Death in the Choir Read Free Page B

home from work. They had just
celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary.
    She had met Dean at the University of Florida in
Gainesville, when she was majoring in philosophy and he was studying
mathematics. She had dated a series of men who were intent on avoiding
commitment, and had been extremely wary when this good-looking, intelligent man
had shown up in her life. He seemed too good to be true. On their first date,
they had talked for hours, and Francesca had found herself stunned by how much
they shared in common. Like her, he had been a fat child; like her, he had been
raised by a school-teacher mom. Best of all, he was eager to get married and
start a family.
    After they married, he went on to get a graduate
degree in computer science and then landed a well-paying job. Francesca had
soon discovered that a philosophy degree wasn’t worth much in the marketplace,
so she had reluctantly entered the public relations field. He had been born in
Gainesville, and she had grown up in Miami, and they had yearned to live in
Florida after graduation, but Dean’s career had brought them to Georgia.
    She had been raised a strict Catholic in a household
that traced its Italian Catholic roots for many generations back. Still, when
she went to college and majored in philosophy with a minor in psychology, she
suddenly found all her beliefs challenged and shaken. Before long, she had
become what the nuns had warned her about: a fallen-away Catholic. Dean had
been baptized in the Methodist church, but had little interest in religion, at
least in the early years of their marriage.
    Then, one day, out of the blue, Francesca surprised
herself and everyone who knew her by returning to the Catholic Church. She told
her friends that something – someone? – had been tugging at her, and she had
given in to that strong, mysterious impulse.
    Much to her delight, Dean had expressed interest in
learning about the Church, and had persevered through nearly a year of
instruction before being confirmed during an Easter vigil at St. Rita’s. It had
touched her deeply that he had taken Joseph as his confirmation name, since he
knew Joseph was her favorite saint.
    Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and looked toward the
foot of the bed, where something warm and furry was pressed against her legs.
It was Tubs. He was the one snoring ,
she thought. Pure white except for a tail with raccoon stripes and a black
patch on his back shaped like Africa, the old fellow had taken up residence in
her bed shortly after Dean’s death. And she had not had the heart to insist
that he sleep in his cat bed in the hall.
    When she leaned down and petted Tubs tenderly on his
head, the slanted green eyes opened and the snoring transformed itself into a
deep, rumbling purr. She didn’t quite trust people who complained that cats
were aloof. It seemed to her that cats mirrored their owners’ emotions. She
cherished Tubs, and he lavishly returned her love by dissolving into ecstatic
fits of purring whenever he saw her.
    “Hey, Tubs.” She scratched lightly behind the raggedy
ears. “It’s time to get up.”
    Because Tubs’ arthritis was so bad, it was hard for
him to leap from the bed, so she picked him up and deposited him gently on the
floor. He made a beeline for the kitchen and stood expectantly by his food
bowl, meowing like a lost kitten. After she had quickly brushed her teeth and
washed her face, she poured a generous helping of dry food into his bowl. But
he just stood there, gazing at her hopefully, so she shrugged and opened a can
of wet food, his favorite smelly concoction. She mixed everything together and
placed the bowl back on the floor.
    The phone rang precisely at 8:45. Heading into the
living room, she heard the faint sounds of gobbling emanating from the
kitchen.  
    “Hello?” she said cautiously. If she heard a
suspicious click and then a tentative “Mrs. Bibbo ?”
she’d know it was a salesperson -- and she usually hung up at that point.
    But it was