Рита Браун - Cat's Eyewitness

Brother Andrew turned to him. "She'll never run out of things to weep about, the world being what it is." He turned back to Brother Handle. "This event has brought a most welcome boost to our treasury. Brother Frank has been almost jolly of late—for him." Brother Handle turned, his back to the fire, to fully face the doctor as Andrew continued. "It's not just the offerings that visitors have given us; the sales in the shops have skyrocketed. People mail in donations. If anything, we should perhaps be more organized as to how we present this economic—if not truly spiritual— miracle. Tearing apart the statue, even if we could do so without destroying it, serves no useful purpose. Let sleeping dogs lie."

A long silence followed, then the head of the order spoke, voice lower, less emotional. "I take your point. However, if it hasn't occurred to you, it certainly has occurred to me that if these tears are exposed as a fake, a ploy to bring more money into the order, heads will roll. Even though I knew nothing, should this prove a hoax I will be held accountable. The order will be discredited. The buck stops here. I have to take responsibility." He paused again, then spoke, an edge to his voice rarely heard by the others. "I've called you here hoping for an explanation of the desecration of Brother Thomas. I lost my temper. I'm sorry. If any of you removed that body, tell me now. I will forgive you if you tell me the truth." He looked searchingly from face to face. No one responded. "Then I have to conclude that either one or all three of you are lying to me, or that someone in our order has something very big to hide. Big enough to toss away a corpse, big enough to kill."

"Brother Handle," Brother Prescott was scandalized, "what would anyone have to hide? And what would Brother Thomas have to do with it if there were something to hide?"

Brother Handle stepped toward them, silhouetted by the huge fireplace, the glow of the fire enlarging him. "Haven't you asked yourselves what is it that Brother Thomas did?"

"Fixed everything. I miss him already." Brother Andrew sadly smiled.

"He was an example of what we should be." Brother Mark finally found his voice again after being harangued. "He was gentle, forbearing, ready to help. He was patient. He taught me so much. He loved our Blessed Virgin Mother with all his heart and soul."

"Hmm." Brother Handle just wanted to smack this kid. Instead, he all said was "Hmm." He looked to Brother Prescott.

"He knew this place before any of us climbed Afton Mountain. He knew the grounds, the physical plant, the people who went before us," Brother Prescott thoughtfully remarked.

"Exactly." Brother Handle's eyes burned into the three men.

"What do you mean?" Brother Andrew, middle-aged although still younger than both Brother Handle and Brother Prescott, inquired.

"I mean if something had happened before any of us came to this place, Brother Thomas would have known. Secrets. He knew every inch of plumbing, every part of the buildings that had been repaired. It's safe to say, really, he knew every joint and joist."

"But that was his job, his gift." Brother Andrew shrugged.

"Indeed it was. And if Our Lady of the Blue Ridge had been jimmy-rigged to cry bloody tears, I think it's safe to say that Brother Thomas would have figured out how it was done—if he hadn't done it himself."

"No!" Brother Mark cried anew. "He would never do anything like that."

"You're young," Brother Handle acidly replied.

"Why?" Brother Mark sobbed.

"I don't know." Brother Handle's jaw was set hard.

"Well, maybe he thought he could bring in more money, he could lift us out of our struggle." Brother Prescott folded his hands behind his back. "He would create something to provide a steady income, more or less."

"Yes, I've thought of that, too." Brother Handle half-turned toward the fire. "Yet that wasn't really his way." He laughed for a moment. "Now, Brother Frank, yes, I could see that. Not that he would, but as our treasurer he bears a great burden. Brother Thomas belonged to the 'consider the lilies of the field' school of finance."

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow," Brother Prescott began to quote the famous lines from the Bible, which indicate that the lilies neither toil nor sweat nor fret about the Internal Revenue Service demolishing their gains.

"We know the passage." Brother Andrew allowed himself a flash of anger.

"While we are quoting, allow me to mention Psalm One Hundred Twenty." Brother Handle opened his hand, his fingers together as he pointed at the three men. "Save me, Lord, from liars and deceivers."

"I resent that." Brother Prescott stood up for himself at last. "I have served this order and I have served you for nearly twenty years. I am not a liar. I am not a deceiver. I want to get to the bottom of this as badly as you do."

Unmoved, Brother Handle again clasped his hands together in front of him. "I hope that is so, Brother Prescott, I hope that is so. But you three last touched the body of Brother Thomas. So to you I must look for answers."

"He was in the chapel." Brother Mark's voice rose. "Anyone could have come in if they were careful, pried open the lid, and taken him."

"Not anyone. A brother. A member of this order!" Brother Handle remarked. "Now that Brother Thomas has been found, perhaps modern science will discover what happened to him while he prayed before the statue." But Brother Handle's voice filled with anger. "I will find and punish any and all involved."

"Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." Brother Mark was very close to being disrespectful.

Brother Handle advanced on him, enunciating with clarity, " 'Vengeance is mine, and recompense for the time when their foot shall slip; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and their doom comes swiftly' Remember your Deuteronomy? Well, I am the instrument of that vengeance."

31

Harry, I'm putting you to a lot of trouble," Susan apologized as she fumed in stop-and-go traffic around Virginia Commonwealth University.

The closer they approached the area of Richmond known as the Fan, the heavier the traffic became, as did the pelting rain just this side of ice.

The cats and dogs slept in the sheepskin beds in the back of the station wagon.

"You'd do the same for me."

Susan, eyes glued to traffic, growled as a Subaru WRX Sti skidded in front of her. "Idiot! Ever notice how the people in the smallest cars drive the worst?"

"That's a great car for the money. One second slower than a Porsche Boxster from zero to sixty. However, it's pretty much a kid's car, as are most little cars." Harry shrugged. "Kids are always in a hurry."

"In this weather!"

"You're sounding middle-aged and we aren't forty yet," Harry admonished her with a grin.

"Damned close. Boy, I hope Danny and Brooks don't drive like this when I'm not in the car."

"Who knows what they do or who they do it with—but whatever, if the Fates are kind, they'll live. As it is, they have pretty good sense. I attribute that to you, of course."

"Of course." Susan turned right onto a tree-lined street of lovely old town houses. "Here we are."

"Where's here?" Pewter opened her eyes.

"The Fan," Owen obligingly answered as the motor cut off.

"That tells me a whole hell of a lot," Pewter grumbled.

Mrs. Murphy stretched, as did Tucker, both hoping they'd be allowed to go with the two women.

"Come on." Susan opened the door.

Harry reached behind her seat, pulling out a towel. When they stepped through the front door of the house, which had been divided into rental flats, Harry knelt down to wipe off each set of paws.

Pewter pulled hers back, shaking them after being wiped off. "I can do it myself."

The carpeted stairs muffled their footsteps as they climbed four flights to the top floor. Susan opened the lock.