Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold (29 page)

“How can you wear that trench coat and hat?” Rose asked sweetly, putting on her silver-framed sunglasses.

“I think,” said Fish, opening the rear car door for her and crossing around to the driver’s side, “that the idea here is to be inconspicuously dressed.” He turned on the air conditioner. “Which is not how I would describe your outfit.” He glanced again at Rose’s lively green summer dress that set off her red hair, and shook his head hopelessly.

“If you want to wait a few minutes, I can go upstairs and find something in gray and brown,” she suggested. “I could even get my mom’s raincoat. That way, I can look just like you.”

Fish grumbled as he threw the car into gear and shot down the road. “The idea is not to imitate me, but to wear something subtle and unremarkable. No one ever looks at me twice, except possibly to notice how ugly I am. Fortunately, you won’t ever be able to have that asset, so if you really want to be some kind of amateur sleuth, start by playing down your looks—and your fashion statement. Sensible suits and unattractive dark glasses might work. But then again, I wouldn’t recommend that you even try to follow Nancy Drew’s career path in the first place. I doubt you’d survive to star in even one further mystery novel, let alone three hundred and fifty.”

“Fish,” Rose said indignantly when he finally stopped talking. “You’re not ugly. In fact, I’ve always found you rather winsome.”

“See what I mean? You’re hindered by poor judgment to begin with,” Fish said, rubbing his face. “All right, pipe down, Trixie Belden. We need to figure out our plan of attack.” He looked at Bear. “Is that Rita person supposed to be there now?”

“Yes,” Bear said. “She’ll show us around the place a bit.”

“Good,” Fish said. “Getting the lay of the land would be a help.”

They drove up to the banqueting hall and parked. Rita, who was standing outside smoking, caught sight of them and hurried over to greet them. “Hi again,” she said. “You’re in luck. Scarlotti’s gone for today. Only Carnazzo is here, and he’s a stuffed shirt, but maybe we can get by him. I figure if they catch us, I’ll just play dumb. We’ll go in by the side door.”

When they went inside, they could see caterers preparing one of the rooms for a dinner, laying out multicolored napkins and china place settings on dozens of tables in a room overhung with a massive chandelier festooned with colored glass beads. Assunta was among the waitresses, and she waved to them.

Rita led them down a hallway to a side staircase. “This is the banquet hall where Blanche was working last weekend, when we had the masquerade,” she said as she led them upstairs, and opened the door at the top of the steps onto a vast room with high stained-glass windows decorated with grapes, flowers, and animals. The floor was parquet, buffed to a high gloss.

“Incredible,” Fish murmured.

The architecture wasn’t bad, Bear noted. He could tell the materials used to imitate a medieval Gothic structure were phony—painted wood instead of stone—but still, the effect was that of a rather noble theatre. A fitting scene for a drama.

“What a spectacular party place,” Rose said.

Rita made a face. “Yeah, except that at night, you can’t see the colors in the stained glass. They look black, and then, with the brown walls, it’s
really
dark in here. I like some of the other halls better.”

Bear looked around, picturing the hall full of glittering costumed guests. And in the midst of it, a figure in white, alone, but erect. Blanche.

Just then, someone called, “Rita!”

Rita turned and the others glanced to see who was calling her. They saw a fat Italian man in shirtsleeves puffing towards them, his face red with the exercise.

“Who’s up there with you?” he demanded.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Carnazzo?” Rita asked, glancing helplessly at Bear.

Chapter Fifteen

The vestibule was as clean and as organized as it could get, until the friars received more donations. The girl looked around with a sigh, and closed the door behind her.

That morning, none of the friars seemed to be around. She had guessed that the novices didn’t have classes, but no one had told her what the Saturday schedule might be like.
I’ll just start looking for something to do
, she thought, and wandered into the sacristy. After some investigation, she decided she would start by cleaning the high cabinets, which were full of dust. That way, she could be near the statues of the saints in the closet, which she had dubbed The Sisterhood.

She was well into her work when she heard voices. Glancing out into the main church, she saw the two priests and Brother Leon talking in the sanctuary. There was a pudgy blond man in a polo shirt with them, and he hailed her with a hearty, “Hello there!”

For some reason, she didn't quite like how that man was looking at her. Returning the greeting, she pushed back her drooping hair again, feeling on edge. Her hair was really annoying her, and she decided to use that as an excuse to return to her bedroom and hunt for her red bandana, which she hadn’t been able to find.

She hurried across the courtyard, fiddling in her pocket for the key to the high school that Father Bernard had given her.

Once inside her room, she took a deep breath. It was a pristine, peaceful little place that actually felt homey, despite its sparseness. She had added a wildflower wreath and hung a picture on the wall, which made it cozier.

Kneeling beside the crate where she kept her few articles of clothing, she started to look for her bandana. It had been missing for a couple days now. This morning, she had checked to see if she had left it in the bathroom. Now she was wondering if she had left it in a pocket somewhere.

There was a knock at the high school door. Perhaps the friars were done with whatever it was that they had been doing. Hopefully, she went down the hall and pushed the heavy metal door open. A hunched-over figure in a blue hat with a green eyeshade. Bonnie.

“Hello,” she said cautiously.

“Hello,” said the lady in her crackly voice, fixing on her with eyes that were dim beneath the green shade. “I got something for you.”

