Requiem Murder Part 10

He laughed softly. "Marcie and I share a love of music just like you and I do. That's the basis of our

friends.h.i.+p. She understands."

But Marcie was a teenager with all the fragility of her age group. With a mother like Judith and a father whose whole life centered around his wife, Marcie searched for approval. In trying to help, Roger risked harming her. Still, her adoration must be flattering and something hard to give up.

While I ate I noticed Pete had joined Beth and Roger. His rugged good looks stood in contrast to Roger's smooth handsomeness. Pete said something to Beth and she laughed. Roger instantly claimed her attention. I sighed. Another woman looking for male approval and just as likely as Marcie to be hurt.

Once I finished the main course, a problem because of the number of interruptions for conversation, I

headed for the dessert table. Edward and Laura carried plates to the picnic table and sat across from me.

"Marvelous cake," Edward said. "I pray you'll make several for the bazaar. There's always a marvelous response to your cake."

Laura chuckled. "She's making three and we're raffling them. You'll have to buy a lot of tickets."

Edward groaned. "You know I never win a thing."

"If you don't win, I'll bake one."

"Marvelous, simply marvelous." He clapped his hands.

"Beth, it's not fair." Judith's strident voice caused me to look up and a number of conversations to stop.

She weaved an unsteady path around groups of people. "You can't have them both." She held out a hand. "Roger, come with me. There's something we have to talk about."

Roger rose. Judith clung to his arm and steered him toward the house. Just in front of the picnic table, she stumbled. Roger caught her. She plastered herself against him and kissed him.

My eyes widened. This was the first time I'd ever seen Judith do more than flirt.

"I'm better than she is any day," she said.

Beth seemed to shrivel. Martin approached the pair. He pried Judith loose and pushed her toward the house. He beckoned to me and I followed.

When I opened the kitchen door, I heard Judith's strident voice. "Martin Simpson, don't tell me I'm drunk. I've only had a couple gla.s.ses of wine. I've never been drunk in my life."

"Just drink the coffee and eat some of the food. Then you can go back to the party."

"You don't understand. Send Marcie to me. I want to talk to her about her behavior today."

"You're going to eat while I go out and see to our guests. Mrs. Miller will stay with you. You don't want people talking about you."

"All right."

Martin appeared in the kitchen. "Talk to her. She'll listen to you." The door closed behind him.

I walked through the dining room and entered the living room that took up half the s.p.a.ce on the first floor. Judith's loud wail reached me.

"Tom, I hate you. You hurt me. Why don't you love me?"

Who was Tom? I crossed the room and sat beside her. "Judith, it's all right. Tom's not here."

"Mom, he hurt me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why won't you believe me? He hurt me but I'll hurt him back. He's out there in the garden with the

pasty-face one. I know he wants to make me jealous. Then he'll hurt me again."

An old boy friend? An abusive relations.h.i.+p? In her drunken state had she confused the past with the present?

I handed her the coffee Martin had prepared. "Drink this."

She drained the cup. "That was awful. Did you put something in it again?" She tried to stand, wavered

and then straightened. "Going to bed."

She staggered across the room and collapsed on the steps. What had Martin put in the coffee? Was she

dead? I crossed the room, felt her pulse and was relieved to find it steady and strong. I left the house, found Martin and told him Judith was on the steps leading to the second floor.

He sucked in a breath. "I'll put her to bed. Thanks. She gets over-excited when there's a crowd."

I was about to advise him to seek professional help when Roger's boisterous laughter caught my

attention. The scene with Judith didn't seem to have affected him. He sat at the picnic table and appeared to be holding court. For a moment I wondered if there was any substance beneath his s.h.i.+ning surface.

Then memories of the wonderful music he produced pushed that thought aside.

"Mrs. Miller," he called. "Edward was telling me about your battle with the Vestry over dancers in the

sanctuary."

That had been years ago, but many of the same people who'd opposed the idea still controlled St.

Stephen's purse strings. Even though they had no direct control over the music trust, they'd stomped on the idea of anything lacking what they deemed "dignity."

"That's a scene I'd rather forget."

He grinned. "You'll get your wish. Liturgical Dance will perform the first Evensong."

"How did you manage that?"

"A touch of flattery, a lot of ego-stroking. The second Evensong will feature medieval instruments and

sacred music. For the third the choir will perform Mozart's Requiem. Stop by the office and I'll show you the entire schedule. I'm proud of the selections." He grinned. "I've allowed them to convince me to do one of the performances."

"I'll do that. Where's Beth?"

"She took her son home. Marcie went with them so I imagine Beth will be back."

Edward and Laura headed toward the gate. Ralph, his mother and a few of the older choir members had

already left. "Tell her I'll call. It's time for me to depart."

I located Martin. "Have Marcie bring my bowl and cake holder over tomorrow or whenever."

He heaved a sigh. "Thanks for seeing to Judith. It's been years since she's taken on this way. Since her

mother died. I didn't realize how much wine she'd had."

I didn't believe him, but allowed him his fantasy -- for now. This wasn't the time or the place to discuss Judith's problems. "At least you didn't send Marcie to her. The child doesn't need to be involved in that sort of scene."

"That's why I sent her to Beth's. By tomorrow Judith will have forgotten what set her off."

I wanted to shake him. Judith was sicker than he knew. To me, she had hovered between the past and

the present and garbled them.

When I reached the house, Pete sat on one of the white wicker chairs. "Is there a problem?" I asked.

"Beth," he said.

"What happened?"

"I walked them home and hoped she'd invite me in. She sent me away. I didn't mean to cause a scene. If

I'd known Mrs. Simpson would react like that, I wouldn't have stayed."

"I'm glad you have that much sense."

"That Roger's a real jerk, but she won't hear anything against him."

"Do you blame her after the way you've acted and the things I've heard you say? Maybe you'd better re-tune your att.i.tude."

"Maybe you're right. I guess you're not into dispensing sympathy."

"I've had my fill of other people's problems today." I entered the house and closed the door.