The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer

teeth.
    “ I’ll get it,” I said, picking up Gaylen’s empty mug from the side table. She sat down heavily in her arm chair, favoring her left side, and I saw a grimace before I disappeared into the kitchen to refill her cup and get one for myself. I was back a moment later with hers.
    “ Cream, no sugar,” I said, as I handed her the cup.
    “ Thanks.”
    I headed back to the kitchen and hollered back over my shoulder. “Now that I’ve got this broken arm, I’ve got to make two trips to do everything.”
    Gaylen waited until I’d come back with my own coffee before replying. “I’m so sorry about the accident,” she started. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I feel so terrible...”
    “ Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. And good news! All the baby skunks survived.”
    Gaylen couldn’t help but laugh. “Great. That’s just great. All the skunks survived. The story of my life.”
    “ How’re the ribs?”
    “ They hurt, but they’re getting better.”
    “ That’s good. So you’ll be celebrating the Eucharist this Sunday?”
    “ That is the current plan,” Gaylen said slowly, working very hard to enunciate her words. “Donald will be doing the sermon. I heard that your cantata was excellent last Sunday. I’m sorry I missed it.”
    “ It was okay,” I said. “I didn’t care for the organist’s registrations. And her prelude...”
    Gaylen put up her hand and smiled. “We’ll get through this. I’ll be back to work full-time by Epiphany.”
    “ That’s why I’m here, actually,” I said. “I have a proposal.”
    Gaylen’s eyebrows went up in interest.
    “ I just had a phone call from a vicar in Nantwich,” I said.
    “ Nantwich?”
    “ Northwestern England. Geoffrey Chester gave him my name and number. The church there has decided to schedule a tour of some religious treasures. Apparently, once the tour was announced, the vicar got a phone call identifying St. Barnabas as one of the wealthy churches on the east coast of the U.S.”
    “ A dubious distinction,” mumbled Gaylen. “I’m pretty sure our illustrious bishop flagged us.”
    “ Be that as it may, this is quite an interesting proposition.”
    Gaylen settled back into the cushion and took a sip of coffee. “Okay, I’m all ears.”
    I reached into the pocket of my coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I took notes,” I admitted. “This is quite an amazing story.” I unfolded the papers and began.

    •••

    “ Arthur Farrant is the vicar of a small parish in Nantwich called St. Hywyn’s. Like many of the parish churches in England, St. Hywyn’s is trying desperately to raise money to repair the 16th-century building and keep the church going. It’s in a very poor section of the town. The vicar says that the main mission of the parish is running a soup kitchen and providing clothing for the poor.”
    “ You got verification?” Gaylen asked.
    “ I called Geoffrey and he gave me the number of a friend of his at St. Mary’s in the same town. They both told me Farrant’s on the up and up and does great work. He’s even been featured in his local paper several times. But the British economy is as bad as ours and they’re hurting for funds.”
    Gaylen nodded, but didn’t say anything. She motioned for me to continue.
    “ So St. Hywyn’s hired this fund-raising group. It was just a local firm and they didn’t charge much, but they gave them some ideas on how to raise some money. One of the ideas was a throw-back to the Middle Ages.”
    “ Don’t tell me. They’re going on a crusade.”
    “ Nah. You’re thinking of Billy Graham. This is even better. Relics.”
    “ Relics?”
    “ Yep. January 6th is the Feast Day of St. Hywyn,” I said.
    “ Same as the Feast of the Epiphany.”
    “ Yep. Here’s his story.” I looked at the folded paper in my good hand to get my facts straight. “Some of this is just legend, of course. But still...”
    “ Let’s hear it,” said