8 Ruined Ruins
The brunch buffet would not soon recover from the assault Brien made on it. His prowess as an eater was already well-known at the resort. His legendary eating ability is on record in those profiles the resort keeps on each guest. He was remarkably agile as he carried several plates at once, each piled high with breakfast items.
“Brunch counts for two meals,” Brien had said as he made his first raid on the buffet that included one of his favorites—French toast. “This isn’t quite as good as Bernadette’s, but close—even without the love stuff.”
Bernadette’s secret ingredient in her French toast and everything else the saintly woman creates is love. It was probably a blessing for everyone concerned that the French toast wasn’t quite as good as Bernadette’s or they might not have been able to keep ahead of him.
As a concession to me, he even included a bowl full of melon. “Fruit, see?” Then he pulled a banana out of a pocket. “More fruit.” He downed that banana in three bites, finished the rest of the food, and went back to the buffet line for “lunch.”
The Andalusia Café’s version of Eggs Benedict was my favorite dish. It’s scrumptiously made with Serrano ham instead of Canadian bacon. More coffee gave me hope that I might be coherent for that meeting with Brother Thaddeus. A salad with fresh ingredients grown in the monastery gardens was tasty but had me worried about that fire. Our server was a pleasant young woman with a perky, precision cut bob, and an easy-going manner. At first anyway.
“He can eat, can’t he?”
“Oh, yes. Brien must be running on close to empty! We were up at dawn to surf. He beat me out there and kept surfing after I collapsed on the beach in exhaustion.”
“You must have been in on all the excitement down there this morning. Bats and all that smoke. We heard the fire wasn’t in the surfer village even though we could see that smoke pouring out of the woods. One of our corsarios who works on the lowest terrace level said security sent a message around right away that there was no fire in the woods.”
“That’s true. We went in there—as soon as those bats were gone. Nothing in the village was on fire. From what I could see, the smoke was coming from the caves in the cliffs. That must be what flushed out those bats.”
“That makes sense. We figured the woods were on fire up around the monastery when we heard sirens heading that way. The guy who delivered our produce this morning was late. When he got here, he said the fire had burned in some old ruins that back up to the caves. None of the woods or gardens or new buildings were involved. I guess that’s why it was over so quickly."
"That must be a relief for the residents of the monastery. Good for the restaurant, too, that the gardens weren't damaged."
"I’ve never been on the monastery grounds, but our delivery guy says some of those ruins had already caught fire once or twice. Maybe they have a pyromaniac living up there. It must be what was left of those old buildings that burned though. How could anything catch on fire in those damp, moldy caves?"
“That was the same thing I wondered when I saw the smoke coming from openings in the cliffs. After the fire, breezes were blowing through Sanctuary Grove so it must have been the wind that carried the smoke into the caves and the woods. You're right that whatever caught fire didn't burn for long. I’m sure the rumors will spread faster and last longer than that fire, though.”
“Yeah, and the resort will get the blame along with Sanctuary Grove. Whenever there’s trouble anywhere in this area, everyone gets riled up about the surfers being behind it. My friends in San Albinus know that the Grove was built before the resort, but as far as they’re concerned, we’re part of the problem now. Like it’s up to us to let the surfers stay put.”
“We met some of the surfers down there, and they seem okay. The surfing is excellent, so I can see why they want to hang out.” I shrugged. “From what they told us, the village isn’t even on resort grounds.”
“True, but most people don’t know that.”
“It’s marked ‘PRIVATE’ down there. Signs are posted all along the edge of the woods that identify it as a preserve.”
“That’s confusing too, though, since surfers can hang out as long as they want in Sanctuary Grove. A lot of locals think if it’s a preserve people should be allowed to visit but not put up a shack and become squatters.” She shrugged as if she wasn't sure what to make of that idea.
“Complicated, is right if locals don’t want drifters in there, but don’t want them to put down roots, either. If the monks permit them to stay, residents of San Albinus can gripe all they want but there’s not much they can do since the monks own that land.”
“There’s some difference of opinion about who owns what or what you can do on a piece of property and still call it a preserve. Complicated is right. I’m not sure what the Conservancy Group can do, but they’re trying to get Sanctuary Grove closed for good. Even though the local police cleared the Sanctuary Grove visitors of involvement in trouble during the Christmas holidays, some people are still upset.”
“You're talking about those murders—the dead Santa and the bar owner, right?” She suddenly looked side to side as if trying to make sure no one overheard us.
“You heard about that? That’s why the resort developers and members of the Conservancy Group are so concerned. They’re afraid the bad press will keep guests away. That dead Santa didn’t even work at the resort, but he did spend time in Boardertown.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of the Conservancy Group before.”
“I’m not surprised. It's a local group. New, too. They got together at the beginning of the year to do something about the trouble you’re talking about, hoping to keep it from happening again. They brought in some hotshot from a PR firm from San Francisco to help put a more positive message out there about Corsario Cove and San Albinus. I guess there’s some new money that’s at stake. I’m not sure what that means.”
