The Mezzo Wore Mink (4 page)

“
Well,” Meg admitted, “on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t tell me
everything
. But you should have told me about this.” She ran her hands through her black hair and leaned against the counter, absently scratching a now-contented Burmese Mountain Dog behind his ears. If Baxter felt his tail smack repeatedly against the table leg, it didn’t stop him from enjoying the attention.

“
Oh, fine,” she huffed. “I guess you’re right. You shouldn’t have told me if she told you not to.”

I walked over and gave her a kiss.

“
Don’t try to make it up to me,” she said, kissing me back. “I’m the one who’s right most of the time.”

“
You
are
right most of the time.”

“
So, if Gaylen is elected, when would she leave?”

“
I don’t really know. Maybe a couple of weeks from now?”

Meg sighed. “Oh well. It was too good to last, I suppose. At least she finished putting all the church’s money into a trust.” She frowned again. “Have you found anything to eat yet? I am rather peckish.”

I went back to rummaging. “How about a bologna and strawberry pop-tart sandwich?”

“
Nope.”

I looked deep into the refrigerator. “I’ve got a piece of pizza left over from our Fourth of July party. Or you can have one of Archimedes’ baby squirrels.”

“
I refuse to eat owl food, no matter how tempting.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, “How would you cook it?”

“
Baby squirrel is best served
tartare
,” I said. “But wait. Here’s something.” I pulled out a pot of soup and set it on the stove. “I forgot that I stopped by the Ginger Cat this afternoon and picked up a pot of shrimp bisque.”

“
Excellent,” said Meg. “And?”

“
Garlic bread, and a bottle of Shiraz.”

“
Then I’ve decided. After supper you may see my tan lines.”

Chapter 4

September turned to October, and with the changing leaves came the tourists. Peak foliage season wouldn’t hit St. Germaine for a couple of weeks yet, depending on conditions, but folks were already making their way up into the Appalachians to enjoy the fall weather, the local festivals, art shows and fairs found in almost every small town, and leaf peeping in general. October and early November were the two months that made St. Germaine’s economy work. Nancy had to hand out more parking tickets during these two months, as space was at a premium, and out-of-towners insisted that it was their God-given right under the Constitution to leave their cars and SUVs wherever they could find space. This included driving up onto the grass of Sterling Park—our small acre of village green—parking in front of fire hydrants, and even, on occasion, in the spot in front of the police station marked “Reserved for the Chief of Police.”

I was drinking a steaming cup of coffee and marveling at my fortuity to be sitting on a bench in Sterling Park on this beautiful October morning. I believe in fate, in chance meetings, and in good fortune. I also believe in the Trinity, salvation by grace, infralapsarianism, non-Darwinian evolution, and possibly unicorns, as they’re mentioned nine times in the Old Testament. I wasn’t too sure about the unicorns yet. I don’t dwell on either fate or theology for too long because it gives me a headache, but on a morning like this, when the crispness in the air snaps you awake and you can almost feel creation in full bloom, I found it impossible not to smile at the wonder of it all. Hayden Konig—Chief of Police of St. Germaine, North Carolina. Hayden Konig—organist and choirmaster of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. Hayden Konig—wealthy inventor and investor. Fate? Luck? Predestination? Whatever the cosmic answer, I was as happy as the tenth pick on a nine-man jury.

I saw Meg making her way across the park with a coffee cup of her own, attired in a coat and scarf even though the temperature was still in the low fifties and my outerwear consisted of an old cotton sweater.

“
Good morning, Miss Farthing,” I said with a smile. “Coffee from the new place?” In all, four concerns that Pete had courted had moved in. I suspected that most of them would vanish in January as soon as tourist season waned, but for now, there was a flurry of activity around town and everyone was happy. I looked at Meg’s paper cup and knew the answer even as my mouth formed the question, seeing as the logo was emblazoned across both the cup and the protective sleeve. The logo was an ichthys—the Jesus fish—swimming like a shark inside a coffee cup and in bright red letters was the name of the shop, “Holy Grounds.”

“
Yep. The Ginger Cat doesn’t open soon enough to get the early morning coffee drinkers. I’m quite finished drinking coffee by 9:30, thank you.”

“
Me, too,” I said. “It’s good coffee. I affirm its Christian goodness.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “They can certainly open a Christian coffee shop if they want. You don’t have to be so snide about everything.”

“
I just wonder how drinking this Christian cup of coffee will serve me better in the eternal order of things than drinking a cup of coffee from, let’s say, Buddha’s Coffee Barn. Hey! Maybe they give part of their profits to convert the unwashed of Appalachia.” I took another sip.

Meg harrumphed. “Maybe they do. You don’t know one way or the other.”

“
I’ve never known a business that
does
do something nice like that not to display the fact prominently in their window.”

