by Regina Doman
“We keep the doors locked,” Father Bernard acknowledged. “This church is kept pretty much for private use.”
“And it’s an oven. Personally I can’t survive anywhere in August without air conditioning. Wow. Looks like you had some extensive floor damage repaired,” Jim remarked, glancing around the sanctuary. His heavy eyelids swept over Nora, wearing jeans and red T-shirt, who was scrubbing the sacristy cabinets. “Hello there!” he said heartily.
“Hi,” said Nora, brushing a lock of black hair out of her eyes and picking up her buckets, seeming a bit chary of the visitor. Brother Leon was not surprised when she slipped out the door into the courtyard a moment later. Jim surprised the other friars with a long, low wolf whistle. “My,” he said. “Who’s that?”
“A volunteer,” Father Bernard said. “Nora...and several other lay people have been helping to renovate the men’s residence we are planning here.” His gaze was met by Father Francis, who frowned and shook his head wearily.
“Who gets you the volunteers? I should get them over to our place. All we get are old church ladies taking time off from ‘Bingo.’ Maybe you guys are doing something right, after all.” Jim chuckled, then, seeing the joke was not acknowledged, chose to tease in a soft voice as they walked down the far aisle to the back. “I’m onto you now, Frank. I guess there were other reasons you wanted to get away from the mainstream, eh? Better watch yourself. Lawsuits are flying these days.” He shook his head.
“We live our lives prudently, you can be assured of that,” Father Bernard said, and then seemed to be struck with a sudden inspiration. He went on, “Surely you know of the community’s long-term plans?”
“Plans?” said Jim and Father Francis together. Leon remained quiet.
“Why, the formation of a sister order of nuns,” Father Bernard went on smoothly as they walked up the aisle towards the exit. “We hope to house them in the old grade school building if and when that becomes available. Of course, we’re building the foundation for our future order now.”
Brother Jim was open-mouthed, and Father Francis managed to suppress his stare behind a wry grin.
“Yes, it’s possible that Nora may be our first postulant for the order,” Father Francis forged ahead gruffly. Unsure, he raised a quizzical eyebrow to Leon, who gave his head a tiny shake, no. All of which went unobserved by Brother Jim. “All dependent on the leading of the Holy Spirit, of course,” the head friar added.
“A convent of nuns?” the visiting brother was amazed. “So, Frank, Bernard wasn’t kidding when he told us you had big plans.”
“The Lord has big plans,” Father Francis corrected him as they saw their visitor to the door. “The rest of us are just trying to figure out what He’s got in mind.”
III
When Bear and Fish arrived at the Briers’ house on Saturday morning, they discovered Mrs. Foster was already there with Jean, and so was Charles Russell, who was looking distinctly ill at ease. The two women were sitting on the sofa, watching him sort through his papers. Rose was in the kitchen, setting up a tea tray.
“Charles, thanks so much for coming over,” Fish said as he came in, and extended a hand to the lawyer. “I told Jean you’d be the best person to talk with about this situation.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” the lawyer said doubtfully. “Mrs. Brier tells me that she wants advice about turning over illegal substances that she found in her daughter’s room. She says this has something to do with the case against you.”
“That’s correct,” Bear said.
“Is her daughter still missing?” Mr. Russell looked questioningly at Rose, who gave a small smile as she set down the tea tray.
“Yes, she is. It’s a week today,” Bear said.
“I have to say straight off that it would be a conflict of interest for me or my firm to represent your daughter,” Mr. Russell said to Jean with his usual courtesy. “As I explained before to my clients, if there’s even a slight possibility a court might find your daughter guilty of incriminating the brothers, there would be a conflict of interest for me to represent her.”
“I realized that,” Fish said, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “However, this is a tricky situation, and I want to ask for your advice. I figured you’d be able to tell us how to proceed. And perhaps you could suggest someone who’d be willing to represent them in this matter.”
The lawyer pulled out a legal pad with a suppressed sigh. “Well, perhaps you’d better fill me in on the details.”
