Requiem Murder Part 5

"To the church, I'll give you a private concert."

Once again, the wonderful music he'd produced on an inferior instrument played in my head. I wondered what marvelous sound he'd evoke here. "A fair payment for a bit of lunch."

He laughed. "If this is a bit, I'd like to see sumptuous."

"Wait until Friday. Seeing all the spices on your shelves has challenged me.'

As we walked along Main Street, he matched his stride to mine. I pointed out sites of interest. "These

three blocks are known as Antique Row. The library is in the next block between an antique shop and a craft boutique. Judith is head librarian and she's always willing to make copies of music and flyers."

He nodded. "I'll remember that. She's the woman who sucks up attention."

His perception of Judith was on target. "Energy-filled is another way to describe her."

We turned at the corner and entered the short side street heading to the church. As we neared St.

Stephen's, I watched Roger's expression change from interest to admiration.

The gray granite, Gothic-like building sparkled as though bits of silver were embedded in the stones. The

carved oak doors appeared to have been gilted.

Roger halted and raised his eyes to the round stained gla.s.s window high above the street. "Impressive. I didn't pay attention to the building the last time I was here. The organ amd the music were what I focused on. What a grand instrument."

"Sometimes I believe St. Stephen's is an ancient miniature cathedral transported here. There's such a

feeling of age. I have a book at home that details the history. I'll loan it to you."

We strode past the privet hedge to the side door. "The main doors are locked unless there's a function.

During the day, these are unlocked. Edward will give you a set of keys."

He held the heavy oak door for me. A rustling noise in the bushes made me turn. The gray cat the choir had befriended appeared on the walk and stared at us. Roger all but pushed me inside and closed the door.

I flipped the light switch and the gloom of the dark hall vanished. We entered the sanctuary. Sunlight shone through the stained gla.s.s windows along the side walls and cast muted shadows on the oak pews.

Roger turned and examined the mosaic tiles of the nave. "It's more beautiful than I remembered."

As we headed up the dark right hand stairs to the choir loft, I switched on the lights. Roger sat on the

organ bench and turned k.n.o.bs and adjusted stops. Finally, he began to play scales. Notes swelled to fill

the emptiness. I crept down the stairs and slid into one of the center pews.

Roger had his back to me. The organ bench sits flush with the balcony railing. A solid wooden back kept the organist from moving back too far.

The rich tones of the music vibrated through my body. As the piece he'd chosen moved to a finale, I found myself on my feet facing the loft. There was an almost sensual quality to his movements. The muscles in his back rippled beneath his tee shirt. The lights made his hair gleam like gold.

When the last note sounded, I fought to catch my breath. "Bravo! How did you know the Widor Toccata was one of my favorites?"

He bowed. "It's a show piece. You know, I'll have to remove the back of the organ bench. Having it there inhibits me."

If his playing was inhibited, how much more glorious could it be? I mentally gauged the distance to the stone floor and shivered.

"Do you realize how far you'd fall?"

He laughed. "I've no fear of heights." He dashed down the steps. We left the church together. When we parted at the corner, he pressed my hand. "See you next Friday."

"Not Thursday night?"

"Doubtful. I'll take the rest of this month to explore the area. I think I'll like it here."

As I strolled home, I thought of how little I'd learned about Roger, the man. The musician side of him

seemed clear.

Chapter 3.

Dies Irae.

On Thursday I began preparing for the buffet dinner I'd arranged to introduce Roger to selected members of St. Stephen's. Though several of the guests had offered to bring food, cooking is one of my pleasures and I remembered the rows of spices on Roger's shelves. I refused the offers.

Beth called and asked about coffee. Knowing my addiction to mint tea wasn't shared by everyone, I accepted her offer of the fixings and an urn. Then I asked her to stop at the liquor store and buy enough red and white wine, for a dozen people.

The number of guests was dictated by the size of my apartment. Though the rooms are s.p.a.cious, I had no desire to have people eating in my bedroom or a clique gathering in the dining room or the kitchen. If the weather had been nicer and the chance of rain nil, I would have used the yard.

