Alpha Site - Edge of Danger

Alpha Site

Edge of Danger

“We have to find out who this woman is.” Ramsey Redcliffe shuffled through the manuscript that covered his desk.

“It’s only a story,” said the man seated in the chair opposite. He looked to be thirty-five and in very good condition for a man his age. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“A story? A story? That story, as you call it, is so exact in its details that it scares the hell out of me. There are things in there even our scientists don’t know.”

“It won’t do good to overreact, Ramsey. It will only raise your blood pressure and draw attention to something that at the moment is a controlled situation.” Shayne Michaels sat with his legs crossed at the ankles and hiked up on Ramsey’s expensive mahogany desk.

The Director swatted at Michaels’s feet. He was definitely losing his superior sense of cool. Shayne had never seen him so spooked.

“What’s really going on, Ramsey?” Shayne looked at his friend and colleague skeptically. “I’ve seen you tackle more important shit with much more fineness.”

“Just read the girl’s web page.” Ramsey insisted, then thrust a piece of paper at Shayne with the website’s URL. “Then you tell me if I have cause to be concerned.”

Shayne exited the office stuffing the note into his pocket and wondering if he’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone. Lowell Vargas met him at the crossroads of the first hallway. The man looked discombobulated. Not that that was anything new. He always looked as if he had forgotten his head at home.

“Eavesdropping again, Radar?” Shayne remarked to the technician.

A sudden horrified expression crossed Vargas’ face and then faded. “Eavesdropping? Me?”

“Don’t feign innocence, Lowell. I know your fingers can’t help but trip Alpha Site’s fantastic gossip grapevine. When it comes to secrets in here, you’re always there with the dirt.”

“My fingers didn’t need to do any tripping. I was the one who brought the suspicious website to the director’s attention.”

Shayne rolled his eyes.

“A fanboy, are we? Great. Now everybody’s surfing for a scapegoat.”

“Not a scapegoat.” Vargas looked around then whispered to Shayne. “I believe it’s an advanced form of remote viewing. We did some research here back in the late seventies. Way before my time. Amazing results, but there was some sort of accident, which is classified, and the research was dropped. I’ve been searching for the missing files for years.”

“Good luck in your search,” Shayne said, backing away. He continued on down the hallway muttering, “Freak,” under his breath.

“Don’t forget to check out the site,” Vargas called after him. “You’ll be intrigued.”

“Sure, I will,” Shayne said sarcastically, stepping into the elevator, then disappearing behind the swiftly closing metal doors.

***

Ramsey Redcliffe had no sooner watched Shayne walk out the door when he placed a call to one of his associates.

“Kate? This is Ramsey. Have you looked over the document I sent you?”

Katherine Donovan glanced around the formal dining room. It was filled to capacity tonight with many, many guests who wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted by the phone call she was now receiving. She placed her still full champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray. A group of eight well-dressed men gathered around her speaking in foreign tongues. They had no clue she, the master of eight languages, could understand every sentence.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I see someone I must have a word with. She nodded politely at the men, then walked toward the open balcony doors. She carefully surveyed the area before activating the Bluetooth device around her ear hiding under her expertly styled hair.

“Exactly what is so important it couldn’t wait until after tonight’s Gala?” her curt tone was quite a one-eighty from the one she’d displayed a few minutes earlier.

“Have you read the manuscript I sent you?” Ramsey repeated.

“You mean the one about the girl’s website?” Kate heard a grunt of yes. “I’ve glanced over it.”

“What did you think?” Ramsey asked eagerly.

“It’s fiction, Ramsey.” Katherine was not amused.

“You must not have read it too closely then, because this fiction exposes many of your program’s secrets.”

“Is this a joke? Is this what couldn’t wait until after the Gala?”

Redcliffe chuckled. “Judge for yourself. The manuscript claims two youths from a secure wing escape. That was posted on her site tonight. Out of curiosity, have you checked on your subjects today?” Ramsey paused, more for effect than anything else. “Read the manuscript, Katie. You’ll be enlightened. I know I was.”

