Heinous Habits!

by Anna Celeste Burke

“A real person is way scarier than a ghost, Brien. I have a major case of the heebie-jeebies right now. Not just because someone has been roaming through here but more because that someone was angry enough to commit arson, today.”

  “You know what heebie-jeebies are, Brother Thaddeus?”

  “Yes, Brien, I do. I have no doubt the person who was in here was no ghost and is very much alive. This fire must have been set today to make sure no one else would ever use this passageway again. When the roof supports burned, they gave way and rock fell into that space, blocking it. That rockfall must be what caused the collapse of the rest of the structure in this wing of the old monastery. It’s obvious to me that blaze was set there and spread out from here into the open space. The Fire Marshal said as much.”

  “That passageway couldn’t have been very stable for the roof to give way like that once those supports caught fire.”

  “I believe that’s because there’s a large cavern above what used to be the roof. I hoped to show it to you before the fire occurred. That route’s no longer passable, but you can catch a glimpse of the cavern anyway.” Brother Thaddeus pulled a flashlight out from under the apron he wore. Maybe from the belt around his waist or from a pocket hidden in the folds of his robe. He stepped right up to the blocked passageway and shone the light through a hole in what had been the ceiling. I gasped at what I saw.

  “As I told you—our very own cave of forgotten dreams.”

  “That’s awesome!” Brien said. “I’ve got the chicken skin now too.”

  “Brien’s version of the heebie-jeebies. That’s what our friend, Bernadette, calls goose pimples, Brother Thaddeus.” As he turned toward me to acknowledge what I had just said, his flashlight beam strafed that area above us. I shrieked as I caught a glimpse of a hideous face peering down at us. Movement reassured me that I hadn’t completely lost my mind.

  “Not Opie’s ghost, Brien. There’s something in that cave that’s more of a nightmare than a dream, if you ask me.” As if echoing my sentiments, a spine-tingling scream bounced around in that cave.

  “God is not pleased!” that creature cried out from above, followed by scurrying sounds that diminished as the angry visitor retreated.

  “That does it! We’d better call Detective Mitchum. Let’s get out of here.” I had no trouble leading the retreat through the blackened rubble and back to the path taking us away from the ruins. Brien must have had Mitchum on speed dial because Mitchum was on the phone instantly. The call ended soon, too.

  “He’s on his way. Not a happy camper, though. I had to drop your name, Brother Thaddeus, to get him to quit chewing me out.”

  “You don’t happen to have donuts and coffee among the refreshments at the Visitor Center, do you?” As we walked, I tried to lighten things up by confessing how we had tried to use sugar and caffeine to soften up the ornery detective. A lesson we had learned from Bernadette who had plied her trade of detective management on similarly moody members of the constabulary. “Cookies seem to work, too.”

  “I’m sure we have some awesome cookies as I hope Brien will agree.”

  “You’d better have loads of them. I don’t know about Mitchum, but I’m starving.” We all laughed, but I noticed that our pace had quickened. Dropping back a step behind the men, I couldn’t keep myself from glancing back over my shoulder. Though there was no sign or sound of that demented apparition, I hustled to catch up with Brien and Brother Thaddeus. I had to give Detective Mitchum credit. Running away from danger had its virtues.

  Never underestimate a monk. They can work miracles, apparently. When Brother Thaddeus had assured us that he could handle the cookie situation, I had no inkling of the heavenly confections to follow. Those monks make one heck of a snickerdoodle. A Caramel Stuffed Chocolate Snickerdoodle to be more precise, according to Brother Thaddeus. One of their inspired bakers had an artistic flare, and beautiful iced sugar cookies in the shape of sunflowers graced one corner of a platter of amazing treats. Homemade gingersnaps with candied ginger, pecan pie cookies, chocolate almond crunch cookies, and dark rich cookies Brother Thaddeus called Mexican Hot Chocolate Cookies.

  “We are not going to tell Bernadette about these cookies. She’ll get so jealous if she knows how much we like them.”

  “They are good enough to make even a saint like her envious. We won’t mention it.”

