Chapter Fourteen

Sit!” Brother Charley shouted.

The girl sat, and Leon chuckled. “Not you, Nora.”

“I know,” she grinned. “I just felt the need to obey.”

The big novice was standing in the courtyard between the church, school, and friary, and the two Rottweilers were standing in front of him, eyeing him suspiciously. Matt and Leon were sitting on leftover cinderblocks, watching. The girl had heard the noise from the friary where she had been helping to finish the dinner dishes, and had come out to watch.

“Sit!” Brother Charley roared again, and the dogs looked at each other dubiously.

“They don’t buy this dog psychology stuff,” Leon called. “I told you this wasn’t going to work. The Fathers are right: we should just send them to the pound.”

“They can learn!” Brother Charley shook his head and planted his feet. “We just have to teach them their place. Back when I was a biker, I used to own a Doberman,” he explained to the girl. “The key to working with these big high-energy dogs is to remember that they’re pack animals. If you want them to obey you, you have to convince them that you are the Big Dog on the block.” He pointed at the dogs. “You hear that? I am the Big Dog!” he snarled.

One dog perked up its ears, and wagged its tail slightly.

“Me!” bellowed Charley, pounding his chest. “I am the Big Dog!” He advanced on them and circled them, growling in a menacing manner. The dogs watched him, backing up as he stalked around them.

One of the dogs flattened his ears and started to wrinkle his nose to show his teeth, but Charley snarled back at him, and the dog backed up, wagging his tail.

When he felt that the dogs were significantly intimidated, Brother Charley put out his hands and said in a deep voice, “Come.”

The dogs gingerly came forward, and licked his hands. He rubbed their heads, and they wagged their tails.

“Yeah, they’ll obey you, but what about the rest of us?” Leon asked skeptically.

“We’ll just have to stay on top of them until they figure out where their place is on the totem pole,” Charley said.

“Yeah, at the way bottom, just above mice and rats,” Leon said. “Good luck convincing Father Francis to keep them.” He said to Nora, “I’m a cat person myself.”

“I like dogs myself,” Brother Matt said. “—the less energetic kind.”

“I really don’t care much for animals, believe it or not,” the girl said.

“Ah, the Disney anti-heroine,” Matt said. “They’ll never cast you in one of their movies.”

“Fine with me,” the girl said.

“Sit!” Brother Charley ordered, and the dogs sat. One of them got up after a minute, and Brother Charley whirled on him. “I am the Big Dog!” he growled. Hastily the dog sat back down, wagging its tail.

“Maybe it’s not a total waste of time. We could make this a public service announcement for the friary on the vow of obedience,” Brother Leon said.

“Maybe New York City would be a better place if God would just come down here like Brother Charley and shout ‘I am the Big Dog!’” Brother Matt said.

“At least me and all the other dyslexics would get it,” Leon said, and the girl couldn’t help laughing.

The problem is, she reflected as she got ready for bed that evening, God doesn’t come down like a giant to crush His enemies. He comes in human disguise. He comes in weakness. She sighed, seeing the connection. “Just like men,” she murmured. “Weakness.”

“I get it now,” she said aloud, and she shook her head wryly. “Not that this seems to solve any problems, but I get it now.”

* * *

The last time she had talked to him was about ten days ago. She had called him, because her mother and sister were gone, and she was starting to feel lonely. But she hadn’t wanted to call to tell him that, because she felt it would look as though she were trying to make him come home to protect her. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted him to come home when he wanted to.

He had gotten her message and called her back at some unusual hour that was normal time for Italians but an odd time for Americans. He had seemed preoccupied and out of sorts. They had talked about this and that, and silence had overtaken them. For a moment, she wondered if they were really drifting apart.

“When are you coming back?” she asked finally.

“I don’t know,” he had said. “Maybe in September.”

“Aren’t you going to start college?”

“I don’t know, Blanche. I just don’t know.”

She didn’t want to sound like a mother, so she stopped asking questions. But Bear kept on talking.

“I just keep on feeling as though—I don’t want to be pushed into anything. What keeps on striking me is the futility of it all. Frankly, it makes me angry. I just don’t see why I should bother.” There was a touch of fierceness in his voice.

“So what are you going to do if you don’t go to school?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter? I mean, now? I have enough money to last for quite some time. I could go off and be a shepherd. How about that?”

He was trying to be humorous. Her heart sank. It was difficult to see him being so—directionless.

“Bear. You said you were angry.”

“Yes. I did.” His voice was guarded.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you know why you’re angry?”

“I have some idea, yes.”

“Something you haven’t told me about.”

“Blanche, I just said I don’t want to talk about it.”

