Liturgical Mysteries 02 The Baritone Wore Chiffon (9 page)

"Stop that this minute. This is a civilized and proper luncheon."

"Well, I don't know which will be more entertaining," I said, taking a delicate nibble of my muffin. "But I called a couple of guest lecturers. This Wednesday we will be hosting Mr. Julian Mayberry from the Raelians followed by Brother Harley Ray Hammond from the Apostolic Four-Square Pentecostal Holiness Temple of God with Signs Following."

"Really? The Raelians? That sounds like much more fun than finding a clown, even an inner one. I do like a good circus though."

"I'm afraid that's what you're going to get."

•••

We met Karen Dougherty at the door of the Ginger Cat just as we were leaving. Karen was the St. Germaine doctor, semi-retired, with a full-time schedule.

"Hayden," she said with a smile. "Just the person I want to see!"

"I suggest the soup with sprinkles," I said, always happy to offer my culinary suggestions.

"Hi Meg. Soup with sprinkles? Is that on the menu?"

"Ignore him," Meg said. "He's full of himself today."

"I wanted to talk to you anyway," said Karen. "I'm heading up a school program, and we're getting local authors to read to the kids."

"Oh, God no," Megan gasped.

"So I was wondering if you had anything appropriate for, let's say, middle school English students, that you could read to them."

"Something I've written myself?" I asked, my excitement rising.

"That would be the idea."

"You don't know what you're saying," said Meg.

"Would it have to be published?"

"Ideally," said Karen. "But not necessarily."

"I don't have anything published yet, but I do have a rather good detective story I'm working on. It could be a pre-publication reading. A world premiere!"

"And could you bring that old typewriter in?" asked Karen. "And some of Chandler's books? They'd really get a kick out of it."

"Why, I'd love to," I said as Meg looked on in horror. "When am I scheduled?"

"In a few weeks. I'll let you know. Right now I'm just lining everyone up. I'm trying to get hold of Jan Karon, but I have to go through her agent. She's right up there in Blowing Rock."

"You're not really going to inflict your story on the English class are you? Could you be so cruel?" Meg asked as we left Dr. Dougherty to her soup.

"It will be a good experience for them."

"In what way?"

"Perhaps I'll inspire a few of them and they'll decide on a career in the literary arts."

"Or psychiatry."

Chapter 8

The circus was dark; not sinister dark, although I suppose it was, but theatrical dark; that is, closed for the evening, which was why it was also dark when we arrived.

Lilith motioned me into the elephant ring. I went in slow--as slow as a Piggly Wiggly checker on Double Coupon Friday. She walked behind me with her gun in one hand and her snake in the other. The snake had stopped singing, and I was fresh out of hamsters.

"You know," began Megan, looking through some pages I had stacked on the desk just beside the lamp. "Just because you happen to have Raymond Chandler's typewriter doesn't mean you have to use it. It could sit nicely on a pedestal in the foyer – sort of like a shrine. Other mystery writers could come and pay homage to it. Maybe type quick notes to their mothers."

"But think of the stories that would be lost to the world," I said, the keys clacking in rhythm to an early Leadbelly recording.

"I prefer to think of the children," said Meg, "and the unborn generations that may read this accidentally and be unduly affected by your prose. Just because you own a gun doesn't mean you have to shoot people."

"An unfair metaphor. Or is it a simile?"

"Maybe it's a dangling participle. Either way, you need to stop – before someone gets hurt.

All geniuses had their critics. I ignored the insult and kept typing.

"Take a right at the broken trapeze," she said.

"OK, Lilith," I said, "but remember that there are people who will look for me when I don't show up in the morning. Now, what's your game
?
" I lit up a stogie.

"Why can't you love me? I know I'm a leper, but lepers have feelings, too."

"Not in their extremities, Lilith. And anyway, I'm seeing someone." Sure I was lying. Lying like a dead possum, or one pretending to be, but I wasn't going to try to romance my way out of this one. When I counted up all the lips in the room, I came up with five including the snake; and the snake had two.

"Who is she?" she said using venomous overtones, overtones that made Rolf pucker up expectantly. "Some soprano I suppose. You were always a sucker for a nice pair of lungs in a push-up choir robe." She waved the gun in my direction, gave Rolf a kiss on the snout and waited for my answer.

"Her name is Rocki. Rocki Pilates."

"The bishop's personal trainer?"

I was surprised. "You know her?"

"Who doesn't? She skates around plenty. She's not what you need, you know. She won't treat you right."

"No one treats me right."

•••

"Guess what?" Meg was not really in a "guess what" mood, so her "guess what?" was not so much a question as an introduction to her next comment.

"I met her today and, believe it or not, she's worse than he is."

"'Her' being?"

"Jelly Barna."

"Jelly Barna?"

Meg crossed her arms and continued in exasperation.

"The priest's wife."

"Her name is Jelly Barna?"

"Listen, will you. This is serious."

"OK," I said. "What's up?"

