Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (3 page)

Judith made a face. Martin covered her hand with his. “Let's go. Do you want to hear Ralph complain for the entire ride home?"

Beth, Roger and I lingered over coffee and dessert. After the bill was paid, he walked us to Beth's car. “It's been a pleasure,” he said.

"For me as well,” Beth said.

"I could listen to you forever.” As far as I was concerned, Roger had the job at St. Stephen's.

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On the Wednesday after Easter, I stood in the kitchen and stared at the gloomy sky. The threat of rain had kept me from the garden and the spring clean up. I gathered the knickknacks I'd collected over the years and dusted or washed wooden or porcelain figures, some musical and some whimsical. There was little for me to do around my apartment. Last year when I'd broken my leg, my son had hired a woman to help me. She still came in once a week to clean.

The phone rang. I sat in the window seat and reached for the receiver. Robespierre shifted to make room. When he wants, he can curl in a small space, but most of the time, he sprawls.

"Mrs. Miller, Roger Brandon here."

"What can I do for you?"

When he'd come to St. Stephen's to play, he'd created quite a sensation. Edward had been so impressed by the music he'd offered Roger the job even though the other candidates hadn't auditioned. I'd heard about the flap this caused with the Vestry, but Edward had prevailed. He usually does.

Roger laughed and the phone vibrated. Robespierre purred. I sighed.

"Maybe it's what I can do for you,” he said.

"And what would that be?"

"The Vestry here voted to buy out the rest of my contract. I finish the end of May. It seems the job is wanted for the niece of the largest contributor when she graduates."

"How do you feel about that?"

He coughed. “It will give me time to settle in and organize music for the coming year. The program at St. Stephen's is larger than here. I called to see if you know a real estate agent I could contact."

"I know several."

He laughed again. “I knew you were the right person to call."

"Do you want an apartment or a house?"

"An apartment will be fine."

"Let me make some calls and get back to you. Do you have a price range? Apartments are few and expensive around here."

He named a figure that made me think he wasn't completely dependent on his salary.

"It's a shame I have a good tenant. I could have rented you the first floor of my house."

"That would have been great."

"When do you want to come?"

"I'm free most days."

"One problem. My apartment is a one bedroom so I can't put you up overnight. I can call Judith Simpson. She has a guest room.” Though I knew she would be glad to have first dibs on him, I didn't want her to scare him off. Still, I didn't want him to stay in a motel.

"Don't bother. I can drive down in the morning and back in the afternoon.” He gave me his phone number. “I'll be waiting for your call."

I scratched Robespierre's head and chewed on an errant thought. Was there some reason other than church politics behind the contract buyout? Don't borrow trouble. The warning didn't comfort me.

My first call was to Tracey Stanton, a member of St. Stephen's. She had a thriving real estate business.

"Apartments,” she said. “A rare commodity."

"It's for Roger Brandon, our new Minister of Music."

"Maybe I do have something. I've just taken over as rental agent for the Gulliver Apartment complex. There are two units opening in the upper building, not as nice as the river apartments, though. I can put a hold on one of them, but I'll have to list it by the weekend. Can he come before then?"

"I'll let you know which day will be convenient for him."

"Terrific. By the way, what's he like? I missed church the Sunday he was there."

A picture of Roger Brandon and the way the light from the stained glass windows had burnished his hair swept into my thoughts. “Tall, broad shoulders, red-gold hair, strong hands. Judith couldn't keep her eyes off him. Does that tell you anything?"

"What about her fingers?” Tracey coughed. “Forget I said that."

"I've yet to see Judith touch any man except Martin. She just shops."

Tracey laughed. “I'll remember that the next time she casts her eyes on one of mine. Tell me more about Roger Brandon. He sounds...attractive."

"He is, and smooth and charming. His voice is deep and mellow. He's the kind of man who when you're with him makes you think you're the only woman who exists. And his musical talent is beyond description."