She took a deep breath. “You don’t have to.”

“Good, because I don’t want to.”

“That’s fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” she said softly, feeling her eyes well up with tears.

* * *

Now, in the darkness, she clasped her hands together on the bed. I’m not giving up on him, she thought. Just because he’s disillusioned and frustrated me doesn’t mean I can give up on him altogether. Giving up on him would mean somehow—giving up on myself. At last she attempted a prayer. “God,” she whispered. “Please bring Bear home safely. And please help him see what he needs to see. And help me trust again.”

II

The dogs set up a terrific howling during the beginning of morning prayer on Saturday, as the friars began their hymn. They kept up the sporadic accompaniment from their basement storage room all throughout the next two hours of prayer, making the times of silent meditation far from silent. Over breakfast, the Fathers discussed dropping them off at the humane society that afternoon, but no one could be spared.

“I suppose they can stay one more day,” Father Francis concluded. “Well, Charley, it’s good that you’re training them. I suppose it might help them to have some sort of order in their lives.”

Given this kind of beginning, Leon would have predicted that the dogs would be the main issue of the day. But the morning brought difficulties of a different kind. When the novices were cleaning up from breakfast, Brother Herman bustled into the kitchen with a worried, conspiratorial look on his face.

“What’s up?” Leon asked.

“Jim Hornberg is here,” Brother Herman said in a quiet voice.

There was an answering grimace from the novices.

“Brother Jim? Of all the people…What’s he want?” Leon narrowed his eyes. Brother Jim had been his old novice master when Leon had first joined the Franciscans, before the new order had started. They had not gotten along, to put it mildly.

“Delivering a stipend from the diocese, on the surface. But his real motives are probably deeper, knowing Jim.”

“He’s come to pry and to spy and to sneer at the crazy drop-outs from the order,” Leon said, a bit angrily, and Matt winced.

“You shouldn’t say everything you think,” Matt said, a minor reprimand.

Leon muttered an apology, and Brother Herman said, “We’ve got to make the best of the situation. Just be alert. The Fathers are going to be showing him around. They’ll keep everything under control.”

“What about Nora?” Brother George spoke up suddenly.

“What about her?” Leon asked, a bit sharply.

“She’s just a volunteer,” Matt said.

“Of course she is, but you think Jim’s going to put that kind of spin on it when he goes back to the bishop’s office?” Brother George returned. “She’s been here far too long. It’s going to look suspicious.”

“How’s he going to know how long she’s been here if no one tells him?” Leon asked, staring hard at Brother George.

Matt said, feebly, “I can see George’s point. Maybe we should have her lay low—send her out to the store or something.”

Brother Herman looked undecided. “There’s nothing wrong with having volunteers here. And our constitutions specifically talk about having good relationships with the laity.”

“But you know what he might say—” Brother George warned.

“Phooey!” Charley spoke up for the first time. “Who are we trying to impress anyhow? Let him think what he wants to think.”

“Well,” Brother Herman heaved a sigh and continued in a hush tone. “We’ll just have to put it in God’s hands, as usual. He knows what He’s doing.”

Leon continued washing dishes with an internal growl, trying to squelch his strong impulse to punch Jim in the nose if he asked any stupid questions and wondering if it would be best for all concerned if he hid in the basement with the dogs until it was all over.

But just then, Father Bernard came in. “Leon, could you come with me?” he said authoritatively.

“Sure. What’s up?” Leon said.

“I want you to come and greet Brother Jim,” Father Bernard looked at him closely. “This will give you a chance to work on those bad feelings you and I discussed before.”

Knowing exactly what his novice master meant, Leon internally mortified himself and, without a word, followed the priest to the chapel.

As Brother Herman had said, Fathers Francis and Bernard were doing their best to handle their unexpected visitor with as much charity as they could muster. Being older, they had gotten used to the inevitable politics of religious life.

Brother Jim was younger than they were, but a good fifteen years older than any of the novices. He was thick-lipped, paunchy, had fading blond hair, with a sharp nose and heavy eyelids over blue eyes. He smiled and smiled in his polo shirt and casual clothes as his former brothers gave him a tour of their new establishment. He expressed surprise that they had managed to get as much done as they had.

“No offense, Frank,” he said, using Father Francis’ nickname, which Leon knew the older friar detested. “But the opinion in most Church circles was that your new order wouldn’t last a month.” Brother Jim’s perpetual smile broadened. “But you really seem to be almost thriving.” He glanced at Leon, who was standing behind his novice master, but didn’t acknowledge him.

“Much to everyone’s delight, I’m sure,” Father Francis muttered.