  “That list of unmentionables is getting longer, isn’t it?”

  “What he means is…”

  “No need to explain. It’s always best to avoid even the near occasion of sin,” Brother Thaddeus asserted as he poured me a steaming hot cup of coffee.

  “Uh, do you happen to have cookies around here all the time?” I could see the wheels in Brien’s head turning as he took another bite and washed it down with a big gulp of milk.

  “Not always the same ones, but we bake lots of cookies for sale in the area. You can always find cookies that come from our kitchen. We take special orders, too, though.”

  "That could work, uh, if we decided to spend more time here for some reason." Brien stared at me. "Right?" Given all that was going on in Corsario Cove, trust Brien to put the availability of cookies into his calculation of whether to accept that job offer at the resort and move to San Albinus. I had to admit that it would be a source of consolation if we moved here and had to give up Bernadette’s biscochitos.

  “Can you make biscochitos?” I asked as I took a sip of that coffee he had poured. Before he could reply, I interrupted. “This coffee is fabulous. Don’t tell me you grow coffee beans and roast them here too?”

  “It’s like the Garden of Eden, isn’t it?” Brien asked.

  “I’ll ask about the biscochitos, but I don’t see why we can’t make them. The coffee’s not the work of our monastery. We have it shipped to us from a monastery in Wyoming—Carmelites.”

  “I figured monks went around fasting. You all seem to eat and drink as well as the rest of us. Coffee and light caramel sound excellent.”

  “Not caramel lights, Brien. Carmelites. It’s an order rooted in a rule established by St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Jesus in the Discalced Carmelite Reform.”

  Brien’s eyes had glazed over, or maybe the milk and cookies had pushed him toward nap time. I didn’t consider it too deeply, either, since I had slipped into a blissful zone created by comfort food and coffee.

  Then I heard Mitchum’s booming voice.

  A kindly-looking woman who had greeted us at the front desk escorted him back to where we sat in a pleasant conference room with gorgeous views of the blue skies and woods.

  “I heard this was a monastery for monks. Are nuns around here somewhere, too?” Mitchum asked as his escort left after he had managed a grumpy sounding “thanks.”

  “Welcome, Detective. Please, have a seat. Members of the local community—men and women—help us out here at the Visitor Center. Some members of the laity pitch in making deliveries. Women in the community carry out a toy drive and add them to baskets of our produce and baked goods for families in need during the holidays. They make quilts and...” Mitchum cut him off. He was eyeing the platter of cookies and ogling my cup of coffee.

  “I get it. Who’s going to tell me what’s going on up here and why these two knuckleheads are in the middle of it.” With that, he sat down next to me. I had half a mind to give him a knuckle sandwich instead of a cookie. Grr!

  Brother Thaddeus must have heard me gritting my teeth. He shook his head ever so slightly, folded his arms, and gave me that serene expression he had worn when he spoke of avoiding the near occasion of sin. That sounds fine until sin walks in and sits down next to you. I handed Mitchum a snickerdoodle imagining him as a snarling pooch and resisting the urge to toss it to him like it was a dog biscuit.

  “You have to try one of these very special snickerdoodles while we fill you in on what’s going on. Some of what we’re about to tell you was news to us, too.” My voice had taken on an unnaturally syrupy tone in my effort to cover up my irritati
on and avoid sin. Mitchum did a double-take as if I’d been body snatched or something. I smiled with a fake smile to match my fake voice.

  “Try one of these pecan pie cookies, too, dude. These monk bros can use some help. You’re just the man to figure out how to do that.”

  There was no hint of insincerity in Brien’s words as he passed that cookie to the detective. Nevertheless, Mitchum fidgeted in his seat, growing more agitated with every word Brien uttered. Just as he was about to go ballistic, he bit into that cookie, and the flavor transported him to cookie heaven. Brien noticed, looked directly at me, and shook his head up and down in that knowing way of his. Before Mitchum could recover, I poured him a cup of coffee. One sip rendered the man speechless. Maybe there is a god, I thought.