Ramsey clicked the connection closed leaving Kate grunting at the abruptness of the termination.

She walked back into the formal dining room and spied a familiar face across the room. A jazz band located at one end was playing a generic form of elevator music and people were taking advantage of the large ballroom floor. Couples gathered together as the music played. Kate circled the outskirts of the room and met Shayne Michaels who was standing just inside the halls elaborate foyer.

His skin was tanned from many hours working outside. She didn’t know if his body matched the outer package but considering the way that monkey suit fit him he was probably well chiseled.

“I didn’t know you owned a tux,” Kate remarked.

Shayne gave an uncomfortable glance down at the outfit then raked a hand through his mussed brown hair. It was the only thing about his appearance which wasn’t sheer perfection.

“Tux isn’t mine. They keep it in the back of the closet for me in case a mission calls for black tie. Otherwise you wouldn’t catch me dead in one of these things.” Shayne surveyed the room. “Where’s Stark? I thought he lived for these things.”

“I lost track of him about a hour ago. It’s not my responsibility to watch him any longer now that we’re divorced.”

“Never knew what you saw in the guy. Did they ever find the stick corporate shoved up his ass?”

Kate laughed. It wasn’t something she did often, but it felt good to let loose once in awhile.

“I’m sure that stick is now a permanent part of his anatomy,” Kate said with a smile.

“Damn, the luck. I knew there was something I didn’t like about Corporate. The two-by-four probably comes as part of the orientation package.”

“You’re awful.”

Shayne smiled. “That’s why you love me.”

A man appeared behind them both. He was dressed in a sharp Armani suit, his hair styled flawlessly, not one strand out of place. Johann’s face glowed with a natural tan many would envy.

“So, this is what you do when we have a security breech? You trade witty banter with Michaels?”

Shayne was quick with a come back. “I wanted to go for something raunchy, but Kate doubted your guests would approve.”

Kate slapped Shayne’s shoulder.

“What do you mean we have a security breech? Why were there no alarms?”

“Maybe if you’d answer your cell phone once in awhile, you’d know the answer to that,” Stark said abruptly, then turned on his foot and walked away.

Murder in the Choir Room - Chapter 4

Murder in the Choir Room

Chapter 4

By Toni Walker

I didn't make it too far before one of the choir members caught my attention. The man was in his fifties or sixties wearing overalls. He came bustling up the sidewalk toward me, a badge clipped on the outside of his front pocket.

"Is it true?" he asked me. "Is Delilah McQuade dead?"

I wasn't certain why suddenly everyone thought I was an expert on the subject of who everyone was. It's not like I had seen Delilah McQuade prior to finding her in the dumb waiter.

"I'm afraid so," I said, trying to recall his name.

He shook his head. "That is too bad."

"Who was the first man on the scene," he asked? I had assumed he as a farmer earlier. Apparently, looks can be deceiving in Park Ridge. My confused expression must have said something to him. because he suddenly realized I didn't know him from Adam. "You're new to town, aren't you?" He shoved his hand toward me. "Chester Anders, Police Chief."

The shock on my face wasn't a pretty sight. "I thought you were a farmer."

"I am. Sort of a family thing." He didn't go into detail. "Who is on the scene?"

"I spoke to a detective named Nathan. There could have been an officer there before him but I'm not sure."

Chester nodded and jogged into the building. He put his work face on and marched forward. He was ready for business. 

A farmer as a police chief. That was a new one. Must not be a lot of crime in Park Ridge if the police chief had to have a second job, I thought.

