The Bass Wore Scales (12 page)

“
Not armed, actually,” said Nancy. “The guy threatened Hannah with a small stick. She just freaked out.”

“
Still…” said Pete.

“
Listen,” I said, “take comfort in the fact that all the checkout girls at the Piggly Wiggly are now packing 9mm automatics courtesy of Ken’s Gun Emporium in Banner Elk. So shop with confidence, and, whatever you do, don’t try to sneak through the ten-items-or-less line with a dozen donuts.”

“
Yikes,” said Dave. “I almost always take a dozen donuts through the fast line.”

“
Here’s some news,” said Pete, ignoring him. “A friend of mine is visiting Appalachian State…”

“
Yes,” said Nancy. “That
is
news.”

“
Don’t be snide, Lieutenant Parsky, or I’ll bust you back down to dogcatcher. Don’t forget. I’m the mayor.”

Nancy snorted.

“
As I was saying,” continued Pete, “this friend of mine is a very famous scientist. She wasn’t, of course, when I knew her. She was a hot doctoral student at the University of Maryland. Anyway, now she’s in charge of the Gorilla Project on Interspecies Communication, and she’s on tour with her gorilla.”

“
Kokomo?” asked Collette, overhearing Pete as she walked by the table.

“
Umm, I think so,” said Pete. “That sounds right. How did you know?”

“
Kokomo’s just about the most famous gorilla in the world!” said Collette. “He’s got a little pet kitten, and he can talk with sign language. I saw him on the
Today Show
.”

“
Yeah, that’s him,” said Pete. “My friend Penny says we can come up and see him if y’all want to.”

“
Penny?” I asked.

“
Well, Penelope. She prefers to be called Dr. Pelicane. Dr. P.A. Pelicane, PhD. But she’ll always be ‘Penny’ to me.”

“
I’d
love
to go,” squeaked Collette. “Dave wants to go, too.”

We looked over at Dave, who had a mouthful of pancakes. He stopped chewing, returned our look, then shrugged and continued his breakfast.

“
I want to see that gorilla,” said Noylene. “And meet that woman. She must be a danged genius to teach him how to talk.”

“
Well, Noylene, I think you’re a genius, too,” Collette said. “Look how well your Beautifery has done.”

Noylene blushed. “Nah. I ain’t no genius. I just help folks find their inner beauty. A genius would be one of them guys like Norman Einstein.” Noylene disappeared into the kitchen.

“
Speaking of genius,” said Pete, looking over at me, “I’ve got a new idea I want to run by you.”

“
Let’s hear it,” I said.

“
I met this guy in Charlotte that has a cracker factory. It’s called Pepperick Farms. Right now, they only sell around the state, but they’re looking to go national. So we’re having a couple of beers, and it turns out that he’s a Methodist, and we got to talking about communion.”

“
Yeah,” I said, “I’ve heard of Pepperick Farms.” Noylene reappeared with my omelet and toast.

“
So we’re chatting away like old buds, and he’s telling me that the Methodists have communion once a month.”

“
That’s about right,” I said. “Presbyterians and Methodists—once a month; Catholics, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Church of Christ, Disciples—every week; Baptists—once a quarter whether they need it or not.”

“
So there you go. All these churches are having communion, and most of them are eating these round things that taste like Styrofoam.”

“
Agreed,” I said. Nancy and Dave nodded.

“
So I’m thinking, why not market something to these churches that actually tastes good and has Christian symbolism at the same time?”

“
That sounds like a fine idea,” I said. “What’s the gimmick?”

“
It’s no gimmick,” Pete said. “This is serious. We’re going to start marketing Pepperick Farms Communion Fish.”

“
Communion Fish?” said Nancy, not quite believing what she was hearing.

“
Yep,” said Pete, sitting proudly back in his chair. “Communion Fish in liturgical flavors. You see, the fish will be flavored, as well as coordinated with the correct color for the season.”

“
Dare I ask?” I said.

“
You may,” said Pete, a smile on his face. “We’ve come up with a few, but feel free to add some if you think of any. So far we’ve been thinking about
Angel-Nog
for Christmas,
Vinegar and Gall
for Holy Week,
Pillar O’ Salty
, and
TestaMint
.”

It was too much. Nancy and I burst out in laughter. Pete looked hurt.

“
What? This is a
great
idea!”

“
Oh, we agree,” I said. “Will the fish crackers have little ichthus signs on them? You know, the Jesus fish?”

“
Nah,” said Pete. “Little crosses. We don’t want to confuse anyone.”

