Heinous Habits!

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Heinous Habits! Page 4

by Anna Celeste Burke


  “Yeah. Bede Durbridge is an amazing Australian surfer. This guy’s not him. That's another reason I said Bede's not that strange a name for a surfer.”

  “Got it. A different surfer named Bede. Not the famous one. Mick must have had a reason to move him into his shack and designate him as the Kahuna. Maybe self-serving behavior if he believes Bede’s likely to take off again. That way he can reclaim his shack if he and Willow don’t make a go of it as 9 to 5ers.”

  “Could be,” Brien said, shrugging. “What Mick told me was that he didn’t want the dudes down in the Grove to fight about who got his digs after he moved out. Bede’s got rights since he has a history in Sanctuary Grove even though he ducked out for a few years.”

  “I’ll have to give Mick credit for that. It sounds as if he was trying to be responsible in his last act as the Big Kahuna. Especially if this Bede does stick around.”

  “Mick’s got solid citizen potential. Lots of dudes spend their lives chasing after the next great wave to hone their craft as surfers. Others use that as an excuse not to get tied down. In a way, by sticking around in Boardertown for as long as he did, Mick had settled down more than he realized. Maybe Bede has reached that been-there-done-that point, and he's back here because he’s ready to stay put. We can ask Mick more about Bede if you think it’s important.” Brien cocked his head to one side, like a curious puppy.

  “I don’t know if it’s important or not. I’m all mixed up about the job offers and the idea of living here. Corsario Cove is the most beautiful place I've ever seen. Still, it's disturbing, isn’t it? I’m certain about one thing, though.”

  “What?” Brien turned his head the other way. I laughed.

  “I’m glad you decided not to spend your entire youth chasing waves.”

  “I found something better. Mick has, too, if he doesn’t blow it.”

  “Aw, that's sweet.” A knock at the door stopped me before I could show him how sweet! Brien and I were on our feet in a flash. That discussion about Corsario Cove being both “beautiful and disturbing” must have had something to do with how high we jumped when we heard that knock on the door. Brien sprinted into our suite and reached that door moments later. After a glimpse through the peephole, Brien opened the door with the security chain still connected.

  “Mr. Williams, a courier dropped off this note downstairs. Whoever sent it marked it as urgent, so I was asked to deliver it to you immediately, Sir.”

  Brien’s body flinched when the messenger called him sir. He glanced at me to see if I noticed and then spoke up.

  “Sure. Hang on a second,” Brien said as he shut the door enough to slide that chain off and open it wider. He took the note, glanced at it, and handed the messenger a tip. A whopper, judging by the smile on his face and his reaction to Brien.

  “Thanks, Man. I heard you were a righteous dude!” He and Brien exchanged shaka hand signs. His thumb and pinkie finger extended with the fingers in between folded down, the guy at our door wobbled his hand back and forth. Brien did the same.

  “Hang loose, Bruddah,” Brien said as he closed the door.

  “How much money did you give him?”

  “I don’t know.” Brien shuffled through the wad of bills still in his hand. “Ten, maybe. It sure put a stop to that sir baloney, didn’t it?”

  “It did. Who sent that message?”

  “I recognize the handwriting on the envelope. I'm sure it's from Brother Thaddeus.” Brien tore into the envelope, unfolded the note, and read it aloud.

  “I’m sorry to intrude so precipitously on your second honeymoon. I must speak to you as soon as possible. It’s urgent. Can you come up here tomorrow afternoon at 1:00? I’ll meet you at the front gate. No need to reply, but I pray you’ll heed my request. In all earnestness, Brother Thaddeus.”

  “Wow! I wasn’t even all that confident he’d received our letter telling him when we planned to arrive. We didn’t give him much notice,” I exclaimed.

  “That’s fair. We didn't get much notice when he asked us to come back here. It must be urgent for him to send us a note as soon as we got here. They have all these rules in monasteries about when you can do what and how you can do it. Rules about coming and going, too. Some monks aren’t even allowed to speak or have contact with people at all once they’ve made a solemn vow of silence or solitude. You don’t want to break those promises, or it’s the law of the cannon for you.” Brien was shaking his head in what I call his “man in the know” mode. His head moved up and down, slowly, as he clued me in on the truth of the matter. It took me a minute to figure out what the heck he was saying.

