The Countertenor Wore Garlic (The Liturgical Mysteries) (14 page)

"Anyway, Flori Cabbage was the only applicant that could manage an intelligent discourse and she was also fluent in French, German, and Italian. Some of her facts were a little off; for example, she attributed the rebuilding of the Chapel Royal to Charles the Bold, but he clearly didn't come to power until 1467."

"Clearly," I agreed. "So Flori had a degree in music history?"

"Oh, no," said Ian. "She was a paralegal before I hired her. She never went to college."

"What?" said Nancy. "She never went to college?"

Ian shook his head. "Nope. She had an eidetic memory. Photographic, if you prefer. She could recall everything she ever read. She told me she could pull it up like she was reading from the page."

"And her mistakes?" I asked.

"Probably got her information from Wikipedia," said Ian with a sniff. "She should have gone straight to the
Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians."

"So you two weren't romantically involved?"

Ian Burch gave us a nervous look. "Heavens, no," he said. "I was her employer."

"Where was she from before she moved here?" Nancy asked.

"She told me that she'd moved to Boone from Charlotte. There was some unpleasantness at the law firm where she was working. She's from around here somewhere, I think, but I never knew for sure. Then, a couple years ago, she moved to St. Germaine. I hired her about six months later. That's all I know. We didn't share the details of our personal lives."

"Strictly professional," observed Dave. "That's good."

"She have any family in the area?" asked Nancy.

Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, looked irritated. "How would I know? As I indicated, it wasn't my business. Flori Cabbage did her job well. She was a model employee."

Our drinks arrived and I took a sip of the almost black brew, then made a mental note to compliment Billy on his recommendation. Ian nervously sipped his tea through a straw. Nancy and Dave were nursing their waters.

"How's that beer?" asked Dave.

"Probably an acquired taste, but I find it exceptional," I said. "Complex, sweet, tart..." I smacked my lips together, "with a distinct cherry finish."

"You've been hanging around Bud too long," said Nancy.

"Now, Ian," I said, "you got a text from Flori just before the Zombie Walk started. Remember?"

Ian Burch managed to look confused, then pretended to remember the text message.

"Yes. Yes, I did," he lied. "In the excitement, I'd totally forgotten."

"May we see the message?" asked Nancy, giving Dr. Ian Burch her sweetest smile.

"I suppose you may," said Ian, then paused for three beats. "You won't be reading any of my older texts, will you?"

"Depends," I said. "Are they from Flori Cabbage?"

Ian turned a bright shade of red. "Well, I don't recall for sure, but some of them might be. Couldn't I just show you that last text? I'd need to delete a picture first."

"I'm afraid not, Ian," I said. "She's been murdered, you see. This is a murder investigation."

Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, stiffened. "I think you'll need a warrant," he said.

"And we can get one," I said.

The waitress appeared with a deep-dish Alaskan Kodiak pizza—thick garlic crust, smoked salmon, pesto, and onions—and set it down on the table with two plates.

"This looks great," said Dave, digging in.

"Sure does," said Nancy, putting a slice onto her plate as well. She extended Ian Burch another big smile and said, "It won't do you any good to erase those messages tonight. We can get them off the server." She took a bite of her slice, chewed it, and swallowed. "Man, that's good. Once we get the warrant, we won't even need your phone. We'll have all your texts, phone messages, emails, all the websites you've visited in the last three months... it's amazing really what kind of electronic trail we all manage to leave. You want a piece of this? It's delicious!"

Ian Burch's shoulders slumped and he shook his head.

"Something you want to share?" I asked him.

Ian Burch shrugged, reached into the pocket of his long black trench coat and brought out a cheap flip-phone. He handed it across the table to Nancy. "All right," he said softly. "We were sort of seeing each other."

"Everyone figured you were," said Dave through a half-chewed bite of salmon and onions. He swallowed with a gulp and took a sip of water. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Well, it wasn't a..." he searched for the word, "traditional relationship. It was just for fun. For us, it was just physical attraction."

Dave choked on a piece of crust. Ian ignored him.

"So you lied because...?" I asked.

"Because Flori Cabbage had just been killed, of course. I didn't want you to think I had anything to do with it."

"You're a cool customer, Ian Burch," I said, taking a sip of my beer.

"Password," said Nancy. She'd opened his phone and was clicking through the screens.

"Huh?" said Ian.

"Give me your password."

"Umm... Ghizeghem. He's a medieval composer."

"Spell it," said Nancy.

Ian spelled the name, then said, "I've become interested in another woman in town, and if she knew I was, umm... had been... seeing Flori, she would be less than amenable to my upcoming coquetry."

"Huh?" said Dave.

"He's thinking about asking Tiff out on a date," I said.

"Tiff St. James?" said Dave. "Your choir singer?"

I nodded. "The very one."

"How...?" started Ian. His lips moved without making any sound. Then he managed, "How did you know?"

"That's why you came to choir, isn't it? So you could hang around her?"

"Well... yes, but I do enjoy singing."

"Save it," I said. "So you were having sex with Flori, but you were interested in Tiff how? Romantically?"

"Yes, romantically. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Nancy had been scrolling through Ian's phone. Now she flipped it closed and dropped it into her coat pocket. "Disgusting," she growled.

