3 - Buffalo Mountain: Ike Schwartz Mystery 3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Vicar—”
    “Blake…”
    “Blake, yes, actually, Karl’s been called out and then I’ve been assigned to a homicide investigation so neither of us…well, no.” She worked her way around the choir that stood in a close huddle just inside the church’s glass doors.
    At ten thirty-five Mary Miller, at a nod from Blake, switched from playing a prelude and launched into “Onward Christian Soldiers”—a little political incorrectness on a cold Sunday morning. The choir started its stately, if somewhat disorganized, procession to the front of the church. Blake followed, his hymnal at the ready but his eyes surveying his congregation. He let his mind slip into the clergy person’s Sunday litany—how many here this morning? Who is here, who is missing? Are there any faces I do not recognize? Are the candles lighted? What did I do with my sermon notes? What was the point I wanted to make in the sermon? He could not remember. He fought the twinge of doubt he always felt when the service started—would he get it right?
    Blake knew the first and last verses of most of the hymns in the book. He knew many in their entirety as well, Christmas and Easter hymns in particular. But the exigencies of his calling made it particularly useful to know at least the first and last. They were sung when he and most clergy were out of position or without a book at hand.
    He paused and waited at the head of the aisle for the hymn-ending Amen to fade. It would be called a transept in a large church, Blake mused, thinking of Colonel Bob and his annoyance at “those young people”—a transept running north and south.
    Blake did not think his sermon met his standard, but he figured it would do, might even be a hit. He’d discovered years before that he could never judge how sermons would be received. The ones he worked on the hardest often evoked the fewest comments, the least praise, and ones he threw together at the last minute seemed to have the greatest impact on the most people. He learned to accept it, convinced it was how God amused himself, but he knew the phenomenon still rankled many of his colleagues. Some even denied it completely and remained convinced that their painstakingly researched and carefully crafted sermons were moving mountains.
    The service ended with a closing hymn. Blake positioned himself again at the narthex door ready to shake hands, respond to comments, and listen for signals that he needed to call on someone or to commiserate. He never knew if he got it right. He sometimes wished his congregation would stop thinking of him as a mind reader and just come out and tell him what they, or their children, husband, or neighbor needed. Rose, Minnie, T.J., and Sam arrived at the exit at the same time.
    “Rose, do you know Samantha Ryder?” he asked.
    “I’ve seen you, dear, but never really met you.” She held out her hand. “This is my sister, Minnie, and our nephew, T.J.”
    “Sam is a deputy sheriff,” Blake added.
    “You’re a policeman?” T.J. asked, eyes wide.
    “A deputy sheriff, yes. Are you interested in police work?”
    Rose looked nonplussed. T.J. was hardly police academy material.
    “Yes, I am. I would like to ride in a police car.”
    “Well, T.J., I’ll tell you what,” Sam said. “Some afternoon when I’m off duty, maybe we can fix it so you can do just that.”
    ***
    Whaite told Sam to take the rest of Sunday morning off but said he wanted to be back in Floyd by early afternoon.
    “I got a call last night on my answering machine. Some guy said it was urgent and I should get down there right away.”
    Some guy?

Chapter 6
    Sam and Whaite failed to find the caller. The contact had been traced to a payphone on the wall at a fire station. In an age of ubiquitous cell phones, it may have been the only payphone for miles. No one in the fire station could remember anyone using it.
    “Hey, it’s cold outside. It’s not like we was sitting and rocking out there like it was summer,