Drowning in Christmas (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Read Online Free Page B

space to the right. A simple altar and what looked to be a baptismal font were located there. The main nave upstairs with its towering ceiling and huge, stained glass windows must be dazzling. At some point, I hoped to glimpse the world-renowned pipe organ, dubbed “The Mighty Austin,” that distinguished musicians flocked to play in a series of concerts offered by the Cathedral throughout the year.
    I watched parishioners dipping their fingers into bowls of holy water, then crossing themselves in the age-old Catholic ritual. My lack of participation seemed to cause no consternation, and I soon realized that I had plenty of non-Catholic company among the volunteers. Apparently, this meeting was as ecumenical as the UCC itself. I knew that previous meetings had been held at other churches and synagogues throughout the region.
    “Okay, boys and girls, let's get this show on the road.” Sister Marguerite addressed the group of perhaps fifty with her customary lack of pretense. “Shirley, who called this meeting, and what are we supposed to be doing again?” Her little joke drew appreciative chuckles. Then the staff and volunteers fell silent and prepared to concentrate.
    “As you've probably noticed, we're missing a few folks today. This year's strain of flu has begun eating into our numbers, and from the coughing and sniffling I'm hearing out there, I'm very much afraid that we'll be down a few more by tomorrow.” We looked around nervously. I had indeed heard the phlegmy evidence of contagious virus and shrank instinctively a bit farther from my pew-mates. The last thing I needed at this moment was the flu. “So the first order of business is to recruit more volunteers. We can't have our prestigious guests scavenging for food and drink at the buffet table tomorrow evening. We need wait-staff to pass things around and charm the money out of their pockets. If you have any friends or relatives available, get them on the phone as soon as we adjourn and line ‘em up.”
    Immediately, I thought of Margo and Strutter. We were meeting for dinner this very evening, and I would beg for their help on Sister Marguerite's behalf. Strutter was already acquainted with James O’Halloran, having sold him and his wife a house a couple of years ago, and Margo … well, Margo was always up for a good time, even if she had to pass a few canapés in the process. As for beguiling the guests, my partners were unsurpassed in that area. I made a note.
    An hour later, we had been given our marching orders and dispersed as quickly as we had gathered. The schedule for Thursday evening had been confirmed, and each person in the room had his or her role down pat. As I had suspected, this was old hat to most of these folks. Because the Atheneum would already be decorated to the hilt with the fabulous trees, wreaths, and more whimsical decorations of the season contributed by organizations throughout Greater Hartford to support the Atheneum's own fundraising efforts, the UCC would have to add little to the ambience. A committee of experienced decorators would add the final touches to the refreshment tables early in the day.
    By mid-afternoon, all of the auction and raffle prizes would be artfully displayed along a long wall near the open bar. “Ladle the punch liberally, remember,” Sister Marguerite admonished. “Show them a good time, and their wallets will practically fall open by themselves. But keep a close eye on them as they head out the door. Our famous Christmas punch is well spiked, and we don't want to send any inebriates out into the streets. Just call Jimmy's Cab Service, and he'll send around one of his boys to drive the over-enthusiastic imbibers home safely.”
    At five-thirty, the doors would officially open, and platters of mouth-watering hors d'oeuvres would be circulated by the volunteer waiters. A popular senior citizens chorus would provide twenty minutes of seasonal selections, ending with “Here Comes Santa Claus.” This