Father Bernard, the diplomat, smoothed between them. “Yes, we’re actually surprised ourselves at how well the gamble has been going.” He led the way up the stairs into the vestibule of St. Lawrence Church.

“Gamble? Oh, it was a gamble, all right. Most experienced religious wouldn’t think of setting up a new order with no home, no permission from their superiors, particularly with no funding...” Brother Jim glanced up at the Mary altar, grimaced at the sketches of Brother Herman’s master painting plan, and looked back at the others. “Well, you must enjoy proving everyone wrong.”

Father Bernard seemed poised between two different answers, but Father Francis made no bones about his opinion. “Absolutely!”

Leon hid a smile. He caught a glimpse of Nora in the sacristy, gathering some cleaning materials.

“Humph. What an old-fashioned monstrosity the diocese has saddled you with,” Brother Jim shook his head as they walked down the aisle of the church. He cast a sidelong glance at Father Bernard. “I suppose you’ll be ripping out the altar rail and the fancy doodads on the ceiling, hmm?” He allowed himself a loud, long laugh.

Father Bernard attempted a smile. “Actually, we’ve been given some old statues and candlesticks—we plan to add to the existing interior substantially.” He indicated Brother Herman’s disassembled scaffold. “Herman is planning to redo the areas over the altars with original artwork.”

“I should have guessed,” Jim sighed regretfully. “I suppose he’s still obsessed with Byzantine icons, eh? Poor old Herman. He should have switched rites long ago.”

Father Francis’s smile came across as baring teeth. “I like icons.”

For an answer, Jim gave another long laugh as he paced up the aisle to the sanctuary. The other three followed him, a bit anxiously, genuflecting as they came to the tabernacle. Jim apparently did not notice, and made no respectful gesture himself. Instead he wiped his forehead. “Hot in here.”

He examined the tiered marble altar with the air of a connoisseur. “Early twentieth century, very bad. Kind of reminds you of a wedding cake, doesn’t it? Good thing there’s not a lot of gold work on it. Or else you’d have to get this place burglar alarmed, with the neighborhood you live in.”

“We keep the doors locked,” Father Bernard acknowledged. “This church is kept pretty much for private use.”

“And it’s an oven. Personally I can’t survive anywhere in August without air conditioning. Wow. Looks like you had some extensive floor damage repaired,” Jim remarked, glancing around the sanctuary. His heavy eyelids swept over Nora, wearing jeans and red T-shirt, who was scrubbing the sacristy cabinets. “Hello there!” he said heartily.

“Hi,” said Nora, brushing a lock of black hair out of her eyes and picking up her buckets, seeming a bit chary of the visitor. Brother Leon was not surprised when she slipped out the door into the courtyard a moment later. Jim surprised the other friars with a long, low wolf whistle. “My,” he said. “Who’s that?”

“A volunteer,” Father Bernard said. “Nora...and several other lay people have been helping to renovate the men’s residence we are planning here.” His gaze was met by Father Francis, who frowned and shook his head wearily.

“Who gets you the volunteers? I should get them over to our place. All we get are old church ladies taking time off from ‘Bingo.’ Maybe you guys are doing something right, after all.” Jim chuckled, then, seeing the joke was not acknowledged, chose to tease in a soft voice as they walked down the far aisle to the back. “I’m onto you now, Frank. I guess there were other reasons you wanted to get away from the mainstream, eh? Better watch yourself. Lawsuits are flying these days.” He shook his head.

“We live our lives prudently, you can be assured of that,” Father Bernard said, and then seemed to be struck with a sudden inspiration. He went on, “Surely you know of the community’s long-term plans?”

“Plans?” said Jim and Father Francis together. Leon remained quiet.

“Why, the formation of a sister order of nuns,” Father Bernard went on smoothly as they walked up the aisle towards the exit. “We hope to house them in the old grade school building if and when that becomes available. Of course, we’re building the foundation for our future order now.”

Brother Jim was open-mouthed, and Father Francis managed to suppress his stare behind a wry grin.

“Yes, it’s possible that Nora may be our first postulant for the order,” Father Francis forged ahead gruffly. Unsure, he raised a quizzical eyebrow to Leon, who gave his head a tiny shake, no. All of which went unobserved by Brother Jim. “All dependent on the leading of the Holy Spirit, of course,” the head friar added.

“A convent of nuns?” the visiting brother was amazed. “So, Frank, Bernard wasn’t kidding when he told us you had big plans.”

“The Lord has big plans,” Father Francis corrected him as they saw their visitor to the door. “The rest of us are just trying to figure out what He’s got in mind.”

