Santa Clawed

are the Brothers of Love doing? Sitting, praying, holding the dying. Granted, a dying adult lacks some of the heart-tugging appeal of a six-year-old hurtling toward the red exit light, but still, families grateful for their service might give large sums, and I’m willing to bet a tank of gas—”
    She interrupted. “That much?”
    He grimaced. “That much. One tank of gas that a lot have enriched the monastery’s coffers. Even the name ‘Brothers of Love’ could be a ploy.”
    “Didn’t that woman, Kendra Something, walk off with close to three million smackers?” Cooper couldn’t imagine having such a sum all to one’s self.
    “Damn straight she did. But she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. They picked her up in ’97 in Belize. Sure lived the good life until then.”
    “You know, if I were going to be a crook, I’d go the charity route, too. It’s the easiest way to steal. For one thing, accounting practices are different for 501(c)3 nonprofit corporations.” She mentioned not-for-profit corporations that are charities. “For another thing, people want to help, so you appeal to their higher instincts and lighten their purses. Beats armed robbery.”
    “Except for robbing a bank or a Brinks truck. Gotta admit, there’s glamour to that, as long as no one is killed. Takes brains, planning, guts, and cool, cool nerve. When I think of the thousands of perps I’ve talked to in my career, most of them evoke disgust or fury. But those guys, I grant them a backhanded admiration.”
    “Yeah, I can see that.” She sat up straighter. “Well, we’re here. Want me to wear my coat, keep my sidearm concealed, or do you want me to go in exposed?” She grinned at that.
    “If you went in truly exposed, I expect half of those guys would run screaming for their rooms. The other half would run for you.”
    “What a pretty thing to say.” Cooper evoked the old phrase used to great effect by Southern women for generations. One’s tone indicated exactly how one felt about whatever had been said.
    “Go in with sidearm showing. Just in case.” He cut the motor and they both sprang out.
    Cops surf adrenaline surges. While the willingness to face violence and personal danger is part of their personalities, it’s also part of the high.
    Rick knocked on the door. Knocked again.
    At last the door opened and Brother Luther stood before them, dried blood on the side of his head, a shiner coming up, too.
    “Brother Luther, what’s happened?” Rick quickly stepped inside, as did Cooper.
    “Brother Morris and three of the brothers have disappeared. Brother Sheldon, Brother Howard, and Brother Ed rounded up whoever is left.”
    “Why didn’t you call me?”
    “Because I was knocked out, and the others had been locked in their rooms. I finally found the keys.”
    “Where are the brothers?”
    “In the kitchen.” Brother Luther led them there without being asked.
    Shocked faces turned toward the sheriff and his deputy.
    Brother Sheldon wailed, “We’re ruined!”
    “Will you kindly shut up.” Brother Ed’s nerves were frayed enough; he couldn’t withstand increased histrionics.
    “Let him be, Brother Ed,” Brother Howard, sagging in his bulk, said. “Sheriff, we were going to call you, but first we wanted to figure out what happened.”
    The other brothers nodded in agreement.
    Cooper flipped open her notebook.
    Rick began. “When did you discover you were locked in?”
    “This morning. Rose for matins and couldn’t open the door,” Brother Howard, in charge due to his strong personality, informed them.
    “They did it in the middle of the night,” Brother Ed, furious, spat out.
    “Brother Luther, how did you wind up with jewelry?” Rick asked.
    “Beg pardon?” Brother Luther’s head hurt.
    “Sorry: jewelry, wounds,” Rick replied.
    “I couldn’t sleep. So I got up around midnight and went to my office. I double-checked the books. They balanced, but I wanted to be sure. I’ve had a funny feeling about money lately, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts. There was a knock on the door. I answered. Brother Morris stood before me and that’s all I remember.”
    “Did he take the books?” Rick appeared relaxed, but he was certain he was on the right track, eager to den his quarry.
    “No. Left them as he found them.”
    “Brother Luther, do you think he’d been pilfering funds?” Rick folded his hands together.
    “It’s worse than that.” Brother Luther’s voice