While you wait, here’s a brief snippet. Jamie is on a writing retreat at a monastery.
I was deep into a primary document written by a Mackenzie chief when I heard voices from the kitchen. A man said, in a very un-monklike tone, “Fuck off, Trent. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A deeper voice said, “Yes, I do. You think Father Greg allowed Martin to greet the guests as a reward? Hell, no. He was punishing him for letting Lawrence hit him in the face. You know the rule.”
“Yeah, yeah. No marks.”
“Besides, Joe, you’ve got no reason to be jealous of Martin. Unless you want to be music director.”
Joe snorted. “Noooo, thank you. The turnover rate for that job is way too high.”
Nothing else was said.
I sat there for a minute, reflecting on what I’d just heard. No marks? Unless the monastery had a goat named Lawrence, Brother Martin had lied to me. And what did that remark about the turnover rate for music directors mean? Martin had said that his predecessor had died.
It occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t tell Pete about the conversation. At least not until I got home.