Cecilian Vespers Read Online Free PDF Page B

front flap with a heart and arrow picture.
    At lunchtime I grabbed a pen and notebook and took a run over to St. Bernadette’s to see if there were any new developments. I found Brennan in the auditorium of the choir school, sitting at the piano. He had a pair of half-glasses perched on his nose and a pencil clenched in his teeth. He picked out a melody and a few chords, then made notations in a music dictation book. Composing a new setting for theMass. I had heard some of it before. Now, I noticed, the music had a darker tone than I remembered.
    I walked up to him and watched his fingers on the keys. “How have you managed to make such a seemingly ordinary series of notes sound so plaintive, so dolorous? What key are you in?”
    “C minor. This is the ‘Kyrie.’ I’ll repeat the progression in the ‘Miserere Nobis.’”
    If he had turned to his music to escape the concerns of this world, it was clear that he hadn’t travelled very far. The tragedy was colouring his composition. Not surprising, perhaps: the “Kyrie” is a plea for God’s mercy.
    “How are the other people holding up?” I asked.
    “They’re going around like the walking wounded, which is to be expected. But they’re determined to carry on with our program. I’m grateful for that, so I’ll have to pull myself together and get to work. Come over to the rectory. Mike O’Flaherty went to the police station in the hopes of getting some more information. He’ll be back any minute.”
    We left the school and crossed the street to the parish house. I followed Brennan into the priests’ library, and sat down with him at a long cherry-wood table. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling along three walls of the room. I took out my notebook and uncapped my pen.
    “So give me an outline of the day. What were people doing on Friday, leading up to vespers?”
    “Does this mean you’re on the case?”
    “Aren’t I always? Besides, what’s the alternative? Sitting on my butt wondering what the real story is!”
    “Well, that’s a relief, because I can’t see myself interrogating the very people who have paid to attend my college. Our lawyer, on the other hand, has no need to be so delicate.”
    “Exactly. So, tell me about the day of the murder.”
    “We had Mass in the morning, at nine. I had the impression at the time that the whole group, or nearly the whole group, was there, including Reinhold Schellenberg. Then everyone had a free day until it was time for Schellenberg’s afternoon lecture. Which, as you know, he never gave because something came up. If we knew what came up, we’d be more than halfway to the truth about his murder. Anyway,most of our students went to Peggy’s Cove on the bus, and we didn’t see them again until vespers.”
    “Any unusual behaviour that morning?”
    “Nothing I noticed.”
    “What about Communion? Did everyone receive? Would it stand out in a group like this if someone didn’t come forward for the sacrament?”
    “I see what you mean, but I simply didn’t notice if there was anyone like that.”
    “Well, let’s hope the police have a handle on who was where at the crucial time. Here’s Mike. Good afternoon, Monsignor!”
    “Good day to you, Monty.”
    “What did they tell you, Michael?” Brennan asked.
    “The good news is that the vast majority of our students can be eliminated from suspicion. Of the fifty-six participants at the schola, only eight missed the bus trip to Peggy’s Cove. Reinhold Schellenberg, six other men, and one woman.”
    “How many of the seven can account for their time in the afternoon?”
    “None of them, unfortunately.”
    “Don’t be telling us that, Michael!”
    “It’s true,” O’Flaherty replied. “No, wait, one of them was in a tavern at the time of the murder, and has a witness to prove it. The estimated time of death was between two and four in the afternoon. The bus left for Peggy’s Cove at one-thirty, with forty-eight of our students on it. The others