Heinous Habits!

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Of course, we’ll keep it. You don’t sell gifts on eBay.”

  “Oh, okay,” Mick said.

  “Misty told us what happened in Sanctuary Grove this morning, so give us the scoop about this monk of death business,” Willow said.

  “Yeah, and I want to hear all about what goes on in a monastery. Hold nothing back. You two know I can keep a secret.”

  Hm. I wasn’t so sure about that. Willow mouthed the words, “NO WAY!” Even Brien had a skeptical expression on his face. What had we learned today that required secrecy, anyway? I decided to focus on the fire and the scary part—not taming Twitchin’ Mitchum with sugar and caffeine, but the whole monk of death business.

  As I expected, our story about that secret passageway and cavern of dreams was a big hit. Second only to the sighting of that ghoulish and possibly masked monk. Or maybe third since those cookies evoked lots of exclamations from Mick. In fact, Brien’s detailed description of those cookies is what broke up our gathering. We had run out of chips and dip, when Mick announced it was time to “exit, stage left!” They had to make the short drive to their apartment in San Albinus and dress for dinner at El Conquistador.

  After Mick and Willow left, I felt increasingly uneasy. The recollection of that creature and trying to put words together to describe what I had seen made it all too real again. I ran the timeline in my mind. Could that thing in the cave have started the fire in the monastery ruins and then tracked down and killed the other whack job running around in faux monk garb? Had he and his pal also stealthily arranged that bone display this morning in the surfer village before he committed arson and murder? My head was spinning as I tried to make sense of the insensible.

  “Not enough data,” I said aloud making strange motions with my arms to go with the robot voice I had adopted. Somehow, that little bit of nonsense settled me down. Until I turned around to see Brien watching me as he leaned against the doorway of the master bath. He smiled broadly when he knew I’d spotted him.

  “Don’t stop. The show was just getting good.” I’m sure I blushed crimson as I tossed a bed pillow at him.

  “The ways of Gidget are mysterious,” he said as he tossed that pillow back at me. The surfer robot voice he used was so absurd it made me laugh. Then he closed the distance between us in a split second and scooped me up in his arms before I could reload and start a full-blown pillow fight. “Here’s some more data for you!”

  The kiss that followed blew out every circuit in my brain. Not every circuit. There were a few left to get fried by what we learned at that restaurant.

  14 Invasion from Down Under

  Even though the evening had run late, we were up at the crack of dawn. “Surf’s up!” had been my wake-up call. When I smelled the aroma of coffee, my eyes popped open. I jumped out of bed and almost ran to my phone, hoping Mitchum had returned my call. No luck. No message on the phone in our suite, either.

  “Doesn’t that guy ever check his messages?” I groused.

  “He’s probably not even up yet. Besides, what could he tell you? Even if he picked up the message you left him last night and went to work right then, there’s no way he could have done much. You know how long it takes to run background checks on people. That’s if the names you gave him are real and not aliases. Let’s have some fun and give Mitchum time to act like he’s a police detective.”

  “I hear you, oh sage of the surf.” I smiled and gave Brien a tiny bow. “That coffee smells so good.”

  “It ought to. Brother Thaddeus sent it from the monastery’s stash. See, it came with a note."

  A gift to start your day and set your feet on the right path. Enjoy!

  As if on cue, those bells tolled from up above the cliffs. I guzzled that divine coffee, savoring each gulp as the big round sounds counted out the hour.

  “Their day at St. Albinus must have started even earlier than ours. The room service guy said it arrived with the delivery from the monastery this morning.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get this party started!” That coffee packed a wallop. The caffeine had kicked in, but I also felt inspired at the thought of checking out that X marked on the photo Willow and Mick had brought us. In fact, a sense of urgency hit me given what we had learned or might have learned last night.

