“A national affliction,” Rick smoothly said.
“I was guilty of it. That and pride.” Brother Morris warmed to his subject. “But I saw the light—literally, I saw the light—and I found my true calling. You will meet few men happier than myself.”
“You are most fortunate.” Rick waited a beat. “Who is the order’s treasurer?”
“Brother Luther. By the way, Officer Doak was very kind to Brother Sheldon. Sorry, I got off track. Well, what I was about to add is that Brother Luther is a worrywart.Then again, most treasurers are. We get by. The sale of the Christmas trees is a large part of our annual income.” He drummed his fingers on his knee. “May we open for business soon?”
“Our team should be out by four this afternoon. I see no reason why you can’t open. People’s love of the ghoulish may even increase business.” Rick wanted to see Brother Morris’s reaction.
Brother Morris replied, “That’s the premise behind horror movies, I think—to watch the fearful deed from a safe distance. Of course, in Brother Christopher’s case, who is to say what is a safe distance?”
“I don’t know,” Rick honestly answered. “Brother Morris, what are the vows of your order?”
“Chastity, poverty, and obedience. We’re all human. Each man struggles with his vows—some men more than others, some vows more than others. But everyone tries.”
“Do you punish a brother if he breaks a vow?”
Brother Morris smoothly replied, “We do not judge. That doesn’t mean I don’t assign extra chores or encourage more prayer.”
“Did Brother Christopher break his vows?”
“No. Not that I know of. Why?” For the first time Brother Morris displayed how intrigued he really was.
“In breaking a vow he may have upset someone else.”
“Another brother?”
Rick replied, “Possibly. But it could have been someone outside the order.”
Brother Morris cast his eyes down at the faded Persian rug. “Did he suffer?”
“Physically, no. Now, if he knew his killer, at the last moment he might have been shocked.”
“I hate to think of it.” Brother Morris’s voice was low.
“Could he have had an affair with any women in the area?”
“I doubt it. The usual signs—going off the grounds, staying out on some nights, being preoccupied—Brother Christopher never acted like that. This isn’t to say that he couldn’t have hidden it, but I don’t think he did.”
“I would imagine that celibacy is a trial.”
“You know, that depends on a man’s experiences in life, his age, and his drive. Some people don’t have a strong sex drive.”
“Yes.” Rick pressed on. “Has there ever been money missing from the treasury?”
“No. Brother Luther is a ferocious watchdog.”
“Do you know Greek mythology?” Rick asked.
“Thanks to opera I know more Norse mythology. Why?”
“An obol was found under Brother Christopher’s tongue.”
This puzzled Brother Morris, disturbed him slightly. “Whatever could that signify?”
“I was hoping you’d know.”
The rest of the questioning continued in this vein until, frustrated by their lack of progress, Rick and Cooper left.
9
Fascinated by the obol under the tongue, Harry called the classics departments at the University of Virginia, William Mary, and Duke, where she had friends who taught the early historians.
Given the thousands of years that the myths had persisted, slight variations existed concerning Charon. The standard version of him as a somewhat disreputable ferryman held sway. If you didn’t press an obol into his palm, you’d be stuck on the shores until you could beg, borrow, or steal the small sum. Given that one was dead, this could prove difficult, so the families of the deceased took great care to include the fare with the corpse. Since Greeks often carried small coins under their tongues—unthinkable with today’s money—it was natural to put an obol under the tongue as well.
Nothing new transpired with her phone calls. Harry then called a local coin dealer, Morton Nadal, and was surprised to find a very upset man on the line.
“Why are you asking me about the obols?” he demanded.
“Uh, well, curiosity.” The small detail had not yet found its way into the ever- intrusive media. “Are you in on it?”
“Sir, in on what?”
“You’re the third person to call me about my obols. I have coins from Alexandria, Athens, Corinth, but it’s all obols.”
“I’m sorry to bother you.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
“Mrs. Fair Haristeen. I live in Crozet.”
“Hold on a moment.” After a brief interlude he again spoke: “Well, that’s a real name, but it may not be yours. The other two people gave fake names, although I didn’t check when they first called.”
“Again, Mr. Nadal, I’m sorry. I only wanted to know if you’d sold any.”
“Not a one. Some were stolen the night before last, I think, but I didn’t find out until today.” Before she could say anything, he added, his voice raised, “I’m meticulous, and no one broke in to the front of the house where I keep my collection.”
“How do you think they were stolen?” “What’s it to you?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Nadal. I can see I’m a bother. I assume you called the sheriff.” “Did.” He hung up the phone. Harry then called Cooper, relaying the conversation. “He’s a piece of work and looks just like you think he would—a large ant with glasses.” Cooper exhaled. “Two people went into his house, a woman and a man. He gave a lax description, only that they were more young than old, the man distracted him, the woman took the obols.”
“Why didn’t he find it out then?”
“She’d put fake coins in their place—same size, anyway— and I guess he was in a hurry. I don’t know. He’s a weird little thing and so excitable.”
“Nothing useful?” “Only that the man was largish, had a mustache and a big
laugh.”
“Anything else?”
“Three obols were stolen.”
“Three?”
“Three.”
10
“Who died and made you God?” Pewter, tail moving slightly, spit at Tucker.
“Jealous.” Tucker smiled, then walked away from the angry gray cat.
Tucker had stayed with Harry as Harry made all the phone calls. The cats had been in the barn.
Mrs. Murphy, irritated herself, prudently did not insult the corgi. “If you piss her off, she’ll never tell.”
Pewter, upset though she was with the idea that a mere dog could consider herself superior to a cat, hated the idea of being uninformed even more. An argument could be made that the rotund kitty lived for gossip. Pewter thought of it as news.
“You’re right.” Pewter’s admission nearly floored the tiger cat. “But I’m not going to make it up to her. You can do that.”
Sighing deeply, Mrs. Murphy walked after Tucker, who had repaired to the living room to flop in front of the fireplace.
Harry and Fair sat at opposite ends of the large sofa, a throw over their legs, slippers on the floor, each reading a book.
The aroma of burning wood pleased Mrs. Murphy, so long as the smoke didn’t invade her eyes. She sat next to the dog.
Tucker lifted her head. “Too bad we couldn’t have gone to the coin dealer. We pick up things the humans might miss.”
“Mother isn’t leaving a stone unturned about the ancient coins.” Mrs. Murphy settled down next to the dog, who had informed her of the conversations.
“Pewter still having a cow?” The dog laughed, which came out as little wind puffs.
“Given her state, I think she’s having a water buffalo.” Mrs. Murphy kneaded the rug.