The Mezzo Wore Mink (2 page)

“
You can
do
that?” said Noylene. “Dang! Wait till I tell Wormy!” She hurried into the kitchen.

“
You’ve got to stop teasing her,” I said.

“
I knows it. I jes’ cain’t hep myself.”

The cowbell hanging on the door bounced loudly against the glass and clanged the arrival of another customer. To Pete, it was a sweet sound. The rest of us might prefer the tinkle of a smaller, more delicate chime, but Pete said he always wanted to know when someone came in, even if he was in the kitchen. “It’s the sound of cash,” he explained. “On the hoof.”

Nancy came through the door, attired, as usual, in her uniform, walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and, after adjusting her gun belt, sat down opposite Pete. She ran her fingers through her hair and did her best to fluff her coif back to a semi-normal appearance.

“
Helmet hair,” she explained. “It’s a slight drawback, I’ll admit, but being a motorcycle cop is great this time of year. Where’s Noylene? I need some coffee.”

“
She’s calling Wormy,” said Pete, sipping his own brew. “Needs him to check his sperm count.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“
He might have to qualify for a mortgage,” I explained.

“
I’ll need an omelet,” said Nancy to no one in particular. “An omelet and some toast.”

Noylene came out of the kitchen, spied Nancy and came over to the table with a cup in one hand and the coffee pot in the other.

“
Omelet. Toast,” mumbled Nancy.

“
Will do, hon,” said Noylene, deftly filling Nancy’s cup. Then she turned to Pete. “It won’t work. Wormy says that he’s been impudent since he signed up for medical experiments down in Columbia. Course, that’s been ten years ago.”

“
Really?” I said. “Medical experiments can make you impudent?”

“
I guess so,” shrugged Noylene.

Nancy shook her head and focused her attention on fixing her coffee. Cream and a lot of sugar.

“
Y’all going to stay married?” Pete asked. “I mean, if you can’t have marital relations, what’s the point?”

“
I see where y’all are confused,” said Noylene with a smile. “Our relations are just fine. Wormy’s just impudent. That means he’s shootin’ blanks.”

•••

“
Tell me about your master plan for St. Germaine,” I said to Pete. “What’s your grand scheme?”

Nancy’s omelet had arrived at the table and Noylene had brought some sawmill gravy for the remaining biscuits. I helped myself.

“
I plan to use strateegery,” answered Pete. “Strateegery and paradigms. And tax breaks for new businesses.”

“
Tax breaks?” said Nancy. “What kind of tax breaks?”

“
We’re waiving the St. Germaine Privilege Tax for two years.”

“
You’re going to make some folks really mad,” I said. “What about Noylene? The Bear and Brew? The Ginger Cat?”

“
Sorry,” said Pete. “This is the way other towns do it. New businesses only.”

“
What’s this privilege tax?” asked Nancy.

“
It’s a privilege to have a business in St. Germaine, so we get to tax you.”

“
That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“
It’s just a license to do business. The town takes a small percentage,” I explained. “Standard procedure.”

“
What if they close up and re-open under a new name?” Nancy asked. “They’d be a new business and not have to pay the tax. Legally, anyway.”

Pete sighed. “I’ll talk to the council. Maybe we can waive everybody for two years. It might be worth it in the long run.”

“
Who’s coming in?” I asked.

“
There’s a bookstore, a high-end day spa, and a music store.”

“
Really?” said Nancy. “That’s great. We need a music store. And a bookstore would be great, too.”

“
And a coffee house,” added Pete. “It’s part of the day spa. The owners are very concerned about having a Christian business. They give Christian massages and feed you Christian coffee and Christian cakes. Coffee on the first floor, massage parlor on the second.” He paused. “No, that doesn’t sound right.”

I laughed. “Sounds
delightful
. But you said you had another one on the hook. What’s the fourth one?”

“
It’s a furrier,” said Pete. “Fur coats I think, but they won’t be downtown. They’re too big. They say they’ll probably employ six or seven workers at first. It’s not a done deal.”

“
Cynthia will not be pleased. You’ve just taken away her platform. Now she has to go after your underwear.”

“
I’m not wearing any,” said Pete with a chuckle.

“
Me neither,” said Nancy.

Pete and I looked at her for a long moment. I could see Pete’s eye beginning to twitch.

“
Oh, get a grip you guys. I’m just kidding.”

Pete relaxed. “Whew…for a moment there I thought I loved you.”

Nancy changed the subject. “You batching it for long?”

“
Till Friday. Meg will be back on Saturday evening.”

“
Dave’s gone, too,” said Nancy. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

I hadn’t noticed, but it was only Tuesday morning. If Nancy hadn’t said anything I might not have noticed until a week from Friday. Dave, with his ubiquitous khakis and light blue button-downs, had an uncanny ability to disappear into the background, even when on duty at the police station.

