The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer

question,” I said. “Maybe we can forego the sermons for a few weeks.”
    “ I might even come back to church,” said Pete.
    “ But, more to the point,” said Cynthia, “how are you going to play the organ with that arm in a cast?”
    Meg opened the door and came into the room.
    “ Hi, Meg,” said Cynthia. “We were just asking Hayden how he was going to play the organ with one hand tied behind his back. Care for a beer?”
    “ No thanks,” said Meg. She raised her Styrofoam cup. “I just got some bad coffee from the nurses’ station.” She looked at Pete, who was busy wetting the tip of his cigar by spinning it in his mouth. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed. “There are smoke alarms all over this building. You may not light that thing in here!”
    Pete put on a crestfallen expression and returned the cigar to his jacket pocket. “Well,” he said, “how are you going to play the organ?”
    “ We were discussing the very thing before Meg’s coffee break,” I said. “And I have no idea. I’ll just have to take another leave of absence.”
    “ You will not! ” said Meg emphatically. “I’m the Senior Warden now and I’m not going through that again. I have a few thoughts on the matter, some people to call. I’ll see what I can come up with when I get home tonight.”
    “ You’re not staying?” I asked.
    “ And where am I supposed to sleep?” asked Meg.
    “ This bed’s big enough,” I suggested, sliding across the starched sheet until I was next to one of the bed-rails. “You could...”
    “ Forget it, Mister. No hospital canoodling.” She looked over at Pete and Cynthia and smiled sweetly. “That’s Rule 57.”
    “ Subsection C,” I sighed.
    “ You guys sure ended up with a lot of rules once you got married,” said Pete. “Me and Cynthia, we’ve got no rules. Anything goes.”
    Cynthia just looked at him, her eyebrows raised.
    “ Well,” said Pete, “except for...umm...and...oh, never mind.”

Chapter 6

    On Friday morning, I checked out of the hospital as soon as the doctor made his rounds at 7:15 and gave me the thumbs-up. Meg picked me up and we headed back to St. Germaine, where my truck was patiently waiting in front of the police station. It was a cold morning, crisp and clear, with none of the fog that had been part of the cause of the previous day’s troubles. Meg had Christmas music on the stereo. She went for the Christmas music right after Walmart did—Halloween, at the latest. At least (to my relief) she’d had the good taste to raid my CD collection and wasn’t listening to the Mantovani Orchestra play their greatest holiday hits. I recognized the unmistakable strains of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker.
    “ Did you come up with any great ideas?” I asked, as we drove down the highway. “Organ-wise, that is?”
    “ Maybe,” Meg answered. “I’m waiting for a call back from my friend Edna.”
    “ Edna?”
    “ Uh-huh.” Meg was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Edna Terra-Pocks.”
    “ Edna Terra from Lenoir?”
    “ That’s her. She said she remembered you very well.”
    I shrugged. “We went to school together. The organist community isn’t exactly large. I probably know, or know about, every good organist within a hundred miles.”
    “ So you think she’s good?”
    I shrugged again. “I suppose so, but I haven’t heard her play for years. It seems to me that she got a Master’s degree from Yale after she finished at UNC. She plays at a big Methodist church in Lenoir. Part-time, if I’m not mistaken.”
    “ Not any more, she doesn’t.”
    “ And how do you know this?” I asked.
    “ Edna’s a client of mine. Well, the family is. Pocks Furniture. Ring a bell?”
    “ Oh, right,” I said. “I remember that now. Edna Terra. The richest little girl in Chapel Hill. She married Bill Pocks, III.”
    “ Well, I know her from her charity woman’s group. I’m helping them with their investments. The Lenoir Hottie-Totties. Isn’t that