Liturgical Mysteries 01 The Alto Wore Tweed Read Online Free Page B

gracing the downtown park. As the plaque says—a man of foresight and wisdom.
    The autumn foliage fills the five bed and breakfasts in town every day during the peak season and our one hotel is full from October first through Thanksgiving. The antique shops on Main Street can do enough business to carry them through the rest of the year and you can’t even get a table at The Slab. Driving into town from my place is breathtaking in October, especially at sunset, and usually either Megan or I would comment on the view, but on that particular evening we didn’t even notice it. In fact, Meg hadn’t said a word since I told her the news and that, in itself, was strangely unsettling. I looked over at her. She was sitting very still and staring straight ahead.
    We pulled into the church at about 6:45 and I was surprised to see that a crowd had already gathered. Surprised until I remembered that Mother Ryan had planned a church supper and lecture for seven o’clock. The people milling around outside on the front steps were just getting the news. Herself, wearing a gray business suit with a ruffle at the collar, and looking like she was ready for a board meeting, was blocking the door.
    “Hayden! Thank God!”
    “Thanks for taking charge, Loraine. Say a prayer and send everyone home, will you?”
    “No! I can’t. I mean, I have a special guest speaker. She has to leave tomorrow morning. She’s going to speak on ‘Wimmyn’s Empowerment in the Ministry.’ She’s a nationally known author.”
    “Sorry, Loraine. Send ’em home.”
    She blocked my way, desperate now.
    “Didn’t you hear me? She’s nationally known. Nationally known!”
    I turned to face the crowd that had gathered in front of the church. “Friends,” I announced. “There has been a death in the church. I don’t know yet who it was or if it was an accident or purposeful mischief, but it is my job to find out. I want you all to go home, but before you go, please join me in a word of prayer.
    “Our heavenly Father...” I glanced up. Herself was standing next to me shaking with silent rage. “Our Father,” I began again, “we know that you have received one of your lambs back into you fold this evening. It grieves us and shocks us but we know you are the same God whose quality it is always to show mercy and whose compassion covers us as a mother hen covers her chicks. Grant us a peaceful sleep that we may rise to love and serve you in all our works. In Jesus’ Holy name we pray. Amen.”
    Amens were heard from the crowd and they began dispersing, quietly talking among themselves.
    I turned to Herself. She, I noticed, was beginning to develop quite a twitch. “You can stay if you want,” I offered. I swear, I didn’t know how that woman had any jaw muscles left at all.
    Meg joined me at the door and put her arm around my waist.

    • • •

    Nancy had found the lights by the time we had dispersed the crowd and entered the narthex through the front doors. The steps to the choir loft were directly to the right so we went on up.
    St. Barnabas was built in the early 1900’s on a classical American design. The nave, or main body of the church, was in the shape of a cross and so named because the ceiling of medieval churches resembled the bottom of a huge boat. Nave meaning “ship” and being the root word of our term “naval.” The nautical term, that is—not navel, the umbilical attachment. The transepts, or alcoves, near the front formed the arms of the cross. The high altar was in the front, a smaller Mary altar in the east transept, with the choir and the pipe organ in the back balcony. The sacristy, where the clergy put on their vestments and where communion was prepared, was behind the front wall with two almost invisible doors opening in the paneling behind the altar. It wasn’t a large structure. Seating was limited to about two hundred fifty. We only had about one hundred twenty-five communicants, so we were far from full on most