“Zoo,” Mangiapane said, “not only don’t we have a body, we ain’t got a murder either.”
“Astute,” Tully murmured under his breath. Then he said, “Let’s go, Mang.”
“Let me go to the door with you,” Koesler said. Whatever else he might accomplish in the near future, he was intent on apologizing to the officers. Any number of times in his past Koesler had felt like a complete idiot, but never more than now.
The three men left the dining room, as did the kitchen and serving staff.
Remaining in the room were the unwitting and unwilling actors in the unfortunate psychodrama.
Janet sat at the table now cleared of dishes and accoutered with a fresh tablecloth and napkins. Marie and Martha flanked her. Winer and Benbow remained standing.
“It seems such a long time since we had dinner,” Benbow said slowly.
Winer glanced at his watch. “Yes, it does. But it’s only a couple of hours.” No one else spoke. The silence was punctuated only by the soft sounds Janet made; her tears flowed less abundantly now.
“I must apologize, Sister,” Benbow addressed Marie finally. “I’m afraid I said some pretty horrid things to you.”
Marie tried to smile but did not quite succeed. “I guess I returned the favor. Our introduction to each other did not get off to an auspicious beginning.”
Silence again.
“To be perfectly honest,” Benbow said, “I don’t know that we can return to point zero.”
“Pardon?”
“I mean,” Benbow continued, “just a few hours ago we were complete strangers to one another. And then in no time we were all but accusing one another of murder. After the bitterness of the things that were said, I don’t know whether we can go back and patch up our relationship.”
Silence.
“I’d like to think we could,” Marie said thoughtfully, “but you may very well be right. Maybe it is too late to return to a neutral position and build our relationship on friendlier ground. Maybe we ought to call off this conference.”
Janet looked at Marie in horror.
“No,” Winer said with authority. “There are reasons-compelling reasons-why we must hold this workshop just as planned. For one thing, we have an obligation to those who signed up for it. They’ll be coming in tomorrow. It’s not their fault that things have gotten off to such a bad beginning.”
Janet looked relieved.
“And. .?”Benbow prodded.
“And. . what?” Winer said.
“Look, I agree with you completely,” Benbow said. “We are honor bound to give the students their money’s worth. No doubt about that. But you spoke in the plural. You said there were reasons why we had to go on.”
Winer smiled briefly. “I, for one, want to find out what comes next.”
“Next?” Marie said.
“Yes. Until Sister Janet spoke up a few minutes ago, I had no idea whatsoever why this particular group had been selected as the ‘faculty’ for this conference. And I assume the same could be said for the rest of you?” He looked around for a reaction.
“Well,” Marie said, “we’re all authors of mystery novels with a religious motif.”
“Yes,” Winer agreed, “But we aren’t the only ones doing that. Just as a matter of conjecture, I had been wondering why each individual here had been selected. I thought the core of the secret was revealed when, before dinner, we learned that each of us had been offered a contract by P.G. Press. And that each of us had turned said contract down.
“But now a new element has been added. Our would-be publisher insisted that we-specifically each one of us-be invited. He made this a condition of his acceptance. I find that both odd and intriguing.”
“So do I,” Benbow said.
“And I,” Marie agreed. “Not only did he, in effect, invite us, he wanted to play a game with us.”
“Like marionettes on a string,” Benbow added.
“And that’s why,” Winer said, “I especially want to stay for the next act. I can’t think he had us invited just to play a trick on us. If we’re going to discover the reason, we’re going to have to play this out. Only now, I feel certain, we know something else is coming.”
Marie shuddered. “But what? I feel as if I’m going in two directions at once. I want to leave and I want to stay. I distinctly don’t want to play games with a madman.”
“I have a feeling, Sister,” Winer said, “that Krieg is not the sort of person who accepts no for an answer graciously. We’ve already rejected his proposal to join his publishing empire. Once again, it seems perfectly obvious he has something else in store for us. What’s he really up to?”
“The rabbi has a point, Sister,” Benbow said. “I’d rather face Krieg and get it over with. Besides, whatever he has in mind can’t be that serious. Probably just something in very bad taste.”
“Of course,” Winer said, “all this hypothesis we’ve been bandying about is predicated on the fact that all the games we know about have been played.” He purposefully focused on Janet. “There aren’t any more games or plots-that you know about-are there, Sister? I mean, there weren’t any more ‘conditions’ that Mr. Regan agreed to. . are there?”
Janet shook her head vigorously. “No, no more conditions.”
“By the way, Sister,” Winer said, “just where is the man of the hour, the erstwhile corpse? The Reverend Krieg is not staying with us?”
“Oh, dear,” Janet said, “I forgot. There was one more stipulation. That was that he also have a room available for him off-campus. I remember Jack saying that the Reverend asked specifically about living conditions here. Jack said he tried to be as realistic as possible about the residence rooms. The Reverend asked Jack to book a room for him at the Westin.”
“In the Renaissance Center?” Marie asked.
“That’s right,” Janet said.
Marie pursed her lips. It was a prestigious riverfront hotel in that section of downtown Detroit that still worked.
Benbow whistled softly. “I think he’s trying to tell us something. His own residence. His own liquor supply. His own food.”
“His own food?” Marie said.
“Didn’t you see his henchman get him a dinner different than we had?” Benbow said. “I firmly believe he’s trying to tell us something: that he not only is different from the rest of us, he’s better-and merits better accommodations.”
“As long as we’re dealing with comparisons,” Marie said, “there’s one area where he very definitely surpasses us: money.”
“No argument there, Sister,” Benbow said.
Winer ran a hand through his trim beard. “Are we not forgetting someone?”
The others looked at him inquiringly.
“Father Augustine,” Winer said. “Whatever happened to Father Augustine?”
Janet almost laughed aloud. “I confess I forgot about him. . or, at least stopped worrying about him the moment I heard the poor man snore.”
It was a much needed release of tension; they all roared with laughter.
“Then, Sister,” Winer said, “it is safe to assume that Father Augustine’s plight, whatever it is, was not part of the psychodrama Reverend Krieg and Mr. Regan arranged.”
Janet was wiping her eyes, teared this time by laughing, not crying. “No. . no. I don’t know what was wrong with the poor man. Jet lag, upset stomach, I have no idea. One thing I am quite sure of: He is being well cared for. The students who volunteered to help him are very responsible young people. They said they would call a doctor and I’m sure they have. They would have told us if it were serious. In this case, I’m sure, no news is good news.
“But, so that we’ll all sleep well, I will check into the medical status of Father Augustine. I’ll just slip the information under each of your doors.”