“
You are certainly jaded on this lovely morning.”

I nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I take it all back. And if this weren’t a good cup of coffee, I wouldn’t drink it. But if they come out with WWJD cup holders, I’m finished with them.”

“
What Would Jesus Drink?”

“
Exactly.”

We sipped our coffee together.

“
Their spa opened the day before yesterday,” said Meg. “It’s on the second floor. Christian massage and holistic healing. That’s what Cynthia told me.”

“
Has Cynthia already been there?” I asked.

“
She’s working there,” said Meg, taking a sip of her coffee and smiling at the corners of her mouth.

“
Has she given up belly dancing?”

“
Nope. She’s been encouraged to incorporate her dancing into the totality of the Christian wellness experience.”

“
Huh?”

Meg shook her head. “Those are her words, not mine. She can dance, but she’s not allowed to give massages. Chad is the only certified Christian massage therapist in this part of the state.”

“
You don’t say.”

Meg wasn’t looking at me. I suspected she didn’t want to give away the punch line too soon, and I knew her too well to believe she wasn’t going somewhere with this information.

“
That’s a shame really. I think Cynthia would make a wonderful Christian masseuse. Especially if she wore the outfit.”

“
Huh,” Meg sniffed. “I don’t think
you’ll
be going in.”

“
Not without the Vice Squad.”

Meg spun toward me, a big smile finally breaking over her face.

“
Okay. I can’t stand it any longer,” she blurted out. “Do you know the name of the spa?”

Her smile was infectious. “Nope. Do tell.” I chuckled and put the cup to my lips.

“
The Upper Womb,” she laughed. I choked on a sip of coffee and spit it back into my cup.

“
Isn’t that just
great?
The Upper Womb. Chad took me up there. It’s all dark and warm and there was a heartbeat on the sound system.”

I shook my head. “All the time? Just a heartbeat?”

“
No. He can switch it to anything. Heartbeat, ocean waves, New Age, Contemporary Christian…whatever he wants. He gave me a coupon for a free massage.”

“
Yes, I’ll bet he did.”

“
Don’t worry. I won’t use it.”

“
The heck you won’t!” I exclaimed. “I need someone to go up there and scope it out. It’s not every day you get a chance for a free Christian massage. Anyway, you’d probably enjoy it.”

“
Yes,” said Meg with a nod of her head. “I probably would. But I don’t think I should go. I’ll see if Nancy will do it.”

“
You should go. I’m sure Chad…what’s his last name?”

“
I have no idea.”

“
Well, I’m sure Chad Whatshisname will do a good job.”

“
Yes, I’m sure he would.”

“
Then what’s the problem?” I asked with a shrug.

“
You haven’t seen Chad.”

•••

Meg and I finished up our coffee and wandered over to the Slab for breakfast, an event that was occurring almost daily. Our usual table was empty, although the restaurant was beginning to fill up. It was still early and by eight o’clock, there wouldn’t be a table to be had. Noylene was on duty and so was Bootsie, and it was Bootsie who spotted us and made a beeline to the table.

“
Coffee?” she asked, already pouring.

“
Not this morning,” said Meg, causing Bootsie to stop the stream of coffee with a small jerk, spilling some in surprise. Meg gave her a guilty look. “We just had some. Could I get some orange juice instead?”

“
I’ll have just one more cup,” I said quickly. Bootsie relaxed, smiled, and finished pouring the steaming mug. Then she slid it over in front of me.

“
I’ll get your juice in a sec, Hon,” Bootsie said over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“
I think you confused her,” I whispered. “Don’t confuse her. Just take the coffee.”

Meg nodded.

Nancy appeared at the table followed closely by Dave. “Expecting anyone?” she asked as she sat down. Dave took the other chair.

“
I was just about to ask Meg to raise my illegitimate love-child,” I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster, “but please join us, won’t you?”

“
Yeah, sure. Thanks.” Sarcasm wasn’t totally lost on Nancy, but she ignored it most of the time. “Hey, I heard you got yourself a BlackBerry.”

“
I did,” I replied, “but I haven’t figured it out yet. I can almost make a phone call.”

“
Almost?” said Dave.

“
My fingers are too big for those stupid little buttons.”

“
You’re supposed to use the little stylus,” said Meg.

“
I lost it. I was using it as a toothpick and I think I left it somewhere. I’m not worried. I don’t call anyone anyway.”

Meg turned to Nancy. “That’s true. I always have to call
him
.” Nancy shook her head in disgust.

“
I can
answer
the phone,” I said, defensively pulling out the BlackBerry from my pants pocket. “I just have to push this button here.” I looked at the phone, squinting to see the tiny letters, but not able to make them out. “Or maybe this button.”