I walked through downtown and most places were still dark. Park Ridge rolled up their sidewalks at 8:00 o'clock. The only place with a light burning was Iris' shop. Petals on Broadway. She was the sarcastic redhead from the choir. Like many of the other business owners in town, Petals had been passed down from mother to daughter. Except when Iris became sole owner, she put her own spin on things. Zodiac symbols were etched into the front window glass and a display of tarot and oracle cards were accented with various flower arrangements. I guess you would call it a new age flower shop. I imagined she got a lot of flack by her church chronies. Church people, for the most part, weren't the most open-minded people in the world. Some were, don't get me wrong, but generally they were a bit hypercritical. I could not see Agnes Chambers setting foot in this place. But I could se her starting a letter writing campaign against it.

Poised under glass and in the window was a collection of Egyptian and Wiccan necklaces much like the one Iris had been wearing in choir tonight. In a second display, she offered more churchy-looking fare. And third was a table of fairy designed jewelry. I was definitely going to have to check out her shop a little more closely at a more appropriate time when church people weren't likely to track me down and question me about Delilah's murder.

When I finally arrived home, Tara wasn't there which on one hand shocked me and on another hand, I could understand. Tara wasn't my mother. She didn't have to wait up for me. Without her car in the driveway, the place looked abandoned.

I rented a small cottage that was behind the main estate. Some people would call it a Mother-In-Law's cottage but based on the size of the estate, I would consider it a servant's quarters. I could see scuffs on the floor where bunk beds had once stood. Plus, I swear, I a a vision of a servant girl at the large mirror the other day.

Yes, I have a bit of a psychic inkling in my head and I have been to my fair share of head shrinkers who had labeled me with everything from ADD to Schizophrenia. As a youth, I tried their medicines, but they only made me stupid and filled my head with a fog I couldn't shake off. 

This is another reason I thought I'd make a bad witness. Most people from the town I grew up wouldn't take my word for anything. In a small town, once you get a label, it's hard to outgrow it.

I sat out on the back porch attached to Tara's residence and gazed up at the stairs. With all the lights out, every star seemed to wink at  me. I had a book about constellations somewhere in my things, but I hadn't got to unpacking too much yet.

It was then I heard a noise from inside. If Tara had arrived home, there'd be some lights on but the house was still dark. I saw a flashlight bouncing around on the inside walls. I got out my cell and called 911 just as a figure dressed in black came barreling out of Tara's house. They bumped right into me, but i wasn't as lucky. This time the momentum of the blow wheeled me backward and when my knees hit the edge of the deck, I knew I was a goner. I was flying over the bannister in midair when the 911 operator came on the line. 

"What is your emergency?" 

I hoped she could hear me scream. As the dark pathway came hurtling toward my face, I passed out.

Murder in the Choir Room - Chapter 3

Chapter Three

by Toni Walker

I thought I was going to make an early night of it, but Delilah McQuade's death put a damper on my plans.

I don't know why I was surprised to find Delilah's body shoved into a dumbwaiter, but I was. You think I'd be used to it by now. Dead bodies just seem to find me. I was beginning to think I was cursed. But how dumb with that curse be? You're cursed to trip over dead bodies and solve their murders. Then again, as curses went, there were probably dumber ones than that.

Pastor Jenkins was beside himself. Distraught was too tame a word for his condition. He was completely losing it. After the police, I'd called

Porsche. When it came to stressful situations she was the calm in the storm.

The pastor latched onto her side and she let him blubber about Delilah's untimely death while his wife Mavis stared at her with narrowed eyes. Geoffrey leaned against the piano looking bored and unaffected. This woman who was pushing daisies had spent a lot of time with both men. I considered it unusual that Geoffrey couldn't even pretend to care the woman was deceased. What a tool. I was losing respect for him hand over fist.

The police had separated me and Tara almost from the beginning. I guess they wanted us to get our stories straight without us influencing each other. I been down this road before. 

I saw Tara briefly as the detective let her go and asked her to be available for more questioning at a later time. She didn't wave as she left, merely nodded toward me acknowledging the fact that she was done and it was my turn.

