The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) (21 page)

“
It won’t help him,” Dr. Dougherty said sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter 20

Nancy and Dave raced into the church, followed closely by Gwen Jackson.

“
Sorry it took so long,” said Gwen, trying to catch her breath. “I couldn’t get the dead-bolt open.”

“
What on earth happened?” asked Nancy, quickly appraising the scene. “My God! The wreath fell on him?”

Dave was speechless.

“
It fell on him, all right,” I said, “but he’s been shot.”

I rolled the deacon over, lifted his purple stole, and revealed a spreading crimson stain in the center of his chest.

“
I’ll fill you in, but first you and Dave go on into the fellowship hall, take everyone’s name and phone number, and get their statements. If there’s someone you don’t know, bring him back in here, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s local. Then send ’em home. We’ll call them tomorrow. I’ll be in to help as soon as I secure this mess.”

“
Will do,” said Nancy. “Did you see it happen?”

“
Yeah. Hurry up now. I’ll be in shortly.”

•••

The EMTs arrived, but, as Karen had indicated, there was nothing they could do. I ordered them to leave everything as it was, go watch the Living Nativity, get a cup of coffee, and come back in an hour or so. I wanted Dave and Nancy to look at the crime scene with me. I entered the fellowship hall thirty minutes after Nancy and Dave had begun questioning the shaken members of the Malachi Bible study.

“
Everyone saw the same thing,” said Dave.

“
I saw it, too,” I said. “Still, due diligence, and all that. How many statements do you have left?”

Dave looked around the room. “We’re about half-finished. It doesn’t take long. They were singing a hymn, they heard the winch screech, the cable snapped, the wreath fell on Donald Mushrat. Except some of these folks say Moo-shrat.”

“
Same guy,” I said. “I can’t take notes, but I’ll help you finish up. Then we’ll go back into the church.”

•••

Nancy, Dave and I stood at the front of the church, directly in front of Deacon Mushrat’s body. The Advent wreath, having been lifted off him, now leaned on the steps, the broken rose candle nearest the altar.

“
Everyone had the same story,” said Nancy. “You’re a trained detective, so to speak. Did you see anything different?”

“
Well, I was looking right at Mushrat,” I said. “I wasn’t singing. He lowered the wreath, lit the candles and was raising it back up. He had his hymnal in his left hand. His right hand had to have been on the toggle switch.”

“
Yeah,” said Dave.

“
Then, about halfway through the second verse he looked spooked. Confused. He stopped singing and dropped his hymnal. That’s what happened to the switch. The hymnal landed on the toggle and the winch just kept turning until the cable snapped.”

“
I thought there was a safety brake on that thing,” said Nancy.

“
Sure,” I said. “That wreath will come down very slowly, but not if it’s not attached to anything. No one figured that someone would run the winch up until the cable snapped. That’s a lot of pressure. See there.” I pointed up and both Dave and Nancy’s gaze followed my finger. “The winch pulled the connecting mechanism right through the ceiling. There’s a hole the size of a dinner plate up there.”

“
Hmm,” said Nancy. “Go back to before the cable broke.”

“
Yeah,” I said. “So Mushrat is looking confused. He’s staring at the back wall.”

“
Up where you are?” asked Nancy. “In the balcony?”

I thought for a moment. “Nope. Downstairs.”

“
So he’s looking at the back wall downstairs? Where the doors are?”

“
Yeah.” I tried to replay the scene in my head. “The back wall for sure, but he could have been staring at the doors.”

“
How about this, then?” said Dave. “The killer comes in during the service, the deacon recognizes him...”

“
Or her,” said Nancy.

“
Or her,” agreed Dave. “Then the killer shoots him, he drops his hymnal on the toggle and staggers to the steps where the cable breaks and the wreath falls on him, finishing him off.”

“
Sounds right,” I said.

“
Silencer?” asked Nancy.

“
Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t hear a gunshot.”

“
Noise suppressors make rifles unwieldy,” Nancy said. “I’m betting handgun. Easier to hide, easier to carry.”

“
I’d say it was a 9mm,” I said. “That’s a small hole in Mr. Mushrat. If this isn’t the work of our Lake Tannenbaum shooter, I’ll eat Raymond Chandler’s hat.”

“
It was a good shot,” said Nancy, appraising the distance, “but certainly not terribly difficult. The shooter didn’t go for a head shot. Now that would have been something from seventy-five yards. Especially with a silencer.”

“
Someone might have seen the shooter come in or leave,” I said. “Sterling Park was packed.”

“
You want to interview everyone in the park?”

“
No,” I said. “We’ll put out a call and ask for witnesses to come forward. But, you know, I’ll be surprised if anyone saw anything.”

“
I agree.”