Bear and Fish related to the lawyer all they had found out so far, and the lawyer took notes, his brow furrowed. Then he questioned Jean, and then Mrs. Foster, who told about her discovery of the drugs. Mr. Russell went upstairs to see them, then came downstairs and made a confidential call to the city prosecutor’s office, and explained the situation without giving names. Then he called a colleague of his who had experience with drug cases, and asked him to come over. The lawyer arrived after lunch, conferred with Jean and Rose, and agreed to represent Blanche in absentia until she was found. Then, after both lawyers had conferred and taken pictures of the drugs, they had Jean call the police. The police sent over a detective and his partner to investigate.
This all took hours, and after a while, Bear started to get antsy. “Do I have to stay around here for all of this?” he asked Fish in a low voice after the police had arrived and were listening to the explanations of Jean and Mrs. Foster. “Can’t you handle this?”
Fish was intent on the proceedings. “I want to make sure that Jean and Rose don’t incur any legal liability for what they’re doing,” he said. “Your presence is helpful in that regard.”
So Bear sat and endured the legal talk for as long as he could, but his mind was elsewhere. To occupy himself, he began to massage the muscles in his upper arm. Last year he had taken a bullet in his arm, and although the wound had healed, it still ached from time to time, particularly when he was tense. He kept checking out the window periodically to see if he could catch any sight of the mysterious man, but the big shadow seemed to have stayed away today.
At last the police detective left, but the lawyers still had more to do. Jean was talking to the other lawyer, and Mr. Russell was talking to Fish.
Bear waited until his brother had paused in conversation. “Can I borrow your cell phone again?”
“No! Buy your own!” Contradicting his words with his actions, Fish slid a hand in his trench coat, handed him the phone, and resumed his conversation.
Bear went into the kitchen, and dialed the number he had gotten from Rita, the waitress.
“Hello, Bear,” said Rita when she answered.
He was momentarily startled, and she said, laughing, “I have caller ID and I recognized the number.”
“Oh. But how did you know to call me Bear?” He could have sworn he had first introduced himself to her as Arthur.
“That’s what Blanche always called you. Hey, I was actually going to call you. I tried before but I guess you had your phone off or something. Your names came up at the hall yesterday.”
“Did they?”
“Yes. Mr. Scarlotti—you met him last time—he’s been telling all the shift managers that Blanche still isn’t above suspicion.”
“Why not?”
“Because the police recovered the money from two guys who were trying to pass off the bills, right? Well, Mr. Scarlotti decided that you and your brother must be the two guys.”
Bear suppressed a snort. “That’s a pretty big leap in logic.”
“You’re telling me. Anyhow, he’s been saying the police were still investigating this matter, and no one from the staff is to talk to Blanche, or you two, if you come around again asking questions. He went on and on about how this might ruin our reputation, blah blah blah.”
“Great,” Bear sighed. “Well, then what I was going to ask you doesn’t apply.”
“Ask me anyhow.”
“I was going to ask you if you could show me the room where the drugs w
ere found.”
“I think I can. Reflections is a pretty big place. I might be able to get you in without anyone noticing.”
“Are you sure? That might cost you your job.”
“Yeah. I figure I owe it to Blanche for not believing her. Besides, the summer’s almost over anyhow.”
Bear was grateful. “Thanks. When will you be at work?”
“Can you meet me there at one? There won’t be so many people around, and maybe Scarlotti won’t be in yet. The other manager is Mr. Carnazzo, but he wasn’t around last time you guys came by, so maybe he won’t recognize you.”
Bear thanked her, hit the end button, and looked around. The police were gone. Mr. Russell, who was apparently finished with his inquiries, was packing up his briefcase. Mrs. Foster and Jean were talking together, looking over a list of phone numbers.
“They’re going to make phone calls again.” Rose looked at the brothers. “What are you two going to do?”
“I’m going back to the banquet hall,” Bear said.
