The Mezzo Wore Mink (15 page)

“
Licensed Christian massage therapist.”

“
You left St. Germaine on Sunday afternoon?”

“
Late afternoon. We were out at the labyrinth until about four. Then the guests left and we headed for Galax about an hour later. We’ve been there since Sunday night.”

“
Galax, Virginia?”

“
Yes.”

“
A little chilly for nudists, isn’t it?” I asked.

“
No, our group is used to it. We actually prefer a bit of a chill in the air. Until it gets down around forty-five degrees we’re pretty comfortable. And if there’s a bonfire going, we’re just fine. It’s amazing how quickly you can warm up next to a fire when you have no clothes on.”

I nodded thoughtfully and pretended to write down this important warming-up information on my pad, at the same time doing my best not to conjure up any mental images.

“
You got back this morning?”

“
About eleven. Cynthia was working in the coffee bar. We didn’t go into the garden until about one. Actually, it was Chad who found her. It’s such a tragedy. When will we find out what happened?”

“
I don’t know,” I said. “We’ll wait for the coroner to tell us.” I snapped the pad closed and put it back into my pocket. “Do you think I might have a cup of coffee?”

“
Oh, absolutely!” Lacie walked around the kitchen table to the three thermoses of coffee sitting on the counter by the sink. “What kind would you like? We have
Jamaican Me Crazy, Vietnamese Robusta
and
Sumatran Decaf
. If you don’t like one of those I can brew you another.”

“
The Jamaican one sounds fine,” I answered as I followed her to the counter. “And maybe a muffin, unless you have a piece of pie. I’ll be glad to pay for it. I don’t want you to think the police force comes in for free coffee and snacks.”

Lacie laughed and filled a mug from the nearest thermos. “It’s on the house, but we don’t serve pie I’m afraid. What kind of muffin would you like? Blueberry, banana-nut, raspberry…”

“
How about rhubarb?”

She looked at me quizzically and handed me the mug of coffee. “No. Sorry.”

“
Ah,” I said. “I was hoping for a rhubarb fix.”

Lacie looked confused.

“
I was just about to order the last piece of rhubarb pie when we were called over,” I explained. “It’s that time of year—pumpkin and rhubarb. I thought you might have made some rhubarb muffins.

Lacie still looked confused.

“
Since you have some rhubarb sitting in the sink,” I said with a laugh, pointing to the cleaned stalks resting under the faucet.

“
Oh, sure,” she said, comprehension spreading across her face. “We have a new recipe, but we haven’t made them yet. We’ll make some up next week.”

“
How about pumpkin?”

“
Pumpkin we have,” Lacie said, going over to a glass case and removing a large, dark orange muffin the size of a grapefruit. “Would you like me to heat that up?”

“
No, thanks,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. Lacie put the muffin on a plate and set it in front of me along with a paper napkin and a fork. I ignored the fork, broke off a piece of the muffin and followed the bite by a sip of coffee.

“
Delicious. The coffee, too.”

Lacie sat down across from me. “Thanks. Glad you like it.”

I broke off another bite, this time smaller, and took the time to savor the coffee that followed it into my mouth. I wiped the corners of my mouth with the paper napkin and asked, “How many people are in your Naked Club?”

She managed an offended look, but the upturned corners of her mouth gave her away. Then she giggled. “We prefer the term ‘Naturists,’ although ‘Nudists’ isn’t considered incorrect. ‘Naked Club’ is definitely out.”

I gave a chuckle. “Pardon me. I shall rephrase the question. How many nudists are in your hangout?”

“
Oh, puhleease,” she groaned. “Hangout?
Really!
Save me from any more nudist jokes. Anyway, there’re about fifty. Ours is a Christian group. We’re the Galax Chapter of the Daystar Naturists for God and Love. You should come out and try it. You’re a Christian, aren’t you?”

“
Absolutely. But I’m pretty sure my particular religious affiliation forbids nudism.”

“
Which one is that?” she asked, dazzling me with another dental display.

“
Whichever one forbids it,” I answered.

•••

Mike and Joe, our two EMTs, had loaded Thelma into the ambulance and were pulling away when Dave joined us on the front porch.

“
I didn’t find a purse,” he said, “but I did find this. It was hanging in the hedge by the strap.”

He produced a carved, J-shaped wooden object about sixteen inches long with a leather thong attached to one end.

“
What the heck is it?” Dave asked.

“
Hey!” said Nancy. “That’s one of those…uh..thingys.”

“
It certainly is,” I said, pulling out my handkerchief and using it to take the object from Dave’s gloved hand. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s a krummhorn.”

