The Advent of Murder (A Faith Morgan Mystery) by Martha Ockley Page B
Authors: Martha Ockley
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Clari’s voice was kind. “Don’t worry. Pat isn’t a particularly confiding person. I just happened to hear her and Fred talking when we were clearing up together after pageant rehearsals.”
At least Clari was there at the pageant rehearsals to hear, Faith chastised herself.
“And this nephew, he was supposed to come today?”
Clari nodded. “It looks as if he has stood her up.”
“Poor Pat!” Faith suddenly saw the connection. In her way, Pat was as alone as Adam Bagshaw.
“Mmm.” Clari sounded distracted. “Sue and I need to catch up with you over the pageant. Do you think Oliver Markham is going to be able to play Joseph with this awful murder investigation?”
Faith deflated with relief. “I am so glad you’ve thought of that too,” she said. “I have been worrying and worrying about it. What should we do? I’ve tried ringing Oliver at home, but there’s no answer.”
Clari leaned further into the darkness, stretching out one slim leg for balance. Her voice was muffled. “It must be a dreadful time for them. It will hardly be a surprise if Oliver needs to drop out. But who can we get?”
Faith reviewed the possibles one more time. “Well, we need all the Wise Men. And Fred will be too busy marshalling everybody…”
“Besides, he hates making a spectacle of himself – as he puts it…”
“I did wonder about asking Peter Gray, but – being on the investigating team… well… murder enquiries are pretty intense. He most likely will say he doesn’t have the time, and if he does agree, he’ll probably get called away at the crucial moment and we will be Joseph-less anyway. You don’t suppose Alice Peabody’s soldier boyfriend might consider it? She is Mary and he’s back on leave, I hear.”
“Got it!” declared Clarisse, triumphantly. She edged backwards toward Faith, dragging a cardboard box. With a grimace of effort, she heaved it over between them, pulling back a flap. Faith glimpsed satin in a rich plum colour.
The box was unwieldy and dusty. Faith backed down the ladder, holding on with one hand, using the other to balance the cardboard box on her head. It was heavier than she’d first thought and her knee hurt. She wobbled uncertainly.
“Be careful!” Clarisse called anxiously from above.
Concentrating on holding her balance, Faith only dimly heard Fred shouting from across the church telling her to wait and let him do it. At last her lower foot struck reassuring tile and she turned, she hoped gracefully, to greet him with a triumphant, “Ta-da!”
Jim Postlethwaite was standing in front of her looking quizzical. He didn’t take his eyes from her face. She thoughtshe must be covered in dust. Jim lifted the weight of the box from her head with ease.
“Impressive,” he said.
C HAPTER
8
Sue, Clarisse and Fred spirited the box of decorations off to the other end of the church, corralling Pat as they went. Faith shifted her gaze from their studiously turned backs. Casual in denim jeans and black peacoat, Jim Postlethwaite looked more like a dock worker than a choirmaster – a rather attractive dock worker. She pushed the unprofessional thought aside.
“Had a spare couple of hours and thought I’d drop by to see the church – I did leave a message…” He looked over at the group shaking creases out of the Spicer wedding decorations. “You’ve got something on tonight?”
“A civic carol service. It doesn’t start until 6:30 p.m. Glad you could come by. Let me give you the tour. I was hoping the choir might be able to sing from the gallery.” She led him away from the others, round to the curved wooden steps leading up to the gallery above the main door. She started up ahead of him. The treads were narrow and steep. Faith suddenly became conscious that her jeans fitted her rather snugly. She tugged her jumper down at the back. “It’s a bit cramped,” she said hurriedly, “but the effect will be dramatic, especially for the Midnight Mass.” She
At least Clari was there at the pageant rehearsals to hear, Faith chastised herself.
“And this nephew, he was supposed to come today?”
Clari nodded. “It looks as if he has stood her up.”
“Poor Pat!” Faith suddenly saw the connection. In her way, Pat was as alone as Adam Bagshaw.
“Mmm.” Clari sounded distracted. “Sue and I need to catch up with you over the pageant. Do you think Oliver Markham is going to be able to play Joseph with this awful murder investigation?”
Faith deflated with relief. “I am so glad you’ve thought of that too,” she said. “I have been worrying and worrying about it. What should we do? I’ve tried ringing Oliver at home, but there’s no answer.”
Clari leaned further into the darkness, stretching out one slim leg for balance. Her voice was muffled. “It must be a dreadful time for them. It will hardly be a surprise if Oliver needs to drop out. But who can we get?”
Faith reviewed the possibles one more time. “Well, we need all the Wise Men. And Fred will be too busy marshalling everybody…”
“Besides, he hates making a spectacle of himself – as he puts it…”
“I did wonder about asking Peter Gray, but – being on the investigating team… well… murder enquiries are pretty intense. He most likely will say he doesn’t have the time, and if he does agree, he’ll probably get called away at the crucial moment and we will be Joseph-less anyway. You don’t suppose Alice Peabody’s soldier boyfriend might consider it? She is Mary and he’s back on leave, I hear.”
“Got it!” declared Clarisse, triumphantly. She edged backwards toward Faith, dragging a cardboard box. With a grimace of effort, she heaved it over between them, pulling back a flap. Faith glimpsed satin in a rich plum colour.
The box was unwieldy and dusty. Faith backed down the ladder, holding on with one hand, using the other to balance the cardboard box on her head. It was heavier than she’d first thought and her knee hurt. She wobbled uncertainly.
“Be careful!” Clarisse called anxiously from above.
Concentrating on holding her balance, Faith only dimly heard Fred shouting from across the church telling her to wait and let him do it. At last her lower foot struck reassuring tile and she turned, she hoped gracefully, to greet him with a triumphant, “Ta-da!”
Jim Postlethwaite was standing in front of her looking quizzical. He didn’t take his eyes from her face. She thoughtshe must be covered in dust. Jim lifted the weight of the box from her head with ease.
“Impressive,” he said.
C HAPTER
8
Sue, Clarisse and Fred spirited the box of decorations off to the other end of the church, corralling Pat as they went. Faith shifted her gaze from their studiously turned backs. Casual in denim jeans and black peacoat, Jim Postlethwaite looked more like a dock worker than a choirmaster – a rather attractive dock worker. She pushed the unprofessional thought aside.
“Had a spare couple of hours and thought I’d drop by to see the church – I did leave a message…” He looked over at the group shaking creases out of the Spicer wedding decorations. “You’ve got something on tonight?”
“A civic carol service. It doesn’t start until 6:30 p.m. Glad you could come by. Let me give you the tour. I was hoping the choir might be able to sing from the gallery.” She led him away from the others, round to the curved wooden steps leading up to the gallery above the main door. She started up ahead of him. The treads were narrow and steep. Faith suddenly became conscious that her jeans fitted her rather snugly. She tugged her jumper down at the back. “It’s a bit cramped,” she said hurriedly, “but the effect will be dramatic, especially for the Midnight Mass.” She
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