  11 Father Bede?

  Mitchum almost did a spit take when I began putting items, one by one, on the table in front of him. First, that GPS device. Brien had brought it with us just in case Brother Thaddeus wanted it back. It now came in handy for the “show and tell” session we were holding. I had imagined, at some point, we’d hand that thing over to the police. Down at the San Albinus Police Station, most likely. This arrangement was much better. What self-respecting homicide detective would strangle sleuthing knuckleheads on the grounds of a monastery?

  I kept quiet and let Brother Thaddeus speak about where he had found that missing GPS device. Still, it was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. As Mitchum listened, his mustache and one eyelid twitched. When he snorted as if he might be about to bellow, I slid that platter of cookies close to him. The detective picked up one of those Mexican Hot Chocolate Cookies and took a bite. When he spoke after that, he sounded disgruntled but not mad bull angry.

  “How do you know that’s even the same one that belonged to your dead friend?”

  “Apart from the fact that Brother Thaddeus found it in the same network of caves where Owen Taylor kept his stash of stolen goods and recovered treasure you mean?” I was about ready to snort and paw the ground where I sat. “How about these, oh ye of little faith?”

  I glanced at Brother Thaddeus, concerned I might have crossed a line uttering that phrase with such sarcasm. He was stifling a smile, so I moved on and placed Exhibit 2 on the table. Half a dozen gold Krugerrands like those we’d found hidden in a barrel in that underground chamber once used as a chapel. That room wasn’t too far from where the stupidly avaricious Owen Taylor had hidden a cache of stolen, counterfeit goods. A theft that cost him dearly.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “Now you have my attention. Tell me more.” He grabbed another cookie. As Brother Thaddeus continued to speak, I placed a couple of other items on the table. Several cookies later, we had reached the point in our story where we had encountered someone—a creepy, angry, ugly someone—who raged at us from above us in those ruins.

  “So, what do you want me to do about it? There’s no way we’re going to send cops into those caves after a guy who’s running around loose as a goose. How good a look did you get at him? Was he dressed like a monk—like the guy who’s been telling tourists the world’s about to end before he hits them up for money?”

  “He was wearing a hood, but I couldn’t tell if he also had on a robe,” I replied.

  “Yes, he wears a cassock—a long tunic like the one I have on. Brown, not black, and with a scapular, that’s also brown.” As he said scapular, he pointed to the piece of clothing I’d regarded as an apron. “His garments are knotted at the waist with a rope. More like the habit a Dominican or Franciscan friar might wear. The rope wasn’t knotted properly for a Franciscan, however. Their cords typically have three knots for vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. Whoever he is, he’s been here several times.”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda! Okay, so some guy who's not a monk with an affiliation you recognize turns up on the premises, and you never reported a prowler?”

  “No. The first time or two I disregarded it as my imagination, still jittery from the fact that Owen Taylor had been roaming so freely in the caves. It was near the end of January, right around the time your officers completed their collection of evidence, Detective. I glimpsed a robed figure out of the corner of my eye. Once I got into the other wing of the old monastery, I knew someone had been in there, but it was only recently I learned how that was possible.” We explained about how the corridors had looked when we were in there in December. Then explained how Brother Thaddeus changed that, followed by his discovery of yet another passageway out of the ruins hidden behind an old cupboard.

  “A week ago, I pursued him into the ruins, and he fled down that hidden passageway I found. I followed him into a large cavern covered in drawings, symbols, and script—mostly poorly-written Latin. It was dark in there but what I could see stunned me. He used that moment to push past me. When I chased him, again, I got lost in the caves.” Brother Thaddeus paused.

  The big man must have been scared that day. That memory still left a lump in his throat. He downed half a cup of coffee in one gulp and then continued to speak. The thought of being lost in the caves was bad enough, but with that mad monk lurking about; it had to have been terrifying.

