Free Rueful Death by Susan Wittig Albert Page B

Deputy Walters isn't at all the right sort of person for an investigation like this-an inside job, as you say. You have to be
shrewd.
You have to listen and detect things cunningly, the way Brother Cadfael does. You've read the books about him, I'm sure-the medieval monk who grows herbs and solves mysteries." She looked at me brightly. "I'm confident that you'll do a much better job than Deputy Walters."
    "I'm not Brother Cadfael."
    Her smile was winsome. "But you're the detective God
    saw fit to send us. The handmaid of the Lord."
    I had never pictured myself the handmaid of the Lord. If the Deity had picked me out of a lineup of potential detectives, He-or She, if you were of Sister Gabriella's persuasion-must need glasses. But it was probably futile to resist. I thought of what happened to Jonah, who refused a first-class ticket to Nineveh and wound up going steerage in the belly of a whale.
    "Do you have any suspects, Mother?" I asked. "Perhaps a sister who is behaving erratically?''
    Mother looked weary. "Lately, we've all been behaving erratically. It's the strain of merging two very different communities and trying to create some sort of shared future." She pursed her lips. "But no. I have no suspects."
    "Or to put it another way," Ruby said sagely, "everybody is a suspect."
    Mother's eyes were sad. "I am afraid you're right, my child."
    "You've alerted the sisters to watch for suspicious behavior?" I asked.
    "Yes, although my warning may have made things worse. People are already apprehensive and suspicious." She paused. "And please remember that we are monastics. We spend a great deal of time alone. It would be easy for one of us to set a fire."
    Maggie's fingers tightened on her cup. Her voice was tense. "Or push a letter under a door."
    I glanced at her, then back to Mother. "Tell me about the letters."
    "In July," Mother said, "Sister Perpetua went to see Mother Hilaria. Perpetua was terribly distressed. She had received a letter accusing her of stealing a book of psalms from the library in Sophia. She had apparendy forgotten to check it out."
    "Forgetting isn't a sin!" Ruby exclaimed, indignant. "She didn't intend to steal it, did she?"
    "Of course not. That's what Mother Hilaria told her. But
    Perpetua felt that the letter-writer was accusing her for the good of her soul, as we used to do in the Chapter of Faults." She glanced up. "Do you know about that practice?"
    "Maggie told us," Ruby said. "It sounds pretty barbaric."
    "Not if it's done in the spirit of Christian love," Mother Winifred said. "Chapter of Faults was a way of airing minor problems before they became major. Although I have to admit-" She stopped and shook herself. "But that's beside the point. The letter was written in the somewhat archaic language of the Chapter of Faults. T accuse you of the theft of a book of psalms from the library.' It instructed Perpetua to confess and make a public penance-to stand at the door of the refectory every mealtime for a week, holding the book. Given her age and physical condition, it was a rather stiff penance."
    "Where is the letter?"
    "Mother destroyed it. She kept the next one, however. Two others were brought to me several weeks ago."
    "May I see them?" I asked.
    Mother Winifred produced a key and unlocked a desk drawer. Each of the three envelopes she placed on the table contained a sheet of plain white paper. The messages, brief and explicit and accusatory, were printed in black ink in block letters. The first was dated August 15 and addressed to Sister Anne.
    /
accuse you of lewd behavior, of baring your nakedness when you were bathing in the river yesterday. You must make confession, and in penance, resume your full habit.
    My eyebrows went up. "Sister Anne was swimming nude?"
    "Hardly." Mother coughed delicately. "Her suit was rather revealing. One makes allowances for modern customs, however, and our swimming spot
is
private. The penance was quite out of the question for Anne, who gave up
    the habit