Death in the Choir Read Free Page A

doesn’t want to spend the money to buy a new one, so
we have to keep adding patches here and there. I swear I’m tempted to sneak
into church late one night and put the thing out of its misery by hacking it to
death with an axe.”
    He gave her another of his
disarming smiles, dimples and all.  
    “Well, enough of my
problems. We’d better call it a night. I’ll get in touch with you soon.”
    Picking up her music folder
and her purse, Francesca genuflected in the direction of the tabernacle. For
just a moment, her eyes glanced lovingly at the serene statue of St. Joseph,
her favorite saint. She loved the Blessed Virgin Mary dearly, but there was
something about St. Joseph that intrigued her.
    She wished there were a
prayer like the “Hail Mary” to honor the man who surely had helped Mary give
birth to the Christ Child in that lonely stable in Bethlehem. She had always
pictured Joseph as being the first to hold the babe and look into His eyes.
    Now, as she opened the back
door of the church vestibule to step outside, she saw a dark figure coming up
the steps. Although Decatur was relatively safe, there was always the chance of
a street person coming up to ask for money, and they made her nervous when she
was alone. Startled and suddenly fearful, she pulled her purse toward her and
drew back. Then she realized it was the pastor, and greeted him warmly.
    “How are you tonight, Father
John?”  
    The priest’s dark hair was
in disarray, standing up in tufts around his ears. Once again, she thought of horns.  
    “Just fine, my dear, and
you?”  
    She smiled in response . I wonder if he remembers my name .
She’d been a parishioner for six years, but it was a very large congregation
and he wasn’t good with names. Now she watched as Father John Riley opened the door
to the church, genuflected, and went in. It was then that she realized she had
forgotten to light a votive candle for her husband, as she did every week after
rehearsal. She quietly returned to the front of the church, lit the candle, and
then kneeled down to pray. But as the conversation at the back of the church
started heating up, she had trouble concentrating.
    “I’m concerned the organ is
going to break down during our Christmas Eve performance,” she heard Randall say.
“It’s really on its last legs.”
    She heard the pastor’s
reply. “We have to be good stewards of the congregation’s money. I can’t see
spending thousands and thousands on an organ when there are so many other
needs.”
    She completed her prayers
and stood up, hurrying quickly down the aisle and out the back door. The two
men were so engrossed in conversation that neither one seemed to notice her.
    Randall’s voice was rising.
“Father, what do I have to do to make my point about this ungodly piece of
junk? Sacrifice myself by committing Hari Kari right
here on top of it?”
    She was already out of the
church, so she didn’t hear Father John’s reply.

Chapter 2

 
    As Dean’s snoring reached a crescendo, Francesca awoke
with a start. She sleepily glanced over at the bedside clock – eight a.m. Then
she stretched her hand out to stroke Dean’s hair. He had the loveliest thick
hair, the color of semisweet chocolate, with little gray patches she loved to
tease him about.
    She was just about to whisper, “Dean, stop snoring!”
as she had done a hundred times before, but as her hand touched the pillow, she
came to full consciousness. There was no one there. Dean had been dead two
years and still she could be tricked by memory into believing he was sleeping
beside her.
    Rivulets of hot tears coursed down her cheeks and
turned cold as they trickled into her ears .
I’m not going to start the day this way. I just can’t. The mourning period is
over. Dean would want me to get on with my life.   It was the familiar litany she’d recited ever
since receiving the phone call two years ago telling her that her husband had
been killed in a car accident on his way