Chapter 16
Dr. Chantal Fleur, forensic psychologist even while reading the newspaper, put down the morning paper next to her cooling cup of coffee and reached for the telephone. She didn’t need caffeine to get her jump started today. Before she could pick the receiver up, the phone chimed. “Chantal, David here. Did you see the morning paper yet?”
“I just saw it. I’m sure you’re referring to the item about Brother Matthew from the Salesian Monastery being missing for the last few days.”
“Yes, that’s the very item. I checked with the state police. There’s just a little flimsy evidence that doesn’t point to anything special. Someone found a book, I think it’s called Introduction to the Devout Life and, get this, an empty bag of Cheez Twists. Trooper Jonas said that the uptight girl, err woman, excuse me, from the Catholic Traditionalist Center has been snooping around, trying to dig up clues. He also mentioned that she has mellowed. I’ll believe that when I see it. I know, I know, I’m a Jewish doubting Thomas. So was he—wasn’t he?”
“Cute. Now David, it sounds like you’re having a little regression. I understand that you truly respect us womenfolk and that you have done well in cleaning up your act on that score, but you need to continue keeping vigil over your attitude and language. Having said that, I think that Miss Von Kiel, as she preferred to be called in those days, was more than a little uptight, but I try to let people grow—like you have to.”
“Guilty as charged, your Honor. Thanks for the homily. Let’s say we pay the community in Brodheadsville a little visit, okay?”
Before long the duo that had helped to solve previous murders connected with the Salesian monastery, and to save the life of the abbot in the process, were on Route 209 headed south headed toward Brodheadsville. Dave’s unmarked police car had all sorts of lights and scanners and electronic gadgets on the dashboard. When Chantal had called into her office to let them know that she would be out for the morning because of her need to visit the monastery, her administrative assistant told her that a dead body had been found in the field behind the monastery grounds. Chantal’s forensic brain kicked into overdrive. She felt it improbable that the two events were unconnected. She and her partner in crime discussed the matter in the car on the way to Brodheadsville. David concurred immediately, his brain trying to puzzle out the probable relationship between the missing person and the discovered body.
“Our temple is one hundred and fifty years old and we have never found a dead body there. We’ve never even had a murder! What is it with this community? Maybe just bad luck. Maybe they should change religions or something.”
Chantal ruminated out loud: “When the forces of good and evil do battle, maybe they choose a receptive spiritual territory to do battle on. One that is open to the spiritual world. Just a thought.”
“What are you talking about, Chantal? You’re not even sure that you believe in God, or has that changed?”
“No, that has not changed, Dave. I do, however, believe in forces of good and evil. I see them both operating in the lives of my patients all the time, as well as in the forensic cases I deal with every day. A minority of people just oozes evil, while most others struggle to live a decent life. I suppose much of it has to do with the backgrounds of the individuals, the way they were treated while growing up. And before you say it, I sincerely believe that each of us is responsible for our own behavior after we’ve grown up. I don’t prescribe to blaming others for our behavior.”
“See how nicely we talk to one another now, Chantal? We are really making progress. You are changing too, you know. A little less trigger-happy with your emotions, especially the ones connected with assertiveness. It wasn’t too many months ago that we did nothing but fight. We even agree on these basic philosophical issues. I see good and evil do battle every day as well in my job as a detective.”
“Agreed my friend; we are both making real progress.”
A sprinkling of snowflakes swirled around in the air enveloping their car. The driver put on his left blinker and the car turned into the driveway marked by the red “Salesian Monastery” sign. The red metal sign with white lettering was a little bent out of shape, and the vinyl mailbox on top of the sign pole was taped together with black electrical tape. In the country, knocking over mailboxes is recreation for the young folk. Dave parked the car at the end of the driveway, under the large cross, and the couple got out and walked along the perpendicular top of the driveway toward the main house. The brown-green grass was dappled with clumps of white snow. The wind whistled through the bare trees and a few crows cawed piercingly high above them. The small community was just finishing the Office of Morning Prayer and drifted slowly out of the oratory which was to the left of the visitors.
