Nun of That (A Deadly Habit Cozy Mystery, Book 1)

by Morgana Best

  “Oh, it's okay. I'll just bring you something tomorrow. There are all sorts of practical things in there.” Bunny appeared to be cheerful as she stuffed the gift bag into her oversized purse and zipped it. I was afraid to ask her if the gun was loaded. Very afraid.

  I jumped as I heard another knock at the door. I opened it to see Gemma and Janet both standing there, already looking annoyed with one another.

  “Sorry if we're late,” Gemma said apologetically, poofing up her already huge hive of hair with the flat of her hand.

  “Not at all. I'm glad you guys are here.” I waved them in. “Ladies, this is Bunny.”

  After I had introduced everyone, I seated them all around the table, so I could run to check on dinner. I hadn't even started the gathering yet and I was getting tired. I was starting to understand why Dave never seemed interested in settling down. As sweet as the woman seemed, three weeks of that could turn anyone into a lifelong bachelor. I had been wrong about three weeks not changing someone's outlook - very wrong.

  I took a minute to gather my wits, and then I took the steaming pans to the table. Bunny and Gemma were both as impressed as I had hoped they would be. Before Janet could complain about the lasagna, I brandished the eggplant parmesan. “I know, all vegetables. Eggplant and tomatoes. A little parmesan cheese won't kill your diet, right?”

  Janet gave one of her dreaded grimaces and an exaggerated wince. Uh oh. What did I do wrong this time? It was all vegetables, well, 99% vegetables. Okay, maybe 95%, but I had to put a wide variety of spices in this stuff to give it anything resembling a taste.

  “Not a vegetarian diet, a whole food diet,” Janet explained as if the difference were obvious. “The body can't process the preservatives in things like store-bought sauces and cheese powder. It causes the body to -”

  “Here.” Gemma picked up the salad bowl and dropped it in front of Janet. “We get it. Your goal in life is to be a lean, mean, weight-lifting rabbit. Gimme that.”

  Gemma stabbed a fork on Janet’s plate to steal her eggplant and popped it in her mouth. She moaned in exaggerated rapture over the taste. “Mmm, mmm. You don't know what you're missing. Rose, you did a fantastic job. I love it.”

  “You'll love it so much more when your kidneys shut down from inflammation and chemical overdose,” Janet said, as she studied the salad.

  “It can do that?” Bunny looked horrified as she paused mid-bite.

  “Don't pay her any attention.” Gemma waved her hand dismissively. “Janet is a health nut. With emphasis on the nut. She thinks artificial sweeteners are made from germs.”

  “Great dinner table topic.” Janet shot Gemma a barely veiled glare.

  “Oh, but we could talk about it over my diet cola, huh?” Gemma waved a pointed finger between herself and Janet.

  “Germs can do what?” Bunny stared at them, looking shocked at the news.

  “Forget about it,” Gemma said, waving her arms dismissively.

  “How about we get to know Bunny better instead?” I sighed. I supposed it had been too much to ask for them to be civil just once. So much for distracting them with a shiny new person to talk to. “We were all curious to meet her after all.”

  “That's right. Where are you from anyway?” Gemma asked as she leaned toward Bunny.

  “Here, there and around. I'm quite a voyeur,” Bunny said, causing Janet to snort on her health drink, and splutter. Gemma quickly got her a napkin and shot Bunny a stunned look. Bunny looked at them, puzzled. “What did I say?”

  “You meant voyager, right?” I asked, hoping I was right.

  Gemma tucked her chin down against her chest, trying not to show how hard she was trying not to laugh.

  “That's what I said.” Bunny crooked one brow. “You people must not get out much.”

  “Where did you meet Dave?” Janet asked, after she recovered from her coughing fit.

  “My cousin, Fred, arranged it,” Bunny explained. “He and Dave did a lot of business together. He thought it would be a great experience for us.”

  “So it was like a blind date?” Gemma asked.

  “I guess so.” Bunny nodded. “We met in Brisbane. I thought Dave was very charming for someone who ran a laundromat.”

