“Hour after twilight, and we, well, we live right over there.” She indicated a knarled old walnut, big knobs on the sides. “Dark as pitch, snowing again, and we heard an odd sound, so I looked out and there he was.”
“Came up to pray?” Tucker sat down, the snow cold on her tailless bum.
“I think so,” she answered.
“Poor fellow must have had a heart attack, then froze to death.” Tucker felt sorry for the old man, although perhaps dying in front of the Blessed Virgin Mother provided a comfort of sorts.
“Oh, no,” the cardinal said. “No. He was praying. We snuggled back down but heard footsteps. Brother Thomas, being human, couldn’t hear them in the snow. We roused ourselves in time to see what we could, but the flakes were flying; big ones, too, and thick. Someone snuck up behind him, put his right hand on Brother Thomas’s mouth, and held him down with his left hand pressing on Brother Thomas’s shoulder.”
“What?” Tucker barked louder than she’d intended.
“It was hard to see; the snow swirled around. He bent next to the monk, then sort of arranged him back in his praying posture. Killed him, sure as shooting.”
“Could you see his face?”
“His hood and cowl covered it,” the female cardinal, who was a brownish chartreuse color with darker, reddish tinted wings and tail feathers, informed Tucker.
“A monk murdered another monk.” Tucker thought this especially horrible.
“A man murders another man.” The male cardinal hopped down to sit next to his mate. “When humans deny their essential natures, they get twisted.”
“Yes, I agree, but I don’t think murder is part of their essential nature.”
“Ha!” He lifted his head back, emitting a warble. “They kill deer, they kill pheasants, they kill whales and dolphins, they kill lions and tigers, and they kill one another morning, noon, and night. All they do is kill.”
“My best friend doesn’t kill.” Tucker stubbornly defended Harry.
“She’s a woman. Women don’t go about killing things. The men do. I tell you, they live to kill.” The cardinal noticed six goldfinches talking with animation to one another down in the old holly bushes.
“I don’t believe that.” Tucker wasn’t rude, but she wasn’t going to agree with something she found erroneous or wrong. “Most of them want to live and let live; the ones who don’t cause all the trouble. And I don’t see there’s much we can do about it.”
“That’s true,” the female cardinal replied.
“Are there odd things that happen up here? I mean, apart from Brother Thomas being murdered?” Tucker asked.
“Oh, my, yes,” the female said, her voice dipping down.
“Not everyone in Holy Orders is holy,” the male said. “They drink and smoke and take drugs.” He opened his wings. “You’d better get out of here.”
As the birds flew off, Tucker turned and inhaled deeply. Three other humans were coming on up; she could just catch their warm lanolin scent weaving over the frigid air, bright like a ribbon.
Alicia touched Harry’s arm. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”
BoomBoom spied the Brothers Frank, Andrew, and Mark before Harry saw them.
“Harry,” Brother Frank called out.
“Oh, shit,” Harry muttered under her breath.
15
The passing of Brother Thomas affected the three monks. It was assumed he died of natural causes. He was, after all, long in the tooth. If the cardinal could have communicated with these men, Brother Andrew would have performed an autopsy. Since the body wasn’t embalmed, the deceased was buried quickly, with all the proper rites.
“What are you doing here?” Brother Frank angrily asked Harry as his eyes swept over the other two women.
“I came to see the Blessed Virgin Mother’s tears.” She told a half truth as Tucker sat protectively on her right foot, never taking her eyes off the three monks.
“Death from the ankles down” was Tucker’s motto.
“The front gate is locked. How did you get in here?” Brother Frank’s face reddened from emotion and the cold.
“Walked,” Harry simply replied.
“Heavy going.” Brother Andrew noted that all three women appeared in remarkable glowing health. He half-smiled. “Those media vultures can’t come in the back way. ’Course, the camera is heavy, but they aren’t up to the trek.”
“We’re country girls.” BoomBoom hoped to defuse the situation. “And we are sorry to disturb you. Harry was the first person to see this phenomenon. We wanted to see for ourselves.”
