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

I don’t remember who — said to me, ‘I see you bought the old Cemetery Cottage.’ Then, when I didn’t know what they meant, they said that there was a graveyard at the back of the property. So I was getting ready to go out there next when I opened the door to that closet and there she was.
    “Did you touch anything?” I asked.
    “Of course not. Well, the door knob I guess. I dialed 911 and they patched me through to Officer Dave out there. Then you guys all walked up. What’s the deal? You don’t have a police car?”
    I ignored her.
    “Nope,” said Nancy. “We’re just bumpkins, not like your fancy police force in Banner Elk.”
    Rachel’s face flushed. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean anything.”
    “We’re going to have to keep you out of the house for a couple of days,” I said. “Just till we figure out what happened to Amy Ventura. We’ll need your contact information.”
    “I understand,” said Rachel. She handed me one of her business cards. “Just let me know when you’re finished. And if you ever need a good realtor … ”
    “You’ll be the first one I call,” I lied.
    Rachel Walt walked out of the room and we listened to the front door open, then close with a bang. Dave came back into the room.
    “The bus is on the way,” he said.
    “Good,” I said. “Now call the electric company and get the power turned on here and in Bud’s house, too. Today. Don’t take any excuses. If they have to send someone out, get them to do it, but I’m reasonably sure they only need to press a button somewhere.”
    Dave nodded and turned his attention back to his cell.
    I took Nancy’s arm and steered her back to Amy, then squatted and pointed at her left ear. “Missing earring,” I said softly, then stood up. “We’ve got to call Jeff and Helen Pigeon and get into that house they bought yesterday.”
    Nancy looked confused for a moment, then understanding crept across her face. “You don’t think … ?”
    “I hope not.”

Chapter 7
     
    Helen Pigeon informed us that Jeff wasn’t home — he’d gone to a Sunday School men’s retreat and wouldn’t be back until after supper — but she would be glad to come and meet us. Ten minutes later, Nancy and I were waiting on the covered porch of a Victorian style house on Cherry Bluff Lane. We’d walked over since our vehicles were still downtown and the address was only three blocks away.
    “I checked on the next of kin for Darla Kildair this morning,” Nancy told me as we walked. “I couldn’t find anyone. No husband, no family that I could locate. She was married once, but divorced back in 1996.”
    “How about Amy? You know if she’s married? Any kids?”
    Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know. I knew who she was because I’ve sat in a few board meetings with her, but I didn’t know her well.”
    Helen drove up, parked on the street, and joined us on the front porch of the house a minute later.
    “What’s going on?” she asked.
    “Afternoon, Helen,” I said. “We just need to look inside. There’s been a problem with the other two houses sold yesterday.”
    “What kind of problem?” Helen was fumbling with a ring of keys trying to find the one that fit. “Dang it! Jeff put the key on this ring with our other ones. We have three other houses that we rent out.”
    “Yeah,” I said, ignoring her question. “Jeff told me that.”
    “I haven’t even gone in yet. Right after the auction, Jeff took off for that retreat, and I was in Hickory yesterday. I didn’t get back till last night and the electricity isn’t turned on, so I didn’t bother to come over. Then, church this morning … ”
    She found a key that worked and the door swung open. She led the way in.
    “Helen,” I said, “why don’t you wait outside? We just need to do some checking.”
    “Why can’t I come in?”
    “It’d be better of you waited on the porch.”
    Helen scooched around me and made for the living room. “Oh, I won’t be