Nun of That (A Deadly Habit Cozy Mystery, Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter Five
.

I stood in the back room of my shop, sanding a rough edge of an old, wooden chair I had picked up for the store. I knew it would sell quickly - wooden chairs always did - but it needed a bit of love and care before it was ready for the shop floor.

It was almost midday, and a steaming mug of coffee sat on the work table next to the chair. Customers had been thin on the ground that day, which on the one hand was good as it gave me more time to work on furniture, but on the other hand was bad, because it meant less money. I had just paused for a sip of coffee, when I heard the buzzer under the front door mat make its typical sound as someone entered the store.

I picked up a rag and rubbed it across my palms, flaking away the small, wood shavings. I took up my coffee cup and hurried out into the store. There was a small counter that ran along the back of the showroom, and Adam was standing there. He looked every bit as handsome as he had previously. I was pleased to see him, but I was a little disappointed that he wasn’t a cashed-up customer.

“Hi Adam,” I said, taking another sip.

“Hey,” Adam said, lifting a travel mug up as he laughed. “Great minds think alike, huh?”

I laughed. “Believe me, I live on this stuff.”

“I hear you,” Adam said. Then he paused, and took a breath. “Have you eaten, or do you only drink your lunch?” he asked.

I laughed. “There’s a bakery down the street, best chocolate éclairs on the planet. We could get some to eat on the way.”

“Deal,” Adam said. “Lock up; I’m parked outside at the curb. I’ll drive.”

“Okay,” I said. I hurried upstairs to grab a jacket and dump my coffee into my travel mug. I slapped the lid on it and rushed back downstairs. Outside I put on the light jacket, just enough defense against the chill breeze blowing as the world around us turned into autumn. Trees were a little less green, a little more red and yellow and brown.

In autumn mornings, before the sun was fully up, when it was just something over the horizon which threw purple streaks heavenwards, you could see your breath before your face. But it was too late for that; the sun was well free of the horizon, fat and yellow, and the sky was blue, without a speck of purple.

Adam was standing next to his car, leaning against the passenger door. He opened the door for me as I approached, and I climbed up into the jeep. He shut the door behind me, and hurried around to slide in behind the wheel.

“Where is this bakery?” he asked.

“Mason’s? You don’t know about it?”

“I don’t live here, remember?” Adam said. “I’m here for the Shadow Gang story.”

“Still, how could you not know about Mason’s Bakery?”

“I just don’t. You can make me a convert today.”

“I will,” I said with a laugh. “We could’ve walked; it’s just down the other end of town, on the highway.”

Adam started the car and pulled away from the curb, sitting in behind a huge truck.

“Just down here,” I said. “Get the first parking spot you can find.”

Adam nodded and parked up against the building. We climbed out of the Jeep together, and went to the front door of the bakery.

“Wow,” Adam said as we stepped in, and I laughed.

“I recommend the chocolate éclair,” I said. “But everything here’s good.”

“Okay, I’ll have what you’re having,” Adam said, and I ordered for us, but he paid. We took our small, white, paper bags out to his vehicle, although there were a few tables inside the bakery. We sat in the car and ate.

“Wow,” Adam said again.

We didn’t talk much after that, until we had both devoured our chocolate éclairs, and drained the last of our coffee.

“All right, now let’s go do some sleuthing.”

“Tell me you don’t always call it sleuthing,” I said.

“Okay, I don’t.” Adam grinned.

“You’re lying.”

“Yes.”

I laughed, and we were off again, pulling out onto the highway. I directed Adam out of town in the direction of the convent, along a long, narrow country road. “You never see any traffic out on this road,” I said. “Sister Bertrand pretty much lives in the middle of nowhere.”

Adam nodded. “I googled her order, the Sisters of Temperance.”

I directed Adam to turn off onto the private lane that led down to the convent. The lane was flanked by over a hundred elm trees, a magnificent sight. At this time of year, their leaves were vivid gold, russet red, and every shade in between. They were breathtaking.

The convent was a group of old stone buildings, covered in ivy, which now in autumn adorned the front of the building in beautiful shades of red. A long, brick wall, about twelve feet tall, extended both sides from the heavy, wooden door at the front.

The scale and grandeur of the main convent building marked a stark contrast with the surrounding farmlands and rural setting. The grass in the adjoining farmland was already dying off, brown and crispy, thanks to the first frosts of the year.

“This place sure is private,” Adam said. “And medieval French ecclesiastic architectural style - impressive.”

“It certainly is impressive. By the way, I’ve never been inside the convent before,” I said.

Adam reached up to ring the large, brass bell that hung next to the door. “Remember, just listen, and keep your eyes open.”

I nodded, and then winced as the screeching of an alarm sounded from within the walls.

The front door opened, and I gasped. Instead of Sister Bertrand, there was a much younger nun; I guessed she was around thirty years of age. This nun was wearing a traditional habit, not the simple skirt and white blouse that Sister Bertrand always wore. This wasn’t my running nun, however, for this nun was quite slender. Strangely, the overpowering smell of mothballs wafted from her habit.

“I’m Rose and this is Adam,” I said. “I was looking for Sister Bertrand.”

“May I ask why you need to speak to Sister Bertrand?” she said. “I’m Sister Maria of St. Leonard. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Adam and I exchanged glances. “It’s just that I really wanted to see Sister Bertrand,” I said, at a loss as to what to do next.

The nun nodded. “Sister Bertrand of Genesius has gone to take the waters at Lourdes.”

I was puzzled. “What does that mean?”

It was Adam who answered. “That means that she’s gone to Lourdes to seek a cure.”

