by A W Hartoin
“He was in love with her,” said Myrtle. “Head over heels.”
Joy took the picture and frowned. “You’re not making him sound innocent. How do you know he didn’t do it? She said no and he got mad. That’s common, isn’t it, Mercy?”
“It is,” I said. “Some men can’t take a no.”
“He didn’t have to take a no,” said Myrtle. “She was in love with him, too.”
Joy gasped. “But their vows.”
Myrtle chuckled. “Maggie and Dominic took their vows seriously, but they fell in love. It happens.”
“Did you tell the police?” I asked.
“We did, but Dominic would not have killed her.”
“Were they going to leave the church?” Joy could barely squeak that out.
Myrtle nodded. “I think so. Maggie was absolutely tormented by the idea, but she couldn’t imagine living the rest of her life without him as a partner or as a lover.”
She told us the whole story as she understood it. Father Dominic arrived in St. Louis three years before Maggie died. They worked closely together at the hospital on fundraising and updating the children’s services program. The Girls recognized a connection between them right away. Dominic had lost a brother to an accident. Maggie had lost Patrick. He understood her pain and shared her concern for children and the mentally ill. About eight months before her death, Maggie confided her feelings to Millicent. Nothing physical had happened between them, but Maggie was teetering on the edge. She didn’t want to leave the church and she felt it was her calling, but the feelings weren’t waning, only growing stronger.
Maggie and The Girls discussed the options. Dominic offered to leave the parish, if that’s what she wanted, but she couldn’t bear the idea. About six months before she died, they did try to separate themselves with regards to work. Maggie left the hospital and began working in administration at the St. Vincent Orphan Asylum and Mental Hospital. They weren’t in the same building, but the two institutions were under the same umbrella and shared funding.
Dominic stayed at the hospital running the volunteer services, but it didn’t help. They missed each other terribly. Myrtle described it as “pining”.
In the week before her death, Maggie came to lunch and looked very tired and stressed. She said she wasn’t sleeping. The Girls asked how she was and she said everything was fine, but they thought she was holding something back. The day she died, she was supposed to meet Millicent about fundraising and donations for St. Vincent’s, but she called that morning and left a message with a maid saying she had to cancel because she was going to have a meeting with Bishop Fowler and Dr. Desarno. Millicent called back to inquire what the meeting was about, but Maggie didn’t answer. She and Myrtle thought that Maggie had reached a decision. She was leaving the church and she didn’t tell them first, because she was afraid they’d try to talk her out of it.
Myrtle got tearful when she got to that part of the story. She said that they would’ve supported anything she wanted, but they did worry that she might regret leaving the church and Maggie knew that. The day she disappeared they waited for her to call and tell them, but she never did.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Disappeared?”
Myrtle wiped her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “Yes. She disappeared. Didn’t the FBI tell you that?”
“No. They didn’t tell me much.”
“They aren’t very good, are they?” Joy blew her nose for the fifth time. Maggie’s story was hurting her more than Myrtle.
“This is a pretty old case and they haven’t been cleared to work on it, so their hands are tied,” I said.
“But yours aren’t,” said Myrtle with a wan smile.
“No, they aren’t,” I said. “So what happened? How long was she gone before they found the body?”
Myrtle almost couldn’t make herself say it. The answer was eight days before Maggie’s body was found. She described it as the worst time of her life—and there was some serious competition for that distinction—the waiting and wondering where Maggie was, if she was hurt or dead, and then the finding of her body. Awful, excruciating, she said. It was like Patrick, Maggie’s brother, was dying all over again, too. The memories they shared, the understanding, the loss, everything came back, especially for Millicent. She couldn’t bear to hear the details, to think about Maggie’s body lying out in the woods for eight, long days. All they did know was that she was murdered and that she didn’t suffer. Uncle Josiah had been the one to tell them Maggie was dead and that was what he said.
“I knew he wasn’t telling us the truth, but Millicent couldn’t stand the truth,” said Myrtle.
“So you didn’t ask?” asked Joy.
“I didn’t, but I knew however it happened, Dominic couldn’t have done it,” she said.
I went to the kitchen to put the kettle on for more tea and to make another coffee. Mostly, I had to think. So many questions.
“Did she go to the meeting?” I asked from the kitchen and Myrtle looked up startled.
“I’m sorry, dear. I was thinking. What did you ask me?”
“The meeting. Did Maggie go to that meeting with the Bishop and doctor?”
She shook her head. “No, she didn’t.”
“Do you know when the meeting was?”
“No. I don’t think we ever knew.”
I got my latte and brought a fresh pot of tea out into the living room.
“What are you thinking?” asked Joy.
“Timeline,” I said. “When was the meeting with Millicent supposed to be?”
“Oh, dear,” said Myrtle. “I don’t know. So long ago.”
I sipped my coffee and considered. I was lucky Myrtle remembered as much as she did and I couldn’t ask Millicent. The bishop and doctor were definitely dead. Church records maybe. “Do you remember when she called?”
