Read Online The Diva Wore Diamonds by Mark Schweizer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Schweizer
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I’ve been through this myself, and I know something happened.”
“ You think someone’s bothering her?” I asked.
“ Worse than that,” said Ardine. “I’ve seen it before. Hell, it happened to me!”
I nodded, waiting for more information.
“ She came home from that youth group meeting at the church two Sundays ago. Afterglow, they call it. She wouldn’t talk or nothin’. Just went into her room and closed the door. Then, when I asked her about it the next morning, she just clammed up. She never went back, either.”
“ You think it’s one of the boys?” I asked, running the roster of boys that might be in the youth group through my head.
“ No,” said Ardine, with finality. “Pauli Girl don’t have no problem with boys. Not that age, anyway. She’s a good girl and sure of herself. She’d laugh them to scorn or put a knee where it’d do some good if one of them ever bothered her.”
I waited.
“ No, it’s somebody else. An adult. She acts like she’s ashamed, but it ain’t her fault.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She never went back to the youth group?”
Ardine set her mouth in a hard line. “Nope. And she loved it.”
“ You want Nancy to talk to her?”
“ I want Meg to talk to her.”
“ You know who it is, don’t you?” I asked.
“ I’m pretty sure. You need to find out.”
•••
Bible Bazaar 31 A.D. was taking place behind St. Barnabas Church in the new garden area. Kimberly Walnut had scripted a three-day activity, taking place from four to six o’clock. Two hours of biblical fun. There were canvas canopies pitched all around the park beneath the poplars and the maples, and the garden was a beehive of activity. Children were busy being divided into the twelve tribes of Israel and being assigned tent-mothers and teenaged helpers from the youth group. They were diving into their costumes, pillowcase-like tunics with holes for their arms and heads and cinched around the waist with a rope or a colorful piece of cloth. In the far corner, a “temple” had been set up—a white funeral tent with plywood pillars in the front and benches inside for the services. In another corner of the park was the drama area where the skits were scheduled to take place. There was a four foot high “well” made out of stacked stone pavers in the center of the garden. An old wooden bucket sat on its lip.
Meg was already in her outfit, something very fetching that she’d gotten from Morocco. Not exactly biblical, but she sure won the prize for best looking tent-mother. She was busy dropping muslin sacks over the heads of squirming and excited children, but gave me a wave when she saw me. Moosey scampered over to her tent and disappeared in two blinks.
Cynthia was there, her belly-dancing ensemble tinkling with every step, happy to do her part as mayor. She was scheduled to have a belly-dancing class with the little girls after they’d strung enough beads and bells together to make some noise. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that belly-dancing, in days of yore, was the purview of prostitutes and wanton women.
Jeremiah the donkey was in a pen, along with a couple of sheep and Seymour Krebbs’ camel. Seymour was in attendance, too, holding the lead rope and wearing a faded blue bathrobe, a bath towel draped over his head and tied with a belt, and sandals with black socks. Father Tony was wandering around dressed as the high priest, complete with a long, false, gray beard. He’d be officiating at the temple service. Ian Burch had also been invited, being the only one in the area with his own shofar, a ram’s horn that was being used to call the children to the temple for the daily service and to the drama area for scheduled performances. Ian also had the wherewithall to make the horn sound like something more than a flatulent donkey—something we already had, judging from the space the children were giving Jeremiah.
The activity tents were manned with adults from all three
“ You think someone’s bothering her?” I asked.
“ Worse than that,” said Ardine. “I’ve seen it before. Hell, it happened to me!”
I nodded, waiting for more information.
“ She came home from that youth group meeting at the church two Sundays ago. Afterglow, they call it. She wouldn’t talk or nothin’. Just went into her room and closed the door. Then, when I asked her about it the next morning, she just clammed up. She never went back, either.”
“ You think it’s one of the boys?” I asked, running the roster of boys that might be in the youth group through my head.
“ No,” said Ardine, with finality. “Pauli Girl don’t have no problem with boys. Not that age, anyway. She’s a good girl and sure of herself. She’d laugh them to scorn or put a knee where it’d do some good if one of them ever bothered her.”
I waited.
“ No, it’s somebody else. An adult. She acts like she’s ashamed, but it ain’t her fault.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She never went back to the youth group?”
Ardine set her mouth in a hard line. “Nope. And she loved it.”
“ You want Nancy to talk to her?”
“ I want Meg to talk to her.”
“ You know who it is, don’t you?” I asked.
“ I’m pretty sure. You need to find out.”
•••
Bible Bazaar 31 A.D. was taking place behind St. Barnabas Church in the new garden area. Kimberly Walnut had scripted a three-day activity, taking place from four to six o’clock. Two hours of biblical fun. There were canvas canopies pitched all around the park beneath the poplars and the maples, and the garden was a beehive of activity. Children were busy being divided into the twelve tribes of Israel and being assigned tent-mothers and teenaged helpers from the youth group. They were diving into their costumes, pillowcase-like tunics with holes for their arms and heads and cinched around the waist with a rope or a colorful piece of cloth. In the far corner, a “temple” had been set up—a white funeral tent with plywood pillars in the front and benches inside for the services. In another corner of the park was the drama area where the skits were scheduled to take place. There was a four foot high “well” made out of stacked stone pavers in the center of the garden. An old wooden bucket sat on its lip.
Meg was already in her outfit, something very fetching that she’d gotten from Morocco. Not exactly biblical, but she sure won the prize for best looking tent-mother. She was busy dropping muslin sacks over the heads of squirming and excited children, but gave me a wave when she saw me. Moosey scampered over to her tent and disappeared in two blinks.
Cynthia was there, her belly-dancing ensemble tinkling with every step, happy to do her part as mayor. She was scheduled to have a belly-dancing class with the little girls after they’d strung enough beads and bells together to make some noise. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that belly-dancing, in days of yore, was the purview of prostitutes and wanton women.
Jeremiah the donkey was in a pen, along with a couple of sheep and Seymour Krebbs’ camel. Seymour was in attendance, too, holding the lead rope and wearing a faded blue bathrobe, a bath towel draped over his head and tied with a belt, and sandals with black socks. Father Tony was wandering around dressed as the high priest, complete with a long, false, gray beard. He’d be officiating at the temple service. Ian Burch had also been invited, being the only one in the area with his own shofar, a ram’s horn that was being used to call the children to the temple for the daily service and to the drama area for scheduled performances. Ian also had the wherewithall to make the horn sound like something more than a flatulent donkey—something we already had, judging from the space the children were giving Jeremiah.
The activity tents were manned with adults from all three
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