"Miss O'Reilly? Would you mind joining me in the office?" The lanky detective motion for me to follow him. My body complied even though my brain went suddenly blank. I had a phobia that taking tests when I was in high school A fear that suddenly erupted in my brain. Would that translate into sucking at being a witness to?

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said conversationally. My name is Nate and I'm a detective with the Park Ridge Police Department. I understand you were in the room when the deceased was discovered."

I stared back at him, my mind still blank. Test anxiety all over again. My mind was focusing everywhere except the question. I noticed his manicured nails and recent haircut. His dark brown hair wasn't too short and I was glad. It looked better on him like that. Not that I'd ever seen him before. I just imagined it looked better. He was cute. I could go for a guy who looked like that.

Hello. My mind was a whirling a mile a minute. I definitely was not good at this witness thing. I attempted to focus in again, but noticed how his white buttoned-up shirt stretched across his chest. They were accentuated nicely by the shoulder holster he had on. His five o'clock shadow was going on ten pm. His slate blue eyes glittered as the overhead light touched his face. I was a goner. 

"Did you hear me, Mrs. O'Reilly?" he said again. I snapped back into focus and let go of the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Call me Megan," I told him breathlessly. "Everyone calls me Megan."

He leaned into the church secretary's desk and crossed his arms. "Alright, Megan. Then what happened tonight?"

I told him about my professor Dr. Bruce Lindstrom and how he and Tara had cooked up this cockamamie plan to help me with my creative writing assignment. I explained about the cloaked figure and my now sore butt. Everything I'd done the last two days came spilling forth like a flood of memories and I was deluging him with it all. 

He didn't seem to be writing any of it down so maybe he was humoring me, feeling sorry for how sucky a witness I was. I kept talking until there was nothing more to relate and I leaned back in the chair exhausted.

"Woah,  this witness thing is a tough gig," I said gulping in air. 

"Did you happen to see the face of the person who bumped into you?" Detective Nate asked. 

"Heck, I didn't even know they were there until suddenly they were. It was very dark on the far side of the room. And come to think of it, why were they wearing a cloak? It's been over 100° for the last five days straight."

"We did recover a blanket on the floor of the foyer. Maybe this was your cloak?"

"Maybe, I can't be certain. I was too busy trying to catch myself from falling than noticing too many key details." I said. You see, if this had happened to anyone else, you'd have more facts. I'm not even a member of this church. I don't know anyone except Tara -  oh and Geoffrey from when he was on TV.

The detective let me loose not long later giving me the same line as Tara to not leave town and be available for further questions. When I looked out the front door many church members had gather together in the parking lot like paparazzi stalking a celebrity. I did not want to be attacked by that mob.

I found another exit on the far side of the building and began my walk home. 

Oracle Card for 9/11

Earth Magic with Dr. Steven Farmer - Earth Magic Oracle Cards - One Card Reading

Check out the readings over at earthmagic.net. You can get a 1 or 3 card reading for FREE using the Earth Magic deck or a 1 card reading using the Spirit Animals deck. It's cool to see what you uncover. My card for today is:

The back of this card reads:

Now is the time to let anything in your life fall away that is no longer useful or needed for the emerging expression of who you are. Allow yourself to gradually shed what has become burdensome and no longer congruent with your soul’s purpose. With release comes a sense of being much lighter, just like the trees that openly bear their nakedness once their leaves have departed and give room for whatever new Life is ready to birth following a period of quiet and gestation. So let go of whatever has outlived its purposefulness and trust that something else will take its place.

Oracle Card Reading for 9/10/12

These cards were drawn from the Archangel Oracle Card deck by Doreen Virtue and the Healing Cards deck by Caroline Myss and Peter Occhiogrosso.

First Card - Sensitivity - Archangel Haniel
The card reads: You are extra sensitive to energies right now. Honor yourself and your feelings.

My take on this card: you may feel like anything can set you off today, but if you try to center yourself you'll feel better. Get out into nature, listen to music or smell the flowers to ground your energies today.