“
That’s really good,” laughed Nancy. “How about
Tongues of Flame
—
Cajun Spicy
?”

Pete grabbed a napkin and pulled out a pen. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

“
How about
Paschal Lamb
?” I added. “For Easter. Or maybe
Ah Holy Cheeses
.”

You’re forgetting the best flavor of all,” said Dave, who had finished his pancakes and was now taking an interest in our conversation. We looked across the table at him.

“
Barabba-que
.”

“
Your fortune is as good as made,” I snickered, as Pete scribbled away on his napkin. “I’m sure that many churches will want to participate. Anyway, not to change the subject, but I want to go and see that gorilla.”

“
Me, too,” added Nancy. Dave nodded while Collette and Noylene stood by the counter, looking hopeful.

“
Everyone’s coming then,” I said. “Better call Dr. P.A. Pelicane and set it up, Pete.”

* * *

Unlike in the winter months, the days in early summer pass pretty quickly for us police-folk. There’s always some problem to take care of, usually tourist-related as the locals and the reverse snowbirds know the routine, and, as irritating as the tourists can be, these folks are the life-blood of St. Germaine, and it pays to be nice. But nice, for me, wears thin after a while. I had just told Dave I was leaving and climbed behind the wheel of my truck when Bev Greene tapped on the windshield.

“
Can I talk to you for a bit?” she asked.

“
I’ve got to drive in to Boone,” I said. “My chainsaw is fixed, and the repair shop closes in a half-hour. You want to ride with me?”

“
Sure,” answered Bev. She opened the passenger side door and climbed in. “Not too comfortable, is it?”

“
These old trucks weren’t built for comfort, but this one’s working on 500,000 miles. Not too bad, I’d say.” The Chevy rumbled to life and the sound of William Byrd’s
Mass for Three Voices
came out of the speakers. I reached over and turned it down.

“
Better roll your window down,” I said. “No air-conditioning.”

“
I’m fine,” replied Bev. “It’s a hair thing. And anyway, it’s a beautiful day.”

She was right. We’d had more than our fair share of breathtaking weather during the month of May. It had stayed cool longer than any other year in recent memory, or so it seemed. The humidity was low and the mountain breezes just kept on coming. If you were out in the evening, it was a good idea to bring along a sweater. We drove out of St. Germaine and out to the Old Chambers Road, the winding, treacherous and very scenic alternate route to Boone.

“
I thought you were in a hurry,” Bev said.

“
I have half an hour. We’ll be fine. Anyway, this is a much nicer drive than taking the highway.”

Bev nodded. “The vestry met last night. An emergency meeting. Remember? I think I told you about it.”

“
I remember.”

“
Billy finally got in touch with Father George. Apparently, the pigeon debacle at Pentecost was the straw that broke the rector’s back. He packed up his stuff and had the movers come the next night. I didn’t even know you could
get
movers to work at night.”

“
Well, that’s that, then.” I replied. “What’s the plan?” I took a particularly sharp curve a little too fast, and Bev bounced against the truck door.

“
Hey, where’s the seatbelt?” she asked, looking for a shoulder belt and, not seeing one, checking the old bench seat for a lap belt.

“
Doesn’t have any. Too early. Seatbelts weren’t even put in this model.”

“
Oh, that’s just
great!
Then slow down will you?”

“
Yeah. Sorry. Now, you were saying?”

“
I’ve forgotten.” She scrunched up her nose. “Oh yeah. The vestry got on a conference call with Gaylen Weatherall. You remember—she was teaching religious studies at Lenoir-Rhyne College last year.”

I nodded.

“
The vestry asked her if she’d like to come as an interim with an eye toward becoming our full-time priest if things worked out.”

“
Sort of a rent-with-option-to-buy deal,” I said, with a smile. “A trial basis.”

“
Yep. We’d try her out, she’d try us out, and then we’d see what happens.”

“
I’ve seen other churches hire their interim, and sometimes it works out,” I said, taking another curve, this time slower. “Generally, it’s an interim priest that the church ends up liking while they’re looking for someone else. They realize they already have what they’re looking for and offer the interim priest the job. How long is the trial period?”

“
Through the end of the year. Then we make a decision to either hire her full-time or look for another interim.”

“
That seems fair enough.”

“
Well, Gaylen seems very enthusiastic. She’ll be here tomorrow to look around, and she’d really like to meet with
you.
”

“
Me? Why me?”

“
Well…umm…” started Bev, not knowing how quite to broach the subject. “The vestry sort of told her that you were still the choir director, albeit on leave, and that you would be willing to come in and talk to her about resuming your duties.”