Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines by Mark Schweizer

house on this block of Oak Street, small and set on a long, narrow lot. There was a raised front porch and the young woman I’d seen yesterday was standing next to the front door, wringing her hands.
    “Oh, my God!” she said when she was sure we were within earshot. “You’ve got to do something!”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said as we climbed the steps. “We will. Let’s go inside and you can tell us what happened.”
    She led us through the front door and into a small living room. I’d been right about one thing. Nothing had been updated in this house for several decades. Maybe since the 70s.
    “My name is Rachel Walt. I bought this house yesterday. You know, at the auction.”
    The young woman was in her late twenties or early thirties, very pretty. She was wearing a calf-length stylish winter coat and a fur hat. Her hands were stuck deep in her pockets. She was shivering, but probably not only from the cold.
    “I was there,” I said. “Nancy was, too.”
    “I remember you,” said Nancy.
    “I’m a realtor in Banner Elk. I live there. I saw this auction come up and did some homework and figured that if I could get a property at a good price, I could flip it and make a nice profit.”
    “I thought you got it at a good price,” I said.
    “That’s what I thought, too. Then I find out there are a bunch of bodies buried in the back yard.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Nancy “This is the Cemetery Cottage. Everyone in town knows about it. It isn’t going to hurt the value any.”
    “No,” said the agent, “but I’m dang sure that dead one in the back closet will.”
    “Would you show us?” I asked.
    Rachel Walt gave a shudder. “I guess. She’s right back here.”
    She led us down a short paneled hallway and through a door on the left. A rather long, narrow bedroom by the looks of it, although there was no furniture. At the near end of the room was a closet and the door was standing open.
    “Right there,” she said, and pointed toward the dark entrance.
    Like Bud’s house, the power to this one had been turned off at some point, but we’d brought our flashlights. In addition, there was sunlight coming in the two windows of the bedroom. This woman, like the last one, was propped up against the side wall of the closet, legs stretched out in front of her, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes were closed but her face was drawn and she looked to be shriveled. Dried up. She was wearing a skirt and a blouse and her feet were in what looked to be expensive shoes. Nice clothes. Church clothes.
    “Amy Ventura,” said Nancy, shining her flashlight in the woman’s face.
    “Yep,” I said.
    “Who’s that?” asked Rachel. “Who’s Amy Ventura.”
    “She’s lives up on Tinkler’s Knob,” Nancy said. “Makes a living as a grant writer. Works from home. I think she freelances all over, but I know she’s done some work for the Wings of Eagles Foundation and Big Sisters in Boone.”
    “How do you know?” asked Dave.
    “I’m on their boards,” said Nancy. “You know, Dave, it wouldn’t hurt you to get out and do a little community work every now and then.”
    “She’s also works for the St. Germaine Town Council,” I said. “Cynthia knows her.”
    “Huh,” Dave grunted.
    “Did you already call the ambulance?” I asked Dave.
    He shook his head, pulled out his cell phone and tapped it a few times. “I was hoping we really wouldn’t need one,” he said, then walked out of the bedroom into the hallway to talk.
    “I’ll call Kent and give him a heads up,” said Nancy. “When we’re finished here.”
    “So, tell me what happened,” I said to Rachel. “How exactly did you find her?”
    Rachel nodded, thought for a moment and made a face. “I came here right after church. I go to Arbor Dale Presbyterian in Banner Elk. I drove up, unlocked the door, and came in. I was looking around. You know, going into all the rooms as one does. At the auction yesterday, someone —