The nun nodded again. “Yes, for her rheumatism. She’s on a pilgrimage, to the Udine Cathedral as well. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” She stepped aside so we could enter.

I was excited to see inside a convent. My only prior experience with convents had been watching
Nuns on the Run
and
Sister Act
, and then of course, reruns of
The Flying Nun
.

It was just as I had expected. The huge, oak door opened onto a large entrance, and the Reverend Mother showed us through the first door on the left, which in turn opened onto a reception room.

After we had been seated in bulky, wooden chairs deeply upholstered in gray vinyl, she left the room. As she passed me, I once again had to hold my breath against the pervading scent of mothballs.

“Is that the nun you saw?” Adam whispered.

I shook my head. “No, the nun I saw had broad shoulders. Where did she go?” I whispered back.

Adam shrugged. “No idea. She normally would’ve called for a nun to bring us tea and cakes that the other nuns have made.”

“We’ll soon know if there
are
other nuns.” I looked around the room. While it was sparsely furnished, the architecture was impressive. The ceiling was high and the windows were beautiful. Still, the room itself was dull, with the only colors being gray, beige, and mission brown. Even the floor tiles were either beige-yellow or mission brown.

Sister Maria finally returned with a tray, which she set down on the round coffee table between us. She poured us each a cup of tea from a particularly fine looking, antique teapot, and then offered each of us an Oreo.

The plate was laden with Oreos, Tim Tams, and various pastries.

Adam shot me a look, but I had no idea why. “Sister Maria,” he said, turning to the nun, “are you the Reverend Mother here?”

She nodded. “We don’t always use that term these days.”

He pressed on. “I suppose you’ve heard that the local pawnbroker was found shot the other day. Rose saw a nun running from the scene.”

Sister Maria looked surprised. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” she said. She made the sign of the Cross, took up her rosary beads, and kissed the crucifix.

“Are there any other nuns here?” Adam asked.

Sister Maria nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve brought several novices with me on retreat, while Sister Bertrand is away.”

Adam frowned. “May we speak to them?”

“I’m sorry,” Sister Maria said, “but they’re doing their Forty Hours Prayer Devotion with Jesus Christ.”

I was disappointed. So far, our visit was proving to be fruitless. I gave Adam a penetrating
do something
look.

“I thought your order was discalced,” he said to Sister Maria. “Sister Bertrand always wore sandals.”

Sister Maria waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, that was in the old days, before Vatican Two. Sister Bertrand liked to keep up the old tradition.”

“What does discalced mean?” I asked.

“It means going barefoot or wearing sandals,” Sister Maria said. “It’s an old custom, introduced by St. Francis of Assisi for men, and St. Clare of Assisi for women. Our order used to be discalced.”

“Thank you,” I said. There was more to being Catholic than I had ever imagined. Just as well Adam knew the right questions to ask.

“Sister Maria,” Adam said, “may I ask why you wear a traditional habit?”

Sister Maria smiled, and offered him the tray of pastries, which he duly declined. “The Order of the Sisters of Temperance is a contemplative and cloistered order; we are not out serving the community. Many of our nuns have sought solace from the world, and many have found their religious calling later in life. The novices wear traditional habit so they can relate to the hardships of the early sisters of our order. I only wear traditional habit when I’m on retreat with novices.”

Adam and I nodded. We weren’t getting anywhere; I had to think of something fast.

“May I use your bathroom?” I asked.

“Of course,” Sister Maria said, standing up. “Follow me.” We walked into a long corridor and she pointed to the end of it. “It’s down that hall, at the very end,” she said in a loud voice.

I thanked her and walked down the corridor. I didn’t know what I was hoping to find, but I wasn’t going to find anything talking to Sister Maria. If she did know anything, she wasn’t going to let on.

The bathroom was dark and austere, and had not been renovated in modern times. The basin was small and green, and the only window was tiny and placed high on the wall.

So much for my great idea; there was nothing in here of any help. I opened the bathroom door to leave, and startled a nun who was coming out of a small room a little to my left.

The nun turned her head away when she saw me, and hurried in the other direction, but not before I caught a glimpse of overly hairy legs. Her habit was shorter than I had expected, too; I thought habits fell all the way to the ground, but this one fell to mid calf length.

Did nuns shave their legs? I had no idea. Maybe they didn’t.

I knocked and entered the reception room.

Adam at once stood up. “Thank you for having us, Sister Maria,” he said. “I’m sorry to have taken up your time.”

“Not at all,” she said. “I will pass on your wishes to Sister Bertrand when I next write to her.”

“That didn’t get us anywhere,” I said, as we walked to the car.

“I know,” Adam said. “If Sister Maria knew anything, she wasn’t going to tell us. Did you find anything in the bathroom?”

“Not a thing,” I said, “but I did see a nun coming out of a room, and she had very hairy legs.”

Adam laughed. “How did you see her legs?”

“Her – I’m not sure what you call it – habit, didn’t go all the way to the ground.”

We climbed into the car and Adam turned the key, but he didn’t pull away from the parking area. “Interesting,” he said.

“What is?”

“All of it. I mean, nuns usually do all their own baking, and the Sisters of Temperance especially are supposed to eat only simple food, yet Sister Maria offered us bought pastries, and expensive ones at that. Also, there was only one nun here at the convent, then you see one running from a murder scene, and now the one nun everyone knows has gone, and there are new ones, wearing sneakers and having hairy legs.”

“Only one had hairy legs,” I said.

Adam laughed, and then I laughed as well. It all did sound rather absurd. As we pulled away from the convent and drove back to town, I couldn’t stop thinking about the nuns. I felt as if I were missing something.