  As I slipped into my wetsuit, I replayed events from the evening before. Dinner had been delicious. The wine was superb. As I had hoped, though, the most scintillating aspects of our visit to El Conquistador had nothing to do with our meal. The first rather astounding moment occurred as we were walking from the parking lot. A familiar figure bolted from that place and nearly collided with me.

  “Excuse me,” I said stepping out of the way. When the man came to a sudden halt directly in front of me, my jaw dropped. “Hello again, Jerry. I thought you and your wife left town this morning. Did the call of Corsario Cove lure you back?” His wife, who stood behind him, smiled. He did not.

  “Hardly,” he snapped. “All that commotion this morning caused a series of delays, and we missed our flight.”

  How could that possibly be true? I wondered. They must have left before that fire started. Maybe an hour before. I searched his wife’s face. Her expression gave nothing away, but her eyes darted as if worried about the exchange. Or concerned, perhaps, that someone might overhear our conversation.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “Not as sorry as I am to have to spend another night in this hick town,” he snarled as he took off again. His wife was on his heels, her eyes downcast.

  “What a surprise. I never expected to see that man again as long as I lived. Was there a delay because of the fire?”

  “He didn’t mention the fire. There was a big accident on the main road leading into town. A semi-truck jackknifed and dumped its load on the highway. That could have delayed traffic in both lanes, I suppose.” Willow shrugged. "What a rude person. I guess he didn't enjoy his dinner."

  "Nah, he was like that when we bumped into him at the hotel this morning," Brien said.

  “I suppose he might have had to change his plans since there’s only one main route out of here to the airport.” I shrugged. “Not very good at planning if a delay like that was enough to make him miss his flight. That ‘hick town’ comment’s not good for the image improvement campaign underway either. The Conservancy Group needs to hire better help.” I muttered that last comment under my breath as we reached the door to the restaurant.

  “What?” Willow asked. I explained that I had seen the gentleman in the audience at one of those Conservancy Group pep rallies or press conferences or whatever they called them. I also mentioned the flyers he had tucked under his arm.

  "That is too weird, Kim. You think the Conservancy Group hired him to spread that trash around town?"

  “That's pure speculation based on the fact he was at that press conference with those flyers. He dropped one in the elevator and claimed that panhandling monk had given it to him. That was a lie, I'm sure. Maybe the faction around here who wants San Albinus to become the new Roswell put him up to it.”

  “UFOs are one legend I’ve never heard of around here, but I get your point. Maybe some locals are willing to turn San Albinus into one big tourist attraction. Although, I’m not sure our mad monks are as big a draw as the legends of aliens in Roswell, New Mexico.”

  “Yeah, a sighting of a mad monk isn’t spooky enough to get Scully and Mulder to open an X-File, is it?”

  “No, not even if that show was still on the air.” Willow laughed. “The Conservancy Group does have opponents. Not everyone’s happy about the idea of bringing outsiders in to fix what’s wrong with our town or even believes it needs fixing. I'm not sure they're organized well enough to send out undercover tourists or hire fake monks. It doesn’t matter if he’s on someone’s payroll or not, you’d better call Mitchum. He might have a few questions for the guy since he's still here in town.”

  “Willow’s right, Kim. Now that the monk has
turned up dead, Bernie should talk to anyone who might have had contact with him. Whether he stole those flyers from the dead monk or supplied them to him, there must have been a connection.”

  “I hear you. When I get back to our suite, I’ll send that picture I found along with a note that we bumped into dear old angry tourist Jerry tonight after he claimed to be leaving town. Good luck finding him. I don’t think he intends to stay around much longer, do you?”

  “He is in a hurry. It's a shame he and his lovely wife didn’t book a room at a hotel near the airport.”

  “That’s a good point, Willow,” Brien said. “Make sure you tell Mitchum to ask about that if he can find the guy.”

  “I can help with that.” Mick held up his phone with a license plate number typed onto his notepad. “It’s probably a rental, but that could help with the name problem, too.”