“Can I come with you?” Rose begged. “I just need to go out and do something to help find Blanche!”
Fish opened his mouth to object but Bear, knowing acutely how Rose felt, decided to overrule him. “Sure. Come along.” He got to his feet.
Rose picked up a pink-fringed scarf and slung it around her neck. “Mom, I’m going out with Bear and Fish.” Jean, on the phone, nodded and waved.
“Do you have Fish’s cell number if you need to reach us?” Bear asked Mrs. Foster, who nodded.
“How can you wear a scarf in this heat?” Fish asked Rose as they walked outside.
“How can you wear that trench coat and hat?” Rose asked sweetly, putting on her silver-framed sunglasses.
“I think,” said Fish, opening the rear car door for her and crossing around to the driver’s side, “that the idea here is to be inconspicuously dressed.” He turned on the air conditioner. “Which is not how I would describe your outfit.” He glanced again at Rose’s lively green summer dress that set off her red hair, and shook his head hopelessly.
“If you want to wait a few minutes, I can go upstairs and find something in gray and brown,” she suggested. “I could even get my mom’s raincoat. That way, I can look just like you.”
Fish grumbled as he threw the car into gear and shot down the road. “The idea is not to imitate me, but to wear something subtle and unremarkable. No one ever looks at me twice, except possibly to notice how ugly I am. Fortunately, you won’t ever be able to have that asset, so if you really want to be some kind of amateur sleuth, start by playing down your looks—and your fashion statement. Sensible suits and unattractive dark glasses might work. But then again, I wouldn’t recommend that you even try to follow Nancy Drew’s career path in the first place. I doubt you’d survive to star in even one further mystery novel, let alone three hundred and fifty.”
“Fish,” Rose said indignantly when he finally stopped talking. “You’re not ugly. In fact, I’ve always found you rather winsome.”
“See what I mean? You’re hindered by poor judgment to begin with,” Fish said, rubbing his face. “All right, pipe down, Trixie Belden. We need to figure out our plan of attack.” He looked at Bear. “Is that Rita person supposed to be there now?”
“Yes,” Bear said. “She’ll show us around the place a bit.”
“Good,” Fish said. “Getting the lay of the land would be a help.”
They drove up to the banqueting hall and parked. Rita, who was standing outside smoking, caught sight of them and hurried over to greet them. “Hi again,” she said. “You’re in luck. Scarlotti’s gone for today. Only Carnazzo is here, and he’s a stuffed shirt, but maybe we can get by him. I figure if they catch us, I’ll just play dumb. We’ll go in by the side door.”
When they went inside, they could see caterers preparing one of the rooms for a dinner, laying out multicolored napkins and china place settings on dozens of tables in a room overhung with a massive chandelier festooned with colored glass beads. Assunta was among the waitresses, and she waved to them.
Rita led them down a hallway to a side staircase. “This is the banquet hall where Blanche was working last weekend, when we had the masquerade,” she said as she led them upstairs, and opened the door at the top of the steps onto a vast room with high stained-glass windows decorated with grapes, flowers, and animals. The floor was parquet, buffed to a high gloss.
“Incredible,” Fish murmured.
The architecture wasn’t bad, Bear noted. He could tell the materials used to imitate a medieval Gothic structure were phony—painted wood instead of stone—but still, the effect was that of a rather noble theatre. A fitting scene for a drama.
“What a spectacular party place,” Rose said.
Rita made a face. “Yeah, except that at night, you can’t see the colors in the stained glass. They look black, and then, with the brown walls, it’s really dark in here. I like some of the other halls better.”
Bear looked around, picturing the hall full of glittering costumed guests. And in the midst of it, a figure in white, alone, but erect. Blanche.
Just then, someone called, “Rita!”
Rita turned and the others glanced to see who was calling her. They saw a fat Italian man in shirtsleeves puffing towards them, his face red with the exercise.
“Who’s up there with you?” he demanded.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Carnazzo?” Rita asked, glancing helplessly at Bear.