"What?" I said.

"You know what 'sexting' is?" she asked me.

"I can guess."

"It wasn't just me," protested Ian Burch. "It was Flori Cabbage, too. I was just trying to keep up. You can see it for yourself! It's all right there!"

"Her last text says 'At EB in line. Meet me later. Still freaked out.' There's a picture. She's wearing the vampire outfit we found her in. Or rather, half of it. Then Ian answers it with 'At the movie. Meet after at SB. Bring the cuffs. I'm wearing garlic.' The time stamp is 5:32 PM."

"I'm wearing garlic?" said Dave.

"Bring the cuffs?" I added.

Ian's color rose.

"Well, now we know why you were wearing that garlic necklace," Nancy said.

"In some cultures, garlic is a well-known aphrodisiac," said Ian, defensively. "In medieval times, monks were prohibited from entering the monasteries if they had eaten garlic. This is because of its reputation for inflaming the passions."

"I think you're supposed to eat it," said Nancy. "Not wear it."

Ian sniffed loudly. "Well, she
was
dressed as a vampire. I was just doing my part."

"So you hadn't called it quits with Flori?" I said.

"No," said Ian. "I... uh... I hadn't called it off. But I was going to."

"She was in line an hour before the book signing event?" Nancy asked.

"She was going to meet a friend of hers and was supposed to save her a place in line. You saw the crowd."

"Yeah, I did," I said. "So you met with her after the movie?"

"No. She didn't show up. I went over to Eden Books and looked around for her, but I didn't see her. I came back and waited for her in front of the church for thirty minutes, then went to the shop. I thought she'd meet me there."

"What do you think she saw that freaked her out?" Nancy asked.

"I have no idea," said Dr. Ian Burch, PhD.

***

"You believe him?" asked Nancy, as we walked back across the park to the police station.

"As far as it goes," I said. "But he's not telling us everything."

"He's hiding something," said Dave. "I can always tell."

"No, you can't," said Nancy. "Ian was just showing off with that music stuff. Makes me want to slap him."

"I thought you took a class in music appreciation," I said, grinning. "You don't know about the organization of the House of Vichyssoise in 1328? Or the use of the bladderpipe as a medieval torture device?

"Blow it out your sackbut," said Nancy.

"Can you go through his whole phone?" I asked. "See what's there?"

"Yeah," said Nancy, "but I sincerely hope there aren't any naked pictures of that weasel on it. I don't think I could stand it."

Chapter 10

I was late getting back home and slept badly, having a lot on my mind, and knowing I had to be at church at ten o'clock the next morning. Still, the next morning I managed to get out of bed, finish a cup of coffee, and put on a tie before Meg informed me it was time to drive down the mountain. Nancy and Dave had agreed to go over to Flori Cabbage's apartment and look around first thing after breakfast. Police procedure dictated that we do our due diligence and there might be something to be gleaned. Besides, they were already in the habit of skipping church.

By the time I'd gotten my second cup of coffee in the parish hall and hightailed it up to the choir loft, the choir was beginning to assemble for our pre-service rehearsal.

"What can you tell us about Flori Cabbage?" said Mark Wells, never one to beat around the bush. "Ian's girlfriend."

"She's dead, for one thing," said Phil. "I heard it over at the Slab this morning."

"I know she's dead," said Mark. "That's why I asked."

"The matter is still under investigation," I said. "I can't talk about it. Besides, we have to rehearse."

"We could help, you know," said Marjorie. "Remember how we helped you solve the case of the murdered deacon last year?"

"No, I don't," I replied. I sat down on the organ bench and began to rifle through the pile of music I had stacked on the top of the console.

"Sorry I missed rehearsal on Wednesday," said Bob Solomon. "What are we singing?"

"The anthem is
O For A Closer Walk With God
by Stanford.
O Taste and See
for communion, and Psalm 34."

"I guess that Ian won't be here this morning," said Martha Hatteberg. "Maybe I can get my seat back."

As if on cue, out of the stairwell came Dr. Ian Burch, PhD. He spotted Tiff, gave her a little wave and beat Martha to her chair. The choir loft became suddenly quiet.

"Ian," said Meg after a long and awkward pause. "We're sorry for your loss."

Ian looked puzzled, then said, "Oh, you mean Flori Cabbage. Thank you. She was a good employee. She'll be difficult to replace." He turned to Tiff. "Might you be looking for part-time employment, Miss St. James?"

Tiff shot me a glance. There was a look of terror in her eyes.

"Let's go over the anthem," I said. "This is Vicar McTavish's first Sunday by himself, remember?"

"How could we forget?" mumbled Bev under her breath.

***

I played the prelude, then launched into the processional hymn precisely at eleven o'clock. The choir had gathered in the back of the church, the narthex. They'd go in two-by-two, following the crucifer into the nave and up to the chancel. Then they'd split, make the ninety degree turn, turn again a few feet later at the side aisles, and make their way back to the narthex in order to climb the stairs to the loft. The clergy, acolytes, Eucharistic Ministers, lay readers, and others involved in the service usually followed the choir in and remained up in the chancel stalls. Today, though, there would be no Eucharistic Ministers, or lay readers either, for that matter. Vicar Fearghus McTavish had made it plain that he would preside over the service by himself.