rest of the appetizers.

A breeze blew the kitchen curtains inward and chased the heat from the apartment. A glance at the clock let me know I was on schedule.

Fifteen minutes later the plates, napkins and silverware rested on one end of the cherry table in the dining room off the kitchen. I headed to the bathroom, showered, dressed and cleaned away the traces of my preparations.

Then I chose jewelry to compliment the russet linen dress I wore. Earrings, topazes set in the center of gold wire flowers, and a matching pendant completed my costume. Not wanting to put on heels before the guests arrived, I carried them to the kitchen.

While I arranged the appetizers on the island table in the center of the long leg of the kitchen, Beth arrived. She carried the coffee urn and a bottle of wine.

"I'll get the rest from the car,” she said. “Seemed silly to drive, but my other choice was Robby's wagon."

The picture that flickered in my thoughts amused me. “You'd have been arrested. You look under the legal age for drinking."

The blue flowers on the printed sundress she wore enhanced the color of her eyes. Her hair had been cut in a pixie-style that made her appear to be about sixteen.

After her third trip, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. “I came early to help, but you're a marvel. I'd be running around doing a dozen things.” She carried the coffee urn to the sink.

I laughed. “Every nurse should know how to organize."

"Sometimes I forget.” She scooped coffee into the basket. “Where do you want me to put this?"

"On the alcove table."

"I won't plug it in until later.” She crossed to the table where the appetizers sat and picked a shrimp out of the bowl. “Delicious.” She popped a second one into her mouth and sighed.

"I wouldn't know. One bite and I'm sick for days. My husband loved them. Always said it wasn't a party without pickled shrimp."

She put the white wine in a silver bucket and poured ice around it. “Do you miss him?"

"Every day."

Beth's eyes closed. “I miss Rob too. I keep hoping the ache will stop."

"The gut-crunching pain faded years ago, but he held a part of me no one else has ever touched.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I think that's what one feels until someone or something fills the void."

"Did you ever consider marrying again?” She poured red wine into a clear glass carafe.

"Unfortunately, the only other man I felt that way about wasn't available until I'd grown accustomed to independence.” As I spoke, I carried food to the dining room.

The doorbell rang. Beth opened the door and peered down the steps. She turned and giggled. “Quick, your shoes. It's Ralph and his mother."

By the time the first guests reached the kitchen, I'd stepped into my shoes and my role as gracious hostess. When Ralph presented a tin of butter mints, Beth's grin nearly ruined my dignified thanks. I put the gift on the buffet beside the hand-pressed wafers I'd bought at Sweetness, a candy shop up town.

Bob and Betty Peters arrived just ahead of Edward and Laura. At the sound of Edward's voice, Robespierre charged out of the bedroom where he usually hid beneath one of the sleigh beds when I had company. He leaped on Edward's shoes.

"Katherine, call off the cat. Why can't I ever visit without being attacked?"

"Either he likes you or you've walked in something that sends him into ecstasy."

"He swears the cat wants him for dinner.” Laura rolled her eyes. “I think it's the new shoe polish.” She poured two glasses of wine, handed one to Edward and filled a plate with an assortment of appetizers. She joined Bob and Betty on the couch. Edward sat on the loveseat beside Mrs. Greene.

When the Simpsons arrived, Judith tried to grab Robespierre. “Oh, you darling cat,” she crooned.

He made himself small and slithered under the couch. Judith is one of the people he avoids.

"Your allergies,” Martin said.

Judith glared at her husband. “I wasn't going to sleep with him. I just want to feel his soft fur with my hands."