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

that Kent Murphee will shed some light on the crimes. I’ll be going to see him after lunch.”

Chapter 10
     
    After breakfast I walked down Maple Street to see Bud. It was still cold, below freezing in fact, but nothing new for January. Bud told me that it was his plan to give his two-week notice at the Pig as soon as we were sure we’d gotten the house and when I called him yesterday, he said me that Roger said thanks for the notice, but Bud was free to leave. Roger had a couple of employment applications already.
    I walked past the St. Barnabas garden, the flower shop and Holy Grounds Coffee Shop to Bud’s new house. There didn’t look to be much activity on this Monday morning. Bud’s old Gremlin was parked in the driveway. There wasn’t any parking for customers on the property, but there was ample parking on both sides of the street. Neither of us thought that would be a deterrent to walk-in business.
    I opened the front door, went in to the living room, and called for Bud.
    “In here,” he answered from the kitchen. “I’m cleaning out the fridge.”
    I followed his voice and found him, head and shoulders buried inside the 1972 vintage Frigidaire in avocado green. He had a giant, plastic, contractor-sized garbage bag beside him and it was already half full.
    “Bud, what are you doing?”
    “I’m cleaning this thing out. It’s been sitting here for probably a year or so.”
    “Three years,” I said, “and we’re not saving it. It’s going to the dump.”
    Bud pulled his head out of the fridge and gave me a quizzical look.
    “All this stuff,” I added, “is going to the dump. The stove, that microwave on the counter, all of it including the kitchen sink. This is a total redo.”
    Bud looked shocked. “You mean we’ll redo the whole kitchen?”
    I smiled. “Nope. I mean we’ll redo the whole house. I have an architect coming by in fifteen minutes. You have some drawings of the house, right?”
    “Sure. Right there in my briefcase.”
    “Then you’re going to meet with her and tell her what you want. Her name is Jessica Adeline. This is a wine shop now, not a house. We need a galley kitchen, but we don’t need all this space.”
    “A tasting room?” Buds face was alight with possibilities. “We’ll still need a stove to cook hors d’oeuvres. And we’ll need shelves and racks. And wine glasses. And bottle openers. And a long counter for checking out. We could put a walk-in refrigerator in the back bedroom for chilling. And the basement will be perfect for our cellar.”
    “You design it, Bud,” I said. “You and the architect. You could get rid of these walls, open this whole space up.” I looked around the room, then added, “Don’t forget bathrooms. His and hers. And your office.”
    “Oh, man!” said Bud, rubbing his hands together in delight. “This is gonna be great! ”
    “I wouldn’t mind seeing the plans when you’re done. Our contractor is ready to start Thursday, so don’t be too long in the designing. We can make changes as we go if we see something won’t work, but not many, so sit down with the architect and put some thought into this.
    “I will!” Bud said, then grew somber. “What about that lady I found in the closet?”
    “We’re working on it. You know that two other women were found in the other two houses?”
    “Yeah. I heard.”
    “It’s nothing for you to worry about. You concentrate on this.”
    “I will. Thanks.”
     
    * * *
     
    Dr. Kent Murphee was dressed in exactly the same clothes when I walked into his office on Monday afternoon as he was on Friday night. The exception was that he now held his pipe clenched in his teeth.
    “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the uncomfortable chair in front of his desk. “How about a wee scotch?”
    “Well, seeing as it’s Monday, I wouldn’t mind.”
    Kent pulled open one of the drawers of his desk and came up with two glasses and a bottle of Highland Park 21-year-old scotch. “I’m afraid I