The Countertenor Wore Garlic (The Liturgical Mysteries) (24 page)

"That's some real good writing," I thought to myself. I took a swallow of coffee, bit down on the pipe stem, and followed the dream.

Tessie cowered in the corner like Lindsay Lohan at a drug testing facility. "Please! Not me," she exclaimed. "I have so much to live for. I'm the one o'clock weather girl on Channel Two..."

The pope clapped his hands together with a thunderclap and the last of the vampires (which, in case you weren't paying attention, was Tessie) disappeared in a brilliant flash of light in the exact way the "Left Behind" books worked except oppositely since Tessie obviously wasn't bound for heaven, and, just like "Left Behind," she apparently had to go naked since all her clothes were piled in a smoking heap, her drawers on top, her thong now unthung.

"Naked, eh?" said Pedro. "Peeled and punished. That's gonna sting when she sits down on that brimstone."

"I did not send her to hell," said the pope, now twirling slowly like a phosphorescent piñata and fading from sight. "I sent her to Des Moines."

"Even worse," muttered Pedro.

***

While getting dressed, I decided that Baxter might like a drive into town. It was easy to take him with me as he liked nothing more than to guard the police station while I completed my chores, cheerfully slobbering on whoever might blunder into his compass. When I asked him if he wanted to go, he was out the back door and had both paws on the tailgate of the truck before I'd even cleared the kitchen. I left a baby squirrel on the window sill for Archimedes, let Baxter into the back of the pickup, and set off toward St. Germaine. It was overcast and cold, but the rain had let up for the present, so Baxter was perfectly happy hanging his face out the side of the pickup and enjoying the blast of icy wind in his teeth.

I'd told Nancy about my meeting with Kent Murphee yesterday afternoon, but she'd had no more insight than I, and I drove into town trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Why would Rob Brannon have killed Flori Cabbage? There had to be a reason, but I didn't know what it might be. He had to be involved somehow. The coincidences were too many. What about Ian? He had no apparent motive. Collette? I didn't think so.

Nancy was in the office when we arrived and Baxter bounded up to her, tail wagging, all kisses and snuggles. She returned his affection.

"U.S. Cellular finally called back," she said, scratching Baxter behind his ears. He closed his eyes and rumbled his appreciation. "I talked to legal and faxed the warrant. They're emailing Flori Cabbage's password in a few minutes."

"Great."

"Also, Dave left these pictures for us. Rob Brannon. They were taken last month at the prison when he was released."

Nancy pushed one of the photos across the counter toward me. It was the picture of a hard man, balding with a full beard and mustache. Rob Brannon had lost a significant amount of weight in prison and looked as though, judging by the muscles in his neck, he'd been working out. I don't think I would have recognized him had I not known who it was.

"He doesn't even look like himself, does he?" said Nancy.

"Nope. Show this around, will you? Someone might have seen him. Maybe that Grover guy who sold the pumpkin, or one of the other DaNGLs, might recognize him."

"Will do, boss."

"Okay," I said, scratching Baxter under his chin. "I'm taking the big guy over to the church and running through my prelude for tomorrow. I didn't get to it yesterday morning."

"Bring him back when you're finished," said Nancy. "I'll take him for a walk during lunch."

***

Nancy was waiting at the station when I finished. I could see her through the plate glass window as Baxter and I came across Sterling Park. The leaf-followers had disappeared. The rush was over and not many tourists were interested in seeing drab, soggy foliage drop from the trees in sodden clumps. I opened the door and Baxter greeted Nancy as though he hadn't seen her in three months, even though we'd left the office about a half-hour before. Nancy, of course, reciprocated.

"Just look at this," Nancy said. Baxter laid down at her feet as she held up Flori Cabbage's phone. It was open and charged and the screen was dialed up to show her texts.

"These only go back a couple weeks," said Nancy. "She must have deleted the earlier ones."

"Can we get them if we need them?"

"Phone company says no. They're gone."

"What about that thing you told Ian? You know... how we all left an electronic trail."

"Bunk," said Nancy. "Unless you've saved it, it's in the wind."

"Why doesn't this happen to the 'CSI' guys?" I asked. "They
always
have the texts."

Nancy laughed. "Yeah. They have 3-D air touch-screens, too. And they can do a DNA test in two minutes. Why do you even watch those shows?"

"To keep up," I said.

"Anyway," Nancy said, scrolling through the phone, "Wednesday, October 25th, 9:13 AM. Text from Bud: Great to meet you. Can we get 2gether this WK?"

"Text back to Bud from Flori Cabbage: BB 1?"

"Text back to Flori from Bud: OK."

"So they met at the Bear and Brew at one o'clock," I said. "The Wednesday before she was killed."

"Yep. Then there's a bunch of texts to various people. Nothing interesting except the ones we've already seen back and forth from her to Ian Burch."

"Skip those," I said.

"Right. Here's one to Collette on Thursday, October 26th: C U soon. Can't wait."

"Probably talking about the book signing at Eden Books."

"That's my thought," said Nancy. "Then two more from Ian and a picture of Flori Cabbage that she sent back to him that I'm gonna sell to Dave for about a million bucks. Here's one from Bud. Still Thursday, 4:10 PM: Can we meet? She answers: Sure. BB 6? Bud replies: OK."

"Be good to know what they were meeting about."

"There's more," said Nancy. "Friday, October 27, 2:32 PM from Bud: Need 2 see you B4 I go back. Flori texts back: Off at 3. Come to the house. 187 Pecan over the garage."