Second Card: Spread Your Wings - Archangel Ariel

The card reads: Do not hold back right now. The timing is perfect, and you are ready to soar!

My take on the card: soar like an eagle, you're ready to go on your grand adventure. Connect with God by reaching high with your energy. He is the source of all knowing and can direct your flight to new heights.

Third Card: Remember Who You Are - Archangel Michael

The card reads: You are a powerful, loving and creative child of God. You are very loved.

My take on the card: in the picture AA Michael is holding a torch. This is the light inside of you. He wants you to let your light shine brightly for all to see. Follow your internal guidance to lead you to your purpose. He is holding a sword in his other hand. Ask AA Michael to cut any chords that attach you to fear based thoughts. You are very loved by the angels.

Card Four: Indigo & Crystal Children - Archangel Metatron

The card reads: You have a bond with children. In particular, you can help children who are extra sensitive.

My take: Part of your life purpose is to teach children so they can grow in their spirituality. What are your spiritual gifts? What can you teach the next generation that no one else can? Do that and you will be on the right path.

Fifth Card : from the Healing Cards deck - illness is not a punishment, but a stimulant to life.

My take: many people think any illness is some curse sent down to them by God in order to keep them from something important they want to do. This is far from the truth. God is love and he loves his people. God is just doing some spring cleaning on your system so you can move forward on your path happier and healthier than ever.

I hope you enjoyed this reading. Leave me some comments. Let me know if this resonated with you today.

Murder in the Choir Room - Chapter Two

Murder in the Choir Room

Chapter Two

by Toni Walker

Once past the threshold, the inside wasn't any less spooky. The foyer opened to a larger area that boasted a cathedral ceiling and a grand staircase. Tara told me the house was once owned by the Hearst family which explained its opulence. They were the town's richest residents. When Millie Grace Hearst passed away in her 95th year, she left her house to the Cedar Point Baptist Church. She was a long-time member and very faithful to her congregation. But not as faithful as some other members of her family.

This act did not sit well with her grandson, Senator Boone Hearst. He blamed his near loss of his coveted Senate seat to the scandal about his grandmother's mansion. It wasn't like he didn't have his own McMansion across town, an even bigger and grander one than Millie's. Out of spite, he stopped attending services and giving his money to church causes. But his wife, Laney, was attempting to draw him back so he could watch her stand out in the choir.

Tara Doreen pushed me forward again. This time toward the stairs. Apparently, I wasn't moving fast enough for her.

The choir room was located up the grand staircase and toward the back of the mansion. The hallways were wide and easy to navigate. Many of the walls were still decorated with Hearst family memorabilia, another factor that annoyed Boone.

I stumbled over a catch in the carpet trying to put all the stories Tara had told me out of my mind. She was quite a story weaver. Maybe I should be asking her for help with my creative writing class.

I felt like I'd been cramming all day for a pop quiz that was about to be administered the second I walked through the choir room door. There was no way I was going to remember it all. People's names and faces jumbled in my mind. But that distraction didn't keep me from noticing the fabulous staircase.

"I've never seen a church like this," I said in a hushed tone, the awe in my voice readily apparent. "I keep expecting Miss Marple or Hercule Poirot jump out from behind a bookcase or something." I was a bit of an Agatha Christie nut.

"And right you should," said a human hurricane that breezed past me up the massive staircase. Geoffrey Greenwalt was much taller in person than on the small screen. My initial thought was that he had to be on some sort of medication. He was a whirlwind in shiny loafers. The button of his jacket strained against his paunche. If he'd kept it on, with my luck, the button would have flown off and poked me in the eye.

No one was that perky normally. He ushered me into the choir room throwing out introductions. I knew I wouldn't be able to latch onto names this early in the game. I nodded toward the people who had already arrived. Their faces were familiar thanks to Tara and her choir flash cards.

