Free Death in the Choir by Lorraine V. Murray Page A

I’m going to level with you. I was outside with Patricia earlier,
and I kissed her. Not because I’m attracted to her, but because I was trying to
make amends for what I said about her singing earlier. That was wrong, and I
know it. But you’re special to me. You really are.”
    She remained silent. She didn’t know what to say. I hope he means it.
    Now he smiled at her. Those dimples again . “Are you angry with me? Are you going to quit
your job as choir assistant?”
    “Of course not.” Let’s
change the topic, she thought. Talk
about something safe like work. “But you really haven’t given me much work
to do so far.”
    He straightened his tie. “You’re right, but I do have a
big assignment for you. If you’ll go in my office, you’ll find all kinds of
papers in the desk drawers. Everything is terribly disorganized. Old programs,
invoices, you name it. I’m famous for throwing stuff in drawers and forgetting
about it. You can take everything home with you, and organize it there.”
    He took her hand gently. “Would you be interested in
putting some order in my life?”
    How
can I say no? Here’s a man who needs me. Isn’t that what I miss so much about
Dean?
    “Yes, of course, Randall, I’ll be happy to.”
    Now he hugged her, but the feeling wasn’t romantic.
There was almost desperation in the embrace. When he drew back, there seemed to
be moisture glistening in his eyes.
    “Francesca, some day I want to tell you more about my
life. I haven’t been…exactly an angel…but I’ve been trying to change.”
    “Don’t worry about it, Randall. We all have stuff we
wish we hadn’t done.”
    “You’re the best, Francesca. You’re really a godsend.
And I think we’re going to make quite a team.”
    It was midnight when the party started breaking up.
Francesca had stopped drinking at 10 because she knew she’d be driving home. As
people were straggling out into the night, Molly whispered, “Randall looks
soused. Maybe you could drive him home?”
    “Sure, let me get my purse.” But by the time Francesca
returned, Randall had already slipped out. They saw his car pulling out of the
driveway.
    When Francesca left the party about a half hour later,
something told her to drive by his house to check up on him. She knew from the
choir list that his house was about a mile away from Molly’s. It was one of the
refurbished 1940s cottages that were becoming very popular in Decatur. As she slowed
down, she could see that the lights in his house were off and his car was
parked in the driveway. All is well, she thought, and then she felt a distinct temptation to ring the doorbell. Why not? Would that be so wrong?
    Then she noticed another car out front. A sparkling
white Mercedes -- Patricia’s. It looks
like Romeo has found his Juliet. Why was I stupid enough to believe anything he said ? She drove home,
scrubbed off all her make-up, and put on her pajamas. Then she climbed into bed
with Tubs.
    “It’s you and me, boy, and it’s a good thing you’re not
a human being. Some of us just can’t be trusted.”  
    * *
*
    The next morning, she awakened at eight and had to rush
around getting dressed to get to the rectory by nine. Tubs watched her as she
dressed, as if fearful she might forget to feed him. But just before she
scurried out the door, she up-ended an entire can of tuna into his bowl.
    The phone was already ringing as she took her seat at
the little desk in the foyer of the rectory. The priests lived upstairs, while
the downstairs area contained the kitchen, plus a few offices. “What time are
the Sunday masses?” the caller wanted to know. Then a new mother called to sign
up for baptism classes, and an unidentified parishioner called to register his
complaint about how chilly the church had been last Sunday. “Isn’t anyone
paying the heating bills?”
    When the first wave of phone calls subsided, Francesca
wandered down the hall and stopped in Margaret Hennessy’s office. Margaret,