"Oh, man," I said. "What did Bud get into?"

"One more from Flori Cabbage to Collette on Friday at 7:12: Best day ever. Fill you in tomorrow."

"After she hooked up with Bud."

"Oh, yeah," said Nancy. "Then on Saturday, those texts and pictures between her and Ian Burch including the one at 5:32: At EB in line. Meet me later. Still freaked." Nancy looked up at me. "Then... the kicker."

I waited for it.

"On Saturday at 5:47, fifteen minutes later, she sent Bud a text: Meet me in the sacristy. Something to show U."

"During the movie," I said.

"During the movie."

"Let's find Bud after lunch," I said. "I kinda doubt he went back to school."

***

I met Meg for lunch at the Ginger Cat. Annie Cooke greeted us, led us to a table, and put two menus down in front of us.

"Not much business today," she said sadly. "I might as well close up for a month."

I offered her my best sympathetic smile. "What are the specials?" I asked.

"I can't remember," she said. "Anyway, I'm not the waitress. In fact, your waitress isn't even a waitress." She laughed at her own joke.

"Huh?" I said.

She was right. Up flounced Christopher Lloyd—"Mr. Christopher" as he was known to his customers and devotees.

"Mr. Christopher!" Meg said. "I didn't know you were working here. How lovely!"

"It's just for a few months," said Mr. Christopher, placing glasses of water in front of each of us. "As you know, there were some problems with my TV show. The cable network just couldn't accept my lifestyle."

"Ah, I see," said Meg sympathetically. "You would have thought that a design show might have taken your lifestyle into account."

"You'd have thought," sniffed Mr. Christopher. "Anyway, I'd already sold my interior design business in Boone, so I guess I'm starting from scratch. No matter." He struck a pose: elbows in, wrists out, feet in third position. "Here I am," he tweedled. "How may I serve you?"

Contrary to his public stance on the reason for his dismissal, everyone in Watauga County knew that Mr. Christopher had been doing very well with his show,
The 14 Layers of Style,
until he had been captured on video
in flagrante delicto
with a rather robust cameraman and the cameraman had decided that he would "come out" by posting it on the internet. Even HGTV couldn't keep Mr. C on the air after that.

"What is the special, Mr. Christopher?" asked Meg, perusing the menu, but not really looking. The menu was superfluous. I knew she'd order the special.

"Today we're featuring sesame-crusted, pan-seared tuna, potatoes,
haricots verts
, heirloom tomatoes, black olives, and capers in a mustard vinaigrette."

"What the heck is a
haricots verts
?" I said.

"Shh," said Meg, hushing me. "They're French green beans.
Please!
"

Mr. Christopher rolled his eyes. Meg joined him. They rolled their eyes at me for a while, then Meg said, "That sounds wonderful," and closed her menu.

Mr. Christopher changed his ballet stance from third position to fifth and swiveled in my direction. "And for you, Chief? Might I interest you in the Boeuf à la Stroganoff: red wine braised beef short ribs with house-made buckwheat noodles, wild mushrooms, and porcini cream?" He pointed to my menu. "It's right there on the second page."

"Nah," I said. "I think I'll have a fried egg sandwich."

Meg, who was taking a sip of water at the time, sprayed half a mouthful across the table before her napkin made it to her lips.

By the time our meals had arrived (I couldn't help but notice that Mr. Christopher had managed to dress my egg sandwich up with some of those capers—either that, or there was a rabbit loose in the kitchen), Cynthia Johnsson, our erstwhile mayor and Pete's significant other, had come in with her two nieces, one of them being Addie Buss and the other, Addie's younger cousin, Penny Trice. Penny was seven.

"Good afternoon, ladies," I said.

"Hi, you guys," added Meg.

"We've just been petting Baxter," said Penny. "He was outside with... umm..."

"Lieutenant Parsky," said Cynthia.

"Yes, ma'am," said Penny. "Lieutenant Parsky. He's quite a good dog."

"Thank you, Penny," said Meg. "He
is
a good dog. Maybe you'd like to come up to our house and play with him sometime."

"Oh, yes," said Penny. "Yes, I would like that very much."

"Can I come, too?" said Addie.

"
May
I come, too?" corrected Cynthia.

"
May
I come, too?" repeated Addie.

"Absolutely!" said Meg with a big smile.

"What are you having for lunch?" asked Cynthia. "It looks delicious."

"Fried egg sandwich," I said, with my mouth half-f.

"Not you," said Cynthia, half-disgusted. "I was asking Meg." Then she and Meg engaged in a pother of eye-rolling. Then Mr. Christopher walked by and rolled
his
eyes. Then the two girls rolled
their
eyes. I vowed to never eat at the Ginger Cat again.

***

Meg and I were walking back to the station when a text popped up on my phone. It was from Pauli Girl. It said, "Come to the house PDQ."

Chapter 21

I drove my truck up to Coondog Holler with Nancy in the front seat. Meg had packed Baxter into her Lexus and driven back to the house. We turned up the McCollough's drive and ended up right behind Bud's Nissan station wagon, blocking it in. It had been packed to the top of the windows and there was a bundle tied up with a tarp lashed to the roof. Nancy and I exited our vehicle, walked up onto the porch and knocked on the door. Pauli Girl was the one who answered. Frowning, she opened the door all the way and gestured us in. Bud was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. I walked over to the table and sat down. Nancy took a quick and unobtrusive tour of the trailer.