The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (25 page)

"Didn't know he had a Scripture Chicken," said D'Artagnan with a shrug. "Nothin' we can do about it now anyway." He reached over to the plate of chicken and took another piece.

"He has a point," I said, reaching across the table with my fork. "And this is really good fried chicken."

"I just can't eat it," said Ardine.

"Can I have your piece?" asked Moosey, passing his plate across the table to his mother.

"Someone's going to have to tell Brother Hog," Meg said.

"I'll tell him. I'm the one who did it," said D'Artagnan. "Anyone want any more?"

"Well, I think I'd like a piece," said Ruby, ignoring the glare that Meg gave her—a look that would melt the congealed salad sitting uneaten on her plate.

"I mean, if it's
that
good."

Chapter 20

I walked around the corner, heading for my favorite pub--the Possum 'n Peasel-- the rain bouncing off my hat with a plink-plink like someone playing a Bach invention on a three-note piano gone flat. Starr was waiting for me in a lime-green and black number that looked like she'd been spray-painted by a couple of graffiti artists and rolled in a dumpster full of sequins. If I was here to discern what kind of underwear Starr was wearing, I didn't have to discern very long. If there was any room for underwear between her skin and what passed for evening wear, it would have to be as thin as my list of suspects.

"Starr, baby," I said, lighting up a stogy. "Lovely to see you again. Nice outfit."

"Like it? I had it sprayed on this afternoon. It's the latest thing."

"So, those really are your...?"

"You bet they are mister," she said proudly. "These sequins are sort of prickly, though."

"Let's take a seat, Starr."

"Sorry. I can't sit down. It'd kill me."

"Ah, right," I said. "Let's get a drink at the bar then."

We walked up to the bar--me, shamelessly checking out her paint-job and she, doing her best to scuttle as gracefully as she could, mildly hampered by the fact that every time her thighs rubbed together, her sequins harmonized like a chorus of crickets singing the Duruflé
Requiem
, then popped off like it was molting season at a majorette convention.

"I'll have a beer and a bump," I said to Stumpy.

"I'll have a Chocolate Martini with just a jiggle of Kahlua," cooed Starr.

"This here's a pub," said Stumpy, banging on the floor with his wooden peg-leg. "Not one of your Nancy-bars. Order a real drink."

"A Kiwi Daiquiri?"

"No."

"A Purple Hooter?"

"No."

"An Apricot Squirt?"

"No."

"Give her a beer," I said. "And put it in a dirty glass."

* * *

"I like this installment," said Rebecca Watts on Sunday morning as we gathered for the service. "I used to be a majorette, you know."

"Really? And did you twirl fire-batons as well as regular ones? I ask because Pentecost is only seven months away, and I'd like to start planning ahead."

"Yes, fire-batons are no problem. Just tell me when to be here."

"There will be no fire-batons," said Meg. "And I hope this literary exercise is almost over because it's starting to give me hives. Really! I mean it! Look here." She extended her arm.

"I think that's just a mosquito bite," said Rebecca.

* * *

The service, on that particular Sunday, included readings from II Timothy and the Gospel of Luke as well as words of gloom and doom from Jeremiah and Psalm 84. The Gospel lesson was the story of the Pharisee and the tax collector, and the choir was going to highlight the reading of the gospel with Heinrich Schütz's dialogue and chorus. Randy Hatteberg and Bob Solomon were in the title roles and the choir was well prepared to end the argument with the words of Our Savior. The puppets, however, were going to be illustrating the Epistle Lesson—the second letter from Paul to Timothy in which he (Paul) proclaims, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." At least, that was the current plan.

The Puppet-Moment had been scheduled right after the Psalm, so the kids hadn't even heard the Epistle lesson when Father George called them forth. They walked tentatively down the aisle—small and cunning creatures like those little dinosaurs that looked so cute, but then ate Wayne Knight in the first
Jurassic Park
movie.

Brenda, a.k.a. Princess Foo-Foo, had taken her place behind the puppet stage along with Lynn Askew and JJ. I knew why JJ had volunteered. She was always ready for anything that looked like it might be reasonably entertaining.

I had walked by the first through third grade Sunday School classroom on my way up to the choir loft and had heard the children getting prepped like witnesses getting ready to go before the grand jury.

"Now, children," I had heard Princess Foo-Foo say, "we're going to have you come down for a Puppet-Moment during church."

"I love puppets," said Moosey.

"Moosey, you're not to say a word. Do you understand? Not one word, or I'll call your mother and tell her about you trying to push the altar candles up Robert's nose."

"We were playing 'The Walrus of Bethlehem.'"

Foo-Foo ignored him. "And none of the rest of you had better say anything either. Do I make myself clear?"

I headed to the loft with a big grin on my face and donned an even bigger one as they were called forward; the dinosaur children now stalking the oblivious Director of Christian Ed. Leading the pack was Bernadette, followed by Moosey, Ashley, Robert, Christopher and a girl I didn't know. They gathered around the portable puppet stage—PVC pipes pushed together into a flimsy frame strewn with some dark blue material left over from the Christmas Pageant. They sat down and waited expectantly for the show to begin. Father George had moved beside the stage, possibly to facilitate the interaction, but more probably to exercise damage control if things got out of hand.