“I’m sorry—I really shouldn’t take anything else from you,” the girl apologized. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”

The woman’s eyes were lowered to a plastic bag she was twisting back and forth in her hands. “Don’t want to come in. Just felt bad—you got sick before. My fault. Came to see how you were.” She coughed.

“I’m doing well, thank you.”

“I was wrong about you.” The lady swayed from side to side as she repetitively turned her bag. “You don’t need to be a scarlet girl to get what you want. These monks, they have their Mary, right?”

“Yes,” the girl said. The woman was rambling again, and the girl pushed aside her eerie feelings.

The woman nodded. “Pale and cold and white and above and beyond them. That’s what they like. That’s how you are, right? So transparent and clear, like a pane of crystal glass, no fingerprints on it. Untouchable.” The woman fiddled with her bag rhythmically again. “You don’t mind hearing old Bonnie talk, do you? No one listens to old Bonnie.”

“I’m listening,” the girl said.

The lady hacked at her cough again. “Some water—you got a drink of water in there?”

“Sure. Just a minute.”

She turned, but before she knew it, the old lady had followed her into the high school. The girl paused. Once again, she remembered.
“Don’t let anyone in.”

All right, so I’ve got to get her back out.

“What a sweet room,” the old lady said, pausing at the door of her room. “Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

The old lady took a step in, touched the sketch of the Virgin Mary, discarded by Brother Herman, which the girl had found and hung on the wall. “So pretty in here.” Her eyes beneath the green shade traveled over the bed, the flowers in the little bottle on the windowsill, the spiky crown of dried flowers hanging from the side of the bed. “You’ve got a touch, you have.”

It was nice to have another woman appreciate these things. Missing her mother and sister suddenly, the girl said, “Thank you.”

The old lady lowered herself onto the battered wooden chair as if it were made of china and looked from side to side, silent, not moving. Her hands were still: her tic had stopped. She seemed to have forgotten about the drink of water.

“We really, really should go back outside,” the girl said politely, after a moment.

“I want to talk to you, dearie.”

“We can talk outside.”

“You’ve taught me, about being beautiful. You don’t have to be scarlet. You’re a white maiden, white as snow, aren’t you? Pure as the driven snow. That’s what they want. Someone who’s untouchable. Beauty above them like a star.” She leaned forward. “I’ve seen a lot in my time, dearie.”

“I’m sure you have,” the girl said.

“I’ve had my wild days, I’ll tell you, when I was a scarlet girl, and I’ll tell you: you Christians are right about things between men and women. Sex.” The woman nodded sagaciously. “Wicked, that’s what it is. It’s disgusting. No, you have it right. None of that for you. You stay above and beyond the men. You can still get what you want. You be a snow maiden, and they’ll serve you like a queen so long as they believe you’re above it all.” She nodded. “Stay untouchable. Never give yourself away. That’s how it’s done.”

But sex isn’t wicked, in and of itself
, the girl mentally objected, but the old woman was drawing something out of her bag. “See? I made a poem about it for you.” It was a silver hair comb, and affixed to the top was a silver star flower, made of rhinestones, obviously an antique.

“I can’t buy anything,” the girl said regretfully. “I shouldn’t, it’s—”

“It’s a gift,” the old woman said, putting it into her hand.

The girl blinked, and thought to herself swiftly,
but I need something for my hair.

Carefully she combed back the side of her hair that had been flopping over her face all morning, and pushed the comb in. It held her hair perfectly. Wishing again she had a mirror, she put up her hand to feel it.

“That’s right,” the old lady said. “Never say old Bonnie never gave you anything.” She drew something else out of her bag. “Here. Smell this.”

It was a perfume bottle of a clear liquid. Taking off the stopper, she smelled it, and felt a blast of cold, chilly air sweep through her until her breath froze inside her. The stars shone over her in a black, still night.

II

After Brother Jim had seen the whole friary, he took his leave, saying that he had a lunch meeting. For the first time, he seemed to notice Leon.

“Oh, it’s you. Didn’t recognize you at first with the beard and haircut. Still here?” he said in feigned surprise.

Leon nodded. “Sure am. How’s the chancery?”

“So busy, as you can imagine. It’s been nonstop since I was hired,” Brother Jim said. “How’s your novitiate going?”

“Pretty good,” Leon said. “I’m happy to be here.”

“So far,” Brother Jim said with a small smile. “Well, I’ve stayed long enough. Stay cool, you guys! And keep your burglar alarms on!” He chuckled as he walked down the steps to his car, and walked around it carefully before he got inside and turned on the engine.

“Making sure he still has all his hubcaps,” Father Francis muttered. “Bernard, I’m not at all sorry we left.”

The novice master shook his head. “God have mercy on him.”

“Working at the chancery…Thank God he’s not a priest or I’d be afraid someone would make him a bishop,” Father Francis said as he shut the door.

“It won’t happen,” Father Bernard predicted with confidence. “They’ll make you one first.”

“Ha!” Father Francis snorted.

Leon went to the chapel to recollect himself for a few moments. Oddly enough, as he prayed for Brother Jim and the Franciscan order, Nora kept on coming to mind. As usual, he tried to turn his distractions into prayers, but the sense kept nagging at him that something was wrong. He finally looked up and saw that she wasn’t in the church. He couldn’t hear any sounds from the vestibule, or from the sacristy, where he had last seen her.

He got to his feet, reproaching himself.
Are you sure she’s not on your mind because you’re becoming too attached to her?
But despite his inner rebuke, he went to the vestibule anyway.