The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (54 page)

"Oh,
oh, they're not infantry.  They’re chaplains!"  Harry burst out. 
"Four chaplains, four diamonds.  It's got to mean something.  What's in
the diary?"  He grabbed for the diary, but I didn't want it in his hands
until I proofread it.

"Betty,
you read the diary before.  Do you remember anything that would have to do with
the diamonds?"

"No.
It’s just full of observations and gossipy things." 

"Okay,
I think what we need to do here is…  I will sit and read this diary, starting
with the last couple of entries.  Harry, you try to log onto his computer. 
Betty, please look around and see if anything else is out of place or
missing."

"What
are we going to do with the rocks?" Harry asked me.

"I
don't know yet.  I imagine they’re the cause for the search.  Do we put them
back where we found them, since they didn't find the hidey-hole?"

"They
didn't find it yet," Harry pointed out.

"We
could put them in the safe in the house," Betty said seriously.  "We
wouldn't have to tell Diane."

"You’ve
the combination, I suppose."

She
nodded. 

"I
don't want to bring any harm to Diane by bringing these things in.  Let's think
on this awhile."  I waited until Harry and Betty were busy with their
tasks before opening the diary.  What I saw on the first page shocked me. 

It
was dedicated to me.

I’m
vain enough to imagine that someday someone would dedicate something to me, a
park bench after I’ve left this earth or maybe a song on the radio while my
hearing aid batteries still worked.  But never in my wildest imagination -
which is very wild I assure you - would I have foreseen a dedication in a diary
that was entombed in a wall of a southern mansion.  That is too freaky for this
redhead.

To Cin Fin-Lathen who can't keep her nose
out of other people's business. 03/09/04

Now
that hurt.  It was true, but coming from Father Michael it was hard to take.  So,
I was meant to find this and read it.  I started reading, but it didn't make
any sense.  Although, I could see why Betty had a problem with me.

I
realize now I wasn’t to understand before that.  Pagan witch, have attention,
my heart breaks at your indifference.  Please act quickly to cherish me and to
move me.  No humble page six in a coven of thirty or more am I.

Below
this was the Lord's Prayer, the Nicene Creed and various texts admonishing
witchcraft.  Either Michael was in the cups or maybe it was in code.  Great,
did he think I was Lord Peter Wimsey for cripesakes?

"Harry,
could you come here a minute?" I called into the outer room. 

"Sure,
what's up?  Any dirty parts?" He stood, mocking me with his eyes.

"Read
this and tell me what you think."

"K."
Harry picked up the diary and looked at it and looked back at me.  "Date's
wrong."

"Wha..."
 I took the diary and sure enough 03/09/04, March ninth 2004 was well before we
met.  "Why would he dedicate a diary to me and start on a day that
happened years before he met me?"

"Fooled
you.  You didn't see it."  I thought Harry was looking a bit too smug for
my injured ego.  "It's not a date at all. It is a key." 

"To
what?"

"They
don't grow them smart where you come from, do they?  I would say look at every
third, ninth and back to the fourth word of each sentence.  Wait I saw a pencil
in the desk."  Harry bounded out of the room and came back with the
pencil.  He fussed over the book and lifted his eyebrows.  "Clever, very
clever."

"What,
let me see."  I grabbed the book from him.  He had crossed through the
words that didn't fit the code.

           
I
realize
now I
wasn’t to understand before
that. 
Pagan witch
,
have attention,
my heart breaks at
your
indifference
. 
Please
act
quickly to
cherish me and to
move
me
. 
No humble
page
six
in a coven of
thirty
or more am I.

"Now that I have your attention quickly move to page
thirty-six,”
Harry and I
said together.  I loosened my grasp to turn the page, and Harry whipped it out
of my hands.

"There
are no page numbers."

"Try
counting the pages, moron."

Harry
moved through the diary and shook his head.  He recounted the pages and shook
his head again.  "There is nothing on page thirty-six.  Look, the diary's
hardly been written in.  More distressing anecdotes about you, no wonder Betty
hates you."

"Hand
it here."  I took the book.  "Let's do a little numerology and add
the three and the six together and we have page nine."  Finding the page,
I saw that written between the lyrics of Onward Christian Soldiers was a
message.

I’m
involved in some research on behalf of four Chaplains of the Roman Catholic
faith.  If you are reading this I may be overdue or dead.  Either way, please
find me and bring me home.

"Lets
hope it isn't the latter, Michael," I said aloud.  I showed the passage to
Harry.

"It
explains the four army guys."

"But
that's all I’m afraid.  Who are these guys and where do we find them?"

"I'll
start with the computer files and move onto the Internet."

"You
don't have the password," I pointed out.

"Yes
I do. Come on."  Harry pulled me to my feet, and I followed him over to
the desk.  He sat down and turned on the computer.  While it was booting up, I
tried to explain to Betty about what we had found and asked her if she knew
anything. 

"No. 
But I did find something belonging to you."  She held up a large silver
and crystal wand on a chain.  She put it in my hand and pointed to some
engraving on the back.