Up popped a puppet. It was one of those Sesame Street type puppets dressed as an old man with gray hair and a mustache, half a body with a big head and one arm worked by a supporting rod. Old Man Puppet was followed by a lady puppet, if one could believe the red wig, and a younger female in golden Wagnerian pigtails. The children clapped politely.

Princess Foo-Foo, obviously playing the part of the old man, spoke in a gravelly voice.

"Good morning children. This morning we'd like to talk to you about working with diligence for the Lord in preparation for our final reward in heaven." The children nodded politely.

Pigtails spoke next. It was JJ and she was reading from the script.

"I'm going to describe something and I want you to raise your hand when you know what it is."

The children nodded politely.

"They're ready," said Father George in complete control. The members of the choir were leaning forward in their chairs with anticipation.

"This thing," said Pigtails, "lives in trees and eats nuts."

Silence.

"Anyone know?"

"Here's another hint," said Red Hair, alias Lynn. "It's gray and has a long bushy tail."

Silence.

"Raise your hands, children, when you know the answer," said Father George, a worried timbre creeping into his voice. Still nothing. They were perfect angels following previous orders.

"Here's another hint," said Old Man Puppet. "He jumps from branch to branch."

Silence.

Old Man Puppet was running out of clues and was now deviating from the script. The entire congregation could all sense it and the anticipation was almost palpable.

"He chatters when he's excited," said Old Man Puppet.

"He flips his tail and has big teeth," interrupted Pigtails, trying to help.

Silence.

Followed by more silence.

"Bernadette" said Father George. "Do you know?" She shook her head side to side very slowly.

It was obvious that the puppets couldn't continue without an answer. Their script depended on it and the cast was out of clues.

"It's gray," summed up Father George, "has a long, bushy tail and big teeth…jumps from branch to branch and chatters when he's excited…"

Finally, a tentative hand went up. It was Christopher. Everyone in the congregation breathed an audible sigh of relief. Father George pointed to him.

"Well," said Christopher, as the congregation leaned forward to hear him, "I know the answer must be Jesus, but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me!"

A roar went up from the church. JJ was the first to fall, literally howling with laughter. She had one hand inside Pigtails and the other working a rod with the puppet arm attached and hence, couldn't catch herself when her guffawing threw her totally off balance and into the PVC puppet stage. The stage came down over the children in a cascade of blue velveteen and plastic piping. Lynn tried to catch it, but overbalanced as well and collapsed—now as hysterical as JJ—on top of the pile, her hands still entangled in her own puppet. Neither one of them could manage to get up, or even get a breath, because every time they looked at each other, rolling in that velveteen ocean surrounded by diminutive arms, legs, and heads poking through the waves of material looking for all the world like the aftermath of Noah's flood, another roar went up from the two of them. The congregation was in convulsions as well. Even Father George had to sit down for a moment, fighting in vain the smile trying to cross his visage. Only Brenda, with a stern look on her face, remained upright, the last bastion of all things well-rehearsed.

The congregation was still laughing as a couple of folks in the front two pews managed to get everyone untangled from the remains of the jumbled stage. Two of the ushers finally made it to the front and collected the conglomeration of plastic pipes, material and two lifeless puppets and carried the wreckage out the side door and into the chapel for restoration. The children, still on their best behavior, however rumpled from the experience, strolled in pairs back down the center aisle.

"Was it a squirrel?" asked Christopher, walking hand-in-hand with Ashley.

"No, I think you were right," said Ashley. "It was Jesus."

* * *

"Hayden, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I looked up from my postlude following the uneventful remainder of the service to see Davis Boothe standing in the choir loft. Davis wasn't in the choir, although I had tried to recruit him many times. He had a very good singing voice and had told me, when he first moved to St. Germaine, that he had done some stage work in community theaters around the Asheville area. Davis was new to the vestry and worked at Don'
s
—the clothing store on the square. He was unmarried, in his thirties, genteel and fairly obviously gay, although I had never seen him with a significant other. If he wasn't, said Nancy, he was missing a heck of a chance.

"Sure, Davis. What's up?"

"My car was spray painted last night. I didn't call downtown because I knew I'd see you this morning."

"I'm really sorry. You think it was kids?"

"I don't think so, but I don't know. I went to bed around eleven. When I came out to get in my car this morning, I was greeted with this." He handed me a picture printed from a digital camera. His dark blue Volvo was covered in yellow graffiti. "Queer," "homo," and "fag" were the largest and most visible of the epithets.

"Aw, jeeze," I groaned. We hadn't seen this sort of thing for a long time.

"I drove my old VW in this morning. The Volvo's still at the house. Can you come and look at it? I need a police report for the insurance company."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I need to go to this vestry meeting. Then Nancy or I will come out, take some pictures and file a report."