III

When Bear and Fish arrived at the Briers’ house on Saturday morning, they discovered Mrs. Foster was already there with Jean, and so was Charles Russell, who was looking distinctly ill at ease. The two women were sitting on the sofa, watching him sort through his papers. Rose was in the kitchen, setting up a tea tray.

“Charles, thanks so much for coming over,” Fish said as he came in, and extended a hand to the lawyer. “I told Jean you’d be the best person to talk with about this situation.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” the lawyer said doubtfully. “Mrs. Brier tells me that she wants advice about turning over illegal substances that she found in her daughter’s room. She says this has something to do with the case against you.”

“That’s correct,” Bear said.

“Is her daughter still missing?” Mr. Russell looked questioningly at Rose, who gave a small smile as she set down the tea tray.

“Yes, she is. It’s a week today,” Bear said.

“I have to say straight off that it would be a conflict of interest for me or my firm to represent your daughter,” Mr. Russell said to Jean with his usual courtesy. “As I explained before to my clients, if there’s even a slight possibility a court might find your daughter guilty of incriminating the brothers, there would be a conflict of interest for me to represent her.”

“I realized that,” Fish said, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “However, this is a tricky situation, and I want to ask for your advice. I figured you’d be able to tell us how to proceed. And perhaps you could suggest someone who’d be willing to represent them in this matter.”

The lawyer pulled out a legal pad with a suppressed sigh. “Well, perhaps you’d better fill me in on the details.”

Bear and Fish related to the lawyer all they had found out so far, and the lawyer took notes, his brow furrowed. Then he questioned Jean, and then Mrs. Foster, who told about her discovery of the drugs. Mr. Russell went upstairs to see them, then came downstairs and made a confidential call to the city prosecutor’s office, and explained the situation without giving names. Then he called a colleague of his who had experience with drug cases, and asked him to come over. The lawyer arrived after lunch, conferred with Jean and Rose, and agreed to represent Blanche in absentia until she was found. Then, after both lawyers had conferred and taken pictures of the drugs, they had Jean call the police. The police sent over a detective and his partner to investigate.

This all took hours, and after a while, Bear started to get antsy. “Do I have to stay around here for all of this?” he asked Fish in a low voice after the police had arrived and were listening to the explanations of Jean and Mrs. Foster. “Can’t you handle this?”

Fish was intent on the proceedings. “I want to make sure that Jean and Rose don’t incur any legal liability for what they’re doing,” he said. “Your presence is helpful in that regard.”

So Bear sat and endured the legal talk for as long as he could, but his mind was elsewhere. To occupy himself, he began to massage the muscles in his upper arm. Last year he had taken a bullet in his arm, and although the wound had healed, it still ached from time to time, particularly when he was tense. He kept checking out the window periodically to see if he could catch any sight of the mysterious man, but the big shadow seemed to have stayed away today.

At last the police detective left, but the lawyers still had more to do. Jean was talking to the other lawyer, and Mr. Russell was talking to Fish.

Bear waited until his brother had paused in conversation. “Can I borrow your cell phone again?”

“No! Buy your own!” Contradicting his words with his actions, Fish slid a hand in his trench coat, handed him the phone, and resumed his conversation.

Bear went into the kitchen, and dialed the number he had gotten from Rita, the waitress.

“Hello, Bear,” said Rita when she answered.

He was momentarily startled, and she said, laughing, “I have caller ID and I recognized the number.”

“Oh. But how did you know to call me Bear?” He could have sworn he had first introduced himself to her as Arthur.

“That’s what Blanche always called you. Hey, I was actually going to call you. I tried before but I guess you had your phone off or something. Your names came up at the hall yesterday.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. Mr. Scarlotti—you met him last time—he’s been telling all the shift managers that Blanche still isn’t above suspicion.”

“Why not?”

“Because the police recovered the money from two guys who were trying to pass off the bills, right? Well, Mr. Scarlotti decided that you and your brother must be the two guys.”

Bear suppressed a snort. “That’s a pretty big leap in logic.”

“You’re telling me. Anyhow, he’s been saying the police were still investigating this matter, and no one from the staff is to talk to Blanche, or you two, if you come around again asking questions. He went on and on about how this might ruin our reputation, blah blah blah.”

“Great,” Bear sighed. “Well, then what I was going to ask you doesn’t apply.”

“Ask me anyhow.”

“I was going to ask you if you could show me the room where the drugs were found.”

“I think I can. Reflections is a pretty big place. I might be able to get you in without anyone noticing.”

“Are you sure? That might cost you your job.”

“Yeah. I figure I owe it to Blanche for not believing her. Besides, the summer’s almost over anyhow.”

