Chiun made a rude nosie, reached forward, and effortlessly forced the door open with the touch of one hand. "Only a pale piece of pig's ear would break down the door of a dead child's home," he said in disgust.
"When I said 'break,' I didn't mean 'break'…." Remo started to explain, but then decided to let it go. "Let's see who's inside."
The front door opened right into the living room, which was empty. There were a couple more rooms on the first level— kitchen, family room or den— and they were empty too.
"Upstairs," Chiun said.
"Good guess."
"I heard—"
"I know, I heard it too," Remo assured his mentor. Someone was walking around on the second floor, walking without stealth, because whoever it was thought the house was empty. The rooms on the first floor were intact, so if the intruder was searching, he was doing a decent job of it.
"Let's go up and see who it is," Remo said, starting for the stairs.
"I will wait here," Chiun said.
Remo started up the steps without arguing. Chiun obviously had something on his mind, and Remo decided to leave him alone with it.
Upstairs, he went through the first bedroom, then found the intruder in the bathroom, gong through the medicine cabinet.
The man was tall, with curly brown hair and very pale skin, as if he had been ill or had never been introduced formally to the sun.
"Do you prefer aspirin or Tylenol?" Remo asked.
The man started violently, knocking a couple of plastic vials into the sink as he turned to look at Remo. His eyes immediately caught Remo's attention. They were dark, deep set, and very intense, with a lot of white showing. There was no way to tell if that was their normal state, or merely a manifestation of the man's surprise.
"Who are you?" the man demanded. His voice was deep and very authoritative, as if he were used to being obeyed without question.
"I was about to ask you the same question," Remo replied.
"You have no right to be here."
"And you do, I suppose."
"I have every right," the man said. He turned, retrieved the vials from the sink, replaced them in the medicine cabinet, and slid the door closed.
"How do you figure that?"
"The people who lived here were members of my parish while they were alive."
"Your parish?"
"Yes. My name is Lorenzo Moorcock. I am the minister of the Church of Modern-day Beliefs."
"And what are you doing here if you know that the people who lived here are dead?"
"I came to cleanse the house."
"Are things so bad that you've got to take in house cleaning on the side?"
"Levity is for fools."
"And jail is for burglars, bozo," Remo said, grabbing Moorcock by the collar. "So 'fess up. What are you doing here?"
"In order for the souls of these dear departed members of my parish to find peace, their home must be cleansed of evil spirits," the minister said hurriedly, gasping for air. "Especially considering the way they died."
"So you were cleansing the medicine chest and the toilet?" Remo asked, releasing the man. "Seems to me a can of Ajax would do the job just as well, and you could leave God out of it. I'm sure he has a pretty full schedule… but then you'd know more about that than I would."
Moorcock fixed Remo with a piercing stare— his eyes really were like that all the time— and said, "We do not speak of God in my church." He walked past Remo out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
"You don't talk about God?"
"We are too modern for that," the minister said haughtily.
"That's interesting."
"If you are truly interested, you may come to my church and listen to me preach," Moorcock said. "If you merely intend to scoff, you are welcome nonetheless."
"I'll put on my scoffing shoes and take you up on that," Remo said. "I'd like to see a church where they don't talk about God."
Moorcock turned and headed for the stairs.
"If you happen to see a little Oriental gentleman downstairs, tell him that we already spoke, and he won't detain you."
"An Oriental?"
"Yes."
"He is not a heathen, is he?"
"No, he's Korean."
Moorcock frowned at Remo, then turned and went down the steps to the first floor. Remo went back into the bedroom.
He searched the entire second floor and found nothing. He was certain that Reverend or Minister Moorcock had not left with anything substantial, unless there was something in one of the pockets of his worn jeans. Apparently, his congregants not only did not talk about God, but they had some new ideas about how men of the cloth should dress.
Remo went back downstairs to see if Chiun had come up with anything. He found the little Oriental standing virtually as he had left him.
"Did you search?" he asked.
"No."
"You mean I've got to do it myself? Chiun, you better come out of this funk you're in."
"I merely meant…"