“This is the Miracle of the Blue Ridge.” Brother Mark’s eyes moistened. “Our Lady sends her love to us and she weeps for us. Her tears will wash away our sins.”
“You are in no position to declare miracles,” Brother Frank snapped, a wisp of gray hair escaping from under his hood.
“I’m not declaring anything.” Brother Mark exhibited a rare streak of defiance. “Our Lady stands before us and we can’t deny her tears.”
“That’s enough.” Brother Frank raised his voice, which prompted Brother Andrew to lightly place an ungloved hand on the treasurer’s shoulder.
“You’re right, Brother, but this is so unusual we are each reacting in our own way.” He turned to Brother Mark, smiled kindly at him, and then addressed Alicia, whom he recognized. “It’s one thing to come through the snow and cold out of curiosity, but perhaps you have other reasons?”
“Do you know anyone who couldn’t benefit from prayer?” Alicia did have her reasons. She was falling in love and not at all certain she wanted to do that, because, in her life, love upended everything.
“No,” Brother Andrew warmly replied. He was not immune to her beauty nor to BoomBoom’s.
“We’re sorry we disturbed you,” Alicia said. “But I must say, the sight of her tears is deeply moving.”
“Yes.” Brother Andrew smiled again.
“The love of Our Lady is available to anyone who prays to her. These external manifestations are”—Brother Frank searched for the word—“fripperies.”
“That’s not true!” Brother Mark blurted out, his hand gripping the rope tie at his waist. “This is a sign from—”
Brother Frank held up his hand as if to strike the impertinent pup, but stopped midair. “Haven’t we endured enough without your extravagant outbursts?” He then grabbed Brother Mark’s sleeve. “There’s revelation and there’s reason. Try using a little reason. You can’t go declaring miracles.”
Brother Andrew chimed in. “He’s right. I’m not saying that Our Lady isn’t reaching out to us, but we must be prudent and responsible in how we share this.”
“Why? Channel Twenty-nine has already been here.” Brother Mark didn’t have the sense to shut up.
Brother Frank raised an eyebrow, stared directly at Harry. Her returning stare told him what he already knew. She’d kept her promise. “Did you really come to see her again?”
“Yes.” Harry wavered a second. “Yes, I did, and I thought if we came up through the woods we wouldn’t disturb anyone. And, I confess, I know that Brother Thomas was found, frozen, praying in front of this statue.”
Brother Andrew sharply jerked his head in her direction. “How did you know that?”
“Susan Tucker. Brother Thomas was her great-uncle on her mother’s side, the Bland Wades. The family was notified of his death. You knew they were related, didn’t you?”
“Ah.” Brother Frank, in his current state, hadn’t remembered Susan.
“He was an old man, a good man. I don’t know what we’ll do without him. He was teaching Brother Mark how to use all the old tools, how to nurse along old equipment,” Brother Andrew said with feeling. “If the boiler blew, Brother Thomas nursed it back to health. If an old joist needed mending, he could fix it using tools from the time this monastery was constructed.” This was said with admiration.
“At least he died with Our Lady’s face looking down at his.�
� Brother Mark looked about to suffer another paroxysm of emotion.
“Yes, yes,” Brother Frank absentmindedly murmured.
“The exertion of walking up here and the bitter cold may have been too much,” Brother Andrew announced.
“I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to cause trouble, and I cajoled BoomBoom and Alicia into coming up here with me.” Harry was contrite.
“Harry, your curiosity—well . . .” Brother Frank shook his head.
A puff of air streamed from her lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“We are sorry,” BoomBoom said. “We’ll leave you in peace.”
Brother Frank looked up at Mary’s face. “As long as she’s crying I don’t think we will have peace here.”
Brother Mark started to say something, but Brother Andrew quickly put his strong hand on the young man’s wrist.
As the three women headed down into the ravine, the cardinal flew overhead.
“It was nice talking to you.”
“You, too. Keep your eyes open. I’ll be back,” Tucker said.
“Your human won’t be back up after this,” the cardinal confidently predicted.
“You don’t know Harry.”
Following their tracks, which were already beginning to vanish in the blowing snow, the way back proved easier than the way up to the statue, despite a few slips here and there.
