Free The Bass Wore Scales by Mark Schweizer Page A

steps in vestments, it’d help.”
    “ Well, Bev’s in the office,” I said, “and Elaine will be here, right? We just finished having lunch.”
    “ She’s here now,” said Pete. “I just saw her walk into the church.”
    “ I’ll get her,” Billy said. “Maybe Georgia’s in there, too.”
    “ You’re married to Elaine,” I said, “so you can probably talk her into it. Do you have anything on Georgia or Bev?”
    “ I’ll appeal to their civic pride,” said Billy, with a grin. “And they probably don’t want to have to mow their own lawns for the rest of the summer.”
    * * *

    Bishop O’Connell showed up at 2:50 pm. Billy was getting worried and had already given me a copy of the blessing just in case I had to preside. There wasn’t much to it since everyone knew that the entire service wouldn’t occupy more than a thirty-second bite on any of the networks, and newspapers would do well to get a photo and a caption out of the whole extravaganza.
    It was a fact of life in the Episcopal Church that we didn’t mind blessing all kinds of things, and Episcopal Bishops, in particular, knew that this was part and parcel of their ministry. Last year, during a “Blessing of the Animals” service on St. Francis’ Day, Bishop O’Connell was photographed blessing a possum, so the St. Barnabas Racecar, dedicated to the glory of God, wasn’t too far out of bounds. Since I didn’t have any duties to attend to, I stood off to the side with Meg and Pete and enjoyed the show as well as the beautiful afternoon.
    The clock at the top of the courthouse said three o’clock, but then again, that clock always said three o’clock. It had stopped thirty years ago and had never been fixed. The town council had decided that for what it would cost to fix the clock, it would be more economical to have the St. Germaine Town Clock tell the correct time exactly twice a day. It was no coincidence that almost all of our downtown events happened at three. I looked at the clock, then at my watch, and in precisely ten seconds, they lined up perfectly.
    The church bell started ringing, the two front doors to the church opened and out walked the procession—two acolytes; Benny Dawkins swinging his thurible; Bishop O’Connell, Bev, Georgia and Elaine, all wearing cassocks; and finally, Billy Hixon, Lucille Murdock and Junior Jameson. Billy was grinning ear-to-ear. Lucille was clutching her purse with both white-gloved hands and blinking nervously behind her thick glasses. Junior waved to the crowd that now numbered close to two hundred. This was a good turnout for St. Germaine, but as I surveyed the crowd, I could tell that there were more out-of-towners than locals.
    “ Where’d all these people come from?” I asked Pete.
    “ I put an ad in the Watauga Democrat ,” admitted Pete. “Just a little one, but Junior Jameson is almost famous. If he starts winning races, we’ll be set.”
    “ Has he ever won?” I asked.
    “ Not a Winston Cup race,” said Pete. “I don’t think he’s even had a top twenty finish.”
    “ That’s not too good, is it?” said Meg.
    “ Nope,” answered Pete, “but that’s all about to change.”
    Benny Dawkins started his walk-around. The car had been driven off the trailer and was now on Main Street at the bottom of the steps. The hood was up, but the doors and the trunk were closed.
    “ Shouldn’t the doors be open, as well as the hood?” I asked. “For the blessing.”
    “ They’re welded shut,” said Meg. I looked at her in astonishment.
    “ So?” she said, “I happen to like NASCAR racing. What about it?”
    Benny walked around the car three times with his thurible, directing the fragrant smoke into and around the racecar, although the faint breeze blowing across the square whisked the fog away almost as soon as it appeared.
    “ Our help is in the name of the Lord,” called out Bishop O’Connell.
    “ Who has made heaven and earth,” answered the Blessing Party,