"Let us gather at the river of forgiveness," Geoffrey lamented, quoting from a popular nineties christian tune. As he draped his jacket across a bust of a Hearst ancestor, he smiled broadly at  a large black woman named Porsche Wright. I swear I could see a slight blush beneath her dark skin. She quickly took a seat behind the piano.

I considered wondering about their relationship but it was too early to contemplate the complex relationships in the choir. But one thing was clear, Geoffrey didn't play an instrument. There was an acoustic guitar sitting over near a boy who looked more goth rocker than choir member.

Geoffrey gave me the once over twirling his finger in a circle asking me to move around. My eyes narrowed a bit. It was a tad too early for something like this. But I guess his flamboyant ways negated his rational mind.

"You're younger and prettier than I thought you'd be," Geoffrey said off-handedly. "Not everyone has arrived yet. So, make yourself at home."

I shivered. This place was anything but homey. The choir room was an immense space. I imagined it had at one time been a ballroom. My mother had mentioned to me that many Victorian homes from that era had ballrooms upstairs. It also probably had a lot of creepy extras like dumbwaiters and secret passages. It felt like that sort of house.

I shivered again and my breasts did that annoying jiggle. I had to hand it to Geoffrey. He hadn't leered at the girls like most men his age. Heck, what am I talking about. Everyone leered at the girls, even other girls. I was one of those people that got hit on by both sexes.

"Altos are over there," he said pointing to the right. "The sopranos, there." I was pretty equal in both my high and low ranges, and since the alto section was the most lacking, I chose that section.

Laney Goodall-Hearst, Tara's sister, came flying into the room flapping sheet music at Geoffrey. "This is exactly what we should do next." she said ignoring the rest of us. "It has an amazing solo that I would be perfect for."

A scrawny woman named Iris with flaming red hair leaned over to me and whispered. "Like she doesn't get all the solos. Why slap us all in the face with the fact."

"Amen to that, sista!" said Porsche, owner of the Tasty Tidbits Bakery and Restaurant. It was little more than a glorified diner. I was a waitress, there from time to time. And I had to admit the stretchy t-shirt that was part of the uniform did make the girls look delicious, as would anyone who had the word Tasty in gigantic script over their bosom. 

Laney turned and gave Iris the stink-eye. It was almost as if she knew exactly what the woman was thinking.

"She's creepy that way," Iris said. "I swear the flowers in my shop wilt when she comes near."

I had never met Tara's sister until now. And Tara hadn't really warned me about the dastardly effects of her sister's stink-eye. But I could definitely feel the remnants of her power.

Iris was wearing an Egyptian looking necklace that sported an ankh above a cartouche which I assumed spelled out her name in hieroglyphics. An unusual piece,  for sure. 

The choir door opened suddenly and a slender woman in a long shirt and a light t-shirt breezed in, paper flying around her. Her hair was disheveled from the wind. She bent to pick the papers up and smiled apologetically at the group.

"Sorry, I'm late. Summer school ran a little over." She found a seat next to me and plopped the stack of papers on the floor at her feet. I could see the handwriting from where I sat and assumed she was an elementary school teacher. My theory soon proved correct.

Geoffrey held up a book and I grabbed a copy from the rack beneath my chair. Everyone else did the same. "Page 43," he said, crossing to sit behind the piano. Porsche moved to allow him the stage.

He wasn't much of a piano player. His music sounded like a bunch of clashing notes that didn't go together. Appeased that he'd put in his time behind the piano, Geoffrey allowed Porsche to return to the piano.

Porsche played with a flourish. I was familiar with her playing. She did it periodically at her business the Tasty Tidbits Restaurant and Bakery. She had an old upright that she'd acquired from a local movie theatre when they'd upgraded their facility.

"She's just a lovely pianist, isn't she?" asked the teacher next to me. "I'm Jessica Baxter." She held out her hand and I shook it briefly. I saw her turn her head and make eye contact with a goth-looking teen sitting in the back row. He couldn't have been more than twenty. Her cheeks filled with a rosy hue, then she abruptly pulled her glance away and focused again on Porsche's playing positioning her book getting ready to sing.

