by Regina Doman
“Well, it's not really a decision I can make right now,” Nora said with a sigh. “It's all theoretical until the man I want to marry proposes. And unless he figures out what he's doing with his life, I'm sort of in limbo.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “So what degree did you end up with?” she asked, as usual directing the conversation away from herself.
“I barely got a B.A.—in mental health and human services,” Leon said. “I was going to be a counselor.”
“But when he realized they don’t allow the incurably insane to be counselors, he gave it up,” Matt put in.
“Ha ha ha,” Leon said easily. He had been hearing that joke for a while.
“And what about you?” Nora looked at Brother Charley. “Did you go to college?”
The big novice nodded. “I was an auto mechanic and biker first. Then I decided to get a degree in business. Never thought when I went back to college that I’d end up a friar and a seminarian.”
Nora looked at Matt, who was sitting next to Charley. The blond novice shrugged. “I’m probably the most average one,” Matt said. “I was majoring in theology and philosophy because I knew in grade school that I wanted to become a religious. For me it was a matter of finding the right order.”
“What about you?” Nora asked Father Bernard. The black-haired friar smiled.
“To tell the truth, I thought I was going to sell carpet, like my folks did,” Father Bernard said. “But I just wasn’t meant to be in flooring.”
He looked at Father Francis, who drained his teacup and set it down. “I was a sociologist, and am a psychologist,” Father Francis said. “I got my doctoral degree after I became a religious.”
Nora turned to Brother George, who had sat, silent and surly, sipping a cup of hot water during this whole exchange. “What were you in your past life—I mean, before you became a monk?”
Brother George said in clipped tones, “I was a pharmacist. Before I became a friar. Not a monk. Haven’t you paid attention to anything since you’ve gotten here?”
Leon winced at Brother George’s rudeness. Nora turned away suddenly, her hair whipping over her face, and got up.
“Nora, hey, are you all right?” Matt started to ask anxiously.
“Excuse me—I have to go get something,” she said, and turned and fled down the hallway.
Leon turned on the older friar. “There was no need for that!” he exclaimed. “You’ve been trying to make her uncomfortable ever since she came here!”
George’s face registered shame, but he became defensive. “I never wanted her to be here. She’s been a disruption to regular religious life ever since she got here. And now it looks as though our order is going to get involved in a police case because we let her in!”
“Our whole life is a disruption of regular religious life!” Leon retorted. “It’s one crisis after another anyhow!”
“But that doesn’t mean we should go looking for trouble! It shouldn’t be like this!”
“Shouldn’t it?” Father Francis cut in coolly, jostling his teacup. “What is it you want, George? A monastery? Maybe you’re in the wrong place.”
“Maybe you should go off and become a monk,” Leon interjected. “Maybe you should join the Benedictines and make fruitcake.”
“Leon,” Father Francis said sharply, and Leon knew he had gone too far. He pulled himself up short, and tried to calm down.
“We’re not here,” Father Francis said in his roughest Brooklyn accent, “to put down the Benedictines, or the lay people, or anyone else for that matter. We’re here to ‘put down’ ourselves, aren’t we? And I may be a dim bulb, but I don’t see that happening right here between you two brothers.”
“I’m sorry, George,” Leon said, attempting a genuine mortification of his pride.
“I’m sorry too, Leon,” George said, and although Leon knew it was not deliberate, George’s voice had a tint of superciliousness that made Leon’s streetwise pride go crazy. He thrust out his jaw and sat down.
“Well, well. As Christ said, ‘Where two or three are gathered in My Name, there’s bound to be problems,’” Father Francis opined dryly. “Let’s get ready for night prayer, shall we?”
Leon tried to put it aside as he finished his tea. It didn’t make it easier for him when Matt started (unintentionally or not) humming the tune of “And They’ll Know We Are Christians By Our Love” as he got to his feet.
As Brother Charley opened the door to the library, the dogs trotted in, tails wagging, then abruptly paused, staring at the sofa, where Brother Herman and Father Bernard were still sitting.
