Koesler had assumed that each of the writers was a kindly and understanding soul. Augustine had proved him in error. Could any of the others be masking a nasty disposition under the veneer of a religious title and/or habit?
The answers to these questions would possibly be revealed in time, Koesler concluded, as long as he remained alert, curious, receptive, attentive, thoughtful, and sober.
In keeping with that final condition, he declined Sister Janet’s offer of a predinner cocktail. In this abstemious decision he was alone. From Sister Marie’s innocuous white wine to Father Augustine’s potent Scotch-on-the-rocks, the others seemed to feel they either needed or deserved a drink. And after this afternoon’s session, Koesler thought they might very well need one.
Sipping at his tonic water and lime, Koesler studied the liquor tray. Same as yesterday, a meager selection of pedestrian brands.
He smiled when Rabbi Winer tried the cabinet door, behind which were ensconced Krieg’s far more pricey labels, and found it locked.
Winer shrugged and, when he found the others observing what he’d done, he grinned self-consciously, half embarrassed, half amused. “The Reverend runs a tight ship,” he commented. It was clear that Winer would use Krieg’s religious title only sarcastically.
“I’m sorry,” Sister Janet said. “We have a very limited budget. There is an extra key to that cabinet hanging in the pantry”-she pointed-“just through that door. The liquor does belong to Reverend Krieg, but I’m sure. .”
Winer had not intended to disparage the liquor supplied by the college. “Please, Sister,” he hastily interrupted, “I intended no commentary on what you’ve offered. It’s fine. As much as anything, I was interested in whether he’d had the cabinet locked.”
“It was,” Sister Janet began to explain, “part of the arrangement Reverend Krieg had with. .”
“. . with Mr. Regan. We know,” Benbow said.
“Strange,” Sister Marie said, “for a. person who hasn’t been here for months to have such an impact on what we’re doing.”
“I guess Regan was the straight man in this scenario,” Benbow said. “The one with all the punch lines is Krieg.” He took the empty glass from his wife. “Here, dear, let me freshen this for you.” He dropped a small ice cube in both his and his wife’s empty glasses, nearly filled each glass with Mohawk Gin, then added vermouth as if he were using an eyedropper.
“Speaking of having all the lines,” Marie said, “we haven’t really had a chance to discuss that bizarre incident last night.”
“Krieg’s ‘death.’ The play within the play,” Winer said.
Augustine was about to refill his glass but decided against it. He had entirely missed that episode. He had wanted to have the particulars explained to him but felt awkward in asking. This was his opportunity to be brought up to date and he didn’t want to miss a word.
“I think Sister is absolutely right in referring to that matter as bizarre,” Martha Benbow said. “I just can’t imagine what the man had in mind.”
“By the way,” Benbow said, “just where is ‘the man’? We couldn’t be lucky enough to have had him leave town in a huff, could we?” His words belied his smile.
“He’s upstairs in his room. He wanted to freshen up before dinner,” Janet supplied. “As for last night, these acted-out mystery dramas are very popular now, you know. As I said, this had been all worked out between Jack Regan and Reverend Krieg.”
“Mystery psychodramas may be popular,” Marie said. “I don’t doubt that for an instant. But I still say last night’s charade was bizarre.”
“The man has a strange mind,” Benbow said. “I’m not sure what his real intention was in all that.”
“If he was trying to plant a thought in our minds,” Winer said, “he went to a lot of needless trouble. I daresay it was already there.”
“Thought?” Martha asked. “What thought?”
Winer did not answer.
“His death?” Marie pursued.
“Why pussyfoot around it?” Benbow said. “The thought Rabbi Winer suggests-which we didn’t need to be reminded of-is the Reverend Krieg’s murder.”
Martha gasped. “David!”
“Praise God!”
Krieg was in the doorway and in good voice and spirits. A couple of paces behind him was the considerable bulk of his bodyguard, Guido Taliafero.
Had Krieg overheard their conversation? Had he heard what David Benbow had just confessed? Krieg gave no indication.
At this point, the others couldn’t help being in the same room with Krieg, but it was Sister Janet who effusively greeted and welcomed him.
Taliafero strode immediately to the cabinet, unlocked it, and proceeded to set out on the serving ledge a splendid array of spirits. He poured a couple of jiggers of whiskey neat and placed the glass in the hand of an inattentive Krieg in much the same way an operating room nurse slides a scalpel into a surgeon’s hand. Taliafero then took his position near the door.
The others still had their original drinks, with the exception of Father Augustine, who, now that conversation about his previous lost evening had ceased, decided it was time for a refill of Scotch. Spontaneously he moved toward Krieg’s superior supply, then hesitated.
“By all means, Father,” Krieg said, “help yourself.”
Feeling like a Judas, or an Esau who was selling his birthright for a high-class intoxicant, Augustine poured from Krieg’s cache.
Almost immediately a sort of natural polarization took place and three groups formed. Krieg and Janet made up the first set. The three men-Augustine, Benbow, and Winer-composed the second cluster. They were joined by Benbow’s wife, Martha. That left Koesler with Sister Marie. He didn’t mind; he’d wanted to talk to her. He offered to refill her glass. She said she’d wait until dinner was served.
“Well, here we are,” Koesler said. “One relic to another.”
“Pardon?”
“There are not that many priests and nuns left. You and I are an endangered species.”
“Don’t I know.” She gestured toward Sister Janet, who was busily listening to Krieg. “That woman is a reminder to me. We practically grew up together in the convent. But she is one of the last of my close friends who is still a nun. Most of the others are gone. Oh, I don’t mean they’ve died-though a few have. No, the majority are ‘in the world.’” She smiled. “Odd how easily that expression comes to mind. ‘In the world.’ I can remember when that excluded all but us. We, in the convent, were not ‘in the world.’ Now even those of us who have remained nuns would have to admit we’re ‘in the world.’”
“I guess. In charge of continuing education for an entire diocese and now author of a popular book. You’ve squeezed into ‘the world.’ But then, you’re certainly not alone. We owe it all to Vatican II, the religious event of this century. From time to time I think of how drastically life has changed for priests as a result of the council. But, to be fair, priestly life has stood still compared with what’s happened to convents.”
“I believe I will have a bit more wine.” She smiled. “Dinner seems to be delayed.”
They moved to the tray the college had prepared; Koesler filled her glass. No point in his taking more tonic water; he was still nursing the ice cubes from his original drink.
Picking up their conversation, Marie said, “What’s happened to convents is that there aren’t any anymore. Or at least precious few. But I’m a bit surprised you’re interested. Most priests nowadays are concerned almost exclusively with their own survival.
“Now I shouldn’t have said that,” she corrected herself. “I don’t mean they are not giving service to their parishes or whatever their particular vocation calls for. I mean most priests don’t think much about nuns-now that there’s no chance of getting a passel of them for the parochial school.”
Koesler chuckled. “I used to be a regular confessor for nuns in parishes where there’d be anywhere from twenty to thirty or forty in a convent. That’s where I learned the word ‘promptitude.’ Seems that’s about the only sin nuns ever committed. They were late for things.”