“
Let’s check the rest of the church,” I said. “Look for a casing...” I shrugged. “Anything. This gal’s good, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Chapter 21

Meg joined us for breakfast since she was currently “on vacation.” As she explained it, during the few weeks leading up to Christmas the investment business slowed to a crawl. Then between Christmas and December 31st there was a flurry of activity as her clients tried to take advantage of as many tax breaks as they could before the end of the year. She didn’t
have
to work, being married to a millionaire, but she enjoyed her job and since she was extremely good at it, was chiefly tasked with keeping our fortune intact.

It was a gloomy Thursday morning, the day after the tragedy and ten days before Christmas, that found us at our table in the back of the Slab Café. I’d already had a busy a.m., having met Kent Murphee at the morgue in Boone and returned with the medical examiner’s official report on the murder.

Noylene, now approaching beach-ball proportions, was still doing her best to keep up with the needs of the customers. Pete had moved the tables slightly farther apart in deference to her expectancy and had taken a couple of two-toppers off the floor and put them in the storeroom.

“
Y’all gotta pardon my butt,” she said, as she waddled by with the coffee pot. “It always gets like this when I’m pregnant.” She filled Meg’s cup first, then squeezed around the table replenishing the rest: Pete’s, Cynthia’s, Nancy’s, Dave’s, and finally, mine.

“
How about I just bring out some French toast?”

“
Great,” said Pete. He rubbed his hands together. “Just wait till you guys try this. It’s a new recipe. Straight from the Food Network.”

“
I can’t wait,” said Meg. “I love French toast.”

We sat in awkward silence for a moment as Noylene headed for the kitchen. The Slab was unusually quiet, although most of the chairs were occupied. People were talking in hushed voices.

“
It’s the shock of it all,” said Meg quietly. “It has everyone on edge.”

“
You know,” said Cynthia, “I did a little research. Statistically, over the last five years, a person is more likely to get murdered in St. Germaine than in Chicago. We have the highest
per capita
murder rate in North Carolina.”

“
Hey!” said Pete, brightening. “Maybe we could work that into our new town motto.”

“
Everyone has already heard about Mushrat being shot,” said Dave. “I don’t know how it got around so fast.”

“
Wasn’t me,” said Cynthia.

“
I suspect it was one of the EMTs,” I said. “I didn’t tell them to keep quiet about it. Joe’s living in St. Germaine now, so he might have spilled the beans. Once the cat is out of the bag, you can’t stop the small town grapevine.”

“
That’s probably it,” agreed Pete.

“
Also, I had to go over to Gaylen’s last night and tell her what happened. She might have told someone.”

“
Well, she’s been over at the church since nine o’clock this morning doing grief counseling,” said Meg. “And here’s the strange thing. Most of the folks coming in weren’t even at the church last night. Apparently there are a lot of people who are overcome with grief, even though they couldn’t stand the man when he was alive. Emily Douglas hauled the twins out of school and brought them, and I haven’t seen Garth or Garrett in church since last summer. I doubt they ever even met Deacon Mushrat.”

“
This thing has everyone shaken,” I said. “People feel like they have to do something, even if they didn’t like him. I expect his funeral service will be packed.” I changed the subject. “I saw Billy and his crew at St. Barnabas when I drove out early this morning.”

“
Are they going to hang the wreath back up?” asked Dave.

“
Not a chance,” I said. “They’ll probably haul it away and stash it somewhere. You know, since they aren’t going to be using it, I wouldn’t mind having it for the cabin. I could have it wired with bulbs...”

“
You will
not!
” exclaimed Meg. “That wreath killed someone.”

“
Well, technically it did,” I said. “But according to Kent, Mushrat’s ticker had already stopped even though he was still staggering around. The bullet was a nine, just like we thought. It hit him just to the right of the sternum and tumbled through his heart. He might have been alive when the wreath hit him, but there was no chance he was going to survive.”

“
You have the round?” asked Nancy.

“
Yeah,” I said and pulled a sealed, polypropylene bag out of my pocket. “Here you go.”

Nancy took the clear bag and held it up against the light coming through the front plate glass window. She studied the bullet for a moment.

“
Nine mil all right. Not too much damage. We can compare the rifling to the other round, but I’ll bet it’s a match.”

“
Maybe,” I said, “but from what I’ve read about these professional killers, they use a gun once, then dump it.”

“
Yeah,” agreed Nancy. “I read that, too.”

“
But why kill Deacon Mushrat in the church?” asked Meg. “How much easier would it have been to wait until he got home, then go in and shoot him?”

“
I’ve been asking myself the same question,” I said. “And I think the answer lies in what Mushrat said right before he was killed.”

Everyone at the table looked at me in expectation just as Noylene toddled up with empty plates and handed them all around.

“
I’m bringing a platter of toast out in a sec,” she said, then grimaced, grabbed her belly with both hands, and started puffing.