"Betty
that says sin S I N.  My name is spelt C I N."  I was about to hand it
back to her when I noticed a small button on the back.  I pushed it inwards and
the wand shuddered and a knife blade sprung out of the long end of it.  I
tested the strength of the blade and how it now resembled a stiletto.  I
sighed.  "Maybe you're right.  It’s mine."  Watching her face I
realized that I was back in Betty's bad graces.

"Wicked
blade," Harry's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Sorry.
 Okay, so now that you are up and running, what's the password?"

"What
else besides the bogus diary and army men did we find in the wall?"

"Pooh
bear."

"Nope. 
I mean what was out of place."

"The
diamonds!"  Betty shouted out.

"More
specifically."  Harry turned to the keyboard and typed in Four Diamonds
and the password was accepted.

Betty
clasped her hands together with such force that the clap deafened me.  I got up
and worked on retracting the blade.  "Harry, you keep looking.  I need to
go to confession."

"You're
not Catholic."

"No,
but a confession I must make."  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my
daughter’s number.  I shuddered to think of what penitence I would have to make
when I unloaded the information of what Harry and I were up to.  I broke all
the rules she set up.  Number one:  Do not let Harry talk you into anything. 
Number two: Do not play with knives.  Number three:  Do not put yourself in
harm’s way.  I patted the bag of marbles in my pocket and placed the wand
around my neck.  I walked outside and sat on the top step. I hit send on the
phone and waited for the call to go through.

After
I had finished explaining everything to Noelle, there was silence.  Not a pause
in conversation silence.  Was it a “wait while I put you on hold and call a
good psychiatrist” silence?  Maybe it was a “wait while I think” silence. Still
silent, this couldn’t be good.  The coward’s way would be to hang up and
pretend that the cell phone quit. I had eased my finger toward the end-call
button when she started talking.

“So
let me get this straight.  Michael’s aunt asked you for help.”

“She...”

“Don’t
interrupt.  She asked you to find Father Michael.  So, you and Harry go with
her to Savannah to find him, although he is supposedly in Palm Beach.  You find
out that he may be up to something involving very large diamonds and military
priests, but you don’t know what.  Harry is right now breaking into his
computer looking for clues.  Anything else?”

“He
knew I would come looking for him because he left me a secret message, but it
didn’t say where he was going or what he was doing.”

“Do
you think this is an elaborate joke?  You’re pretty gullible.”

“Don’t
remind me.”  Several hundred moments of gullibility flashed through my mind,
giving me a headache.  “I think he was doing something for the church or these
church guys that he thought might be dangerous.  I think he set up his aunt to
go looking for him at our home with the suggestion that he was going to visit
me, er, us.  When he didn’t return, she would pick up his trail with me.  He
assumed that I would get involved, but even though he set up these safeguards
he didn’t finish them.  Maybe he left too soon?”

“Or
the information was too important to risk someone besides you finding it.”

“So
you think there is more hidden here?”

“Perhaps,
or enough to lead you to it.”

“Do
you think I should proceed or hand it over to the police?”  I put the decision
in her hands.  She was being way too calm.

“You
don’t really have anything besides diamonds, and they could be fakes.  Although
I don’t suggest getting them valued because I’m sure it will only bring on
trouble.  Best thing for right now is to pretend you didn’t find them.  That
goes for megaphone Harry as well.  Best place to hunt for priests would be the
church, but best place to hunt for military chaplains in Savannah is Lucy
Blues.”

“Lucy
Blues? Is this a place or a person?”

“It's
a place, a club, but you can’t go there, send Harry. It’s very important that
you don’t go in there because not only won’t they talk to you because you’re
not former military, but you’re also a woman.”

“Whoa,
how would you know about this place?”

“We’ll
discuss it later and not on a cell phone.  Take this name down.  Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Bill
Townsend.  He’s the concierge at the Marriott.  If Harry doesn’t come back, he
may be able to help, but don’t bother him unless you’re in dire straits.  He’s
a former boyfriend, and we didn’t end well.”

“Understood. 
Any suggestions about what to do with the diamonds?”  I asked sweetly.

“Where
are they now?”

“In
my pocket.”

“Keep
them there.  And don’t take a commercial flight home.  If the company jet isn’t
available, rent a car.”

“Why
not fly?”

“You
would have to go through Atlanta, Mom.”

“And
Atlanta is bad why?”  I expected her to say something ominous like “people
vanish in Atlanta” but she didn’t.

She
said, “Your favorite silversmith is in Atlanta, and I will kill you if you
bring home one more piece of Indian jewelry.  Remember when we went over your
budget when dad lost his job?”

“Yes,
but he has another job.”

“Still,
your money is tight.”

I
thought about telling her about Harry’s detective agency scheme but thought
better of it.  “Okay, I will avoid the airport.”

