Hunt for the Lost Treasure

Chapter 6 — Oban's Organist

Nina's nerves had been rattled by the preacher's revelation, of that there was no doubt. After she’d assured him that she would not go home without reliable company, she drove to the market for groceries, as had been her intention before Father Harper had showed up. Yet, she could not conduct her business in a relaxed and collected way. She forgot half of the stuff she was supposed to buy for the house just because she was so preoccupied with taking note of every single person she encountered.

Could it be this one? Or that one? Is this the one Father Harper saw? Her eyes darted up every now and then to briskly examine those close to her, those on the other side of the shopping center, and anyone even looking in her direction. The paranoia was overwhelming, so she elected to go home where she could hide, a place where she would at least see him coming, whoever he was.

Against her better judgment, Nina took her half-assed shopping goods and got in her car to go home; there where nobody could help if things went wrong, there where she was isolated from public view. She would normally call Sam, but he was abroad. Calling Purdue would be dangerous for him, and futile for her while he was in hiding. Regrettably Purdue's face was too well-known for him not to be detected in public. This left Nina without a choice. She would have to confront whomever it is following her… alone.

When she stopped in her driveway, everything looked disturbingly normal. In all the time since she’d moved into the house on Dunuaran Road, she hadn’t once felt this compelled to revise her security measures.

“I need a goddamn fence, a tall one at that,” she said to herself as she sat in her stationary car with the doors locked, surveying her property. “And a dog. No, two dogs… Rottweilers… and a security camera on every bloody corner of my house.”

Maybe a husband would come in handy.

“No,” she protested out loud, stretching her slender fingers out like sun rays while her palms still rested on the wheel. A sharp sound startled her, sending her body backwards into her seat. “Jesus!”

Her phone was set on outdoor, so that she would hear it ringing while it was raining down in sheets. But now the rain had subsided and she sitting in a quiet car, making the ringtone sound like the advent of Doomsday to poor Nina's edgy nerves.

“Hello?” she stammered.

Hissing static came over the speaker with an almost imperceptible voice saying something in the background. The words were so faint that Nina could not even discern if it was male or female. It frightened her. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she scrutinized the area around her for any suspicious movement, but she could see no strangers or anything that seemed out of place. Just for good measure she hung up and switched off her phone.

“God, where are you when I need you, Purdue? Where are you when I need to get rid of my phone's global location system?” she sighed, lodging her hand in her moist, dark hair. She needed her phone to keep in touch with Purdue and Sam, but now it had become a window, bare of curtains, for the world to look through and see her. It had become a homing device for her enemies, still she had to keep it on her at all times because it was also her only life line if things went wrong — a necessary evil.

After over a half hour she got out of her car, trying to look oblivious to any threat. Unpacking her back seat, she constantly checked her driveway, but there was nothing. At last Nina started to wonder if perhaps the clergyman had been mistaken, prompting her to be overly vigilant. Maybe he said that on purpose to scare her back to the faux safety of church, who knows?

She found her house blissfully vacant of any alien entities, murderous men, or threatening stalkers. Only her guest, Sam's cat, ran out of the shadows when she entered the lobby with her bags.

“Hey, Bruich!” she smiled. “You have no idea how good it is to see your ginger butt, my friend!” The large feline, generally not the affectionate sort, spent a few seconds for some obligatory rubbing against Nina's legs before making for the kitchen as if he was hinting to being fed.

The kitchen was clear, the back door still locked, to her relief. By no means was she going to let go of all her defenses, but she did calm down somewhat after she’d put away most of the stuff she bought, which was still only half of what she was supposed to get. Every sound appeared suspect. Every creak, even familiar ones, were subject to consideration this time.

“God, I wish I could be as indifferent to the world as you are, Bruichladdich,” she sighed, shaking her head at the big ginger cat's nonchalant existence. He only cared about food and sleep, with no thought about prospective peril. Nina figured such was the privilege of predators.

When Nina woke up the next morning on her couch, she could hardly breathe. Quickly she turned her head to draw in air, just short of suffocation. The obstruction over her mouth and nose had cut off her oxygen supply and because last night's wine had knocked the shit out of her, she almost did not wake on time. A few rapid breaths later, Nina shoved Bruich away from her throat and chest where he’d been sleeping.

“Get off me, you stupid bastard! Geez, do you want to kill me? Huh?” she bitched really slowly with her recently awoken tongue. “Christ! Who do you think is going to feed your fat ass if you kill me in my sleep, hey? Who? Not your bloody owner, oh no, he is off gallivanting!” She spat cat hair in between her words. “Fucking hell, my skull is split open, I tell ya. I swear! I swear,” she whined at the equally drowsy cat as she stumbled to the kitchen for a lifesaver batch of black coffee. Bruich meowed, a long, drawn out, low-toned howl accompanied by a yawn. He leapt onto the kitchen chair as she raced through her coffee-making ritual, impatiently tapping her nails on the counter as the kettle took its sweet time.