“
Of course I noticed,” I said. “Where is he, anyway?”

“
He’s at banjo camp.”

“
What?” said Pete.

“
He’s at banjo camp,” repeated Nancy. “He asked for the week off a couple of months ago. Remember?”

“
Uh…sure,” I said. “Banjo camp. Absolutely.”

Nancy smiled and shook her head. “You can’t remember anything anymore. Why don’t you write this stuff down? Or, better yet, get yourself a PDA or something. How about a BlackBerry?”

“
With that silly little stylus? That would just be too embarrassing. Anyway, I don’t need one. I keep everything right up here.” I tapped on my noggin.

“
When’s Dave coming back from banjo camp?” asked Pete. “I want to hear him play.”

“
He’s not at banjo camp,” said Nancy. “I was kidding. Hayden sent him to Greensboro for a seminar on conflict management and negotiations.”

“
Huh?” I said. “Oh, yeah. I did.”

“
Notebook?” asked Nancy.

“
I’ll try a BlackBerry,” I said.

Chapter 2

Enough money can do many wondrous things, I marveled as I unpacked my resized and newly blocked gray felt hat exactly thirty-eight hours after I had received it from Barbara Chandler Forrest. Expedited FedEx both ways and an extra incentive to my haberdasher to stay up late had hastened the process dramatically. I am not a patient man—especially when the muse is finally knocking on the door. She needed to be let in and welcomed like a rich, elderly maiden aunt.

I placed the hat gently on my head, smiling as the band settled neatly on my brow. A glance into a mirror confirmed my satisfaction, and I added a rakish angle with a self-satisfied grin. It was now or never. I could almost feel the typewriter beckoning me with its “come-hither” keys. I sat at the desk, rolled in a piece of bond, and felt the silent bumps of the carriage return. Then, with a sigh of happiness, I started typing.

A liturgical detective is as welcome in a church as a plumbing inspector in a urologist’s office. I pulled my hat down low, lit a stogie, and slumped in my pew as the notes of a Bach fugue beat me about the head like a nun on St. Dorcas Day until I was praying for just one verse of “Softly and Tenderly.” I was there to meet a client sent over by the bishop. I work for him. Yeah, I’m a detective.

This was a Baptist church and except for the organist, it was as empty as a Baptist church on Good Friday. I checked my calendar. Good Friday. I pulled the piece of wadded-up paper out of my pocket and looked at the name. AveMaria Gratsyplena. It was a flat cinch this ankle wasn’t a Baptist and wasn’t looking to convert. I had questions. Questions and queries. Why did the bishop send me over here? How did Noah clean up after those hippos? And, if you have a cold hot-pocket, is it just a pocket?

Suddenly a shot rang out, a knife whizzed by my ear, a hangman’s noose dropped ominously from the balcony, and a bottle of cyanide appeared mysteriously in the hymnal rack in front of me next to a little plastic communion cup neatly engraved with a skull and crossbones. I picked up a hymnal and it fell open to hymn number 354—“Where Will You Spend Eternity?”—and I shivered as the cold feet of three baby church mice ran up and down my spine. Something wasn’t right. I could feel it. There was a clue here somewhere. Then it came to me. A Bach fugue in a Baptist church? I don’t think so.

•••

“
Tell me again when Meg is coming home?” Nancy asked. “You’re looking distinctly less kempt than usual.”

I looked down at my flannel shirt and jeans. “How so? This is what I always wear.”

“
No. That’s what you always wear when Meg is out of town.”

I looked out the plate glass window of the police station. The town square wasn’t exactly bustling, but there were a few folks out and about.

“
Hmm. I don’t know what you mean, but Meg will be back tomorrow night.”

“
Did you open your windows?”

“
Windows? Why?”

“
Because you’ve been smoking cigars in the house again, that’s why.”

“
How did you?…Never mind.” I changed the subject. “What’s the news around town?”

“
Dave will be back this afternoon,” said Nancy. “And the bookstore is moving in next to Noylene’s. I just drove by. Someone’s inside painting and there’s a sign up.”

“
Glad to hear it. How about our new music store?”

“
Behind the Ginger Cat on North Main. You know…where Beaver Jergenson had his chainsaw repair shop. Beaver says he can’t afford the rent, so he’s working out of his garage. I looked in the window, but there didn’t seem to be any activity. Pete says they’ll be in before next week.”

“
A bookstore and a music store,” I mused. “We’re really starting to expand. If we could get a donut store here on the square, we wouldn’t have to send Dave to the Piggly Wiggly every morning.”

“
You don’t eat the ones we get.”

“
I’m watching my girlish figure,” I said. “Besides, I contend that it’s our duty as law enforcement officers to support the donut trade in town.”

Nancy harrumphed. “Well, I’m looking forward to the music store. I’m tired of driving into Boone every time I want a new CD.”

“
You could try the internet,” I said.