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

cute?”
    “ Darling,” I said.
    Anyway,” said Meg, “she’s in charge of their program that provides transportation for the elderly when they need a ride. You know, like to the doctor, or the drugstore or something. All the girls take turns volunteering and Edna coordinates the whole thing. They call it the ‘Home Mini-bus Volun-Totties.’”
    “ Huh,” I grunted. “Very cute. Edna was always into cute.”
    “ I met her down at Myrtle Beach when I was doing that seminar last year. We had a lot in common. You, for instance.”
    “ Now, wait a minute!” I said. “I don’t know what she told you, but she and I never...”
    “ Relax,” laughed Meg. “Just the fact that we knew you was the common thread. Well, that she knew you, and I married you.”
    I let out a slow breath.
    “ Anyway, I was chatting with Edna a couple of weeks ago. It seems that Edna doesn’t play for the Methodist church any longer. The new minister has decided to go in a different direction. I believe she said there is talk of firing the choir and hiring a country band.”
    “ So she’s between organ gigs, as it were.”
    “ As it were.”
    “ And she’s going to step in for me.”
    “ Well, that’s the plan.”
    “ Great. So I’m off the hook.”
    “ Not even close. Edna can play the organ, but you’re going to direct the choir.” She looked over at me. “And choose the music.”
    “ No, no, no, no, no,” I said rapidly, shaking my head. “Bad idea.”
    “ It’s a great idea and you know it,” said Meg defensively. “You know what the choir can do and how to get them to sound good. Edna can play the organ until you get the use of your arm back.”
    “ I’m not going to win this, am I?” I asked, knowing the answer.
    “ No, dear, I don’t think you are.”
    “ Just through the Christmas season, then,” I said, hoping to strike a deal.
    “ Hmm. How about until the fourth Sunday after Epiphany?”
    “ Second,” I countered.
    “ Third,” said Meg.
    “ Okay. Deal.” I thought for a moment. “Hey, wait a minute. That’s six weeks from now. I’ll be out of this cast by then.”
    “ Yep,” said Meg. “Then you can have your job back.”

    •••

    Meg dropped me off at the Slab with an admonition to be at the emergency worship meeting at noon. I’d decided that breakfast at the hospital didn’t really appeal to my epicurean cravings and walked into the eatery with all intentions of ordering Pete’s Special Breakfast Extravaganza complete with pancakes, chicken-fried steak, eggs and gravy. I wouldn’t be able to do any two-handed eating, my left arm being in both a cast and a sling, but I’d manage.
    Pete waved me over to his table. Being the owner, he felt his job was to sit and drink coffee for most of the morning, only helping out when he had to. Cynthia and Noylene were both scurrying, taking care of a full complement of customers.
    “ Morning! How’s the arm?”
    “ Still broken,” I said.
    Noylene walked over, smiled, and filled the coffee mug in front of me. “I heard about your accident,” she said. “Sure am glad you’re okay.”
    I smiled back at her. “Just a busted wing. I’ll have Pete’s Special Breakfast Extravaganza, please.”
    Noylene nodded. “You want the full special or the half?”
    “ Full. Pancakes, steak, scrambled eggs...the works.”
    “ Got it,” said Noylene, writing on her pad. She tore off the sheet and walked it back to the kitchen.
    The old cowbell on the glass door of the Slab Café clanked in two regulars, Nancy and Dave, coming in off the street. They were both bundled against the cold morning, having donned scarves and heavy coats before setting out. Meg had brought my old coat with her when she picked me up at the hospital. My good coat hadn’t made it out of the emergency room in one piece.
    “ How’s Gaylen doing?” asked Nancy, unwinding her scarf and sloughing off her coat before sitting.
    “ She’ll be all right,” I said.
    “ What