"I've heard that. Why is he coming to St. Stephen's? If he's that good, wouldn't he aim for a bigger church?"

The question in her voice drew mine to the surface. Why was Roger coming to St. Stephen's? Our music program has a reputation for excellence, but most organists of his caliber head for a big city position or hit the concert circuit.

"Let me go so I can call him."

"Thanks for the business."

Before calling Roger, I dialed the church. An idea had rooted in my mind but I needed Edward's support. He answered and I spoke. “Guess what happened?"

"Katherine, you know I have no patience for guessing games."

"Roger Brandon just called."

He groaned. “Don't tell me he's not coming. That would be horrible news."

"He's coming in June instead of August. His present church has decided to let him leave then."

"Why couldn't they have fired him before Easter?"

"They haven't fired him. They're buying out his contract."

"They're utter fools. I wonder if we can benefit from their foolishness?"

I leaned my head against the window frame. “We can. Perhaps he can relieve me of my duties in June and play for the summer services."

Edward made a humming sound. “How splendid, but the Vestry will never agree to pay three salaries for June."

"They'd only have his. The substitute wouldn't mind. She can't handle the stress and demands of the music. You can tell the Vestry I'm ready to collapse.” I chuckled. “Maybe not. Several of the members would cheer."

"How can you say such a thing? You're quite well loved at St. Stephen's. After all, we are a community of Christians."

"Who are people with likes and dislikes. If everyone loved me, I'd sprout wings. Don't ask the Vestry. Just inform them of the benefits."

"I might stir them up again, but I'll try."

"Good. I'll let Roger know."

"Katherine!” His voice squeaked. “You can't say anything until there's a decision."

"Would you like me to come to the meeting and hold your hand?"

He sputtered. “D...D...Don't...don't even consider the possibility. Every time you've attended, you stir a nest of scorpions. I will deal with the matter."

My smile broadened. It's been years since I've attended one of the sessions. The threat of my presence always stiffened his spine. “Thank you."

After hanging up, I went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of mint tea. When would Edward realize he was dealing with people and not a community of potential saints? While the tea steeped, I called Roger and then Tracey.

The next morning, a beautiful spring day, shortly before ten, Roger arrived. As his dark sedan pulled up to the curb, I rose from the garden plot where I'd been cleaning away the debris of winter. Bright tulips, daffodils and hyacinths formed borders between the beds of just sprouting varieties of mint.

Robespierre stretched and ambled across the lawn to the yard next door where Maria Prescott was enjoying the sun and the baby she and Paul had adopted in Spain. The cat sat on the edge of a bright blanket and stared at the infant. We all wondered how he would act when Carlos began to crawl.

Roger and I reached the steps to the porch at the same time. He clasped my hands. “Your directions were great. It's good to see you again.” He stepped back and studied the house. “I like. A Victorian, right?"

"Thanks, and yes. Would you like to come in? Tracey called to say she'd be late."

"I don't want to interfere with your schedule."

"I haven't one. Come upstairs. I'm ready for a tea break."

He followed me into my “Painted Lady.” “Why are you on the second floor?” he asked.

"I like to watch the river, and there's a window seat in my living room that gives me a great view.” I paused at the foot of the stairs. “Would you like a bit of breakfast?"

He shook his head. “I ate before I left and I'm sure I'll take Tracey to lunch."

"A cup of mint tea, then."

"There's no need to entertain me. You were working in your garden."

I laughed. “The weeds will be there tomorrow. That's the beauty of being retired. No schedules.” He followed me upstairs and I showed him into the living room. While I poured heated water from an electric kettle, he played some scales on the piano. “Go ahead and play."

The notes of a Chopin Etude held me so spellbound I nearly forgot my mission. He played with a mastery I envied and I'd had my share of successes in my youth. How could the other church bear to let him go? He had manners, charm and talent.

After Roger left with Tracey, I returned to my garden chores. I marked the plot where I wanted to plant a few vegetables. My neighbor's sons would dig the ground after school. As I worked, I prayed Roger would relieve me of my choir duties. Dealing with the cliques and abrasive personalities exhausted me mentally and shortened the chains around my patience.