“
What’s a krummhorn?” asked Chad.

“
You mean it’s not yours?”

“
Never seen it before.”

I looked over at Lacie. “Nope,” she said, no longer smiling.

“
Cynthia?”

She just shook her head.

Chapter 10

Cynthia had taken the rest of the day off and Holy Grounds closed early. The four of us went back to the station after Nancy and I had one more look around the back yard. We didn’t find anything.

“
Okay,” said Meg. “What’s a krummhorn?”

“
A Renaissance reed instrument,” I said.

“
Just like that fellow sells over at the Appalachian Music Shoppe,” said Nancy, flipping her pad open. “Ian Burch, PhD.”

“
Just like it,” I said.

“
What was it doing in the bushes?” asked Meg.

“
That’s what we’d all like to know,” I said. “Check it for fingerprints, will you?”

“
You think she was killed?” asked Dave. “She was pretty old. Maybe she just…you know…expired.”

“
Maybe,” I said. “But why was the krummhorn in the bushes? First Davis and now Thelma?”

“
It could be a coincidence,” Meg offered. “We know that Davis committed suicide. Maybe Thelma had a heart attack or something.”

“
I’m sure that’s it,” I said. “Kent will tell us soon enough.” I turned to Nancy. “When’s Davis going to be cremated?”

Nancy picked up a clipboard and flipped through some papers. “Kent was sending the body over this afternoon. The HIV test was negative, by the way. They’ll probably do the cremation tonight.”

“
Call Kent and put it on hold, will you? Let’s leave Davis in the morgue. He can stay on ice for a little longer.”

“
What are you thinking?”

“
Don’t know yet. Did you ever find his doctor?”

“
I never really looked,” said Nancy. “I thought we were going with suicide.”

“
We were. But now let’s look.”

•••

“
Did you hear?” said Marjorie. “Thelma Wingler died!”

I was seated at the organ and choir rehearsal was minutes away; that is, if we’d manage to start on time, a thin hope at best.

“
I heard,” I answered.

“
I heard she was murdered at the spa,” said Mark Wells. “By a talking gorilla.”

“
You shouldn’t make jokes,” said Elaine. “She’s dead, for heaven’s sake.”

“
Well,” said Mark, running a hand through his sparse beard, “I didn’t much care for Thelma. She was a nasty piece of work. Double charged me to cremate my grandfather.”

“
Double charged you?” said Elaine.

“
Yeah. She told me that anyone over three hundred pounds cost double due to fuel consumption. And grandpa was a big ol’ boy.”

“
That seems reasonable.”

“
You’d think,” said Mark. “I found out later that fat folks actually only use
half
the fuel. They get them cookin’ and then shut the burners down. Their own juices take care of the rest.”

“
Ewww!” said the entire soprano section.

“
That’s more information than any of us needed,” said Elaine.

“
How old was the old bat?” asked Mark.

“
She was at least eighty,” said Steve DeMoss. “Or ninety.”

“
I didn’t care for her either,” said Elaine, “but we don’t speak ill of the departed. She is, after all, now safe in the arms of Jesus.”

“
I sincerely doubt that,” said Mark. “I’d say she’s down there giving the devil his due.”

“
We don’t have to sing for the funeral, do we?” asked Rebecca.

“
I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m not sure that Father Lemming knows we do that sort of thing.”

“
Well, don’t tell him,” said Mark. “I’m busy anyway.”

“
You don’t even know when it is,” said Georgia, who’d just sat down.

“
Doesn’t matter.”

“
We’ll worry about it when it happens,” I said. “We don’t need to rehearse anything new.” It was true. We had three or four nice funeral anthems under our belt, and could sing them without much notice.

“
What about the schedule next week?” asked Meg. “Don’t forget to announce the debate.”

“
Right,” I said. “Next Wednesday we’ll start at 6:30 instead of seven. There’s a mayoral debate at eight o’clock over at the courthouse. We need to go over and support Pete.”

“
Or Cynthia,” said Marjorie, with a sniff.

“
Or Cynthia,” I agreed.

“
Hi y’all!” called a voice from the back of the choir loft. Everyone turned at once and saw a lively redhead bounce down the steps followed doggedly by a man wearing jeans, a sweater with “Blueridge Furs” etched across the left breast and an expression that said “Choir practice? Just kill me now.”

“
I’m Muffy Lemieux,” she said, giddier than a cheerleader in a pom-pom store. “This here is my husband, Varmit. We’ve come to join the choir!”