The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) (32 page)

“
The first time this reliquary is mentioned in the written record,” said Arthur Farrant proudly, “is in 1470. Twenty-two years before Columbus set off for the New World. In England, the War of the Roses was in full swing.”

“
And are the bones of one of the Three Kings really in there?” asked Bev, astonished to be viewing such a thing in the conference room of St. Barnabas.

“
Of course not,” said J.D. Overnight with a smirk. “It’s all superstition. Superstition and nonsense.”

“
Well,” said Father Farrant, “it’s a legend, of course, but there’s no denying that Christians and saints have been coming to view this shrine since 1164, the year that the relics of the Three Kings made their way from Milan to the cathedral in Cologne. Can you imagine the prayers that have been offered up in the presence of these holy relics? Prayers for protection against the black plague, prayers for kings and monarchs and nations, prayers for family, for wealth and power, prayers for strength and courage in battle, prayers against tyranny...” Arthur took a deep breath. “It’s a humbling thing to contemplate.”

J.D. Overnight blew a puff of air from his oversized lips in disgust.

“
And,” added Arthur with a twinkle in his eye, “there is certainly the possibility that those bones are actually one of the Three Kings.”

“
Oh, I believe it,” said Bev. “Have you ever looked inside?”

“
Oh, no! The last time it was opened was in 1892, when it was rediscovered. But the priests did leave us with a written account of the contents along with a drawing of what they found inside. It’s in the archives of the church.”

Arthur traced his finger across the lid.

“
There’s a special compartment along the back of the reliquary,” he said, indicating a space about half the width of the box. “It contains the remains of old rotten and molded bandages, most likely made of
byssus.
There are some pieces of aromatic resins and similar substances. There’s also a lot of dust and other particles.”

“
What’s byssus?” asked Gaylen.

“
It’s an exceedingly fine and very valuable textile known to the ancients. This was most probably made from the finest Egyptian white flax. Of course, there’s not much left now.”

“
What about bones?” asked Bev.

“
There are numerous bones,” said Arthur with a smile, “and pieces of bones. But they’re quite small and brown. You know the story of Ewen, our Welsh priest, and the caravan sent to Cologne by Emperor Barbarossa?”

“
We do,” I said. “I filled them all in.”

“
Well, we think that Ewen didn’t want to get caught purloining any of the major bones. Of course, a rib here or there or a lot of little finger bones would hardly be missed. There are also two medieval coins in the box, both made of silver and only stricken on one side. They would be very valuable.”

“
Amazing,” I said.

“
I’d give anything to take a peek inside,” Bev said.

“
Sorry,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “There isn’t even a key that I know of. No worries. You’re in good company. None of the thousands of pilgrims to St. Hywyn’s ever saw the actual bones.”

Chapter 38

“
So where are the bones of the King being stashed?” asked Meg.

“
They’re locked up in Gaylen’s office,” I said. “When the service begins, one of the acolytes will carry the box in during the processional hymn and place it on the altar.”

“
Neat!”

“
Then, after the service, Arthur Farrant will give a talk in the fellowship hall for whoever wants to stay—the history of the bones, relics in general, that sort of thing.”

“
We’re staying, right?”

“
I wouldn’t miss it.”

“
What are we singing for the Epiphany service?” asked Meg.

“
Lo! Star-Led Chiefs
,” I said.

“
What
?” said Meg. “We all thought you were making us sing through it as a joke.”

“
Nope,” I said. “I’d never make fun of a composer named William Crotch.”

•••

The twelve children who showed up for Kimberly Walnut’s Cocoon lock-in were the same children that generally showed up for everything. Moosey, Bernadette, Ashley, and Christopher had been in Sunday School together since they were five. Dewey was the newest member of the gang, taking the place of Robert who jumped the puddle and became a Baptist.

Garth and Garrett Douglas (the twins) joined the church a couple of years ago. They were a pair of terrors, and I suspected that they were only allowed to attend Cocoon because their mother Emily had agreed to be a chaperone. Stuart, Lily, Samantha, and Madison were new to the church as well, having joined in the fall after their triumphant debut in
Elisha and the Two Bears.
Addie Buss was Benny Dawkins’ thurific protégé, but, despite her growing reputation as a smoke-slinger, she was still just one of the kids.

I could see that Kimberly Walnut and Emily Douglas were going to have their hands full when I walked into the church at six o’clock. They were both in the kitchen putting together a fried chicken supper they’d bought from Piggly Wiggly. Kimberly Walnut had given the children the assignment of sitting quietly and drawing a picture of their favorite Biblical Christmas scene. The children had taken this to mean that they were to invent a game called “Hymnal Attack,” a game reminiscent of “Space Invaders,” in which the bombardiers (girls) dropped hymnals from the choir loft onto the targets (boys) who walked to and fro on the main floor, stiff-legged and as fast as they could.