  I had a surge of hope that Willow was right. Could it be Mick was a redeemable louse? Then he opened his mouth again as I copied that plate number onto my phone.

  “Let’s get in there and chew a ton of de buey—whatever that is.”

  “Stop it, Mick. He’s trying to be funny. I explained to him all about that chuleton de buey.”

  “It’s grindage, bro, that’s all I need to know.” Brien slapped Mick on the back as he held the door for us to go inside.

  Once inside, the plot soon thickened. The large restaurant with vaulted ceilings, wood beams, and wrought iron fixtures was awash in ambient light. Warm, like that cast off by oil lamps rather than incandescent or fluorescent lighting. A graceful archway led from the lobby into the main dining room. That dining area was closer to a grand ballroom in a Spanish castle than any room you'd find in a hacienda. Beautiful tile work was everywhere. In the lobby, the statue of a man on horseback greeted us. That horse’s front legs reached for the sky, and the rider’s lance did the same.

  “Shades of Don Quixote,” I said in hushed tones.

  “It’s some kind of a flash from the past, that’s for sure,” Willow whispered. “Not uncontroversial given some people worry the resort developers have come here to conquer the town. When they built that resort, locals were afraid hoity-toity places like this would turn up. Way too pricey for most regular people. I’m not sure they like the tourists with their high-limit credit cards any more than the beach bums like Mick and me.”

  “They must like the fact that the tourists bring money into town.”

  “Yeah, except that the money’s being spent here rather than at the small, down-home diners and cafes. When I was looking for a job, several shop owners told me they need help but can't afford to hire anyone. The pressure has been on to beautify the town with new facades, flowers, arbors, and benches. Rents have gone up since the resort opened.” She shut up as a seating hostess escorted us to our table.

  We had ordered wine and were quietly scanning our menus when a round of applause went up at a table nearby. Eight or ten people sat at a large round table near the center of the room. It was as if the cast of characters from a photo I’d seen this afternoon on the Internet had never parted or had reassembled. I recognized most of the people, including the Mayor who was making a toast. I couldn’t quite hear what he had said, but it brought on raucous laughter and another round of applause.

  Something was unsettling about that celebratory spirit. Their day must not have involved bats, fire, old bones, and creepy encounters with screaming monks haunting the cliffs riddled with caves. Someone had died, though. Surely, they weren't celebrating his demise even though his death may have solved one image problem in San Albinus. That article I'd read had given another reason for the party tonight, but why not check?

  “What are they celebrating?” I asked the server who brought us a basket of bread and tiny bowls of olive oil for dipping.

  “This is an important anniversary. Five years ago, today, The Sanctuary Resort & Spa opened.” She dropped her voice and added, “It was a huge relief that it opened in time for spring break. A fire and other snafus moved the opening back several months.”

  A fire? What sort of a fire? I wondered. Before I could ask, the restaurant’s sommelier stepped up to our table with a bottle of wine in her hand. A hoity-toity place, indeed. I hadn’t been to a restaurant with a sommelier on staff in quite a while. The sleazy Mr. P. loved them. As his assistant, I had observed the wine service many times.

  Since I had selected the wine, the sommelier presented the bottle to me. I examined the label to make sure it was what I had ordered, that it was undamaged, and room temperature. Then I went through the rest of the ritual of smelling the cork and tasting the wine. Mr. P sometimes called ahead to have a rare wine decanted, so it had time to breathe before we drank it. We would just have to make do without that step.

  “Perfect,” I said signaling that she could pour the wine. Once the sommelier had left, Mick looked as if he had something to say. I cut him off when I heard a voice speaking at that other table.

  “Wait!” I whispered, placing a finger to my lips.

  “Congratulations on your success. May this be the beginning of many more successful ventures to come.”

  “With your help, I’m counting on it,” the Mayor replied. “Here’s to our new partnership. And, to the future success of the Conservancy Group!” I kept that finger on my lips and got what I hoped for as the new partner replied.