Meg sat down at the table. "Jelly Barna has been appointed the head of the Altar Guild by her husband. It's her 'gift.' So, as the head of the Altar Guild, she has taken it upon herself to call Christopher Lloyd in Boone."

"Mr. Christopher? The wedding coordinator?"

"It seems," she continued, "that Mr. Christopher is an expert in Feng Shui and will be advising us on the placement of furniture, the colors we should be using, and the arrangement of the flow of positive energy within the church. We will now be known as the Feng Shui Altar Guild and Jelly Barna is planning on using our church as a model throughout the diocese. They even have a web-site up already. It has
her
picture on it."

"And me still in the middle of Lent."

"You have to do something."

"Nope. I'm staying out of it. Till Easter anyway."

"We may be ruined by then."

"Well, do what you can to hold the heathens at bay," I said. "I'm getting another beer."

•••

"Any word when you might be able to make it over?" It was Hugh on the phone.

"How about a week from Monday?" I said. "I have a Clown Eucharist to play."

"A what?"

"A Clown Eucharist. Surely they have them in all the great cathedrals of England."

"You're not serious? We do have a fellow who goes around to churches dressed as a clown. He's quite popular. I can't remember his name."

"Oh, but I am serious. Lent is just too darn grim and we need to find our Inner Clown."

"Well, don't tell the clergy over here. The next thing you know…"

"I'll keep it our dark and terrible secret. How's the investigation coming?" I asked.

"I think they've forgotten about it. Out of sight, out of mind, you know. Now that the furor has died down, and since he, er...she was an American, we've all mostly put the unpleasantness behind us. Except for the little matter of the diamond."

"What about insurance?"

"That's the reason I'm calling. The Ecclesiastical Insurance Group was going to have to pay the Minster about 1.3 million pounds. I spoke with one of the agents and he indicated that since the video cameras were turned off and the other security measures disengaged, that there was a good chance that they would not pay."

"Ouch."

"That being the case, the Dean and Chapter have decided to offer a reward for the return of the diamond. Ten thousand pounds sterling."

"Ten thousand pounds." I mentally did the math. "That's better than fifteen thousand dollars."

"Closer to seventeen. Interested?"

"Why yes I am. What about you?"

"I'm employed by the Minster and therefore not eligible. There are another couple of privately funded fellows nosing around though."

"I'll bet. I'm guessing then that the next trip won't be on the Minster's tab."

"Nope. Sorry. All yours."

"OK, but I'm not going back to flying coach."

•••

"Welcome to this program of the Lenten Institute," I said to the fifteen or so people gathered in the upstairs Adult Sunday School room. "If you're looking for the 'Finding Your Inner Clown' class, it's in the sanctuary."

There were a few sniggers from the back of the room, coming mostly, I suspected, from choir members who were looking for somewhere to land before choir practice began. We generally had a church-wide supper every Wednesday during Advent and Lent, followed by a brief program. Choir practice was last on the agenda, with everything finishing up around 8:30 or so.

"The program this evening is on Comparative Religions, and to that end I've called two of my friends from Asheville to be presenters this evening. Our first guest is Mr. Julian Mayberry from the Raelian Center of Appalachia."

Mr. Mayberry stood as I read off the card he had handed me earlier.

"The Raelian Revolution, the world's largest UFO related, non-profit, religious organization, has over 60,000 members in 90 countries. The Raelians are working towards building the first embassy to welcome people from space while sweeping the world with a fearlessly individualistic philosophy of non-conformism."

"Mr. Mayberry," I said. "Why don't you tell us about your views and how you came to the Raelian religion."

Julian Mayberry took the floor. He was a slightly built man, balding with old-fashioned, horn-rimmed glasses. His real name was Will Purser, and he was on the theater faculty at Lees-McRae College in Banner Elk. I only hoped he'd done his homework.

Julian Mayberry, a.k.a. Will Purser, pulled a three by five index card from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat and began to read nervously.

"The Raelians were founded," he read in a quavering voice, "in 1973 by our father, Rael. He teaches us that aliens told the story of the Bible to ancient man, but because they were so primitive, they worshipped the aliens as gods also. How does Rael know this?"

He looked around the room as if expecting an answer, but everyone was sitting stock still, their mouths hanging open.

"Because the aliens told him, of course!" He let out a high pitched little squeal of joy that I took to be a laugh.

Julian Mayberry was nothing like the Will I knew. Will was a serious, confident man with a moderated, low-pitched voice, inclined to smiling for no apparent reason, and slow and deliberate in his speech. Julian, in contrast, was a nervous, twittering fellow that reminded me, more than anyone else, of Don Knotts in his heyday. Perhaps that's the character Will was drawing from – Julian's fictitious last name being Mayberry.

Julian continued, "The aliens also told him that we were created using DNA from scientists from another world and that they'll be needing an embassy when they land in Quebec. We have about half the money raised to fund the building of the embassy."

"Now you know, Mr. Mayberry," I said, true to the script, "that we are Episcopalian and find all this sort of far-fetched. Is there anything Biblically based about the Raelian Religion?"