  “A laundromat?” I asked in confusion, trying to think of what word Bunny could possibly mean this time.

  “Goodness, I need to get you poor girls some dictionaries. What do they teach you in school down here?” Bunny clucked her tongue in disapproval. “A place where you take your laundry. You do have them here, don't you?”

  “We do, but Dave never laundered anything,” I said, trying to pry for clues as to what she was really talking about. Dave never washed a sock in all the time I had known him. He paid extra for the cleaning lady to come pick up his laundry every week. Dave had an aversion to laundry. Women’s work, he'd called it. He’d said next he would be wearing pink aprons and joining the knitting class on Thursdays. He would have stayed in his own sweat for a year before he ever touched a washer.

  Bunny nodded matter of factly. “Of course he did. Fred told me that Dave laundered things for him many times. I thought it was nice the man was secure enough to do other men's laundry. I do wish he would have let me see where his laundromat was, though. He was so shy about it, even after we got married.”

  Before I could press her for more details, there was an unearthly squall from the laundry room. Everybody jumped at the sound of Bernard having had about all he could take of the tiny, cramped laundry room. Bunny went wide eyed as she grabbed her purse and held it to her chest.

  I gasped, terrified that the 'gift' that Bunny had stuffed in it might go off at any second. Bunny took a step backward and then fell onto the table, sending health drinks and tomato sauce flying all over the floorboards.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry as I saw the results of Bernard's howling to be let out of his little prison. One minute we were talking about Dave doing laundry and the next, my poor dinner table looked like a murder scene.

  “I better get going. It's getting late,” Bunny said with a strained smile, gathering her things.

  “It's barely seven,” Gemma pointed out.

  “Early to bed, early to rise,” Bunny said with a nervous titter as she looked in the direction of the laundry room.

  Gemma furrowed her brow. “Don't tell me you’re ailurophobic?”

  “Come again?” Bunny asked nervously, as everyone scrambled to clean up.

  “You have a fear of cats,” Gemma explained.

  “Oh honey, you really shouldn't make up words. It just confuses people,” Bunny said, as she shuffled over to shake my hand. “It was a lovely evening, Rose. How about we do this again sometime? My house, though. Well Dave’s house, that is.” Her eyes widened as Bernard squalled even louder, angry at being ignored in his little prison. “See you later. Busy, busy, busy. Gotta start the store bright and early.”

  “Well, she's a special bunny, isn't she?” Janet said carefully as the door slammed behind Bunny. She wiped at a stain on her shirt.

  “Coming from the human rabbit,” Gemma quipped.

  “Oh shush. Rose, I’ll help you clean the floor.” Janet rolled her eyes at Gemma and started to mop up. “But seriously. Thinking that Dave ran a laundromat? Dave?”

  I frowned and tried to figure that one out. Why would Bunny think Dave ran a laundromat? That didn't even begin to make sense.

  Unless? I slapped my forehead. Oh no, surely not Dave. Bunny just had to be confused. Dave didn't launder anything, certainly not clothes, and surely not money.

  Chapter Seven.

  When the alarm clock sounded and startled me from my slumber, I rubbed my eyes and squinted in an attempt to see the time. It was only 6 a.m. Today was the monthly auction at Phillips & Sons, a second-hand auction house located in the next town, about an hour away.

  The auction house sold everything from collectibles and books, to fossils and rare memorabilia, but I wasn’t going there for such things. I t
ook the drive once a month to hunt for bargains, particularly wooden furniture I could repurpose.

  An old, plain but solid pine bookcase would come up a treat with a dark tint on the top, and the rest painted with chalk paint. Sure, some of the pieces would require more work than others to restore and refurbish, but some pieces of furniture sold cheaply simply because they were dirty or covered in layers of dust.