  “Aha! Bernadette told you Canon Law governs monastic vows, didn’t she?”

  “Yep.” He looked a little smug but worried too. “Even if he’s not silent or in solitude, Brother Thaddeus has to be obedient if he doesn't want to face that cannon.”

  “Canon, Brien—C-A-N-O-N, not C-A-N-N-O-N like the gun. Canons are rules backed by authorities in the Catholic Church. He should obey the rules, but if he breaks them, he’s not going to face a firing squad involving cannons or any other kind of gun.”

  “They could decide on exorcism maybe. What if Brother Thaddeus isn't supposed to speak to us—even on paper—since we're outside the monastery?”

  “An exorcism? Are you sure that’s what you mean?”

  “Wait, I’ll check.” Brien whipped out his wallet and pulled one of those vocabulary cards from it. He ran his finger down the list. “Exalt, exacerbate, exasperate.” Brien paused and looked up at me. “That’s one of Peter’s favorites.” Then he went back to poring over that list. “Excommunicate—that’s it. Or maybe excoriate. Sorry. It’s ex-something that sounds like the opposite of excellent.”

  “Nice try, Brien. I hear what you’re saying, but Brother Thaddeus may not have even taken vows like those. Not all inhabitants of monasteries have to remain cloistered.” Brien grabbed a resort pen near the door and started writing.

  “Cloistered, hm. C-L…spell the rest of that for me, will you? I’ll study it when I get back to words that start with a ‘c’ again.” I did as he asked. As I watched him eagerly write down that word, I suddenly felt overcome by Brien’s ardor for self-improvement. I have never met anyone in my life who tries any harder or who cares more than he does about making sense of the world. Well maybe Jessica Huntington, whose picture-perfect life went badly out of focus right before I met her. Still, she’s had advantages that Brien hasn’t had. Not just loads of money, but education, therapy, and Bernadette.

  “Cloistered or not, Brother Thaddeus is lucky you have his back now. I am too. What if we skip the unpacking and act like we’re on our second honeymoon for a little while?” Brien sprang into action. He tossed the pen back onto the small table by the door, stuffed the card back into his wallet, and put it into the bowl too. I took off for the bedroom, laughing, with the man of my dreams on my heels. Given how events unfolded over the next couple of days, I must admit that my impulse had been an inspired one. Carpe diem, baby!

  5 The Kook Factor

  Despite the sense of foreboding I had experienced the night before, disaster didn't strike right away. In fact, the next morning we started the day by continuing to pretend we were on vacation. The beautiful spring weather was perfect and we planned to indulge Brien’s surfer dude side once he checked out the surf. To satisfy my curiosity, Willow was going to try to swing by on her way to work to show us examples of what the mysterious and annoying intruders had done in Sanctuary Grove.

  After hearing what Willow had to say at dinner, I wondered if a couple of local teens might be hazing members of the surf community. Weird noises in the middle of the night, petty theft, graffiti, and other incidents of vandalism reminded me of the nasty pranks some of the kids in my high school delighted in playing. They were hurtful when you were the target. I had quit going to school when my number came up. Backing down wasn't what I had in mind for the culprits who had picked on my friend until she left Sanctuary Grove.


  It was going to be a busy day. That was fine since it would keep me from stewing about the latest message from Brother Thaddeus. Brien planned to meet up with Big Al at 10:00 and check out the new equipment the hotel security team wanted to show him. While he did that, I intended to drop by for a meet and greet with Elsa Manchester, the woman in charge of data management in the administration office. That put us on a tight schedule, especially given the fact that we'd need to make ourselves presentable before going to these meetings. After that, we’d have to leave ample time for Brien to replenish the calories he burns up by surfing.

  When Brien announced “Surf’s up!” at the crack of dawn, I was out of it. There was no way I could resist the infectious grin on his face, though. He’d already ordered our pre-surf meal of coffee and smoothies. I rolled out of bed and grabbed the coffee he held out for me. We stood side by side for a moment, sipping coffee and gazing at the surf that beckoned. Brien gave me a quick lesson in “broceanography,” describing the signs that told him surfing conditions were good.

