Free The Tenor Wore Tapshoes by Mark Schweizer Page B

down. All thanks to minimalism."
    "Well, at least you listened to it."
    "Yep. Now I have to listen to Belshazzar's Feast. Or maybe Falstaff. Just to cleanse my palate."
    "Back to the ghost," said Pete. "What did he look like? Could you see through him? Did you feel a cold wind?"
    "Nope. It looked just like the pictures I've seen of him. He was smoking a pipe."
    "You saw a ghost?" asked Noylene, walking up behind Pete with the coffee pot. "I never saw a ghost, but I talked to one once. Through Madam Cleo. You know, that woman on TV. I talked to my old beautician. She told me to go back to my original hair color and to switch from red nail polish to 'passion pink'. It made all the difference."
    "He was just dreaming," said Meg through clenched teeth. "See what you've done," she hissed at me.
    "I was probably dreaming," I agreed.
    "He was dreaming," agreed Pete.
    "I don't know," said Noylene, doubtfully.

    * * *

    "Thanks for coming in, Hayden," said Father George, making a rare Saturday appearance at the church. "I need to talk to you about something."
    "No problem," I said, sitting down in the chair that the priest had offered. "I was coming in to practice a bit anyway." Father George took his seat behind his desk.
    "We're going to have a new position at St. Barnabas. A Parish Administrator."
    I shrugged. "I've heard of them. What would he do exactly?"
    "Well, mainly he…or she," he added thoughtfully, "would be in charge of all the business affairs of the church. Budgets, writing the checks, scheduling the sextons, hiring and firing non-salaried workers. That sort of thing."
    "Who does all that now?"
    "Well, the duties are spread around. I do some of it. Marilyn does some scheduling, but she really doesn't have time. Carol comes in and writes the checks once a month, but she doesn't keep track of budgets. I just think it's time to get it all consolidated."
    "Fine by me. You have anyone in mind yet?"
    "Not yet. We'll probably advertise for the position." Father George stood up indicating that he'd said what he had to say—a quality I admired about him. I nodded and got to my feet as well.
    "By the way, I read that article about you in the Charlotte paper."
    "I had nothing to do with that. I don't even know where that stuff came from."
    "Hmmm," said Father George with a small nod. Then he changed the subject. "Is there any word on the man found in the altar?"
    "He's at the morgue. There'll be an autopsy, but I probably won't hear anything until next week."
    "If they need money to bury him properly, I have some in my discretionary fund."
    "I appreciate that. I'll let the coroner know."

    * * *

    "Do you want to go over to the revival?" asked Meg. "Apparently, it's the best show in town."
    "I think I'll skip it. Thanks for asking though."
    "You know, he didn't have any music lined up, but then, after folks heard about last night, every service is booked with a choir. It was the chicken that did it."
    "I'll consider it. I would like to see that chicken in action."
    "Well, I think you should. Mamma wants to go so I'm going to take her next week, I think."
    "I have these two apple pies," I said. "We could rent a movie, have some dinner and finish with some dessert.
    "Then we could have some pie," Meg said with a smile.

Chapter 9

    "What's the grift?" asked Toby, still out of breath from tapping up the stairs. His voice was wheezing like a broken accordion in a Lutheran nursing home dance band. His tapshoes were beginning a rhythm on the linoleum.
    "I've got a dead girl. I need to know who iced her."
    "How would I know?" said Toby Taps, getting his wind and moving into a step-ball-change-flap-ball-change beside the desk.
    "You know everything, Toby. If there is a murder in this neighborhood, you know who did it."
    "What's in it for me?" Toby executed a very nice paddle and roll.
    "I'll teach you another aria."
    I had his attention now. Another thing about Toby Taps. He didn't want to be thought of as a one-trick pony. That was four