  The drive to Phillips & Sons should have been enjoyable that morning. The sun hung high in the light blue sky and there was not a cloud to be seen. Yet, I couldn’t help but think of Dave and the recent events that had unfolded, and I wondered if his murder would ever be solved.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the auction house, and saw with a sinking stomach that the place was more crowded than usual. I hoped they weren’t all here to buy with an eye to repurposing furniture. With a big sigh, I locked my car and headed into the building.

  The first person I saw was Paul Hammond, a local antiques dealer. No one knew how old Paul actually was. He was rumored to be in his late seventies, but he looked at least twenty years younger. Paul nodded at the hordes of people lined up for the auction. “I wonder what the attraction is today?”

  I shrugged. “No idea, but I hope they’re not looking for what I’m looking for.” I looked around at some of the furniture, and my eyes fell upon a large, wooden chest that was sitting behind an antique credenza. I walked over to get a better look. It wasn’t too old, so wouldn’t attract the antiques buyers, and had clearly seen better days, but if I could get it at a cheap price, it would sell well once I’d upcycled it. My only concern was the large, iron lock attached to the lid. “I wonder if this thing has even been opened in the last decade,” I said aloud.

  “It’s the first sign, you know.”

  I looked up to see Paul Hammond standing next to me. “What is?’ I asked, puzzled.

  “Talking to yourself. It’s the first sign of madness.”

  I laughed. “I’m probably onto the fifth sign by now; I talk to myself all the time. Anything here you have your eye on?”

  He nodded. “There’s a Victorian cedar meat safe, but look who’s here.” He gestured to the far wall, toward the Mangolds, a mother and son team of secondhand dealers from the nearest large town. The Mangolds had quite the reputation. Most things in their store were horrendously overpriced. They would typically put the ridiculous price of twenty dollars on a cracked, modern plate, whereas a thrift store wouldn’t even put such a plate on sale for five cents, but would just throw it in the trash. However, the Mangolds had no eye for antiques, and sometimes a real bargain could be found in their store, and at a very cheap price. There was no rhyme or reason to their pricing.

  Despite the prospect of a bargain, I rarely went to their store, as the son always followed me around and stood way too close. He creeped me out, big time.

  The Mangolds were not consistent in their bidding. Sometimes, it seemed that they wanted to outbid people just for the sake of it. I’d fallen victim to them, as had Paul. I supposed everyone had. The one good thing was that they didn’t attend auctions regularly.

  After a good look around, and armed with notes I’d made in my catalog, I headed to take my seat at the back of the middle section of chairs. From my vantage point, the auctioneer would see me easily, and I would be able to see most people who were bidding.

  I was soon lost in concentration as the auction began. I was outbid on the chest by the Mangolds, but I did manage to buy a solid, wooden chest of drawers, a solid pine closet, and a kitchen dresser, all for a song. I hadn’t been planning to bid on the kitchen dresser, as it wasn’t in the best of condition. It was probably Edwardian era, and had not been cared for. It had lost its original doors, but still had the hinges attached to the frame. There was a vertical crack which ran the length of the piece, right in the middle. It had also been painted within an inch of its life, many times over. However, no one bid on it, not even the Mangolds, so I got it for twenty dollars. I hoped it wasn’t riddled with furniture borer, for it should have sold for more than that, despite its condition.

  I had already secured the items on my list, but needed to arrange delivery before I could head home. My stomach growled, and I yawned. It was then that I saw the nun. She was slumped deep in a chair on the far side of the auction room, her head covering pulled around her face.

  The nun was in full traditional habit, and I wondered if she was the nun I had seen running from Dave’s that morning. She was certainly the right build, unless her habit had huge shoulder pads sewn into it. The nun hadn’t bid on anything - or had she? I couldn’t be sure. She didn’t look too interested in the proceedings. Why was she there?

  As I watched the nun, she suddenly sat upright in her chair, so I looked back over at the auctioneer to see the current item for sale. It was a thick, gold chain, which the auctioneer said weighed thirty grams and was 18 karat.

  The price climbed rapidly, but not once did the nun bid. Why was she so interested in this item? During the entire bidding war, she hadn't taken her eyes off the chain for a moment. Even those who were trying to win it seemed to be less concerned by the outcome.

