Read Mark Schweizer - Liturgical 12 - The Cantor Wore Crinolines for Free Online Page A

don’t think I do. It’s hard to say till we get enough light back there.”
    “How about the ambulance?” Cynthia asked.
    “On the way from Boone,” said Dave. “I told them no hurry. They’ll be here within the hour though.”
    “They’ll drop her off at the morgue,” said Kent. “I can give her a look on Monday.”
    We crowded into the small bedroom and huddled around the closet door. The room was empty except for an old chest of drawers against one of the walls. The closet was framed by a couple of louvered wooden doors, both of which were standing open. The beams of our flashlights all found the body at the same time.
    It was a woman. A middle-aged woman. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the side wall of the closet. He legs were stretched straight in front of her, her feet splayed to either side. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were closed. She was wearing a woolen dress that looked a little big for her, a scarf, and shoes with a short heel. Church clothes.
    She’s been dead for a couple of days at least,” said Kent, putting his face close to the dead woman’s face, sniffing, and peering closely with his flashlight. He put a hand on her abdomen. “Probably longer. It’s been below freezing for what, two weeks or so? With no electricity on in here, it’s like a freezer. Hardly any decomp at all, but that’s to be expected since she’s solid as a rock.”
    “It’s been winter since way before Christmas,” I said. “We’ve had a few days up in the forties, but even so, the temperature in here might not of climbed high enough to thaw her out.”
    Kent nodded. “Yep. Once she was frozen solid, it’d take a few days to thaw her out. Think about a twenty pound turkey. That takes a day or so at room temperature. She looks to be maybe a hundred forty pounds. So even if she thawed a bit during the day, every night she’d freeze back up.”
    “Anyone recognize her?” asked Dave. “I don’t.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “It’s Darla Kildair. She didn’t live here, but she cut hair over at Noylene’s Beautifery until last year. Then she and Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle had a fight and Darla opened her own shop down around back of Dr. Ken’s Gun Emporium on Old Chambers. He gave her that basement space. Not easy to find unless you know where it is, although there’s a sign for it on the highway. Darla’s Hair Down Under.”
    “So that’s what that is,” said Dave. “I had no idea.”
    “Well, I’ll be darned,” said Nancy, shining her light right into the woman’s face.
    “That’s not Darla,” exclaimed Cynthia with astonishment. “I saw Darla at Thanksgiving when I went over there for a haircut. This woman is older.”
    “Pretty sure that’s her,” I said.
    “What you’re seeing is some desiccation,” said Kent. “That’s to be expected, even with the freezing. When a body loses fluid, the aging process appears more pronounced.”
    “Her hair’s different, too,” said Pete. “Didn’t she used to have blonde hair?”
    “It was sort of auburn,” said Cynthia. “Now it’s almost black and a lot shorter. I guess it’s her though, now that I look closely.”
    “Oh, Darla,” said Pete thoughtfully, “what has brought thou to this terrible end? A bad haircut?”
    “That’s not funny,” sniffed Cynthia. “She was a nice person.”
    “Sorry,” said Pete.
    “I don’t imagine,” said Nancy, “that she wandered into a locked-up house, walked into the closet, and died of natural causes.”
    “I don’t imagine she did,” I said.
    “Lookee here,” said Kent, flashing his light on one side of her face, then the other. “She’s just got the one earring. The other one’s missing.”
    I pointed at Pete and Cynthia and said, “You two keep quiet about that earring. That’s a clue, so don’t spread it around.”
    “We won’t,” said Cynthia.
    “What earring?” added Pete.
    Kent stood up from his crouching position. “I can’t tell you