By the end of February,
the committee had eliminated all but three of the twelve applicants for the
full-time position as music director.
Though many churches are trimming their music programs, St. Stephen’s
can afford to expand. A trust fund
insures the presence of a full-time director even if the minister can’t be
paid.
After our schedules for visits had been set, I
stopped in the parish office to see Edward.
The secretary, another Mary, showed me in. Edward jumped to his feet and held a chair
for me. His large book-lined office had
a small conversation area near the French doors that overlooked the garden. Last night’s snow covered the lawn and the
flower beds with a blinding blanket of white.
“You’ve found an organist,” he said.
“We’ve selected three candidates and have set our
first trip for next Sunday.”
He rubbed the balding spot on the top of his
head. “Can’t the process be
hurried? I can’t believe we’ll have an
Easter season without a...an outstanding organist. It’s never happened before.”
“The substitute and I will bumble along. We won’t have a new organist before fall.”
“But the Passion Sunday Evensong --”
“I’ve found an excellent quartet, but I have to let
them know this week.”
His pout reminded me of one from a child who has
dropped his candy in the mud. “If you must.
This is such a disaster.”
“Hardly.” I
rose. “Should I submit bills for our
expenses or will you give us money from petty cash? We’ll need money for gas and meals.”
“Submit the bills.
The Vestry prefers that. This
group isn’t as trusting as others in the past have been.”
I left the office and headed home. Sunlight glared off the banks of snow lining
the walks. Bits of old ice formed ragged
patches on the concrete.
“Watch your step, Mrs. M.” Pete Duggan, my neighbor and a local police
officer, fell into step beside me. His
down jacket nearly matched his dark red hair.
“Last time you had an accident, you got involved in a murder.”
“Then I’m glad you’re here. Once was enough.”
His hazel eyes twinkled. “What happened to the knife?”
“What knife? I
don’t remember.”
“Right.” The
knife he referred to, the one used to kill my tenant, lay on the bottom of the Hudson River .
We reached the corner. “I’m crossing here. I have to see Beth Logan about church
business.”
“Beth Logan?”
I laughed.
“Don’t tell me there’s an available woman in town you don’t know. She’s a widow. She and her six year old son live in the old Perkin’s
house. Sings in the choir and is a nurse
at the hospital.”
“Haven’t had the honor.” He grinned.
“Church business -- missing robes -- vanished communion wine?”
“Nothing criminal.”
I studied him and wondered when he’d settle down.
“So what are you up to?” he asked.
“Acting as temporary choir director and heading the
search committee for a new organist.”
“Good for you.
Should keep you out of mischief.”
“I’m crushed.”
He laughed. “I
don’t believe you. Let me walk you to
her house. Maybe you’ll introduce me.”
“Beth is not to be trifled with.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You wound me. When I’m involved
with a woman, I’m serious.”
“For a limited engagement.”
“Someday I’ll surprise you.” He held my arm and steered me across the
street.
A child’s laughter rang clear. “Bigger.
Let’s make it bigger.”
“Then how will we get the head on the body?” Beth asked.
“Maybe I can help,”
Pete said.
Beth whirled.
Her eyes narrowed. Then she saw
me andher expression relaxed.
Robby eyed Pete.
The boy’s blond hair stuck out around the edges of his blue knit hat.
“Beth, this is Pete Duggan, a friend of mine. He decided to help an old lady across the
street and found me instead. You’re home
early.”
“It’s a comp day.
I have to work this weekend.”
“Then I’m glad we don’t begin our visits until next
week. Just left Edward. He wants us to finish the search yesterday.”
While Beth and I talked, Pete lifted the snowman’s
head and placed it on the body. “Why
don’t you wait in the house?” she
asked. “The snowman is my project. Your friend seems to have taken over.”
“He has a habit of doing that. Let me help, too.”
When the snowman had button eyes, a radish nose and a
bright green scarf instead of Beth’s favorite blue one that her son had tried
to liberate, she invited us in for hot chocolate and cookies. The sight of a box of store-bought cookies
made me wince.
“Pete, here’s my key.
There’s a tin of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies on top of the
refrigerator.”
He caught the key ring. He looked at Robby. “Want to come with me? I think they want time for women talk.” He winked.
“Egotist. It’s
church talk.”
“Can I go, Mommy?”
Robby asked.
“Let him.
He’ll keep Pete honest.”
Pete laughed.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you
trust your favorite cop?”
“Are you really a policeman?” Robby asked.
“A policeman?”
Beth echoed.
“I’m surprised you never met him when you worked in
the ER. I’m sure he’s been there a time
or two. He’s all right. Used to be my paperboy.”
Beth tucked a scarf in the neck of Robby’s
jacket. The door closed behind
them. She stood at the door and watched
until the pair reached the top of the driveway.
She turned. Sadness glistened in
her eyes and I knew she’d thought about her dead husband. “Let’s finish before they return.”
“Do you have the next three weekends after this one
off?” She nodded. “Good.
There are five of us. I think we
should take two cars. The first church
is a two hour drive and more than a half hour of Judith’s company and I’ll
start twitching. Then there’s
Ralph. I’ve finally contracted
intolerance.”
She laughed. A
mischievous twinkle cleared the last trace of sadness from her eyes. “I’ve got intolerance, too. We’ll take my car. It’s small.”
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