Chapter Fifteen
The vestibule was as clean and as organized as it could get, until the friars received more donations. The girl looked around with a sigh, and closed the door behind her.
That morning, none of the friars seemed to be around. She had guessed that the novices didn’t have classes, but no one had told her what the Saturday schedule might be like. I’ll just start looking for something to do, she thought, and wandered into the sacristy. After some investigation, she decided she would start by cleaning the high cabinets, which were full of dust. That way, she could be near the statues of the saints in the closet, which she had dubbed The Sisterhood.
She was well into her work when she heard voices. Glancing out into the main church, she saw the two priests and Brother Leon talking in the sanctuary. There was a pudgy blond man in a polo shirt with them, and he hailed her with a hearty, “Hello there!”
For some reason, she didn't quite like how that man was looking at her. Returning the greeting, she pushed back her drooping hair again, feeling on edge. Her hair was really annoying her, and she decided to use that as an excuse to return to her bedroom and hunt for her red bandana, which she hadn’t been able to find.
She hurried across the courtyard, fiddling in her pocket for the key to the high school that Father Bernard had given her.
Once inside her room, she took a deep breath. It was a pristine, peaceful little place that actually felt homey, despite its sparseness. She had added a wildflower wreath and hung a picture on the wall, which made it cozier.
Kneeling beside the crate where she kept her few articles of clothing, she started to look for her bandana. It had been missing for a couple days now. This morning, she had checked to see if she had left it in the bathroom. Now she was wondering if she had left it in a pocket somewhere.
There was a knock at the high school door. Perhaps the friars were done with whatever it was that they had been doing. Hopefully, she went down the hall and pushed the heavy metal door open. A hunched-over figure in a blue hat with a green eyeshade. Bonnie.
“Hello,” she said cautiously.
“Hello,” said the lady in her crackly voice, fixing on her with eyes that were dim beneath the green shade. “I got something for you.”
“I’m sorry—I really shouldn’t take anything else from you,” the girl apologized. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”
The woman’s eyes were lowered to a plastic bag she was twisting back and forth in her hands. “Don’t want to come in. Just felt b
ad—you got sick before. My fault. Came to see how you were.” She coughed.
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
“I was wrong about you.” The lady swayed from side to side as she repetitively turned her bag. “You don’t need to be a scarlet girl to get what you want. These monks, they have their Mary, right?”
“Yes,” the girl said. The woman was rambling again, and the girl pushed aside her eerie feelings.
The woman nodded. “Pale and cold and white and above and beyond them. That’s what they like. That’s how you are, right? So transparent and clear, like a pane of crystal glass, no fingerprints on it. Untouchable.” The woman fiddled with her bag rhythmically again. “You don’t mind hearing old Bonnie talk, do you? No one listens to old Bonnie.”
“I’m listening,” the girl said.
The lady hacked at her cough again. “Some water—you got a drink of water in there?”
“Sure. Just a minute.”
She turned, but before she knew it, the old lady had followed her into the high school. The girl paused. Once again, she remembered. “Don’t let anyone in.”
All right, so I’ve got to get her back out.
“What a sweet room,” the old lady said, pausing at the door of her room. “Is this yours?”
“Yes.”
The old lady took a step in, touched the sketch of the Virgin Mary, discarded by Brother Herman, which the girl had found and hung on the wall. “So pretty in here.” Her eyes beneath the green shade traveled over the bed, the flowers in the little bottle on the windowsill, the spiky crown of dried flowers hanging from the side of the bed. “You’ve got a touch, you have.”
It was nice to have another woman appreciate these things. Missing her mother and sister suddenly, the girl said, “Thank you.”
The old lady lowered herself onto the battered wooden chair as if it were made of china and looked from side to side, silent, not moving. Her hands were still: her tic had stopped. She seemed to have forgotten about the drink of water.
“We really, really should go back outside,” the girl said politely, after a moment.