She
hung up or ended call or whatever we do now with cell phones, and I sat awhile
on the step, digesting the conversation.  I wasn’t in trouble for being in
Savannah.  I was in trouble for shopping in Atlanta Hartsfield International
Airport.  My daughter knows of dangerous bars and dangerous people and doesn’t
mind me carrying around what could be thousands of dollars worth of diamonds in
my pocket, but I can’t be trusted to not buy any silver?  She doesn’t worry
about Harry in this dangerous bar, but just in case he gets into trouble, here
is the guy to get him out.  Who was my daughter anyway?

I
got up and walked back into the apartment to check on Harry’s progress.  Betty
waved me over to the kitchenette and poured me a cup of tea.

“Sit
yourself down. You look a bit confused.”

“Not
a bit confused.  Let’s say very confused.  Thank you for this.”  I raised my
cup and smelled the aroma.

“British
Breakfast,” Betty said proudly.  “I hear this is your favorite.”

“It
is, and I won’t ask who told you.  Let’s keep it a mystery.  Speaking of
mysteries, where is your southern accent?” 

“Comes
and goes,” Betty said without explanation.

I nodded my
head over at Harry.  “Any progress there?”

She
smiled at me.  This was the first smile from Betty.  I started to feel a bit
more confused.

“Harry
told me about you.  That this stuff Mikey wrote was gibberish to throw red
herrings around.  Although I don’t know what fish has to do with this.  So, I
figure I would let you speak for yourself.  How did you get mixed up with the
father?”

I
told her about meeting Michael on the plane over to England and about finding
Donald Williams’s corpse in the bog behind the music school I was visiting.  I
told her how he got shot before we could interrogate his namesake Michael
Sherborn.  My voice had shook with emotion when I related how he came to my
rescue, as damaged as he was, and how he saved my life.  I had stopped and
steadied myself before I told her that between he and I  there was a lot of
negative energy, and I had taken great pleasure in the past pissing him off.  There
may be an attraction there, but it wasn’t physical, it was juvenile.

“So
you’re like brother and sister.”  Betty nodded.

“Much
older, irritating vain brother and sweet uncomplaining little sister.”  I
smiled.  “Speaking of irritating.  Harry!”

“What?”
he answered, not turning around.

“Any
luck yet?”

“For
your information, luck has nothing to do with it.  I’m applying skilled
deduction here.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“Why
don’t you come over here and confab with us.”

Harry’s
eyes narrowed.  “So, confab isn’t raw garden snails.”

“I
could have brought some in from the garden,” I said sweetly.

“No,
you wouldn’t touch snails,” he said as he walked over and drew up a chair way
too close to me for comfort.

“Okay,
confab is short for confabulate which means to converse informally, chat.” I
smiled.

“Always
the joker,” Harry growled and accepted a cup of tea from Betty.

“In
this case, we’re going to chat about what to do with the information we do
have.  I want Betty in on this because I live in fear of her disapproval,” I
said looking at her.  “You know this town, and I trust you.”

Betty
gave me a nod of approval and poured me another cup of tea.  I jumped up and
grabbed some paper from the desk, the diary and sat back down.

“I
was outside talking to Noelle, and she gave me some avenues to walk down or
look into.  I will get to them later.  First, let’s put all our information
together.”

I
tried handing the pen and paper to Harry to take notes, but his hands were full
of tea and cookies.  Betty grabbed them and nodded for me to proceed.

“Okay,
first the info we have.  We know that Father Michael left here...”

“Three
weeks ago, Thursday,” Betty filled in.

“His
intended destination was somewhere in Palm Beach County, Florida.  But we don’t
know where.  According to his diary he was helping four Roman Catholic
priests.”

“How
do we find out which priests?” Harry asked.

“Well,
we know from the clues that these men were or are military chaplains.  Noelle
suggested that Harry do some undercover work at a club called Lucy Blues.”

“Lucy
Blues?”

“Evidently
it’s a military or veteran club.  Betty, do you know where it is?”

“Lucy
Blues is a bar on the riverfront.  The club must be a member’s only place,
probably over the bar.  I don’t know how young Harry is going to get into it.”

“I’m
twenty-one.”

“Yes,
but you’re not military.”

I
reached over and lifted one of Harry’s raven locks.

“I’m
not cutting my hair.”  Harry pushed my hand away and crossed his arms.

“Harry,
Harry, and you wanted to be a detective.”  I sighed.  “No, you don’t have to
shave your head and don a uniform.  I have a better idea.  Betty, do you think
you could get me a picture of Michael, lets say, twenty-one or twenty-two
years-old?”

“Yes.”

“Not
a fancy portrait just a snapshot.”

“Yes.
But why?”

I
told her and Harry my plan.  It took awhile for Harry’s eyebrows to return to
normal, and when the mischief entered his eyes, I knew I had him convinced. 
Betty on the other hand kept insisting that Michael’s aunt better not get wind
of this or there would be hell to pay.  The chill going down my spine at the
mere mention of her name was nothing compared to the discomfort of what she
would do to me if she found out.  I knew that I would have to risk this if we
were going to have a chance of finding Michael.