shrugged.
“ Now I have a couple of questions for you ,” Gaylen said. I looked at her in anticipation. She was quite an attractive woman, tall and slender with shoulder length white hair that rested gently on her shoulders, and an easy smile that lit her unlined face.
“ Shoot,” I said.
“ Well, that’s the first question. Do you actually keep a loaded pistol in the organ bench?”
“ Yep. A Glock 9.”
“ May I ask why?”
“ Well, I am a cop,” I said. “Plus, there are rats in the choir loft, and I find it helps persuade the tenors to sing the right notes.”
“ Hmm,” said Gaylen. “I can see where that might help. How about the psalms? Do you sing them or just say them?”
“ We always sang them when I was here. I’m not quite sure what they do now.”
“ Well, I’ve gone over some of the bulletins from your tenure, and the music looked wonderful. If you decide to come back, I hope that you’ll continue to provide the parish with that gift.”
“ No Hootnanny masses?” I asked. “No canned music?”
“ No.”
“ Who picks the hymns?”
“ You do.”
“ Who’s going to fire the one-legged organist?”
“ Bev is,” said Gaylen, with another smile.
“ Well, I’ll certainly mull it over,” I said, getting to my feet. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“ I’ll be here on Sunday,” Gaylen said. “Tony will be celebrating, but I’ll be helping out. The Sunday after that, it’ll just be me. I hope you’ll be back by then. Also, if you put copies of your detective stories in the choir folders, I expect one in my Prayerbook as well.”
She stood and shook my hand. “It’s been a real pleasure talking to you, Hayden.”
* * *
“ So, what do you think?” asked Meg. “C’mon. What do you think?”
“ I think she’s very clever,” I said. “ Very clever. Almost too clever.”
“ But you like her, right?”
“ Yeah, I like her.”
“ So, you’ll come back? I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you’d enjoy yourself. And you just haven’t been happy since you quit.”
“ I know,” I said. “I do miss playing. I’ll tell you what. I’ll come back for a while, and we’ll see how it goes.”
* * *
I picked Moosey up at five-thirty in the morning. The sky was beginning to lighten, but the sun hadn’t yet made its appearance. As I drove up to the McCollough trailer, my headlights swept across the porch and illuminated Moosey, sitting cross-legged, chewing happily on a candy bar, the coffee can full of worms next to him. I pulled up, and Moosey was into the truck before I had a chance to come to a full stop.
“ Did you tell your Mom we were leaving?”
“ She saw you through the window,” Moosey said, pointing toward the living room. I looked over, but the curtains were drawn.”
“ You sure?”
“ Yeah. She saw you drive up. Then she waved goodbye and everything.”
I nodded. “Okay then. We’ll be back by eight anyway.”
We drove to the lake, carried our tackle down to Pete’s boat, arranged ourselves and pushed off into the quiet water. It was one of those mornings that was dead still. I heard a few birds in the distance, but other than the sound of the oars in the water, the lake was as silent as the grave. The breeze that had welcomed us the first morning was nowhere to be found, and the fog rested on the surface of the lake like one of Ardine’s quilts, making it tough to see the opposite shore even though it was a scant fifty yards away.
“ You think we’ll catch one today?” said Moosey. “I’ve never caught no fish before.”
“ Well, I hope so,” I said. “Here, stick a worm on the end of that hook.”
One thing I’ll say for Moosey—he’s never been squeamish when it comes to worms. We baited our hooks, clipped on the bobbers and dropped our lines into the water. True anglers worried about casting close to the weeds, which lures would be most likely to work on any given day and making the
“ Now I have a couple of questions for you ,” Gaylen said. I looked at her in anticipation. She was quite an attractive woman, tall and slender with shoulder length white hair that rested gently on her shoulders, and an easy smile that lit her unlined face.
“ Shoot,” I said.
“ Well, that’s the first question. Do you actually keep a loaded pistol in the organ bench?”
“ Yep. A Glock 9.”
“ May I ask why?”
“ Well, I am a cop,” I said. “Plus, there are rats in the choir loft, and I find it helps persuade the tenors to sing the right notes.”
“ Hmm,” said Gaylen. “I can see where that might help. How about the psalms? Do you sing them or just say them?”
“ We always sang them when I was here. I’m not quite sure what they do now.”
“ Well, I’ve gone over some of the bulletins from your tenure, and the music looked wonderful. If you decide to come back, I hope that you’ll continue to provide the parish with that gift.”
“ No Hootnanny masses?” I asked. “No canned music?”
“ No.”
“ Who picks the hymns?”
“ You do.”
“ Who’s going to fire the one-legged organist?”
“ Bev is,” said Gaylen, with another smile.
“ Well, I’ll certainly mull it over,” I said, getting to my feet. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“ I’ll be here on Sunday,” Gaylen said. “Tony will be celebrating, but I’ll be helping out. The Sunday after that, it’ll just be me. I hope you’ll be back by then. Also, if you put copies of your detective stories in the choir folders, I expect one in my Prayerbook as well.”
She stood and shook my hand. “It’s been a real pleasure talking to you, Hayden.”
* * *
“ So, what do you think?” asked Meg. “C’mon. What do you think?”
“ I think she’s very clever,” I said. “ Very clever. Almost too clever.”
“ But you like her, right?”
“ Yeah, I like her.”
“ So, you’ll come back? I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you’d enjoy yourself. And you just haven’t been happy since you quit.”
“ I know,” I said. “I do miss playing. I’ll tell you what. I’ll come back for a while, and we’ll see how it goes.”
* * *
I picked Moosey up at five-thirty in the morning. The sky was beginning to lighten, but the sun hadn’t yet made its appearance. As I drove up to the McCollough trailer, my headlights swept across the porch and illuminated Moosey, sitting cross-legged, chewing happily on a candy bar, the coffee can full of worms next to him. I pulled up, and Moosey was into the truck before I had a chance to come to a full stop.
“ Did you tell your Mom we were leaving?”
“ She saw you through the window,” Moosey said, pointing toward the living room. I looked over, but the curtains were drawn.”
“ You sure?”
“ Yeah. She saw you drive up. Then she waved goodbye and everything.”
I nodded. “Okay then. We’ll be back by eight anyway.”
We drove to the lake, carried our tackle down to Pete’s boat, arranged ourselves and pushed off into the quiet water. It was one of those mornings that was dead still. I heard a few birds in the distance, but other than the sound of the oars in the water, the lake was as silent as the grave. The breeze that had welcomed us the first morning was nowhere to be found, and the fog rested on the surface of the lake like one of Ardine’s quilts, making it tough to see the opposite shore even though it was a scant fifty yards away.
“ You think we’ll catch one today?” said Moosey. “I’ve never caught no fish before.”
“ Well, I hope so,” I said. “Here, stick a worm on the end of that hook.”
One thing I’ll say for Moosey—he’s never been squeamish when it comes to worms. We baited our hooks, clipped on the bobbers and dropped our lines into the water. True anglers worried about casting close to the weeds, which lures would be most likely to work on any given day and making the
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