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

the
director of education, wasn’t coming in today, but her office door was open.
There was the usual big glass jar of candies on her desk. Margaret was pencil
thin and didn’t indulge in candy, but she kept the jar full for others. A nice ministry, Francesca reflected.
    Mmmmmm , Milky Way bars. She
put a few in her jeans pocket and started heading back to her desk, but then
she decided to stop by Randall’s office.
    I’m
going to forget all about last night and all the romantic stuff he said to me.
I’m going to be his assistant and nothing more. I’m not going to act like a
jealous idiot just because he has a thing for Patricia.
    She unlocked the door and went in. She remembered his
description of how disorganized he was. He
wasn’t kidding. There were stacks of papers and music books on his desk,
plus old church bulletins, old programs from past Christmases, pencils and pens
strewn every which way, and sticky notes with dates and times scribbled on them
posted on the desk top. On the sunny windowsill a single African violet plant
had birthed a tiny white flower. I’ll bet
Margaret Hennessy waters it.
    It was difficult opening the desk drawers because they
were stuffed to capacity. She decided to take everything out and start from
scratch in organizing things. She found a very large, empty cardboard box in
the corner of the office and upended folders, papers, and musical scores into
it. She put the box on the floor and pushed it down the hall, since it was too
large to carry. I’ll take it home with me
and bring everything back in a few days.
    Just then, the phone began ringing.
    “Francesca, it’s me, Patricia,” a voice on the other end
wailed. But it didn’t sound like Patricia at all.
    “Oh, it’s too horrible, I just can’t, I can’t take
it...”
    Another line started ringing. “Hold on, Patricia, I have
another call. I’ll be right back. St. Rita’s,” she said to the other caller.
“Please hold.”   
    “No, ma’am, I won’t hold. This is Jack Davis, and I’ve
been a member of the church now for 20 years. But I have to say I’ve never
before heard a sermon about the rules about genuflecting and I just don’t
understand why we have to be subjected to...”
    She did something that she had never done before. She
hung up on him, promising herself that if he called back, she’d explain there
had been an emergency.
    “Patricia? Are you still there? What’s wrong?”
    “Oh, it’s just horrible. I went by Randall’s house this
morning and rang his bell, but he didn’t come to the door. His car was outside,
so I was worried something might be wrong. He was awfully drunk last night, you
know.”
    “Well, I went around to the back door and it was open,
so I went in.” Patricia started sobbing again. “I don’t know how to say this,”
she wailed. “But Randall’s dead.”
    Dead! A wave of nausea swept through Francesca as she
felt herself reliving some of the shock she’d experienced two years ago when
she’d learned about Dean’s death over the phone.
    “Oh, dear Lord! What happened?”
    “I don’t know. He was on the couch. I thought he was
sleeping, but when I tried to get him to wake up, he didn’t. And he was, oh,
God, he was so cold.” She broke down again.
    “Patricia, where are you now?”
    “I got so frightened that I left and came home.”
    “You have to call the police. Dial 911 and report his
death. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, OK, I will,” Patricia sobbed, and then hung up.
    “AAAGGH!” Francesca dropped the phone. Something hot and
fuzzy was slobbering all over her feet. She jumped from the chair and looked
downward, her heart beating so fast she thought she was having a coronary.
    “Oh, Lord, have mercy! Spot!”
    The big mutt beamed at her, his tongue dangling from his
mouth.
    * *
*
    A short while later, Father John made his way slowly
down the stairs. He had a vicious headache, the result of downing too many
glasses of wine last night. He nearly