Bear was grateful. “Thanks. When will you be at work?”

“Can you meet me there at one? There won’t be so many people around, and maybe Scarlotti won’t be in yet. The other manager is Mr. Carnazzo, but he wasn’t around last time you guys came by, so maybe he won’t recognize you.”

Bear thanked her, hit the end button, and looked around. The police were gone. Mr. Russell, who was apparently finished with his inquiries, was packing up his briefcase. Mrs. Foster and Jean were talking together, looking over a list of phone numbers.

“They’re going to make phone calls again.” Rose looked at the brothers. “What are you two going to do?”

“I’m going back to the banquet hall,” Bear said.

“Can I come with you?” Rose begged. “I just need to go out and do something to help find Blanche!”

Fish opened his mouth to object but Bear, knowing acutely how Rose felt, decided to overrule him. “Sure. Come along.” He got to his feet.

Rose picked up a pink-fringed scarf and slung it around her neck. “Mom, I’m going out with Bear and Fish.” Jean, on the phone, nodded and waved.

“Do you have Fish’s cell number if you need to reach us?” Bear asked Mrs. Foster, who nodded.

“How can you wear a scarf in this heat?” Fish asked Rose as they walked outside.

“How can you wear that trench coat and hat?” Rose asked sweetly, putting on her silver-framed sunglasses.

“I think,” said Fish, opening the rear car door for her and crossing around to the driver’s side, “that the idea here is to be inconspicuously dressed.” He turned on the air conditioner. “Which is not how I would describe your outfit.” He glanced again at Rose’s lively green summer dress that set off her red hair, and shook his head hopelessly.

“If you want to wait a few minutes, I can go upstairs and find something in gray and brown,” she suggested. “I could even get my mom’s raincoat. That way, I can look just like you.”

Fish grumbled as he threw the car into gear and shot down the road. “The idea is not to imitate me, but to wear something subtle and unremarkable. No one ever looks at me twice, except possibly to notice how ugly I am. Fortunately, you won’t ever be able to have that asset, so if you really want to be some kind of amateur sleuth, start by playing down your looks—and your fashion statement. Sensible suits and unattractive dark glasses might work. But then again, I wouldn’t recommend that you even try to follow Nancy Drew’s career path in the first place. I doubt you’d survive to star in even one further mystery novel, let alone three hundred and fifty.”

“Fish,” Rose said indignantly when he finally stopped talking. “You’re not ugly. In fact, I’ve always found you rather winsome.”

“See what I mean? You’re hindered by poor judgment to begin with,” Fish said, rubbing his face. “All right, pipe down, Trixie Belden. We need to figure out our plan of attack.” He looked at Bear. “Is that Rita person supposed to be there now?”

“Yes,” Bear said. “She’ll show us around the place a bit.”

“Good,” Fish said. “Getting the lay of the land would be a help.”

They drove up to the banqueting hall and parked. Rita, who was standing outside smoking, caught sight of them and hurried over to greet them. “Hi again,” she said. “You’re in luck. Scarlotti’s gone for today. Only Carnazzo is here, and he’s a stuffed shirt, but maybe we can get by him. I figure if they catch us, I’ll just play dumb. We’ll go in by the side door.”

When they went inside, they could see caterers preparing one of the rooms for a dinner, laying out multicolored napkins and china place settings on dozens of tables in a room overhung with a massive chandelier festooned with colored glass beads. Assunta was among the waitresses, and she waved to them.

Rita led them down a hallway to a side staircase. “This is the banquet hall where Blanche was working last weekend, when we had the masquerade,” she said as she led them upstairs, and opened the door at the top of the steps onto a vast room with high stained-glass windows decorated with grapes, flowers, and animals. The floor was parquet, buffed to a high gloss.

“Incredible,” Fish murmured.

The architecture wasn’t bad, Bear noted. He could tell the materials used to imitate a medieval Gothic structure were phony—painted wood instead of stone—but still, the effect was that of a rather noble theatre. A fitting scene for a drama.

“What a spectacular party place,” Rose said.

Rita made a face. “Yeah, except that at night, you can’t see the colors in the stained glass. They look black, and then, with the brown walls, it’s really dark in here. I like some of the other halls better.”

Bear looked around, picturing the hall full of glittering costumed guests. And in the midst of it, a figure in white, alone, but erect. Blanche.

Just then, someone called, “Rita!”

Rita turned and the others glanced to see who was calling her. They saw a fat Italian man in shirtsleeves puffing towards them, his face red with the exercise.

“Who’s up there with you?” he demanded.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Carnazzo?” Rita asked, glancing helplessly at Bear.