“I understand. Especially fears about damage to the image of the resort given what the police found out about the involvement of resort management in the trouble over the holidays.” Her body stiffened, and I could almost hear her teeth crack as her jaw clenched. End of conversation.
“You seem to be in the loop, already. Are you a reporter or a travel reviewer or something?”
“Or something, I guess. I was a guest here at the hotel over the holidays. I followed the story after we left. It didn’t keep us from coming back.” The server turned her head in Brien's direction. She took a good long look at him. I did, too. He had stopped piling food on his plates. In fact, he had set them down and was holding a small child up in the air to pick out a cupcake from a display. An older sister was apparently helping to translate as the little boy jabbed at the air. All I could make out from here was, “Da one with da sprinkles.”
There were lots of cupcakes with sprinkles, so Brien needed that older sister’s help. It was cute to see him trying so hard to give them a hand. Brien has such a good heart. A squeal of delight signaled that he had succeeded. Suddenly, it was as if a light bulb went off in our server’s head.
“I knew I’d seen him somewhere before!” Then she eyed me again. “You too! You’re those honeymoon sleuths, aren’t you?” It’s as if a load lifted from her shoulders with that revelation. Still, she must have decided she’d said enough already and it was time to move on.
“Welcome back! It’s been good talking to you, but I’d better get to my other guests.” She grabbed the stack of plates she had gathered up from Brien’s previous round at the buffet and took them away. Just in the nick of time, as Brien returned and filled all that space with new plates of food.
“Here, this is for you. Gina and Joey insisted that we have these cupcakes with chocolate inside and out and sprinkles on top. How could I say no?” He winked and then dug in. My chocolate ganache cupcake was delicious. I got an instant buzz from the chocolate and sugar. There may have been a hint of coffee in there too. I could only imagine what it might
do to those kids!
While Brien chowed down on the food in front of him, I filled him in on my conversation with our server. Brien nodded as he listened and ate. The idea of closing Sanctuary Grove got to him, though. He even stopped eating.
“That’s so not fair that the surfers get blamed. The resort shouldn’t get trashed, either, because of a bad guy or two.”
“I’m with you on that, Brien. At least it’s good to hear the fire was a small one. If our server is right, it’s those ruins that the fire damaged.”
“Ruined ruins. It would be hard to make them much worse. They were such a big mess already.”
“Brother Thaddeus will be able to fill us in on the fire. Maybe he’ll know more about this Conservancy Group, too. If they want to close Sanctuary Grove, they must have talked to the monks recently about making that area off limits.”
“How can they do that if the monks own the land and don’t want to make changes?”
“I let it pass, but our server made an offhand comment that a dispute about ownership of the Grove or the terms associated with the use of the preserve area. I didn’t push her. The whole subject is a sensitive one for the town and the resort. Besides, she seemed confused about what’s going on. I’m with you, though. If they own the land, the monks have already stated their intentions toward Sanctuary Grove—in writing. What’s so confusing about that?”
“They could be trying to shame the monks into kicking the surfers out. Monks are in the business of doing the right thing. What if the locals succeed in giving them a guilty conscience about how stressed out and scared they are even if the surfers haven’t hurt anyone?”
“The bigger question for me is why now? From what Mitchum has told us, they've made a case like that for years."
"Building the resort so close to Sanctuary Grove has drawn more attention to the surfers. Look at how that Jerry guy reacted to us today. Just the sight of us in the lobby set him off."
"Still, it's not like the resort just opened up." I shrugged as that chocolate coursed through my veins, urged on by more coffee I accepted from our server who had ventured back to our table.
“When we return from our meeting with Brother Thaddeus, I’m going to do a little snooping to see what I can find out about the Conservancy Group. The monks own that valuable land so that challenge could be about money. Meanwhile, whatever they’re proposing to do, the area’s reputation can’t be getting any better with that guy dressed as a monk hassling tourists in town. I don't care how good the PR firm is that they’ve brought here from San Francisco."
“I agree. Whoever left those creepy drawings and old bones worries me most. That's not normal. They should focus on getting those guys and leave the surfers alone.” He looked so earnest and distressed about the fate of his fellow surfers that I felt sorry for my sensitive surfer boy. “Those bogus monks have been bugging the surfers, too. They’re getting it from all sides. That’s not right!” Then he stuffed most of a baked potato into his mouth. With his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, it was harder to feel his pain.
“I hear you. Everybody wants the surfers out of the picture, I guess. If it hasn’t already gone viral, the Conservancy Group will soon have a new media problem on their hands. Jerry, the tourist, was as ticked off about the mad monk on the loose as he was about running into surfers in the hotel lobby. I’ll check on that story, too.” Brien had a suggestion of his own.
"While you check what's hot on the Internet, I'll ask the security guys more questions about the drawings they found here at the resort. They do regular patrols, so how could anyone sneak onto the grounds and tag the property? Barefoot monks in robes ought to stand out on surveillance tapes. Maybe that new CCTV equipment caught them!" He smiled, broadly. Just that quick, Brien was out of his funk about the unfair treatment of the surfers and hopeful about nabbing their tormentors.
