Murder at the Sacristy

By Christina Squire

Intrepid amateur detective Caroline Steele is taking part in a blessed sacrament when she sees the fanatical priest who tried to destroy her church sitting in the congregation. She is righteously angry but never wanted him murdered! But when he was, she enthusiastically tries to solve the mystery with Inspector James Hutchinson. Caroline has a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christina Lynn Saunders Squire
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781087961842

Christina Squire

Christina is retired from the University of New Mexico. She has worked at the Department of Physics and Astronomy, The University Art Museum, the Department of Theatre and Dance, and has taught Theatre Appreciation. She has a Master's degree in Theatre and Dance. She has played in many community theatre productions. Visit her website at christinasquire.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

We present Maisie Elizabeth to receive the Sacrament of Baptism. Our four voices rang out joyfully. We were in front of the altar circling the baptismal font. I looked out at the congregation as we vowed many times in many ways to renounce Satan, Evil, and Sinful Desires (Oh!). I looked up to the balcony where the choir was standing near the railing and smiling. When the people stood to recite the Baptismal Covenant, I saw a tall, thin, man with stringy blonde hair in the back row. What the Hell was he doing here, I thought. That son of a-

James nudged me. I responded Lord, hear our prayer after each of the seven prayers the priest said for the newly baptized. Then the Godparents presented our baby to the Priest. He lifted her gently out of my sister Sally’s arms. Then she and Jane stepped back to stand beside James and me. Maisie was a beautiful baby. She was wearing my white dotted swiss Christening gown and matching bonnet over her soft copper curls.

I, Caroline Steele, rather outdid myself. And Inspector James Hutchinson helped a little.

Father Colin O’Hara held Maisie over the baptismal font with one hand. He slowly cupped his other hand in the font and poured a little water over her head. She quietly looked at him with big dark green eyes.

More prayers. James put his arm around me. I loved him. I loved our baby.

The deacon handed Father Colin a white cloth. He dabbed Maise’s head dry. Then the deacon held out a small bowl of oil. I saw Maisie’s eyes squint and her rosebud mouth press together. Uh oh, I thought. Still holding Maisie, the priest pressed his finger in the oil and made the sign of the cross on her forehead. Now you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever.

She screamed. The congregation laughed.

Let us welcome the newly baptized, he yelled over her wails.

James took her. She stopped crying. He walked down the center aisle of the church. The congregation clapped. Some reached out to touch her. Then we all sat down in the front pews with our families. Maisie twisted in James’s arms and tried to suck on a blazer button. He quickly handed her to me. My breasts had already begun to leak with her cries.

I carried a frustrated and furious Maisie through a side door into the library. I sunk into a soft couch and unbuttoned my blouse. I untied her bonnet. She latched on to my nipple sucking so hard and fast that she choked. I held her over my shoulder and patted her back. She screamed. OK! I said and put her back on my breast. Her long dark lashes fluttered. Her eyes drooped. She made soft humming sounds when she swallowed. Little chowhound.

I kicked off my churchy shoes and put my feet up on the coffee table. Ah. I relaxed. Nursing was the best part of having a baby. I’d forgotten how peaceful it was: Milk flowing out giving delicious relief to tight, full breasts, holding your baby next to your skin, sitting down, seemingly doing nothing but yet doing so much good.

Finally having a cleavage.…

I closed my eyes. I dozed. I gave thanks that Maisie was healthy. I had so many ultrasounds and tests for birth defects, because I was 45 years old. I worried so much. Today pregnancy was treated like a disease. I couldn’t even eat a hot dog. No processed meats! But the birth was easy like my other three. James was at my side. Poor thing. I think I yelled at him.

I switched Maisie to the other breast. I looked on the wall at the portraits of St. Luke’s priests since the 1940s. George Breckinridge’s photo was taken down. As it should be. I was filled with unchristian memories. My only joy was imagining what he felt when he saw our large, vibrant congregation this morning.

But I could not believe George had the nerve to come back to St. Luke’s.

Chapter 2

George entered the library. He shut the door quietly and hurried past me to the sacristy where the priestly vestments, sacred vessels, and parish records were kept.

Hi, George, I said.