They waved to Chantal and David and ushered them into the main house, up the steps and on to the porch, through the barn red front door and small foyer, and then on into the dining area. Dave had called ahead, so the ever-faithful Mr. Coffee machine had been set to brew while the community was at prayer and now it filled the dining room with a mouth-watering decaffeinated aroma. Community and guests shared fruit, cereal, toast, coffee, and tea. Peanut butter was also available—a monastic staple. The modest breakfast seemed to put everyone at ease and to help each person get his or her gears in place for crime solving. Much had changed since their last mystery. They were working now as a team, especially Chantal and Dave. A great complimentarity existed among the group: male and female, Jew and Gentile, young and old, and the larger team included black and white, Lutheran and Catholic, and probably a lot of other interesting ingredients to help the mix.
Dave coordinated the meeting. After he brought everyone up to speed on the current status of the situation he added some additional information. Some clear fingerprints had been lifted from the inside of the Cheez Twists bag near the top of the package. The difficulty was that this bag could be totally unrelated to the fact that Brother Matthew was missing. The fingerprints, also, had not yet been identified. The community was unanimous in their opinion that the Introduction to the Devout Life book found at the Beltzville Lake campsite belonged to Brother Matthew. Matthew’s copy was not in his room and the community knew that he was praying over this book once again, prior to his simple profession which was scheduled for next month’s great Solemnity of Saint Francis de Sales.
Chantal asked the community if they had any idea as to why the young monk was missing. Was there someone who had been threatening Brother Matthew, someone with ill will toward him or toward the community, for that matter? The room was dense with thoughtful silence. As Chantal was speaking, a sharp rap on the door followed by the entrance of Hester Von Kiel took everyone’s attention away from Chantal and on to their new guest.
Hester apologized for disrupting the meeting and thanked Sister Jane de Chantal for calling her to let her know that “the team” was getting together. She had a bag of bagels and sticky buns in her arms which she placed them down on the counter, and then she pulled up one of the small benches the community members sit on while eating and leaned her forearms against the refectory table. This woman was into it to the end—no matter what the outcome.
Detective Gold stood and shook hands with the newest member of the team. “Good morning and welcome Miss Von Kiel. Thank you for what you found for us thus far.”
“You are very welcome, Detective Gold. Please drop the ‘Miss.’ I’m just Hester now. In formal situations I suppose that I would now prefer Ms.” She sounded more and more like Miss Hathaway from the “Beverley Hillbillies” TV show to David with each encounter. “You may find that I’m a tad less ‘uptight’ as they say. Brother Matthew has been helping me loosen up. It’s a long story so I won’t go into it just now. Perhaps sometime we can meet and trade case histories, now that I’m in the same field as you, in a sense—even though self-appointed—citizens arrests and all that. I overheard just a few words that you folks were saying as I came into the monastery through the foyer. I believe you are trying to get at the motive for the disappearance of Brother Matthew. If I may ask, is that correct dear friends?”
Chantal nodded in the affirmative, still a bit stupefied by Hester, her bagels, and her new attitude.
Hester continued on, acting like Agatha Christi’s Miss Marple in her younger days. “Some of you may view me as a middle-aged maiden lady, but I’ve had my romantic moments. Oh yes, I know the affairs of the human heart--and not just from ‘Dear Abby’ either!”
David Gold sputtered into his coffee at the sound of the latest pronouncement and was also becoming restless. He wanted to get on with things and this woman seemed to be hijacking his meeting. He held back a little longer. Is my annoyance at this person there because she is a woman or because she is holding us back from the work our group had gathered here to do?
“Brother Matthew and I have developed a kind of older sister--younger brother relationship.”
Chantal couldn’t resist it. She whispered to David: “Our Brother Matthew is beginning to sound like Jethro Bodine from that old TV show.” Another sputter of coffee. This time he needed a napkin.
“Some of you may remember that Brother Matthew had been engaged. I know that the name of the girl Brother Matthew was engaged to is Christi. I am guessing that it is the same Christi found on the back five acres right here adjacent to the monastery property. The young lady was wearing a diamond engagement ring when she was found. I, of course, discovered the body. It seems just too coincidental that Brother Matthew disappears at the same time his fiancée is found buried behind the monastery.
“Miss Hathaway is pretty sharp,” David mumbled to Chantal. This time she was the sputterer.
“The community members know very well that Brother Matthew is about to take his first vows, making him a monk forever in his heart, and temporarily at first on paper. That is quite a different commitment from the first plans he had for marriage and family. I wonder if someone is either punishing him for not going through with his earlier marriage plans, or trying to prevent him from taking his simple vows.”
No one spoke for a while after that.