Рита Браун - Santa Clawed

“Working or praying. Here we are.” He swept his arm outward, indicating where she should sit. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I have a few questions. I won’t take up much of your time.”

“Anything to help. These events are beyond terrible.” He settled in the oversize chair opposite hers.

“Are you aware of Racquel’s outburst yesterday?”

“Brother Luther told me. The poor woman. I’d called on her that morning and she showed no hostility toward me.”

“Dr. Deeds treated many of the brothers, did he not?”

“He was extremely generous.”

“Did you ever have occasion to be with him during such times?”

This surprised Brother Morris. “No.”

“Did you ever see him in the hospice?”

“Yes. He tended to our patients sometimes.”

“Was any patient ever angry with him?”

“No. Quite the contrary.”

“Did you ever hear any whispers of Dr. Deeds making a mistake? Say a mistake that cost a patient his or her life?”

This again surprised Brother Morris. “No. Again, Deputy Cooper, it was quite the reverse. He was above reproach in his profession.”

“Ever hear or suspect he was having an affair or had had affairs?”

A silence followed this.

Brother Morris cleared his throat. “People talk.”

“Tell me.”

Shifting uneasily in his chair, he finally spoke. “There was talk about a liaison with a very pretty nurse. But you always hear that type of gossip. I certainly never suspected him of anything improper. I never even saw him flirting, and most everyone does that.”

“No trouble with your brothers?”

“No. Granted, Dr. Deeds wasn’t always sweetness and light. He was accustomed to giving orders.” He smiled. “I half-expected him to yell out, ‘Stat.’ He was a caring physician. Bryson truly cared about his patients’ welfare. I can’t believe he would be murdered, but then I can’t believe Brother Christopher and Brother Speed are gone, either.”

“Do you know what an obol is?”

“Of course. In ancient Greece, it was placed under the deceased’s tongue so they could pay Charon to ferry them across the River Styx. Why?”

“Brothers Speed and Christopher and Dr. Deeds all had an obol under their tongues.”

Brother Morris paled slightly. “How very strange.”

“Racquel thinks all these murders point here.”

He met her eyes. “They do. But why?”

“I hope to find out. Brother Morris, I don’t think there is a human being alive who doesn’t harbor some secrets. If you’ve been withholding something, please tell me. If it’s something illegal, I’ll do what I can for you. Given the situation, I need all the help you can give me.”

He sighed deeply. “I would have told you by now if there was something. That doesn’t mean a brother might not be covering up something, but there are no flashing red lights. The only thing that I return to is that Racquel was quite suspicious of Bryson. That’s not a secret, but perhaps she saw demons when there were none.”

“Perhaps, but there’s certainly a demon out there now.”

31

In the course of his practice, Bryson Deeds had treated people from all over the country. As they flew in to pay their respects, the house was never empty, which was a good thing, as it provided a distraction for Racquel. Miranda’s idea about the food turned out to be a good one. After St. Luke’s Sunday service, Harry and Fair swung by the Deedses’ house to deliver the food they’d kept overnight.

Racquel appeared more in control. The Haristeens stayed briefly, making sure that Miranda didn’t need anything.

Both breathed a sigh of relief when they walked through the door to their house.

“It’ll be worse after the funeral.” Fair untied his silk necktie. “People go home; your close friends call on you but, over time, they return to their normal routine. Then it really starts to sink in.”

“Does.” Harry pulled her slip over her head. “I’ll do the barn chores. I know you’ve got billings to send out.”

“It can wait.”

She pulled on her long, warm socks, followed by a quilted long-sleeve undershirt. “Racquel’s been unhappy for

months, maybe longer. I didn’t see it then. I see it now.”

“Socially she seemed fine.”

“Most of us can pull it together socially. Looking back, though, I can see that she’s been increasingly unhappy, reaching for the bottle too much, I guess. She complained about Bryson a lot. Now I expect she feels guilty about it and has no chance to make it up to him.” She shrugged. “After this last week, I sure count my blessings.”

“I do, too.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You know, it’s snowing again.”

She looked out the window. “I’ll be.”

“Hey, let’s do the chores, then I’ll make a steak on the grill.”

The grill was on the back lawn.

“Fair, it’s colder than a witch’s bosom.”

He laughed. “Yeah, but the grill will work no matter what. You make a salad and then we can watch the movie I rented.”

“You didn’t tell me you rented a movie.”

“Every now and then it’s good to surprise you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about the partnership of Gilbert and Sullivan. Since you love their work so much, especially The Mikado, I figured it’d be worth a look. Alicia saw it and said it was one of the best films she’s ever seen about creativity.”

“Sounds intriguing. What’s the name?”

“Topsy-Turvy.”

That phrase would apply to the unfolding drama right here in Crozet.

32

On Monday, December 29, people kept talking about the weather and the murder of Dr. Bryson Deeds. The weather remained the main topic, particularly since large apple groves, hay fields, timber, corn, and soybeans added to people’s purses.

Rick and Cooper drove up the mountain, subpoena in hand. Thanks to Cooper’s urgings, Rick had sent a young officer to watch over Harry so Fair could get back to work.

“Coop, you have a way of pushing me in the right direction.”

“As long as I don’t push you in front of a car.” She smiled.

“When you called me after seeing Brother Morris, at first I didn’t think too much about it. Then I remembered that charity for dying children, remember?”

“Yeah, back in 1994. The lady from Connecticut who set up the riding program for dying kids. Slick, slick, slick.”

“She gets money for calm horses, a contractor builds a riding ring, another a barn, people see photos of these little kids hanging on to horses, and the money just pours in. All you have to do is show a picture of a child and people become instant suckers.” He sighed. “So I thought, what are the Brothers of Love doing? Sitting, praying, holding the dying. Granted, a dying adult lacks some of the heart- tugging appeal of a six-year- old hurtling toward the red exit light, but still, families grateful for their service might give large sums, and I’m willing to bet a tank of gas—”