  “Hear, hear. Glad to be aboard.” I waited for a second, expecting that sentence to end with “mate.” The Crocodile Hunter had made that form of address a widely-recognized sign that an Aussie was in the room. Even without the use of that word, the “hear, hear” bore an unmistakable hint of what sounded to me like an Australian accent.

  “What do you think?” I asked Brien. “Australian?”

  “Crikey!” was Brien’s only response.

  “Would that come across well enough to detect an accent on a phone call, too?” Brien nodded yes.

  “I hear it, too, although I have no clue why it matters,” Willow added.

  “It must be an invasion from down under,” Mick said before I could explain about that fake professor’s phone call to Brother Thaddeus. “There are some great surfers in Australia. Word must be out about Corsario Cove.”

  “What Mick’s trying to say is that guy at Nonesuch Nautical told us he had recently moved here from Melbourne. His accent was much thicker, though.”

  “Yeah, he was the real deal. Way more Australian than the guy at that table.”

  “Okay, well that’s interesting,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure why. I was more preoccupied with how I could put a face with that voice. Maybe even get a photo of the partygoers that included the man with a hint of an Aussie accent in his voice. “Come with me to the restroom, Willow, please?”

  “Sure. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s wander around and see if we can figure it out. If not, we’ll ask.” My very perceptive and patient friend got it right away when I asked her to shield me as I took photos from several locations in the restaurant.

  After a bit of snooping, I had also determined which man went with that voice. He was a strapping fellow in an expensive suit and apparently not all that comfortable in it. He tugged at his shirt collar, and then unbuttoned and rebuttoned that suit jacket in the time it took for me to make my way around the room.

  At one point, we made eye contact for a split second. I pretended to look past him and smiled, waving at a friendly couple who waved back. I took that as my cue to stop nosing around and do nothing to draw more attention to myself. Willow and I made a beeline for the ladies’ room and then took another way back to our seats.

  The moment we returned to our suite last night, I had sent a message to Mitchum with that license plate number, the photos, and a rationale for how each man might have something to do with whatever was going on in the area. It hadn’t been that late when I hit send on those messages.

  Brien was right that I needed to give Mitchum time to do his work. It was entirely possib
le the detective hadn’t even picked up those messages yet. Heck, he hadn’t even chewed me out yet for the tenuousness of the connections we were making between the men we had identified and the crimes popping up all over the area. It was much less likely that he’d had time to do a thing about checking out their backgrounds or rounding them up for questioning.

  “Come on, Brien. Let’s go catch a wave.” Or if we were lucky, maybe we’d find something interesting by venturing to the place on that photo where “X” marked the spot.

  15 A Bro Goes Missing

  Fifteen minutes later, we were on the beach. While Brien stowed our belongings, I walked to the water’s edge. Beautiful waves rolled onto the beach without a surfer in sight. What a shame.

  I waded out and scanned the rocky outcroppings, straining to see that lagoon and cave. The larger rocks blocked my view. I waded out farther until I could see past them.

  “You want to go see what Opie’s X marks first, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes. Get on your board, and we’ll see if we can find it.” Brien had both surfboards with him. He held mine by the leash I placed around my ankle.

  “Okay,” I said as I unzipped a pocket in my wettie and pulled that picture from it. “I brought this along just in case we need it. See?”

  “Excellent planning, Gidget. Put it back and let's go.” He directed one of his sunny California smiles at me.

  “Aye, aye, Sir.” I saluted then threw my arms around him and kissed him doing my best to capture the light that radiated from that smile. Impossible, but so worth the effort.

  Figuring out what spot that X marked wasn’t as straightforward as I had imagined it would be. Working our way back and forth along the rocky area, we finally agreed we had to be close. I dove down and scouted the area first. A couple of times I swam down deeper for a closer look at what turned out to be junk. Trash dropped by some thoughtless tourist on the beach or that had worked its way to shore after being tossed from a passing boat.