  “What are we waiting for, Brien? The dawn patrol is out!” Four surfers sat on their boards, all in a little row right behind the point where the waves begin to break. There are rules about how to behave in that lineup. It was all very orderly if everyone followed them:

  Rule #1 – Don’t Drop In On Another Surfer

  Rule #2 – The Surfer Closest To The Peak Has Right-Of-Way

  Rule #3 – Paddling Surfer Yields To Surfer Riding Wave

  Rule #4 – Don’t Ditch Your Board

  Rule #5 – Don’t Be A Snake

  A snake is someone who disobeys Rule 1 and cuts off a surfer who's already paddling to catch a wave. Not just rude, but dangerous. Even when not cutting off someone else, it’s considered rude to be a wave hog. Part of the etiquette in that lineup is waiting your turn. That wasn't always easy to do when you've come down with the surf bug.

  If I had ever seen a more amazing sight than Corsario Cove drenched in the morning sunlight, I couldn’t remember when. I eagerly downed my smoothie and shimmied into my wetsuit—a “wettie” to devotees of surfing.

  Seeing Brien’s muscles bulging in that skin-tight wettie of his own made me change my mind about what I regarded as the most enthralling sight of the morning. I gawked as though I hadn’t seen him decked out like that many times before. My heart raced. He smiled at me as he slipped on his Rainbow flip-flops.

  “Dude, we’d better head to the beach before I give into the impulse to kiss the surf scene goodbye and play the good wife instead.” Brien was apparently confused.

  “Uh, surfing with me on the first morning of our second honeymoon makes you a good wife," he said. I moved close and kissed him several times. “Whoa, I get it,” he said. I could tell my good husband was torn, too, between his love for me and the call of the waves. Poor baby. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I had to do something to get us out of that hotel suite. Fast!

  “Last one on the beach is a kook,” I cried as I ran into the sitting room and grabbed my board. Somehow, I managed to get out the door and into the elevator before Brien—even hauling my surfboard with me. I was panting like a dog, but I was in that elevator, and the door was sliding closed.

  I saw a clear path to victory until Brien’s arm blocked the door before it closed. When it opened, he joined me on the elevator, tilting his board a little so he could bring it in with him. He and that board towered over me as he leaned in and kissed me.

  “You’re not just a good wife—you’re the best wife ever, Gidget.” I tried to think of something to say. No luck. My brain was mush as Moondoggie grinned at me. That kiss hadn’t helped me think more logically either.

  The elevator pinged and we stopped. I squeezed closer to Brien, pressing myself up against him so the couple could join us with their luggage in tow. They eyed us warily. I smiled, trying to be friendly. It must not have worked because the middle-aged woman averted her eyes. In the mirror-like wall opposite to us, the smile I wore looked more like a grimace.

  When we reached the lobby floor, and the door slid open, they dashed out. As the couple exited in haste, a flyer fluttered to the ground. I picked it up intending to return it. When the man stopped to speak to a member of the hotel staff in the lobby, I tried to get his attention.

  “Excuse me. You dropped something,” I called out. My second attempt to move quickly while hanging onto my surfboard was more awkward than the first. I banged into a waste can that stood near the elevator. It clanged loudly, and both well-dressed guests gave me a dirty look. When I caught up with them, that hotel representative was speaking to them about us apparently.

  “I can assure you that they would not be using the hotel elevators and other amenities unless they were guests. Nor do we allow panhandling in the hotel lobby or anywhere else. Did they ask you for money?” She stopped speaking when I thrust that piece of paper at them.

  “You dropped this.”

  “I most certainly did not. And if I did, why would I want that piece of trash back anyway?” I glanced at the sheet of paper for the first time since I had picked it up. My eyes bulged at what I read.

  “Can’t you see this is a blatant attempt to get close enough to us to pick our pockets or grab our luggage or something like that? Maybe they’re working with the bum who gave that to us. We heard there had been trouble down on the beach, but I never dreamed you’d let these drifters into the hotel.”