I suddenly had the opposite reaction. Out of the blue, a wave of doubt slammed into me. Anxiety. Suspense. Dread. Almost as unsettling as one of the waves I'd mishandled this morning in the surf. What if we were taking on too much? Meddling where we shouldn’t be.
"Why not call Mitchum? Give him that stupid GPS device along with the coordinates, the notes from Brother Thaddeus, and hand this whole creepy situation over to him. His ‘run away from danger’ message makes sense."
"We could do that, but Brother Thaddeus came to us. Let's hear what he says first. Mitchum's not always as curious as we are or as able to smell a rat as you are. Those years you worked for Mr. P and the Doc gave you a nose for crooks."
"That could be true. I doubt Mitchum would investigate the Conservancy Group's renewed interest in cleaning up Sanctuary Grove. It's harder to accept the sudden outpouring of public concern now that our server mentioned that money might be involved. I do smell a rat. Come on, Moondoggie, let’s go see what mysteries Brother Thaddeus wants to show us.”
“He set up this meeting with us before the fire so I’m sure he has plenty to tell us that’s not about the fire. Unless he knew that fire was going to happen.” His eyes grew wide. “What if it’s another premonition like the one that made him write down those coordinates before Opie’s GPS conked out?”
There is something so incredibly irresistible about Brien when he goes to the edge of reason like that. His willingness to believe in supernatural events is one of the differences between us. I barely even believe what I can see with my own eyes. To my jaded soul, his openness to the idea that there's a bit of magic in life is disarming. I worry that it makes him vulnerable, though. I suppose that’s why he has me around carrying the torch of suspicion everywhere I go.
“What sort of premonition does this give you, Moondoggie?” I leaned in and gave him a kiss that, as I intended, shook him up.
“Message received, loud and clear!" He peered at the pitcher of water on our table. "My crystal ball shows me we won’t spend the entire afternoon talking about mad monks and other creepy stuff.” He beamed a smile guaranteed to shake me up. It worked like magic.
9 Stirring up the Past
It only took us ten minutes to drive to the Monastery of St. Albinus from the resort. We parked in a small gravel lot near the gates of an enormous wall that ran off in both directions from that entrance. When we had been inside the grounds previously, after being rescued from ruins in which we had been trapped for hours, I had been in such a hurry to get the heck away from the place that I hadn’t looked around much.
Outside those walls, the area surrounding the monastery was heavily wooded. Thick brush and forests of tall cypress abutted the walls completely obscuring their presence a few yards from the gates. On our left, what might have been a stand of redwood trees towered above the walls. A horde of giants standing watch over those who had taken refuge behind the monastery gates.
As I recalled, there were trees inside the walls, too. An orchard of fruit trees tended by the monks. There had to be herb and vegetable gardens somewhere that had supplied the produce delivered to the resort this morning. From where we stood, peering through the gaps in the wrought iron, I couldn’t see those gardens. A short driveway led from the gate to a building that, if I remember correctly, was a Visitor Center. There were more parking spaces inside the gates. Sidewalks led to that building from the parking lot. Everything was neat and orderly.
“I smell smoke, don’t you?” I’m not sure why I whispered as we peeked through those gates. Brien responded in the same way.
“Smoke and that wet wood smell, too.”
“If fire trucks were here a couple of hours ago, you’d never know it. There’s not a trace of them now.”
We both fell silent again. In the peace and quiet of the moment, I lost track of time. The absence of activity, perhaps, a sense of being perfectly in sync with my surroundings. Like one of those moments when moving at the same speed as a passing motor car, and you lose all sense of motion.
I felt Brother Thaddeus’s presence before I saw him. There seemed to be a subtle shift in the air around
us as he moved. Or perhaps I'd heard the rustling of his garments or the padding of his sandaled feet on the ground. In any case, he was there directly in front of us. I believe he had come from somewhere off to the right rather than from the building in our direct line of sight.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Brother Thaddeus said as he unlocked the gates and opened one side. He wore a long black robe, belted at the waist with a black apron over it. Mud and lighter streaks of ash or paint were splashed here and there on his clothing. “You can leave your car where it’s parked or pull it inside the gates if you prefer.”
“If we’re not going to be in anyone’s way, we’ll leave it where it is,” Brien said as we slipped inside those gates.
“Hopefully, we won’t have another incident today that will invite a legion of trucks and cars to converge on us up here. More in one day than we usually see in a week! Please excuse the dirt on my clothes. We’ve been going through the debris to make sure there aren’t any smoldering embers. I guess it’s finally time to remove more of the remnants of the old buildings. That’s been a bone of contention around here since the ruins are part of our heritage.”
Brother Thaddeus smiled, and a little of the tension carried on his broad shoulders lifted. Taller than Brien by several inches, he was almost as muscular as my surfer dude was, although it was a little hard to tell with the long sleeves and loose-fitting clothing he wore. The callouses on his hands suggested those muscles came from hard physical labor earned outside the confines of a gym.
“I don’t know how much you remember about the layout of the grounds. The Visitor Center is straight ahead. That’s where we conduct most of the business that’s important to our remaining self-sufficient.”
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