Feeling guilty for her outburst a few moments before, she dared turn and look at Bruich. His green eyes stared at her from a face that expressed utter disappointment and hurt — cat-wise.

How could you?

“I'm sorry, honey.” Nina hastened to wrap him up in her arms, rocking from side to side with unintelligible mutterings only cat people would appreciate. With his ginger fur in her face again and one paw protesting against her cheek, she paced around the table until she’d completed her lap of penance.

Next, Nina and Bruich enjoyed a good full English before she hit the shower. Outside, the day was peaceful, unlike the day before, although the cool Scottish clime persisted. When Nina emerged from her bathroom, Bruich was already sound asleep on the unoccupied side of her bed. Shaking her head at the luxurious life of Sam's pet, she got dressed and straightened the bedclothes a bit to not look as unmade as the bed really was. She worked carefully around Bruichladdich so as not to wake him, before gathering up her car keys and locking the house.

Nina was still wary of who might be watching as she pulled out the car and closed the garage door. Her eyes surreptitiously combed the area as she reversed into the road. Before she drove off, Nina took one last look at her dark Victorian home and its historic charm, wondering how many previous occupants had felt this way throughout the centuries — feeling that the staunch and secure home could not protect them. Pushing aside this trinket of terror that would not stop presenting itself, she took off along Duanaran Road on her way to another patch of horror she’d sworn she’d never come close to again.

“Nina! I… we… are elated that you decided to help us!” Father Harper was smiling from ear to ear, keeping his grin plastered on as he looked at the ladies of the local Virtues for Vegans society gathered in the first pew off the pulpit.

“Oh Jesus,” Nina scoffed at the sight of the stuck-up housewives that she ranked as nothing but deluded, spoiled pets of Oban's wealthy with no concept of real life or the suffering of the homeless they claim to be helping.

“Nina,” Father Harper cried loudly to mask her blasphemous exclamation, knowing full well that it was too late. Nina heard one of the prissy snobs whisper, “What is she doing here?” and could not resist giving them precisely what they expected.

“Just dropping by to clean Father Harper's pipes for him,” she answered, somewhere between cute and catty that left the women gasping. Nina ignored the preacher's mild flush of panic. “Aye, I call it the Heretic Homily.”

Silence prevailed between the surprised churchgoers, and Father Harper was mortified. Nina felt sorry for using him to shock the stuck-up Bonny Bitch Brigade (as she called them when talking to Sam), so she moved right on with business.

“So, Father, which hymns would you like me to practice for Sunday?”

Relieved, Father Harper cleared his throat and skipped to usher her upstairs to the chancel where the large pipe organ from Ingram & Co. basked in the colors of the stained glass window on its right hand side. The sun was glowing against the church windows, transporting Nina back to a time she was not fond of at all. Memories prodded at her mind, but she denied them as she denied the doctrines enforced upon her inside this very old building as a child.

“I’m sure it will not take you long to master our organ, Nina,” Father Harper chirped, unusually delighted to have her back in his church. “There has been some damage to some of the stops, but our dirge will not need to utilize that part of the instrument.”

“Your dirge?” she asked.

He smiled apologetically. “Aye. I’m afraid we will be needing you to play… for a funeral.”

Nina caught her breath. “Excuse me?”

The preacher looked terribly embarrassed and she could see that he was afraid she’d abandon her assistance at the news. “I did not know myself until this morning. I do hope that you will not change your mind about playing for my service?”

Nina was hesitant. She hoped this was not his old bait-and-switch method to get her back into the church's talons. But looking at his face, it was clear that was not what he’d intended. Father Harper was quite sincere, in fact.

“I thought you had Mrs. Langley for those types of services, Father,” she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. “I can do a Sunday service — this once — but I don't do funerals. I don't like them. I detest funeral ceremonies. You know this.”

“I understand,” he started to explain, but Nina cut him off. “Then get Mrs. Langley to do this one. Please.”

“I would, Nina, but, you see,” he hesitated, blinking profusely as he searched the floor with his eyes. “Regrettably, it is Mrs. Langley's funeral I need you to play at, my dear.”

Nina was stunned at the news. Her arrogance was disarmed instantly and she was thankful that the snobs in the pew had not heard their conversation.

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Father,” she responded, sounding contrite.