He stopped. Oh! Hello, Caro! Excuse me! His pock-marked face turned a bright red. His pale eyes popped under white eyebrows. George’s priestly collar circled his scrawny neck, and a huge red St. James or Santiago Cross hung around his neck with its lower part sharply pointed like a dagger. It always gave me the creeps. Like he did.

I did not cover myself. I was beyond modesty at this point in my life. I just stared at him hoping he’d squirm. But he didn’t.

Silence.

Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, he finally said with a big gummy smile. You and John must be happy to have a girl after three boys.

She’s not John’s. The jerk knew John was not standing next to me during the baptism.

Really, he said. His smile turned into a smirk. You’ve been busy.

Ass hole. How’s Texas?

Spirit filled and Bible based.

Oh? So you finally read the Gospels? I asked. Sweetly.

George barked a fake laugh and opened the door to the sacristy. Do you believe in anything, Caro?

I believe in a God who loves all His people.

I want you to read Leviticus…And…I’ll pray for you.

Gee, thanks ever so.

James came in carrying my purse, the diaper bag and baby carrier. He dropped them on a chair, leaned over and kissed me. I heard the door to the sacristy close.

Who were you talking to? he asked.

That horrible George Breckinridge! I gave Maisie to him and buttoned my blouse. He has the balls to come back to this church after what he did!

Language, Caro, James pulled a receiving blanket out of the bag, covered his shoulder before holding the baby over it and patting her back. Maisie let out a resounding burp. He put her in the carrier. She had that milk drunk look.

Max burst in. Guess who’s here, Mom, he said.

I know! He just went in the sacristy! He can’t do that! Go tell Father Co-

Excuse me, James said. People went to a lot of trouble to plan a reception. They’re waiting for us, and we have to take a group photo. So let’s go. I want to hear all the gory details about this George later.

I can only pray for gory details, I murmured and put on my shoes.

Chapter 3

We assembled in the lush garden area next to the goldfish pond: Peter, my eldest son home from his studies in Texas, Douglas, my middle son soon to graduate from the University of New Mexico, and Max, my youngest, hopefully graduating from high school. James’s lovely daughter Claire on break from her studies at Colorado College stood next to Jane Keyes, a lieutenant in the University of New Mexico Police Department. My sister, Sally, and her husband Ron were next to my Father, Hal, and my stepmother Pat. James and I were in the middle. He held Maisie toward the camera. Jane’s partner, Maggie, snapped pictures.

My estranged husband, John, and his girlfriend Alice were not there. But why should they be?

James’s parents were not able to travel from Louisiana.

We filed into the church parlor. There was a long table beautifully decorated with a light pink tablecloth, vases full of fresh spring flowers and lamby pies.

Oh James! I am so touched! I said.

Brad, the choir director, came over and gave me a hug. He was tall, thin and eccentric. A child prodigy who played the organ like he was making love to it: eyes wild, long black hair flying, beautiful hands moving lightly over the keys, his feet dancing over the pedal board. He and his partner Philip gave wonderful parties for the choir in their home. George Breckinridge fired Brad. Maybe because Brad was gay or perhaps because Brad always made a cutting gesture across his throat when George’s haranguing sermons went on too long. The largest organ is New Mexico was silenced for praise music of twangy electric guitars, tambourines and shouty voices.

We miss you, Caro. I hope you can come back. Are you quite done solving mysteries?

One never knows, Brad, I laughed.

He took my elbow and led me away from the table. I understand the Prince of Darkness favored us with his presence.

Oh George! I know. He came into-

Excuse me! Virginia Daily, also known as The Kitchen Nazi, barged between us carrying two pitchers of lemonade. We stepped way back. She was as round as she was tall, she waddled, her swollen ankles bulged over her white Keds, and she had a beard. Virginia took home dirty dishtowels and washed them. She didn’t have to do that, but Father Colin told everyone to let her do what she wanted to do. St. Luke’s was her life.

As I was saying, I tried to continue, George came into the library-

Virginia swayed between us again. She stopped. I saw him in a pew! She looked around. He better not come close to my kitchen if he knows what’s good for him!

You’ll bash him over the head with a skillet, Brad said.