  “That encounter with him in the cavern shook me up. I got turned around. Finally, I worked my way down, hoping I could find a way out near the beach. At one point, I ended up at sea level and found only a thin slit in the cliff face. There was another opening that led out into the cove, but it was underwater. I feared I might have to swim for it or wait for low tide to see if the water receded enough that I could get out. I’m not a strong swimmer, so I decided to try once more to find my way back. I moved up and around to my right until I found my way back to that cavern. I did not go in there again but found a way down from there to the ruins.” He looked directly at Mitchum.

  “I was so overwhelmed with gratitude at that moment that it never occurred to me to report anybody for anything. He made no attempt to injure me. I'd never even seen that figure outside the caves or the ruins, so I didn’t worry about it. Not until a couple of days later when members of the Conservancy Group came here to speak to the Abbot. Among their list of ‘concerns’ was a man dressed as a monk creating problems around town—not just harassing passersby in San Albinus, but spray-painting his message on property at the resort and elsewhere. At that point, I wondered if I had scared him off, and he had abandoned the caves for the streets of San Albinus. The day I discovered the cavern filled with strange drawings and script, I sent that package to Kim and Brien asking them to join me here. I planned to have them take the items I'd collected from that cave to you, Detective. I also hoped they’d help me figure out what was going on here and in San Albinus. Then there was the fire and the screams we heard today. That’s why I agreed to speak to you when Kim and Brien suggested it.”

  “How can you be certain it wasn’t one of you?” Mitchum asked. "Black robes, brown robes, ropes with knots or no knots. If some guy’s gone off the deep end, maybe his affiliation no longer matters.”

  “Apart from the difference in robes, his begging, and apparent madness, we'd notice if a brother went missing. Our prayers and other duties keep us on a pretty tight schedule. That gave me hope when I wandered in the caves. I knew if I wasn’t back for vespers, someone would have become concerned. I’m no match for Brien, but I’m a pretty good eater. If I had skipped dinner, they would have sent out a search party.” He smiled, but there was little amusement in his tone of voice.

  “The guy I saw, today, was no ordinary looking man. Maybe he wore a mask. Has anyone else said anything to suggest the mad monk begging in San Albinus wears a hideous mask while panhandling and evangelizing? In fact, the guy I saw looked more like the avenging monster on that flyer.” I poked at an image on the flyer laid out among the other items I had spread out on the table in front of Mitchum.

  “Oh, please! Are you saying this guy’s some version of the Grim Reaper, Kim? If you and your surfer friends are correct, there’s not just one mad monk running around in Boardertown, but at least
two or three. Maybe the ugly monk running around here has a more attractive pal working for him in town hassling tourists.”

  Brien and I had already mentioned the trouble in Sanctuary Grove to Brother Thaddeus when we told him how the smoke from that fire had traveled through the caves and into the surfer village. I filled him in on how we had come to be concerned that more than one culprit was responsible for what had gone on down there before the fire.

  “I’m glad you're willing to consider what a couple of knuckleheads like us have to say. None of the surfers have spotted intruders dressed as monks. The Sanctuary Grove residents do seem to have been singled out for special attention by this cult of misguided monks, assuming that's who they are. They appear to have taken their drawing from the cave of forgotten dreams with them. Some of the symbols, anyway, since I didn’t get that good a view into the cavern before that guy screamed at us.”

  “That was the first time I’d ever heard a sound from him. Bone-rattling, Detective, and another of the reasons I agreed to seek help from the police. I’m not sure that it matters, but others have come to us recently with renewed interest in Sanctuary Grove. A second ‘concern’ raised by the Conservancy Group had to do with the surfer community. It's not the first time we’ve been pressured to make that area off limits to its inhabitants. It came up during negotiations about the sale of the land for use by the resort developers. Our Abbot believed he had made our position clear, but here we are again.” Brother Thaddeus threw his hands up into the air and then went on.

  “It makes no sense to blame the residents of Sanctuary Grove for causing trouble when they’re being threatened by the same mad monk menace that has that group up in arms,” I said.

  “I agree. Members of the Conservancy Group were quite insistent that we close the village. They even threatened to sue to get the terms of the sales agreement modified. I doubt they'd succeed, but it would be costly to hire a legal team and contest the suit.”