Pretty is as Pretty Dies: Myrtle Clover #1

Chapter Eight

Later, Myrtle and Elaine squeezed into a packed pew in the packed sanctuary of the church for Parke's funeral. "Too bad we couldn't get better seats," Myrtle muttered, pulling her glasses out of her pocketbook, and closing the purse with a snap.

"Well, it's not a play. We should be able to follow what's going on from back here."

"Not a play, but maybe a circus. Is that a brass section in front of the choir loft? What's this thing they handed us?" demanded Myrtle.

Red plopped on the pew between them and put his arms around them because there wasn't enough room for his arms next to him in the pew. "These things are programs, Mama." He chuckled at the stricken expression on Myrtle's face. "Apparently we're going to be treated to most of Handel's "Messiah" while we're here."

Myrtle pulled up on the pew in front of her and squinted to prove to herself that there was indeed a brass section next to the full choir in the loft. She plopped back into the pew, wincing at the hardness of the wooden pews. "You'd think if Parke Stockard were so keen on updating the church that she'd have pitched in for some pew cushions." Red raised his eyebrows. "You know," said Myrtle, waving her hands around. "You'd have thought she'd have wanted to add red pew cushions as a nice complement to the sanctuary's furnishings. Considering how much she liked to show off, too."

"She was a real Philistine," drawled Red, rolling his eyes.

Elaine tried ignoring their exchange, taking a deep breath and letting the beauty of the church relax her. The smooth, hand-carved wooden pews gleamed with polish. Although the pews seated 350, the way the pews curved around in semi-circles on each side towards the altar gave the sanctuary a more intimate feel. Corinthian columns held up a vaulted ceiling and large, leaded, stained glass windows featuring elaborate depictions of Biblical stories lined the walls. The church dated back to the late-1800s and functioned not only as a church, but also as a host for different community events.

The brass ensemble suddenly trumpeted and Myrtle leapt off the pew. To cover her confusion, she picked up a hymnbook from the rack in front of her. She flipped idly through its new pages, then peered at the composers and hymn titles in dismay.

Elaine leaned over and bellowed into Myrtle's ear to compete with the music. "What's wrong? You have a horrible expression on your face."

"I'm at a funeral after all," said Myrtle crossly. She pointed at a hymn and thumped the page. "These new hymnbooks have only modern music in them. Nothing written before 1975!" She flipped to the front cover of the hymnal. "Ah. "Donated to the Glory of God through Parke Stockard." Myrtle frowned. "That's worded oddly. Like she thought she was God's conduit or something."

The horns swelled, then mercifully quieted while the choir sang a quieter selection. Elaine whispered, "Well, there's been a lot of disagreement with the changes that Parke Stockard has implemented in the church since her arrival." Myrtle looked surprised and Elaine coughed. "You—haven't attended church for a while."

"All right. Point taken. What other changes has she made?"

"Modernized the service. She paid for so much that I don't think Nathaniel Gluck could tell her no. Brought in huge flower arrangements for the altar. New robes for the choir and minister. Spruced up the sanctuary. Hired special musicians to come in and play—not always the most formal music either," said Elaine.

"Really?" Myrtle asked dubiously as Handel's Messiah reached another fever pitch in front of them.

"Sometimes really contemporary stuff. Made a lot of the old fogies in the congregation upset, but what could the preacher do? She was paying for it all."