A Matter of Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

it’s drugs.”
    “Drugs? Here? In Paradise?”
    The driver nodded, and as they passed another church, Father Francis gestured toward it. “There are sixty-two thousand Bermudians,
     and they have more churches per capita than any place I’ve ever heard of. But there’s crime now.”
    Brendan sighed. “Our police are good. Very good. But the drug scene is stretching them to the limit.”
    For a long time they rode in silence, then slowed for what Father Francis explained was Somerset Bridge, the smallest drawbridge
     in the world. The draw part was less than two feet wide—just enough to permit passage of a sailboat’s mast.
    “Now we’re in Sandys,” the old priest announced. “The island’s westernmost parish. The West End is the most peaceful, yet
     even here we’ve had a couple of drug murders recently.”
    Reaching the Harris Property, they turned right, into the drive and up the hill. It struck Bartholomew how rare it was to
     find such a large piece of undeveloped land on the island.
    At the top of the hill was a tiny, whitewashed, three-pew chapel, with a breathtaking view of Great Sound andHamilton Harbour in the distance. It was so quaint, Bartholomew had to smile.
    Adjacent to it was the ancient quarry, an area about the size of two tennis courts. The gray walls of hewn stone were eight
     or ten feet tall, covered with dense underbrush. The quarry floor was flat and grassy, and in the center grew a huge old poinciana
     tree, probably as old as the quarry itself.
    The cottage at the west end was even smaller than he’d supposed. Square, squat, and blunt, it was Early Maginot Line. Grabbing
     his duffel bag, he followed Father Francis to the door. The latter undid the padlock, opened it, and turned on the light.
    “Here’s how it’s going to be,” he said. “We’re going to leave you completely alone. Your only contact with us will be at morning
     Mass. And on Sunday mornings, you and I will take the bus into Hamilton, to attend Mass at the Cathedral. If you really need
     to talk, I’ll be available.”
    He opened the window to let in some fresh air. “I’ve talked to Brother Anselm, and he’s told me of your landscaping abilities.”
     The old priest nodded appreciatively. “We can use some of that around here. You’ll find everything you need in the tool shed
     by the main house. Do whatever you think needs doing, and the more, the better.”
    He opened the refrigerator and checked it, then the cupboard above, checking to make sure the sisters had left Bartholomew
     enough to get started. “Grocery store’s up the main road, about a half-hour walk from here.”
    Taking out his wallet, he counted out three twenties. “This should keep you for the first week. But be careful; since everything
     has to be shipped in, it’s twice as expensiveas at home. And keep your food covered, or you’ll have ants everywhere.”
    He turned to leave. “Well, have a good retreat,” he said with a smile. “We’ll be praying for you.”
    Bartholomew put a hand on his arm. “Wait, Father. You said ‘the first week’—how many weeks is it going to be?”
    The latter just smiled. “As long as it takes, my son.” And with that, he left to join Brendan in the car.
    As they pulled away, Brother Bartholomew imagined the great hollow
clang
of a cellblock door closing behind him.

5      laventura
    As the late afternoon sun bathed Cap d’Antibes in liquid golden light, Neil and Marcia Carrington reclined in the cockpit
     of their 82-foot schooner, sipping Bombay Sapphire gin and bitters and watching their crew, all in white, load the last of
     the supplies for their three-week Atlantic crossing.
    “We can’t wait any longer, darling,” said Marcia, her blond hair up under a gondolier’s hat. “We promised Anson we’d be there
     to watch him in the Gold Cup. If he’s ever going to beat Dennis, he’ll need all the support he can get.”
    She waited for her husband to respond, but his attention