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.