  The second chain did not sell for as much as the first, but still attracted eager bidding. Eventually, six chains were sold in total, all 18 karat and of good weight. I looked at the notes I’d made on my catalog and added up the sum on my iPhone’s calculator. $16,250. The nun had not made one bid, but was on the edge of her seat the whole time.

  Once the gavel went down and the last item was sold, what was left of the audience made for the exits. Buyers hung back, and I, for one, had to arrange delivery of my purchases. I made my way to the office, hoping to beat what was sure to be a long queue, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement from the direction of the nun.

  I turned around, but the nun wasn’t there. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen.

  I paid for my purchases at the desk, and arranged delivery for the following Tuesday. The woman behind the desk always had a surly expression on her face. I’d been coming here for years, and her manner hadn’t changed. “May I ask you a question?” I asked, realizing that I just had.

  She looked up, frowning. “Yes, what it is?” she snapped.

  “The nun who was sitting over against the right wall - does she come here often?”

  “What nun?” she said, standing and peering over her desk.

  “Well, she’s not here now,” I said, “But she was here for the whole auction.”

  “I didn’t see a nun,” the woman barked at me. “Next!”

  I took that as my cue to leave.

  On my way home, my excitement over my purchases was overshadowed by my puzzlement over the nun. She was the same build as the nun who had knocked me down that day. In the whole time I’d been attending local auctions, I had never once seen Sister Bertrand, or any other nun, in attendance. Why was that nun there?

  Chapter Eight.

  I walked into my regular coffee shop to see Adam seated at a table in the back corner of the small room, with two cups of coffee in front of him. As I approached, he looked up from his smartphone and smiled. “Good morning.”

  I sat across from him. “Thanks for the coffee. How’s your book going?”

  He shrugged. “It’s coming along,” he said, glancing back down at his phone. “I think I’m onto something, but I’m still not sure.”

  “Well, perhaps if you tell me what specifically you’re here reporting on, I could help in some way.” My real motive for asking was my own driving curiosity.

  Adam looked back up at me and smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment, but what I’m investigating is a convoluted mess. You don’t want to get dragged too far into this; I’m already deeper in it than I should be.”

  I let out a long sigh of disappointment. “Isn’t there a likelihood that I’ve already been dragged into it? It obviously involves Dave or the town somehow, right?”

  It was his turn to sigh. “Okay, I suppose you have a poin
t. Remember, I told you that I’m writing a book on the Shadow Gang?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “I suppose you’ve heard of them?” Without waiting for me to answer, he continued. “They’re armed robbers, bank robbers specifically, and they target safe deposit boxes. They were finally caught, but all six of them remained tight lipped about where the loot was stashed. They were all convicted and given lengthy sentences. They were on their way to Long Bay Maximum Security prison in Sydney, when they all somehow escaped.” Adam paused, and sipped from his cup.

  I nodded. “Yes, it was all over TV at the time - A Current Affair, Sixty Minutes - you name it. The whole news at the time was full of it. So they were never caught, the second time I mean, after they escaped?”

  Adam shook his head. “No, they’re still at large. There’s been a nation wide manhunt for them since. My best sources brought me here, but I’m a very long way from having anything that even resembles concrete evidence.”

  I was about to ask another question, when I was distracted by a young child seated with a sibling of around the same age and their father at the front table, which was against the coffee shop window. The child had just spilled food on the floor, and was now throwing a tantrum and holding his hands against the glass window. I held my breath. “Wait for it,” I said to Adam in a low tone. “There’ll be a show.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Right at that moment, the lady who owned the coffee shop ran out from behind the counter, armed with a damp rag, a bottle of cleaning spray, and an enraged grimace. “Get that child out of here if you can’t control it!” she yelled at the man, who was too busy looking shocked to react. “If your kids have no manners, don’t take them out in public!”

  The man grabbed the two children and left the coffee shop in a hurry, muttering to himself.