Once inside the cab of BoomBoom’s truck, Alicia burst into laughter. “I feel like a kid.”
BoomBoom laughed, too. “I know. It was like getting caught in school passing notes.”
Harry, who sat by the window so Tucker could look out, squinched up tighter against it. “Brother Frank can just trip on his rosary beads. They should be praying to St. Valerian, the saint you invoke against exposure and snowstorms.”
“Harry, you’re a cynic.” Alicia laughed at her. “Let’s go into Staunton. We’re already on top of the mountain. Take twenty minutes from here to Shorty’s Diner. Time for breakfast.”
“I second the motion,” BoomBoom, jammed up against Alicia, agreed.
“Me, too.”
“Me, too,” Tucker echoed.
BoomBoom turned on the motor, letting it warm up for a moment. The truck, wired for phone, beeped as the motor cut on. BoomBoom pressed the number 4 on the numbers by the radio.
“Cool.” Harry admired all things technical.
“I programmed in the numbers I call most frequently.”
“Who is Number One?” Alicia wiggled her toes as they warmed up.
“I’ll never tell.”
“Her mother, luxuriating in Montecito, California. Bet you.” Harry felt a surge of envy. She wanted this phone in her truck. However, her truck was so old the phone system would be worth more than the truck.
“No.” BoomBoom smiled coyly, then a woman’s voice came over the tiny speaker, built into the roof lining.
“Hello.”
“Alicia, Harry, and I will be at Shorty’s in half an hour, tops. Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“Wait a minute.”
The others recognized the voice of Mary O’Brien, a doctor in Staunton.
“She’s checking her book.” BoomBoom opened her coat, unwound her cashmere scarf.
“I’ll see you there.” With that, Mary hung up.
As they pulled onto Interstate 64, heading west, BoomBoom stayed extra alert. Within five minutes they dropped down out of the fog that enshrouded the top of Afton Mountain. Below them spread the incomparable Shenandoah Valley, resting under a low gray cloud cover.
“Did you see that chinchilla coat Mary wore last Saturday?” BoomBoom loved clothes.
“Her mother’s. Beautiful. You don’t see chinchilla much these days.” Alicia petted Tucker, who decided attention was better than looking at the Waynesboro exits.
“I always wanted a silver fox.” Harry saw the Wendy’s sign flash by, a stop for her in the hot weather. She liked the Frosties.
“I didn’t know you were interested in furs,” BoomBoom said.
“Well,” a long pause followed, “I am, kind of, but my fashion sense is limited.”
“Not a fashionista.” BoomBoom—who was—said this without sarcasm.
“White T-shirt or white shirts, Levi’s 501s, my cowboy boots or winter boots, an old cashmere sweater, and Dad’s bomber jacket, unless it’s hateful cold.” Harry listed her wardrobe.
“You wore those two-carat diamond stud earrings at the Hospice Foundation.” Alicia liked Harry. “Very becoming.”
“Mother’s. Kind of like Mary’s chinchilla coat.”
“Your mother dressed beautifully.” BoomBoom remembered the elegant, soft-spoken Mrs. Minor, née Hepworth.
“You know that show Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?” Harry asked. “I need Queer Eye for the Straight Girl, except I don’t think those boys would exactly get a country girl.”
“They would. You have good bones and a great body,” BoomBoom complimented her.
“You noticed.” Alicia laughed.
BoomBoom blushed. “Sure. I’ve noticed since we were in first grade and Harry and I were forever competing in every sport there was. I’d win at some, she’d win the others.”
“Then puberty hit. You got the big ta-tas.” Harry giggled.
“You don’t want bosoms out of proportion to the rest of your body,” BoomBoom simply replied.
“Look, if you want a wardrobe overhaul, tell me and I’ll go down to Nordstrom’s with you, down in Short Pump. I’m not going up to Tyson’s Corner. Wild horses couldn’t drag me up there, especially now before Christmas, but I’ll go to Short Pump after the holidays,” Alicia offered.
“Thank you.” Harry didn’t mention that she didn’t have the money, although the other two knew it.