“Hey pooch,” Father Bernard put out a hand. “What’s wrong?”
Snarls broke forth from the dogs, and they approached the sofa sniffing. Brother Herman hastily got to his feet, but Father Bernard, perplexed, said, “Good pooches…?”
Suddenly the dogs’ growls turned into full-fledged barks as they leapt onto the sofa, scrambling over Father Bernard’s lap, sending his tea and the cushions flying.
“Holy Saints Francis and Clare!” the priest gave a yelp as Leon and Charley tried to grab the dogs. Then all at once, rats seemed to explode from every crevice of the sofa. Over a dozen furry gray whip-tailed cones darted out from under the cushions and beneath the tattered skirt, squeaking and making beelines for the doorway. Howling, the dogs pivoted and leapt after the rats, barreling into each other as they went. The friars all flattened themselves against the wall to avoid the rodent-and-canine avalanche.
The dogs vanished into the depths of the friary but they could be heard, snarling and snapping at their prey. When the friars finally located them in the basement stairwell, the two were engaged in a massive tug-of-war over a large rat carcass. The remains of several others were scattered on the steps.
Father Bernard shuddered, “I’m never sitting on that couch again.”
“Those were big ones,” Leon said in awe.
“Well, well, so these devil dogs are useful after all,” Father Francis said.
“I’d say they’re less devils than exorcists,” Father Bernard corrected him.
“What do you say we call them ‘Cappu’ and ‘Shin?’” Leon asked.
“Sounds like a plan,” Father Francis said, and blessed them.
III
His brother was not noted for his sensitivity or tact, but when he picked Bear up and heard his story, Fish seemed to be possessed by an incredible discretion, at least for the moment.
“What’s Jean’s number?” he queried, as a weary and sore Bear tumbled into the back seat of the car.
Bear told him the number, and Fish, who had taken his cell phone back with a comment about Bear’s lack of technological savvy, punched in the number. “Jean?” Bear heard Fish talking. “It’s me again. Bear and I were wondering if we could come back over to your place for a while...You’re having a late supper? No, I’m sure we wouldn’t mind that at all. Bear, do you object to food? No? No, of course he doesn’t. Can we pick up anything on the way? No? All right, then. We’ll go change and be over there soon.”
He glanced over at Bear. “You need some R&R after that episode. More than pizza in a foodless apartment.”
“Thanks, Fish,” Bear murmured, his eyes closed.
Bear had rarely been so glad to see the Brier home, and it was an added bonus to find Mrs. Foster there again, too. Apparently she and Jean had really hit it off. After a few minutes among his close friends, he felt more relaxed than he had for the past few days since he discovered Blanche was missing. Jean looked over his injuries from his fight, and pronounced them not serious—mostly bruises—which he was glad to hear, as he was already stiff and sore.
During dinner, Jean suggested they avoid talking about the crisis. So Mrs. Foster told them about the girl her son Stephen was dating. Bear asked the Briers about their trip to California, and Rose embarked on an extended narrative of their adventures. Then she asked him about his European adventure, and he told them a few stories. There was a lull in the con
versation, and Bear noticed that everyone else was still eating. He tried to think of something else to talk about.
“So what are your plans for the fall?” Jean asked, beating him to the punch.
“Actually,” Bear said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about starting a company specializing in the restoration of old buildings, particularly churches. Maybe concentrating on stonework.”
“Stonework?” the women said.
He rubbed his chin. “Over in Europe, the buildings are so incredible, particularly the churches. We’ve lost a lot of those skills—masonry, stone carving. I’d like to start a company to bring some of those skills back, a company that could also do restorations of old churches and historical buildings, or create new ones in the old style. I was thinking of looking around for a master whom I could hire and then make myself his apprentice. Maybe later on I could take on some of these street kids without job skills, make them apprentices, and teach them, like they do at the Episcopalian cathedral in the City. I had a few ideas when I was over in Rome, and I’ve got to develop them, but in the fall, I think I’ll start pursuing that.” He outlined a few ideas he had about how to proceed, and noticed that even Fish was listening with interest and approval.