I found something a little telling about the Cedar Point Baptist Church choir. While they might be holding their books, no one really knew how to read the notes. I stopped Geoffrey momentarily during a break asking him to pound out a part for me. Being an alto usually meant singing in harmony with the other parts. The sopranos usually had the melody and that was the case in this song.

He gave me a stare that was a cross between a death ray and Laney's stink-eye and shoved a CD my way.

"All the songs are on here. Pick out the part on your own time," he said quickly turning to leave my presence as if just being around me was going to get my cooties on him.

"Okay." I slowly turned on my heel and took my seat again. Jessica leaned over patting my hand with sympathy.

"Don't take it personally. After awhile you just learn not to ask for help. Geoffrey isn't exactly the helpful type."

"This is a choir full of people who can't read sheet music. How does he expect everyone to learn their part?" My words came out more passionately than I intended, but dang it, people like Geoffrey were only hired to lead the choir and choose the music for the service.

I knew of churches that only had volunteer music directors. From all the Tara told me, this Geoffrey character was pulling down a hefty salary for such a small town choir director. I could only believe that the Hearst family had something to do with getting him hired on with obviously no choir directing experience.

Porsche seemed to be the one doing all the true leading. 

"Why don't we start again on 46 halfway down the page," she asked.

Geoffrey nodded his agreement. "Yes, yes. And why don't we all stand."

Everyone groaned.

"Okay. None of that or I'll have you standing during the entire service." 

A few of the older ladies became quickly vocal. They had weak knees and backs. And they couldn't be in the choir if they had to stand that much.

Geoffrey had no sympathy for the weak and elderly, although, the weak and elderly made up eighty percent of of the congregation. 

"That's fine. Great actually," he countered. "I have been thinking about getting some younger blood in here."

"You are just asking for trouble," Agnes Chambers said, standing up and shuffling her nearly 90 year old body over to Geoffrey. "I was on the committee that brought you here and I will also be on the committee that kicks your butt out," she threatened. "Don't think you can just push around us old folks. We're the ones paying your salary. Not those randy teens and twenty year olds."

Agnes didn't mince words. And I could tell by Geoffrey's expression that he had heard her loud and clear.

"Agnes and Hazel are like this," Iris held two fingers together. If those two conspire to out you, you're out."

The practice ended not long after Agnes chewed out Geoffrey. I had to admit, that was the best part of the entire experience. I wasn't intending to be in this choir long. Just long enough to get my inspiration and do my intern time.

The aggravation was still in Geoffrey's voice when he ordered me to, "Put all those books away." 

I glanced over at the choir chairs and books and sheet music were strewn everywhere. "Lovely," I said. "Sure thing."

He marched out of the choir room, into his office across the hall and slammed the door. Tara stood in the doorway of the choir room and shook her head. 

"He's such a butt head," she said. "So, what did you think."

Geoffrey Greenwalt is not a choir director," I said. "It's almost like he's studying for a part and faking it. He obviously doesn't know his way around a piano."

"The story is that he took a few lessons as a kid, but he is just so good that having him around gives us good publicity. The Deacons tend to overlook his flaws. His presence keep money in the coffers. So, I doubt they'll fire him even though he is  incompetent," Tara said. "That's just  how the world works around here, chickie."

I could already tell this was going to be a torturous few weeks.

By the time we had put away all the choir books, the church had emptied out. The Wednesday night programs were over and the youth had long ago gone home. Tara jangled her keys. "Time for me to lock up."

While she was securing all the doorways of the church campus, I peered into the windows of the office. I swear I could hear voices shouting at each other. But I put it up to old houses and their inordinately loud creaking and settling.

As I moved back into the choir room, I threw my purse on the first chair and before I could plop down I heard a sudden rustling at the back of the room. The choir room was large and we were only using about a third of its capacity. The rest of the room was pitch black.

