themselves, who would have a bird’s-eye view of the services. There was an aisle between the two sets of pews and directly at the end of it, a big old organ, its pipes arrayed on either side of the rose window.
I checked the pews, just as I’d done downstairs. It wasn’t hard to find the smudge in the pew on the left, three rows back from the railing that looked out over the church. It was at least three feet long and it rippled from the front of the pew to the back, like someone hadn’t just sat down there, but more like that someone had shifted back and forth. Or maybe tried to scrunch down to hide.
Oh yes, someone had been in the choir loft, and recently.
Another glance around and I knew exactly who that someone was.
There it was on the floor just next to the pew, its plastic wrapping caught in a particularly vivid ray of golden light so that it winked and flashed at me.
A root beer barrel.
• • •
I hurried back downstairs, and this time I didn’t worry about looking bad; I found Nev and told him what I’d seen up in the choir loft, and he sent a few of the techs up there.
“Good work.” When he smiled at me, I smiled back. It felt good, comfortable, and I was just about to tell him so when Richard Norquist walked into the church.
Talk about bad timing!
A team from the medical examiner’s office was just lowering Forbis’s body down from the statue, and Richard took one look at what was going on and turned as white as those buttons on Congo Savanne’s skull.
Nev and I exchanged glances and we knew we were on the same page: if Richard fainted and cracked his head on the stone floor, we’d have another problem that we didn’t need on our hands.
“Mr. Norquist, you really shouldn’t have come here.” Nev got to Richard before me and put a hand under Forbis’s agent’s elbow to pilot him to the nearest pew. Richard sat down so hard, the thump reverberated up to the painted angels who looked down at us from the high ceiling. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m . . . I’m . . .” Like Laverne had earlier, Richard stared at the body, and Nev, just like he had before, moved to block the view. I was struck by his thoughtfulness. That, and his desire to keep the conversation on track and to keep Richard Norquist from falling completely to pieces.
Richard passed a hand over his forehead. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” He swallowed so hard, I saw his Adam’s apple jump. He looked up at Nev, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”
“I asked what you’re doing here. How did you know about Forbis?”
“I . . . I didn’t.” Richard pressed a hand against the front of his navy blue windbreaker. “Laverne called. She didn’t say what was wrong, she just said I should get down here. She sounded so upset . . .” He pulled in a breath, and like he’d just woken from a very sound sleep and a very bad dream, he shook his head. “I thought maybe the church had been broken into and some of the artwork was gone. Or that a pipe had burst and there was water damage. I never imagined . . .” Richard leaned to his right so he could see around Nev. “Do you think Forbis was murdered?”
“Somebody glued buttons to his eyes and mouth and put him in with that statue.” I did my best to keep from sounding cynical, but it wasn’t easy. “Do you really think—”
“Where were you last night, Mr. Norquist?” Nev interrupted me, and maybe that was a good thing. No doubt the irony of my words was lost on Richard Norquist. “After Forbis Parmenter left the show?”
“I . . . I . . .” Richard thought back. “I stayed around for a while. You know that.” He looked at me, then Nev. “And you do, too, Detective. You were both here. Forbis ran off—”
“And where do you suppose he ran to?” Nev asked.
Richard’s doughy features accordioned in on themselves. “I figured it was a stunt. I thought Forbis was looking for attention. I just thought he ran out of the nearest
I checked the pews, just as I’d done downstairs. It wasn’t hard to find the smudge in the pew on the left, three rows back from the railing that looked out over the church. It was at least three feet long and it rippled from the front of the pew to the back, like someone hadn’t just sat down there, but more like that someone had shifted back and forth. Or maybe tried to scrunch down to hide.
Oh yes, someone had been in the choir loft, and recently.
Another glance around and I knew exactly who that someone was.
There it was on the floor just next to the pew, its plastic wrapping caught in a particularly vivid ray of golden light so that it winked and flashed at me.
A root beer barrel.
• • •
I hurried back downstairs, and this time I didn’t worry about looking bad; I found Nev and told him what I’d seen up in the choir loft, and he sent a few of the techs up there.
“Good work.” When he smiled at me, I smiled back. It felt good, comfortable, and I was just about to tell him so when Richard Norquist walked into the church.
Talk about bad timing!
A team from the medical examiner’s office was just lowering Forbis’s body down from the statue, and Richard took one look at what was going on and turned as white as those buttons on Congo Savanne’s skull.
Nev and I exchanged glances and we knew we were on the same page: if Richard fainted and cracked his head on the stone floor, we’d have another problem that we didn’t need on our hands.
“Mr. Norquist, you really shouldn’t have come here.” Nev got to Richard before me and put a hand under Forbis’s agent’s elbow to pilot him to the nearest pew. Richard sat down so hard, the thump reverberated up to the painted angels who looked down at us from the high ceiling. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m . . . I’m . . .” Like Laverne had earlier, Richard stared at the body, and Nev, just like he had before, moved to block the view. I was struck by his thoughtfulness. That, and his desire to keep the conversation on track and to keep Richard Norquist from falling completely to pieces.
Richard passed a hand over his forehead. “I’m . . . I’m . . .” He swallowed so hard, I saw his Adam’s apple jump. He looked up at Nev, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”
“I asked what you’re doing here. How did you know about Forbis?”
“I . . . I didn’t.” Richard pressed a hand against the front of his navy blue windbreaker. “Laverne called. She didn’t say what was wrong, she just said I should get down here. She sounded so upset . . .” He pulled in a breath, and like he’d just woken from a very sound sleep and a very bad dream, he shook his head. “I thought maybe the church had been broken into and some of the artwork was gone. Or that a pipe had burst and there was water damage. I never imagined . . .” Richard leaned to his right so he could see around Nev. “Do you think Forbis was murdered?”
“Somebody glued buttons to his eyes and mouth and put him in with that statue.” I did my best to keep from sounding cynical, but it wasn’t easy. “Do you really think—”
“Where were you last night, Mr. Norquist?” Nev interrupted me, and maybe that was a good thing. No doubt the irony of my words was lost on Richard Norquist. “After Forbis Parmenter left the show?”
“I . . . I . . .” Richard thought back. “I stayed around for a while. You know that.” He looked at me, then Nev. “And you do, too, Detective. You were both here. Forbis ran off—”
“And where do you suppose he ran to?” Nev asked.
Richard’s doughy features accordioned in on themselves. “I figured it was a stunt. I thought Forbis was looking for attention. I just thought he ran out of the nearest
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