Alicia, generous to a fault, was thinking to herself how to help Harry without embarrassing her by giving her the money. She’d find a way, just as she’d sent money anonymously to the Almost Home Pet Adoption Center in Nelson County after running into Bo Newell.
“If I took what I spend on clothes each year and put it in the stock market, I’d be a rich woman,” BoomBoom mused.
“You’re already a rich woman,” Alicia corrected her. “You work for it. You might as well spend it. You can’t take it with you. Witness Brother Thomas.”
“Did he have anything?” BoomBoom asked.
“Yes,” Harry informed them. “He inherited the fifteen hundred acres of Bland Wade land. Monks have the right to private property, to income from their labors. Over centuries this has caused abuses. There have been spasms of reform. But Brother Thomas had money. Don’t know more than that.” Harry paused. “Hmm, I wonder who else knew—about Brother Thomas’s financial condition?” Harry stroked Tucker’s ear.
“Don’t go off on money.” BoomBoom laughed.
Once at Shorty’s, Tucker had to stay in the truck. Harry brought her sausages, putting them on the floor on paper towels, although BoomBoom didn’t really care. Fussy as she could be about her own appearance, BoomBoom wasn’t a queen about her truck. She loved animals, accepting the shedding, the little dropped bits of kibble here and there, wet nose smears, and muddy pawprints on the windows.
The three filled in Mary about events on the mountain.
“No autopsy.” Harry jabbed at her eggs.
“That’s not unusual.” Mary drank a strong cup of coffee.
“You’re a doctor; don’t you think everyone should have an autopsy?” Harry prodded.
“Not until they’re dead,” Mary dryly replied.
“I read, I think it was in the Wall Street Journal, about noninvasive autopsies, kind of like Magnetic Resonance Imaging for corpses,” Alicia said. She read five newspapers every day.
“It’s so expensive. There’s no way the staff at Augusta Medical is going to put a, shall we say, ripe corpse in the MRI machine and then use it for a live patient. And there’s no way the county can afford an MRI for the dead. The price for this procedure on one corpse is a
bout four thousand dollars.”
“Four thousand dollars,” Harry gasped. “I could put up a three-board fence in one paddock for that!”
“Oak or treated pine?” Mary asked, blue eyes twinkling.
As they were all country women, they were keenly aware of such costs. The fluctuations in lumber prices affected them a great deal.
“But don’t you find it odd, no autopsy?”
“No. As a doctor, I would like to know the exact cause of each death, but for many family members, the procedure upsets them. They think it violates their loved ones, and I can understand that although I don’t agree. When the soul leaves the body, that’s that. Use the body to learn. I see Brother Andrew and Brother John at the Health Co-op”—she named a clinic for the poor—“and they feel the same way. In this case, the autopsy would need to be requested by Susan.”
“Susan feels he should rest in peace.” Alicia happily ate her eggs, sunny-side up.
“Harry, why are you obsessing about this?” BoomBoom figured she knew the answer but asked anyway.
“Well, what if he didn’t die of natural causes?”
“I knew it!” BoomBoom triumphantly said. “Harry, you see a murderer behind every bush, I swear.”
16
Arrogant twit.” Pewter, her low opinion of all fowl confirmed, had been listening to Tucker recount her conversation with the cardinal.
Mrs. Murphy listened to the cherry logs crackle in the living-room fireplace as she reposed on the wing chair facing the old mantel with Wedgwood inserts. Pewter faced her in the other wing chair while Tucker had plopped in front of the fire.
Harry, at that moment, was opening a can of asparagus. Since she was in the kitchen she missed the conversation—not that she could have understood any of it, but she did listen when her animals spoke. From time to time, she grasped a bit of what they tried to convey to her. She hadn’t gone into the basement or she would have instantly grasped the fury both cats wished to convey. They had turned their spite at being left behind on the fifty-pound bags of thistle and wild birdseed Harry stored there. With the bottoms neatly torn open, the tiny seeds spread over the concrete floor, long tendrils of edibles. Satisfied with the mess, the two returned upstairs to await Harry and Tucker.
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