I carried a tray with my lunch to the porch and had just finished eating when Roger and Tracey returned. She waved and drove off. He strode up the walk.

"Success.” He grinned. “The apartment will be ready by the end of May."

"I'll help you move in. Would you like to start your duties at St. Stephen's in June?"

He frowned. “Why? I'm not scheduled to begin until August."

"I'm ready to resume my place in the congregation."

"Maybe."

"I'll assist you if you'd like."

He cocked his head. “Thanks, but let me think about it. Would you mind giving me a rundown on the programs? I called Reverend Potter. He was effusive but vague."

His comment made me laugh. “You'll find that's his usual way. You've met some of the choir members when we came to hear you and when you were here to play.” I stacked my lunch dishes on the tray. “Once you've moved in, I'll have a small dinner party for you."

He picked up the tray. “You don't have to do that."

"I seldom do anything I don't want to do. A privilege of age."

"You're younger in spirit than many people half your age."

His flattery brought heat to my cheeks. For a moment, I wished I could lose forty years. “You could be right."

He put the tray on the kitchen table and watched while I blended a variety of mint leaves in my tea ball. This afternoon, peppermint was my main choice.

"A question. Where do you buy your mints?"

"I don't, other than catnip. I used to grow that but my garden became cat heaven. Every summer, I pick and dry the leaves.” I turned on the burner beneath the kettle.

He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. “If I help, would you give me some?"

"I'd planned an assortment as a welcome gift."

For the next hour, we drank tea and I described the various choirs and the level of music the parishioners expected to hear. Then I mentioned the Evensongs.

"There are nine from September through May. The choir performs two and you'll select the guest artists for the others."

He refilled his mug, inhaled and sipped. “Any regular performers?"

"None. Would you consider giving a concert?"

He leaned forward. “How would that sit with the Vestry?"

"They'd love it. Though there's a music trust fund for expenses, they're a bit tight. Edward can help you with them. He's also talking to them about paying you for June and July."

"But I haven't said yes. I've a lot to consider. Is there a committee to select music?"

"You're it. You'll have to follow the liturgical calendar.” I grinned. “The other thing is to select one of Edward's favorite hymns frequently. He'll give you a list."

He laughed. “That's called expediency. Will I be able to give private lessons?"

"As long as they don't interfere with your duties."

He rose. “I've rented a two bedroom apartment. Mrs. Stanton is arranging for one of the bedrooms to be sound- proofed so I can give voice and piano lessons at home. I'll call you when I have a moving date."

I rose and followed him to the door. “You have no idea how glad I'll be to see you settled."

He paused. “You don't have to see me out."

"The garden's waiting."

As we crossed the lawn, Robespierre ambled toward us. “Here comes my familiar and that walk means he wants to see me in the kitchen."

Roger stiffened and walked to the car. “Thanks for your help. I'll call you soon."

His tension puzzled me. Why was he in such a hurry to leave? When the cat angled toward Roger, he slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. As he drove away, Robespierre batted my leg.

"I'm coming."

The next afternoon, Beth dropped by while I sat on the porch with my neighbor, Sarah. Sarah's children, three of her own and two foster children, played in the yard. The two older ones, Larry and Jamal, supervised the younger ones by shouting commands.

"Beth, where's Robby?"

"Pete took him to Little League practice.” She sank on the top step. “I think he's too young for that kind of competition. Pete laughs at me."

"Do you mean Pete Duggan?” Sarah leaned forward. “I didn't think he was interested in anyone under twenty-five and who wasn't female."

Beth closed her eyes, “He's adopted my son."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “And the mother?"

"He tolerates me."

"You can change that,” Sarah said. “Saw the new organist this morning. What a hunk. Just invite him over when Pete's around. He sure thrives on competition."

Beth smiled. “That's an idea."