“
Hey,” yelled Dewey, as one bomb found its mark. “No throwing! You’re only allowed to drop it!”

“
Oops, sorry!” called Samantha, her apology followed by a plethora of stifled giggles. “We won’t count the points for that one.”

“
Just wait until it’s our turn!” said Stuart.

“
We have to get to a hundred first,” called Addie, dropping another hymnal. Bang! it went, and knocked Garth to the floor. Cheers came from the balcony and the boys redoubled their efforts to walk faster.

I watched for a moment, shook my head with a smile, and headed for the kitchen. As I walked past the chapel, I saw Gaylen setting up for the vespers service. I stuck my head in.

“
Hi. How’s it going?” I said.

“
Fine,” said Gaylen. “Everything is going great. The kids are upstairs busily drawing pictures of the Christmas story and we’ll be discussing their art during vespers. I think Kimberly Walnut’s finally got a handle on this thing.”

“
I think that she does,” I agreed.

•••

Gaylen Weatherall’s office was open. I stuck my head in the door and saw the reliquary sitting on the side table beside her desk. I walked over to it and checked the lid just for fun. Locked. I was sixty-eight percent sure that it was the reliquary that the killer was after. Nancy, Dave, and I would be up all night, but we figured that, if we could nail her for grand theft, maybe the feds could make a murder case later. They’d been collecting a lot of evidence over the years. They might be able to put something together.

I knew that Gaylen would lock her office when she left for the evening and I was going to make myself conspicuous until then. Then I’d retire surreptitiously to my own office and listen to the microphone that Nancy had hidden on Gaylen’s bookshelf. I’d give her a call as soon as I heard our thief enter the rector’s office. Nancy and Dave would arrest her as she walked out.

•••

“
Jeez,” said Nancy into her cell phone. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. What’s she waiting for?”

“
I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe we’ve got this whole thing figured wrong.”

“
Yeah, maybe.”

•••

At 4:15 my cell vibrated on the desk. I picked it up and flipped it open. “Yeah,” I whispered.

“
You gotta get down here,” said Nancy, her voice full of urgency.

“
What for?”

“
There’s been another murder! Over at Old Camp Possumtickle.”

“
The nudist camp?”

“
Yeah. We just got the 911 call. We’ve
got
to go, Hayden.”

“
Where’d the 911 call come from?” I said.

“
I can guess, but we don’t know for sure. Anyway, Dave and I are going over there. Sorry. It might be a false alarm, but it might not. We’ve got to.”

“
Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

I stood and pulled my coat over my cast, and ground my teeth in frustration.

“
Dammit!”
I said under my breath.

Chapter 39

There had been no murder at Old Camp Possumtickle. In fact, there weren’t even any people at Old Camp Possumtickle, it being January and Old Camp Possumtickle now being Camp Daystar, St. Germaine’s Christian Nudist Retreat.

We spent an hour walking through the camp after Nancy picked the padlock on the gate.

“
How about the 911 call?” I asked.

“
I checked with Boone. It came from a cell phone. There was no number they could trace.”

“
Did they say if it was a man or a woman?”

“
Woman,” said Nancy. “Not that it helps much.”

“
Well, let’s get back. I’m afraid I know what we’re going to find.”

“
We could go pick her up,” suggested Dave. “Maybe she’s still got the box.”

“
I kind of doubt that she’s still in town,” I said. “But we might as well get a warrant and go on over to her apartment. Nancy, go ahead and give Judge Adams a call.”

“
Lemme wait until six, huh? Last time I called at five, he read me the riot act for fifteen minutes.”

“
Yeah, fine,” I said. “Let’s go check the church and then go get some breakfast.”

•••

Gaylen’s office was locked. I reached behind the copy machine to get the master key. It was gone. I looked at my watch. 5:45.

“
The Slab will be open at six,” said Dave. “You want breakfast, or do you want to call the priest and get the key?”

“
We can wait a bit. She’ll be in at about seven for those kids. We’ll stop back then.”

Chapter 40

“
We want the organ contract for the new Cathedral,” said Sophie Slugh. “The Slugh Organ Company will be the new standard in pipe organs for the 21st century.”

“
Is that your company, Sophie? I never heard of it.”

“
It used to be Peter Pooter’s Penny Pumpers, but Peter’s plan pooped out when he couldn’t make the pumps plather. It was an engineering problem. We simply replaced Peter’s penny pumps with Kooloobati gas-slugs. They supply all the air a pipe organ needs.”