“That is so cool,” Rose breathed as he finished. “I hope it works out.”
Bear let himself smile, as he took his last bite. “Yeah, I guess the time in Europe was productive for me, after all.” He stretched. “Of course, serving a mandatory federal prison sentence of five years for drug possession would postpone those plans a bit, so, Fish, why don’t you and I get back to business?”
“Just what I was thinking myself,” his brother said. “Jean, would you mind if Bear and I talked privately for a few minutes?”
“Not at all,” Jean said. “Rose and I were going to make some cookies.”
“How about I do the dishes?” Mrs. Foster said, getting to her feet.
Jean also got up, “You two boys can go sit out in the living room and talk. Can we get you tea?”
“Yes, please. In order to think clearly after a dinner that good, I require tea,” Fish said, and Bear nodded, and eased himself onto the couch. His body began the process of shutting down almost instantly.
“Did you find out anything more at the banquet hall?” Bear murmured, forcing himself to ask. Truthfully, he just wanted to sleep.
“Just that they charge an enormous price for rental, that they are able to get napkins in peacock blue, if necessary, and that they contract with the same bakery who created the wedding cake for Frank Sinatra’s granddaughter. Amazing how Miss Brier can be so charming. She had Mr. Carnazzo eating out of her hand by the time we were done. Oh, and if she ever does get married, she told me she’d rather have a wedding reception in an old barn with square dancing. That was after we left.”
He sat up, perceiving that Bear was dozing. “Now, first tell me what you found out when Rita showed you around.”
Bear stifled a yawn and detailed the story.
“Hmph. More strangeness but no real progress. As difficult as it was for you, you probably learned more from that Hunter guy. More proof that whoever is behind this has been going to great lengths to set up Blanche. I wonder. Are they trying to get at Blanche through us or get to us through Blanche?”
“They could be trying to get both of us,” Bear said, touching the back of his head where a large bruise was spreading out. “Or at least me in particular. I feel singled out for some special attention.”
“Not that you haven’t gone looking for it,” Fish pointed out. Bear guessed Fish was irked that Bear had gone off on his own after Hunter without consultation.
“Well, I found out one good thing: Blanche wasn’t being stalked. An agent was watching her, and he was becoming convinced that she was innocent. I’m relieved about that.” Bear yawned, and covered his mouth.
“I’m going to put in a call to the DEA and find out if this Hunter guy is really an agent of theirs, since you didn’t bother to ask to see his ID,” Fish said.
“I was handcuffed and under his gun in a dark tunnel when he said that,” Bear objected.
“Excuses, excuses. Well, I’ll find out the truth. So, anyhow, it looks like Blanche was spooked by this agent following her around and took off someplace for a few days. At least we know he didn’t do her in, although if she doesn’t watch herself, she’ll end up framed for drug possession like we were,” Fish said reflectively.
“Yes, that’s the question: framed by who?” Bear asked, feeling as though someone were shuffling cards endlessly in his brain.
“Whoever is doing it is not terribly creative. They’ve planted drugs in Blanche’s house. Then they send a tip to an agent to watch her. They plant drugs in our apartment and send a tip to the manager. That’s their mode of operation.”
“But who are ‘they’?”
“Well, to start with, they must know a lot about Blanche. And by deduction, us.”
“No kidding,” Bear said.
“They might know us personally as well which would mean we know them.”
“Great. When we find out who they are, I’ll take them off my Christmas card list,” Bear said.
“Who are you taking off your Christmas card list?” Rose asked as she came from the kitchen doorway with the tea tray.
“Ah, thank you for the tea, Rose. Now...run away and play for a while,” Fish said.
Rose made a face, set down the tea tray on the table, and sat down on the couch firmly. “It’s my sister who’s missing,” she informed Fish. “I don’t see why you should keep trying to exclude me.”
