The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (24 page)

"That's right," said Noylene, thoughtfully. "And I never even write you up a ticket. So it's like you never even had breakfast."

"Yeah," grinned Pete.

"Okay. Sorry. That was a bad example."

"And if you never had breakfast, it's like you were a breakfast virgin," said Pete.

"No," I said, putting up my hands. "Wait a minute. That's not it at all."

"That's what Brother Hog said. He said we could be forgiven our sexual indiscretions and…and… armadillos…"

"Peccadillos," I corrected.

"Yeah, that. And we could all be pure," continued Noylene. "Brother Hog says that if the Pope can say you've never been married, even after ten years and fifteen kids, then there's no reason that we can't all be virgins again."

"Well now, that's a good point," interjected Pete, still writing. "The Catholic Church has been granting annulments for years. Just depends on who you know and how much money you have."

"That's not exactly true," I said. "Hey, wait a minute. Who's
all?"

"Just a few of the girls. I'm not namin' any names. It's a private ceremony after the regular service."

"Anyone I know?"

"None of your business."

"But, Noylene," I said in exasperation. "You have a thirty-year-old son."

"Yeah, but the way he was conceived ain't nothin' to write to Billy Graham about. I ain't proud of it."

"Besides," Pete said. "If Noylene is a virgin again, then D'Artagnan is an immaculate conception. If that's the situation, I can put
him
in a pie case and not worry about the BVMCR."

"I suppose so," I said as I saw Noylene try to puzzle her way out of this new observation on her trip back to the kitchen. "How's the search for the roll going, by the way?"

"Well, that skinny sucker is eating me out of business little by little even though I only give him breakfast. He's taken up with Moosey, too. I saw them walking down the street together this morning."

"Oh no."

"I'm sure it's fine. Moosey was just showing him around town."

"He's supposed to be in school."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that," said Pete, putting his pencil down and turning his attention back to Noylene.

"Hey Noylene," he called, "are they singing any revirgination hymns during the service? I've got one for you."

"Let me get a better pencil," said Noylene, making her way back to the table. "I'll write it down and give it to Brother Hog tonight."

I rolled my eyes. I knew that the minute Pete had heard about the Ceremony of Revirgination, his brain had clicked into "irreverent mode."

"How about this?" he said. "Here's the first verse. You can sing it to the tune of
Amazing Grace,
but you have to throw in an extra note to make it fit."

O Lord who doth make all things new.

We pray with faith emerging.

Just tell us what we ought to do

And grant us thy re-virging.

"That's pretty good," said Noylene, scribbling away.

"That's
not
good," I said. "It's awful. I put it right up there with
Crown Him You Many Clowns."

"Another masterpiece," said Pete, "even though I didn't write that one. Here's the second verse."

When in temptation's path we're found,

And feel our lust upsurging,

Give us the strength to turn around,

And grant us thy re-virging.

I laughed out loud. Noylene bit her lip and tried to keep up, her pencil flying over the paper.

"Okay, genius. I've got one," I said. "I think this says it all."

When we have drunken far too much

And find ourselves regurging,

Just tell us when we've had enough,

And grant us thy re-virging.

Pete and I laughed like we were back in college again, and I felt much better even though I was still wet and muddy. I hoped, only halfheartedly, that Noylene would lose the hymn before the service.

Chapter 19

I had questions--questions with no answers, answers with no questions and a few queries with a lot of other posers thrown in.

First on my list was "Who killed Candy Blather?" I had no answer, but if I could come up with one, I'd make my monthly nut with room to spare.

Every other question was just oatmeal on the carpet. Who was Rosebud? What was the hymn that Candy wouldn't include? What would Piggy be eating next? Where or who was Jimmy Leggs? Why was Kelly trying to hire Marilyn? What kind of underwear did Starrbuck Espresso wear and why was Alice calling me at all hours?

"Kit," I called. "I got questions."

"Well, answer them," she yelled back. "That's why you're the detective."

"Yes. Sound advice from a professional Girl-Friday."

"Why don't you work backwards? Last question first."

"Okay," I said. "Why is Alice calling me at all hours?"

"Because she wants to know what you know. It's certainly not your good looks and charm," Kit said.

"OK, next question. What kind of underwear does Starr Espresso wear?"

"Sounds like you need to do a little research, boss," grinned Kit.

* * *

I drove slowly down Main Street on Saturday morning, looking for Megan, following her mother's inclination that she had headed into town. I didn't find Meg, but I did happen upon a most unusual pair walking through Sterling Park. D'Artagnan Faberge and Moosey looked less like Mutt and Jeff and more like a giant alien parrot creature with his chickadee sidekick. I rolled down my window and gave them a yell.

"Hey you guys! Come here a second will you?"