When my "Painted Lady" had been a single family dwelling, my apartment had been the bedroom floor. The walls had been gutted. Five bedrooms and a bath had become four rooms and bath.

Besides the search committee, I'd invited Edward and Laura, Ralph Greene's mother, Bob and Betty Peters and Lars. The last three were the only members of the Vestry who have always supported me.

By Friday morning when Bessie came to clean, I was icing the chocolate cake I planned to serve as dessert. Jars of pickled shrimp waited to be decanted into a cranberry-gla.s.s bowl. A cheese ball chilled in the refrigerator. The aromas of roasting beef and ham flavored the air in the apartment.

"Sure do smell good in here." Bessie paused just inside the kitchen with her hands on her ample hips. "Must be having a party."

"To welcome the new organist at St. Stephen's."

Though my junior by ten years, white frosted Bessie's tight black curls. "I worked 'crost the street from the church yesterday. He sure do make pretty music." Her dark eyes shone. "Best I get this place slicked up."

"Don't push yourself."

She laughed. "You know me better. 'Sides one cat and one old lady don't make much mess."

As she worked, she sang. I added harmony to her melody. By the time she reached the kitchen, I'd completed dinner preparations. The unseasonable warm weather had made me decide on a cold buffet. At the moment, the temperature in the kitchen topped a hundred. While I have several window air-conditioning units, they weren't in place. I needed to corral my son and one of my neighbors for the grunt work.

Bessie cleaned the alcove of the L-shaped kitchen first. I fitted the ham and roast beef in the refrigerator, turned off the oven, and breathed a sigh of relief. When my guests arrived, the apartment would be cooler. I grabbed my purse.

"Where you off to?" Bessie asked.

"To have my hair done."

Her grin broadened. "You and your hair. When you gonna let it go natural?"

"Never." I closed the door and headed downstairs.

When I returned, I found a note from Bessie with a list of phone calls. I called my daughter-in-law and let the rest go until another day. Then I sliced the meats, moistened them with basting juice and arranged them on platters. Small bowls in the center of each plate held a special sauce. Chutney for the ham and horseradish for the beef. I heaped fresh baked rolls in two baskets, arranged the salads, decanted the shrimp and set out the rest of the appetizers.

A breeze blew the kitchen curtains inward and chased the heat from the apartment. A glance at the clock

let me know I was on schedule.

Fifteen minutes later the plates, napkins and silverware rested on one end of the cherry table in the dining room off the kitchen. I headed to the bathroom, showered, dressed and cleaned away the traces of my preparations.

Then I chose jewelry to compliment the russet linen dress I wore. Earrings, topazes set in the center of gold wire flowers, and a matching pendant completed my costume. Not wanting to put on heels before the guests arrived, I carried them to the kitchen.

While I arranged the appetizers on the island table in the center of the long leg of the kitchen, Beth arrived. She carried the coffee urn and a bottle of wine.

"I'll get the rest from the car," she said. "Seemed silly to drive, but my other choice was Robby's wagon."

The picture that flickered in my thoughts amused me. "You'd have been arrested. You look under the legal age for drinking."

The blue flowers on the printed sundress she wore enhanced the color of her eyes. Her hair had been cut

in a pixie-style that made her appear to be about sixteen.

After her third trip, she leaned against the wall to catch her breath. "I came early to help, but you're a marvel. I'd be running around doing a dozen things." She carried the coffee urn to the sink.

I laughed. "Every nurse should know how to organize."

"Sometimes I forget." She scooped coffee into the basket. "Where do you want me to put this?"

"On the alcove table."

"I won't plug it in until later." She crossed to the table where the appetizers sat and picked a shrimp out

of the bowl. "Delicious." She popped a second one into her mouth and sighed.

"I wouldn't know. One bite and I'm sick for days. My husband loved them. Always said it wasn't a party without pickled shrimp."

She put the white wine in a silver bucket and poured ice around it. "Do you miss him?"

"Every day."

Beth's eyes closed. "I miss Rob too. I keep hoping the ache will stop."

"The gut-crunching pain faded years ago, but he held a part of me no one else has ever touched." I put