The Lyric Wore Lycra

Police Chief Hayden Konig likes solving crimes. He likes his part-time job as organist at St. Barnabas Church. He likes typing his detective stories on Raymond Chandler's 1939 Underwood typewriter. Hayden is good at two of these things. Crimes rarely go unsolved in the little Appalachian town of St. Germaine, North Carolina. The music at the Episcopal parish is top notch. His writing however ... —"It's you I want," she panted, flinging herself onto the davenport, like one might fling a sausage onto a davenport. "What's your game, sister?" I queried. She pulled me down and kissed me like I hadn't been smooched since that time I ended up with a mouth full of suckers playing spin-the-octopus with the finalists of the 1974 Miss Cephalopod beauty contest. "This is the game," she whispered. "Spin-the-octopus?" I gasped. "No," she slurped. "The game of love ..."— Fat Tuesday: the only religious holiday for the horizontally challenged. It's only natural that St. Barnabas Church should offer a Lenten class called Paunches Pilates. As the gang ponders forty days of penitence and self control, it becomes clear that there is a murderer in town. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust: will they ever get this mess cleaned up? Hayden Konig's 14th mystery It s not what you expect ... it s even funnier!