A Matter of Time (35 page)

Ian Bennett took Dan Burke to the airport. “I’ll ship your marlin, soon as it’s ready,” he said, smiling. “The taxidermist
I use is a real craftsman. You’ll be pleased.”

“I hope Peg will,” replied Dan, who was having second thoughts about introducing such a sizable artifact into their rather
modest living room.

Ian laughed. “Oh, there’ll be a period of adjustment; there always is. But eventually she’ll be as proud of it as you are.”

At the airport, they shook hands. “Chief, come back soon for a real fishing vacation. And next fall, when Nan and I come up—”

“We’ll invite you over, so you can admire that thing collecting dust over the sofa!”

Father Francis and Brendan Goodell brought Brother Bartholomew to the airport. Their passenger did not talk much on the ride,
but they didn’t notice. They were nattering away, as usual. “Tourism’s really hurting after nine-eleven,” the old priest was
saying. “I hear all the hotels are laying people off.”

As usual, Brendan took the opposite tack. “But the reinsurance industry took the hit and survived. The island’s got new respect
in that quarter.”

“I hear the Minister of Tourism is meeting daily in emergency sessions with his counterparts from the other islands.”

“Maybe so,” replied Brendan, “but Ezra, the bartender at the Coral Beach Club, tells me that a number of their regulars changed
their vacation plans and came back because they didn’t want to fly so far. Guess if you’re a terrorist looking for a plane
to kill a building with, you pick one with ten or twelve hours of fuel on board, instead of four or five.”

“Besides,” the priest agreed, “you’d have to look pretty hard to find someone here who didn’t like Americans.”

In the back seat, Bartholomew caught the scent of cedar and hyacinth through the open window. And on South Road, he gazed
at the bright blue Bermuda waters and allotted them a double-page spread in his album of forever memories.

Father Francis had been right. He was leaving with a heavy heart. But he hadn’t thought it would be this heavy. He had almost
lost it this morning, at his last Mass. The window was open at the back of the tiny three-pew chapel, and in the middle of
the service, a small, black form had entered.

No one noticed at first, except Rheba, the old black lab by Father Francis’s side. Bartholomew turned and saw that it was
Noire, come to say goodbye. He reached over, and she let him brush her ears one time. Then she leapt up on the windowsill
and was gone.

The sister beside him leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry, Bart; we’ll take care of her.”

He choked up. So—what was it about this place that had so gotten to him?

Getting close to God.

Finally.

He recalled what had come to him on the ferry, a week ago—it seemed like a year ago.

You can take what you’ve learned home with you, and you can remain as close to me as you choose
.

They had arrived. It was time to say goodbye. He hugged Father Francis and thanked him. “You know what you said about leaving?”
Bartholomew said. “You were right.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

A planeload of new arrivals was just coming through customs. They were greeted by a Calypso band, courtesy of Bacardi’s. “Welcome
to our island Paradise,” they sang. “Welcome to Bermuda.”

43
  
  
compline

As soon as he reached the Friary that evening, Bartholomew went to find Anselm. He didn’t have far to look; the Senior Brother
was in his favorite chair in the library. Bartholomew was glad he was alone.

Anselm got up and gave him a hug, then waved him to the chair beside him. “Well?”

“What can I say?” answered Bartholomew. “It was all you knew it would be—and so much more than I thought.”

“I didn’t know how it would turn out,” said his old friend. “I prayed for you every day.” He smiled. “And I hear from Father
Francis that you and Chief Burke managed to get involved in another—situation.”

Bartholomew chuckled and nodded.

“Did it interfere with your retreat?”

The younger monk shook his head. “My retreat ended, just as the other began.” He thought a moment. “In a way, it prepared
me.”

Anselm looked out the window at the night. “Tell me what you learned down there.”

Bartholomew took a long time before replying. “That
trust in God is the bedrock of our life here. That my will is far stronger than I supposed. And far less inclined to submit
to God’s will. But—I can be as close to Him as I choose, in my heart.”

Anselm stood up. “Then it was an excellent retreat, Bartholomew. It’s time for Compline.”

Compline was the last service of the day, the “putting the Church to bed,” as it were. Joining the other brothers in the new
basilica’s robing vestibule, they observed silence as they donned their robes. Except for the Gregorian chant, they would
continue Grand Silence, as it was called, until after Matins in the morning.

Slipping into his robe, it occurred to Bartholomew that it was the first time he’d worn it in nearly a month. Funny thing,
it seemed to fit better now.

As they formed up in a column of twos, waiting to enter, by chance Novice Nicholas wound up beside him. Bartholomew looked
at him and smiled. Then, without speaking, he put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug.

There was one more friend he wanted to greet that night, back in the friary. But Pangur Ban merely looked up at him and stalked
away, as if to say, you can’t just walk out of people’s lives that way.

Later that night, however, long after lights out, the door to their room pushed open a little, and a heavy lump landed on
the end of his bed. He was careful not to disturb it.

As a monk, Brother Bartholomew can usually be found tending his garden—and his soul—at Cape Cod’s Faith Abbey. Until destiny
sends him to Bermuda, where he encounters trouble in paradise.

A Matter of Time

A car rolls off the cliffs into the night sea, carrying a rich young tourist and a pretty woman to their end. A nature lover
dives into crystal waters looking for parrot fish… and discovers a drowned man instead. This dark side of sunny Bermuda takes
Brother Bartholomew by surprise. Struggling with a crisis of faith, he has come on a peaceful retreat to heal his troubled
soul—only to be pulled into an investigation of drugs, dirty money, and murder. Now, as gleaming yachts gather for the Gold
Cup Regatta, Bartholomew must seek clues amid the wealthy and poor alike. For only in the depths of the human heart can he
find the answers he seeks… and perhaps a reason to once again believe.

Author D
AVID
M
ANUEL
, who deftly combines the appeal of the Brother Cadfael mysteries with riveting suspense, has been a resident member of the
ecumenical Cape Cod religious community for over three decades.

“A STORY OF SUSPENSE, ROMANCE, HUMOR, AND EVERYDAY MONASTIC LIFE IN A FAST-PACED, ENGAGING MYSTERY NOVEL. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.”

—
Midwest Book Review
on
A Matter of Roses

“TENSE AND ENTHRALLING.”

—
Detroit Free Press
on
A Matter of Diamonds