Happy thought indeed, I said.

Bet your ass. Virginia lurched away.

We took plates and helped ourselves to angel food cake and ice cream.

Please think about singing again, Caro.

I want to, but I have to finish my degree and be there for Maisie until she is a little older.

She is something. Congratulations.

Thank you, Brad. We went to the beverage table and poured ourselves a glass of champagne. I joined my family sitting at one of the large round tables. My sons and Claire were having an animated conversation about music. Maggie was showing Jane the pictures on her camera. My sister held Maisie. (I knew about her before anyone! she told everyone proudly. Last year when I thought I had the flu, Sally knew better!) My Father and Pat were asking Ronald questions about their computer.

I sat next to James. He put his arm around the back of my chair. He lightly moved his thumb on the back of my neck. Warmth filled every inch of my body. I stuffed cake in my mouth. His smallest touch triggered desire. I looked at him: his beautiful, thick auburn hair, his dramatic green eyes, his full luscious mouth. He reached over, wiped some icing off my lip with his finger and licked it. I wanted to lick his finger, too, but knocked back my glass of champagne instead.

James was still married. His wife Monique had filed for divorce in Italy last year after she woke up in a Swiss sleep sanatorium and ran off with her therapist. Because of complications James discovered the decree was not legal in the United States. But I could not think about that now. I was rather content my situation at the moment. And here is now as the Yogis say.

And we had Maisie together: Our little surprise.

Chapter 4

Look who I found! boomed Father Colin. He had his arm around a tall, stooped figure with a craggy face and kind eyes. He resembled Abraham Lincoln.

Oh! Father Robert! I cried. I jumped up and hugged him. All my sons got up to shake his hand.

Just plain Robert, I’m afraid, he laughed.

Never plain! I said. How are you?

Fine. Father Colin has invited me to teach a class on the Psalms on Wednesday nights.

Wonderful! I turned to James who had stood up. This is James Hutchinson.

They shook hands. Pleasure to meet you, James said.

And this is Maisie? Robert asked. She’s beautiful.

Thank you, James said.

Well, Robert said. I must get back to my small but faithful congregation at the dairy.

What? I asked.

Robert holds a non-denominational service for a few souls in the conference room in the Creamland Dairies office on Second Street, Father O’Hara said.

I feel blessed to have this ministry, Robert said. And the space is free!

You’re not with the Anglicans anymore? I asked.

Robert sighed. Did not work out. A mutual agreement.

Their loss, I said. But not as big as ours was. Please come over to the house after your service.

Thank you, Caro. Robert turned to greet other welcoming people.

What a nice man, James said. He used to be at St. Luke’s?

Robert Wagner was our assistant priest. Truly doing God’s work. No ego. And then that George persuaded him to take off his collar, leave the Episcopal Church, and go with the rest of the righteous to form an Anglican church. But George kept his collar and left to be a priest in a Texas Episcopal Church! After causing all the trouble-

Caro, James interrupted. This is supposed to be happy time. Look. Sally just put a little ice cream on Maisie’s tongue. She loves it.

At just over five months old, Maisie had just been fed breast milk. I saw Maisie’s eyes open wide and her fat cheeks jiggle as she smacked her lips. We laughed. She was a gift. I had to practice gratitude…

Mom, we better go home. People will be arriving soon, Max said.

We were having a party with friends and neighbors. For years my husband John and I lived in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood and attended many all day christening parties with food, drink, and music. Not knowing any better when we first moved in, we only served coffee and lemon pie when our first born, Peter, was baptized. We learned fast. Our next two sons had proper celebrations. For today Max smoked a turkey, Douglas made carne adovada, Claire tossed a big salad, Peter made pinto beans and picked up flour tortillas from the Frontier Restaurant. I made a rum cake. James had growlers from La Cumbre brewery on ice. We were ready!

You all go, I said. I’m going to change Maisie and thank some people.

Actually I wanted to go back in the library and see what was going on.

I’ll put her seat in the car, James said.

Fine, fine. I hooked the diaper bag over my shoulder, took Maisie from my sister, kissed her cheek, and hurried down the hall.

Chapter 5

The library was empty. I did hear mumbling behind the sacristy door. I