Black and white checkerboard tiles covered the floor of the entire ballroom. And I heard a clipping of hard soled shoes at the far back of the room, but I couldn't see anyone. And before I knew it, someone wearing a large cloak like coat shoved past me and out the door. 

I stumbled back and landed on my butt. Saying a few key phrases, I got myself upright. It was then I noticed a red stain on my shirt and arm. Was it paint? I looked around cautiously.

When Tara reappeared a few minutes later I showed her the paint.

"Where do you think it came from?" I explained to her about the mysterious figure knocking me on my butt."

"We can sure find out." Tara flipped on all the overhead lights and we began to investigate. It didn't take long to find the stain.

A red substance was dripping down the wall of one of a set of dumbwaiters fashioned into the wall.

"That's gross," I said. "What in the heck did they do?" I threw up the handle of the dumbwaiter and soon found my answer. Shoved into the dumbwaiter was the body of Delilah McQuade, the former financial secretary. Her eyes stared at us with their soulless depths. 

The woman was dead.

Murder in the Choir Room - Chapter One

Murder in the Choir Room 

A Megan O'Reilley Off Key Mystery 

by Toni Walker 

CHAPTER ONE

"It's not like you're going to find a dead body," Tara Doreen joked.  "I mean, what are the odds?" 

I don't know why I was so nervous. It was only church choir for goodness sake. Nothing too scary about that, right? I clutched my messenger bag to my chest as if it alone was going to keep me out of harms way. I tried not to recall the last dead body that seemed to find its way onto my path. As far as I can remember, that didn't turn out too well either. 

Tara Doreen Goodall, my newest friend, scratch that, only friend, had gone behind my back and conspired with my creative writing teacher at Harper Lake Community College. Apparently, the two of them went way back. I image they went so far back that they were fondly recalling a high school encounter in the backseat of a '57 Chevy. How they managed to come up with this nutty plan with all that on their mind is beyond me. 

"You're better than all those yahoos put together," Tara Doreen said with a slight smile. "I doubt Geoffrey Greenwalt would have agreed to such an arrangement if he hadn't checked you out thoroughly." 

I shivered at the thought. Geoffrey had been a B-movie icon back when I was in high school. But today he was a barely recognizable version of himself. Sun tanning, stage makeup and alcohol not to mention the supposed drug problem the media could never confirm had done a number on his skin and waistline. He wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but he could definitely use a tune-up. 

"It's not like I'm being paid for this gig, Tara. It's basically a glorified internship, little better than a volunteer." 

"Your creative writing teacher is a genius!" 

"I think my creative writing teacher had a bit of a bug in his ear from some pesky ex-girlfriend." 

"Technically, we never officially dated. Dangerous liaisons, you know." Tara's eyes glittered with an intriguing mix of  danger and pure giddiness.  

I appreciated Tara's enthusiasm. It was a rare friend who would go out of her way to let someone else live their dreams. My dream was a mixture of one part singing and two parts creative writing. This would definitely fit the bill in my book. So as to why I was so apprehensive, I haven't a clue. 

Or maybe it was just my psychic intuition niggling at the back of my mind yelling, DANGER WILL ROBINSON! 

The area around Cedar Point Baptist Church was dark and foreboding. Not exactly the atmosphere for a local gathering of a church choir. The light from one window winked at us. Tara shoved me from behind, already frustrated with my lack of initiative. She had her own business here tonight. They had somehow conned her into  updating the church's books, budges and accounts. Delilah McQuade, the previous financial secretary, had gone missing. Popular theory has her attending the Church of the Godly Light in a neighboring town. But basically, no one has seen the woman since she vacated the church office over three weeks ago. 

Tara shoved me a little harder. "I'm going. I'm going. Give a girl a moment to get over the terrified uneasiness. I gulped in the humid July air and pushed forward toward a building that looked more like a haunted mansion than a church. A church that looked like that had to hold a dangerous spirit. At least, that was the thought running through my mind when I walked into the joint.