Moosey recognized my truck right away and scampered over. D'Artagnan took his time, walking with as much cool as he could muster, his hands pushed deep into his pockets.

"Hayden!" Moosey said. "Me and D'Artagnan are searching for the Blessed Virgin Mary Cinnamon Roll. He's gonna pay me two bucks when we find it."

"A princely sum," I said, "but why weren't you in school yesterday?"

"Aw, who told?"

"Never mind. You do it again and I'll tell your mother. Then you
know
what'll happen."

"Yessir," said Moosey. "I won't do it no more." Then he brightened as D'Artagnan strolled up. "Look at our shoes! They're exactly the same!" Moosey held his foot up as high as he could manage without falling over. He was wearing his bright orange high-top tennis shoes—the ones I had bought for him when he had played the Penguin of Bethlehem. I looked at D'Artagnan's shoes. They were the same, though a size fifteen.

"Did you know that D'Artagnan was named after a famous Mouseketeer?" said Moosey.

"Musketeer," muttered D'Artagnan through the strands of his wispy mustache.

"I remember reading that," I said. "Have you guys had any luck in finding the Immaculate Confection?

"Most folks think that
you
stole it," said D'Artagnan, matter-of-factly.

"I assure you I did not."

"We already know that," exclaimed Moosey. "We almost know who did it."

"Hush up, Moosey," said D'Artagnan.

"Care to let me in on it?" I asked.

"Not yet," said D'Artagnan. "All ya'll will know soon enough."

"Fair enough. Good luck, then. By the way, have you seen Meg?"

"She's over at the post office," said Moosey.

"Thanks," I said. "And no more skipping school."

"No sir. I won't."

* * *

Meg had decided to accompany her mother to Saturday night's tent meeting. She had invited me as well, but I declined. I did acquiesce to meet them both for the potluck supper following the service, a potluck featuring peach pies courtesy of Ruby and sautéed portabello mushrooms in garlic from the kitchen of Megan Farthing. Brother Hog had tables ready to set up in the tent as soon as the chairs were cleared away, so Meg told me to meet them at the tent at 7:30 for supper. They'd do their best to save me a place.

I appeared promptly at the designated time and looked around the tent for Meg and Ruby. I spotted them near the back at a table with Noylene, D'Artagnan, Ardine, Moosey and Pauli Girl. The eighth seat was saved for me.

"Hi there," I said. "Did you get me a plate of food?"

"Right here," said Meg, gesturing to the extra plate in front of her place. "Come and sit down."

I sat down in between Noylene and Meg and put the plate that Meg had garnered for me in front of my place. "How did the service go last night, Noylene? Did you get…you know?"

"I certainly did," said Noylene, "and I feel just awesome."

"Awesome, eh? Did you guys sing Pete's hymn?"

"I wanted to, but we didn't have time."

"That's a shame."

"What are you two talking about?" asked Meg.

"I'll tell you later," whispered Noylene.

"And how was the service tonight?" I asked of no one in particular.

"It was fine," said Meg.

"Great!" said Moosey. "Binny Hen was just great."

"It was a good service," said Pearl. "This dinner is good, too."

"I didn't go to the service," said D'Artagnan. "I was busy cookin'."

"I didn't know you could cook, boy," said Noylene. "When did you learn how to do that?"

"Ain't nothin' to it," said D'Artagnan. "Just gotta have something to cook and a big skillet full of hog lard."

"What did you bring, Noylene?" asked Meg, taking a bite of fried chicken.

"I brought my three-bean salad," said Noylene. "A potluck isn't a potluck without some three-bean salad. How about you D'Artagnan?"

"I brought that fried chicken," he said, pointing to the big plate in the middle of our table.

"Aren't you supposed to put the plate of food on the big table so everyone can have a taste?" I asked.

"Sorry," said D'Artagnan. "I got here late.

"Well, it sure is good," said Meg.

"I agree," I said. "Maybe the best I've ever had."

"It should be," said D'Artagnan through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "It's the freshest fried chicken you're ever likely to eat."

The whole table froze. Even Moosey and Pauli Girl stopped in mid-forkful. Only D'Artagnan kept eating.

"What do you mean, son?" said Noylene.

"I mean that chicken was poultry on the hoof about an hour ago."

We all looked at him in horror.

"What?" he said, putting down his fork. "That chicken didn't belong to nobody. She was just out scratchin' behind the tent. Free range, you know? And, I might add, she was the biggest chicken I ever saw."

"Oh my God," said Ardine, putting the chicken leg back on the plate. "Oh my God."

"What?" said D'Artagnan.

"You cooked Binny Hen! That's what!" hissed Noylene. "Now what're you gonna do?"

"Who's Binny Hen?" asked D'Artagnan.

"Brother Hog's Scripture Chicken. You cooked her! She was ordained!"