“It’s hardly personal,” Fish said, taking a teacup with a sigh and preparing it in his usual manner. “If we don’t include you, it’s only because we don’t want to see you get yourself killed.”
“I won’t get killed,” Rose protested.
“Is that a promise?” Fish asked dryly, stirring his tea. “If you break your word, I’ll never believe you again.”
Rose shook her head at him. “How can you even taste your tea if you put that much sugar in it?”
“Don’t change the subject. I don’t want to be the person responsible for depriving the world of Rose Brier. Under no circumstances are you allowed to help us do anything more dangerous than...changing the oil on my car.”
Rose looked at him disdainfully. “I know how to do that already. My dad showed me how.”
“Really? That’s stupendous. Why don’t you go outside and do it for me now? There’s a good girl.” Fish got to his feet and pulled Rose to hers. “While you’re at it, check all the fuses. I think some of them are blown.”
“Rose? Let the boys alone for a while,” Jean called from the kitchen.
Rose glowered. Bear met her eyes and nodded his head in his brother’s direction. Be patient with him, Bear’s wry expression said.
Barely mollified, she got up. “Yes, Mom, I’ll leave the boys alone,” and with a toss of her red hair, left the room.
“I wouldn’t have minded if she stayed, Fish,” Bear said quietly.
“Sorry. I am a strictly two-man strategist. Trying to involve more than one other person in this will make my head ache.” Fish slumped down in his seat. “Winsome,” he muttered to himself. “Where in the world did she come up with that?”
Bear grinned. “Taken in by your endearing personality, obviously. I’ve always thought you were rather winsome, myself.”
“The fact that I was so charming had escaped me until just now.” Looking over at Bear, Fish relented. “All right, if you want to invite them all to talk with us, go ahead. I’ll try to be cordial.”
“Okay, Mr. Winsome.” Bear raised himself painfully to his feet and went out into the kitchen. Mrs. Foster was up to her elbows in dish suds. Jean was dabbing chocolate chip cookie batter onto a baking sheet. She looked at him with raised eyebrows and he nodded his head. “How are things going?” he asked her.
“Fine. You said you had some fairly good news about Blanche?” Sh
e opened the oven and slid the tray in.
He told her and Rose what he had learned from Hunter. Rose and her mother and Mrs. Foster listened avidly. When the cookies came from the oven, they all stood around listening and eating them from the hot tray until Jean said, “Let’s be civilized and sit down at the coffee table, shall we?”
So they trooped into the living room again, where Fish offered to help serve the tea.
Bear rubbed his forehead, still trying to wake up. “Jean, I forgot to ask you, in all the excitement, if you and Mrs. Foster found out anything more today. You were talking to the old people Blanche made home visits to?”
“Well, I think we’ve covered just about all her nursing home patients. They’re not all old. Some of them are just invalids,” Jean said. But she shook her head. “Actually, there’s still one person I haven’t been able to track down. Her friend Mr. Fairston.”
“Who?”
“I mentioned him before. He’s the sick man Blanche used to read poetry to. I’ve never met him, but I know Blanche was worried about him. She described him as a lonely old man with relatives who seemed to be neglecting him.” She looked up, and Bear saw that she was crying. They all needed some sort of let up to the stress and suspense. Rose rubbed her mother’s shoulders. “I know visiting him and trying to encourage him was very important to Blanche.”
“But you can’t find this man?”
“No,” Jean sighed. “All I know is that he was at a banquet Blanche worked this summer. His number’s not in the phone book, and I can’t track down his address either, so I’m at a dead end.”
They were all quiet for a few moments before Bear said, “Maybe tomorrow we can go over the details with you and see if we can track him down.” He suddenly felt weary all over again and irritably massaged his sore arm.
There was a pause. Rose picked up a cookie and pointed at Fish with it. “Before Mom brought up Mr. Fairston, I was trying to figure out if this was connected with jealousy, somehow. I mean, you know, Blanche is very pretty, and I keep on wondering if there’s a rival here who wanted to get her out of the way...”