  The man had raised his voice each time he spoke, and as he did, I grew angrier. Steam was going to come from my ears any moment like a cartoon character. Brien was standing close to me. His body was radiating heat, now, too—big time. He must have been as ticked off as I was with these obnoxious people. My Brien is much slower to anger than I am, but he’s a man of action when he’s riled.

  “Uh, do you need my help?” he asked the hotel staffer who responded with a rather bewildered expression on her face. “If these two rude guests are giving you a hard time I can call security for you. Or you can do it, and I’ll detain them while you make that call.” He directed his gaze to the male member of that duo and spoke to him directly.

  “This is a quiet, peaceful place and the management does not take kindly to loud, disorderly people. You need to take it down a notch and behave like a gentleman.”

  That rendered the man speechless. His mouth dropped open, but not another word came out. Someone must have already made that call to security because Big Al and one of his staff associates came through a door from behind the Front Desk moving at a trot.

  “What’s up, Brien?” he asked when he reached us. “Is there a problem here, Holly?”

  The female member of that couple must have had more sense than her companion did. She reached up and touched his arm before speaking for the first time. “Jerry, I think we’ve made a mistake here, don’t you?” That touch must have calmed him down or brought him back to reality. He exhaled air slowly, like a balloon that had developed a leak.

  “Maybe so. We need a shuttle to the airport. Have we missed it?”

  “No. It leaves in fifteen minutes. Have a seat anywhere in the lobby, and I’ll notify you when it arrives. Can I bring you some coffee while you wait?”

  “Coffee would be lovely. Thank you,” the woman replied. Her husband, if that’s who he was, just nodded. When I smiled this time, the better half of that couple returned the smile.

  “I know you don’t want this back, but can you tell me where you ran into the guy who gave it to you?” Jerry didn’t answer, nor did he wait to hear what his companion said. He followed Holly to a comfortable seating arrangement not far from the hotel entrance.

  “On the promenade near the Hacienda in Old Town. A strange man dressed in dirty robes—like a monk’s habit.” That got Brien’s attention.

  “Sorry he bothered you,” Big Al said. “The local police are doing what they can to keep him from making a nuisance of himself. He only recently reappeared in town. Apparently, he’s mad as a March hare but harmless
.”

  “I understand. There’s only so much you can do. The disturbed man wasn’t even panhandling, just intent on saving our souls.” She lowered her voice before continuing. “He made Jerry nervous, but he gets upset easily these days. I’d better join him, or he’ll get anxious that I’ll keep us from catching our shuttle. Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

  “No problem.” I watched her walk away as I handed that flyer to Brien for him to read. That flyer featured a rather menacing monk figure in a hood. A few short, pithy statements accompanied that illustration. Those words were eerily familiar.

  He walks among us. The time is short. The end is near!

  Sinners repent! Save yourselves! God is not pleased.

  “Now that’s what I call an ugly monk with a heinous habit!” Brien exclaimed pointing to that creepy image.

  “What do you make of this, Big Al?”

  “I have no clue what he means, but I’ve seen the same words before. Those symbols, too. They’ve turned up in graffiti here at the resort and around town. On signs near highway entrances to town, too.”

  “That must be what Willow wants us to see down in Sanctuary Grove,” Brien added.

  “I bet you’re right, Brien. She said she found weird marks that look like hieroglyphics. I assumed it was more of the signs you showed me, Brien, that are used to guide the way to Boardertown for those traveling on foot.” I tried to recall what those had looked like when Brien pointed them out to me on our first visit to Sanctuary Grove. "I don't remember any that looked even remotely like these or the symbols Willow described, for that matter."

  "Nope. Not hobo signs. Not surfer signs either," Brien assured me.

  “The Chamber of Commerce and other local leaders are up in arms about it. They don’t want another story to get out about strange things going on in Corsario Cove. All the trouble at Christmas and on New Year’s Eve didn’t sit well with the PR folks trying to promote this place as a destination resort.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said. “At least some of that trouble involved hanky-panky by people associated with the resort, not the surfers. They ought to be more worried about making sure that never happens again. Besides, I like the local legends about mad monks, pirates, and treasure.”

 

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