Myrtle smiled. “That I remember.”
“Really? That’s lucky.”
“Not really. Millicent and I took Lawton for a walk every single morning, rain or shine. It’s good for children to get out in the air. We always took you when you were with us. Maggie called while we were out.”
“You were living at the mansion?” I asked.
“Yes, dear. We never left, even when we married.”
Joy raised an eyebrow. “How did the husbands feel about that?”
“It was not negotiable,” said Myrtle, “but they didn’t mind. It was hardly a punishment.”
“No kidding,” I said. “So Maggie called, canceled her meeting with Millicent, but didn’t make it to the other meeting?”
“Right. Now that I think about it, Millicent was probably meeting Maggie in the morning. Yes, I think she probably was.”
There was something in Myrtle’s voice that caught my attention, nothing major, but there was something in there.
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
She looked away and I glanced at Joy. She caught it, too. “You have to tell her everything, Myrtle. Mercy needs all the information.”
“Lawton was little at the time. He still napped.” She smiled. “He was always a big napper. Still is.”
“So Millicent would’ve had a meeting in the morning because of Lawton’s nap schedule?” I asked, trying to keep the disbelief out of my voice. Lawton was Myrtle’s son and, let’s face it, that kid had a full-time nanny, not to mention a house chock full of servants.
“Yes.” Myrtle glanced at me and then looked away.
She was lying. Myrtle didn’t lie.
“You want me to investigate this?” I asked.
Then she looked at me, worried now. “Yes, dear, I think Millicent needs to know who did it and why.”
“Then tell me why you think the meeting was in the morning.”
“I told you,” she said.
I blew on my lukewarm latte and waited.
“I did, my dear.”
“That reason doesn’t make sense. Just tell me. How bad can it be?”
Myrtle poured herself a fresh cup of tea to stall and then she said, “It’s not bad. It’s private.”
“Nothing’s private in a murder investigation,” I said. “Nothing.”
“This is. It’s not my secret to tell and it has nothing to do with Maggie’s death,” said Myrtle. “I can swear to that.”
“You’re certain?” asked Joy.
She looked her in the eye and said, “Yes, absolutely.”
“So the meeting with Millicent was most likely in the morning, which means the meeting with the bishop and doctor was, too.”
The ladies nodded.
“Okay. So when did you walk? I remember it being early and cold,” I said.
“We went after breakfast. Lawton was an early riser. He usually woke me by six o’clock so breakfast at seven, I think. Mrs. Perkins will have the time precisely.”
“Mrs. Perkins?” asked Joy.
“Our housekeeper at the time. She was a bit of a dragon about schedules. She kept a household diary that kept track of everything, menus, expenses, even illnesses.”
Joy laughed. “I’m so glad you don’t want me to do that.”
“Nobody asked her to do it,” said Myrtle. “It’s how she was trained.”
“Do you have her diaries?” I asked.
“Probably. Somewhere in storage. We can check.”
We figured out that The Girls were probably out walking by eight and the walks were around the neighborhood and took about an hour. So Maggie called between, say, a quarter to eight to maybe nine in the morning. The meeting with the bishop and doctor wouldn’t have been later than eleven. I didn’t need Myrtle to tell me that. The Girls didn’t like meetings to start after eleven in case they ran long into lunch, which might cause an awkward situation. That meant Maggie disappeared between eight and eleven. A three hour window was pretty wide, but it could’ve been way smaller. She could’ve called right before The Girls got home just before nine or so, and the new meeting could’ve been at ten or earlier even.
“Did Maggie have a car?” I asked.
“No. She didn’t drive,” said Myrtle.
“Did Dominic?”
“I have no idea. He may have.”
Joy clasped her hands together. “I get it. How did she get to St. Seb?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Something happened that morning and it must’ve happened here in St. Louis.”
“Uncle Josiah said she died in St. Sebastian,” said Myrtle. “I remember that. He was quite specific.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. I want to know how she got there and why.”
Myrtle thought about it. “She could’ve taken a bus. Maggie took buses everywhere or she walked. She was a great walker.”
“But she called to cancel her meeting with Millicent, I don’t think she would’ve stood up the bishop,” said Joy with a touch of pride.
“You’re right.” Myrtle sat back and sipped her tea. “She was never rude. Something happened here.”
“Do you think she was kidnapped?” asked Joy.
“I think if she was, the cops here screwed up royally,” I said. “They should’ve investigated. Can you think of any reason why Maggie would go to St. Seb voluntarily?”
She couldn’t think of any reason. She wasn’t even sure if she’d heard of the town until Sister Maggie died there, but, of course, that didn’t mean there wasn’t a connection. I wondered if Aunt Miriam would be willing to tell me that. Probably not.
First things were first. I needed to find out what the timeline was, whether Father Dominic had a car or not, if there was an investigation into his death or not, did he leave a suicide note, cause of death for Maggie. At that point, I wasn’t taking anything for granted.
“Joy told me that you and Millicent mourned for a long time after Maggie died,” I said gently.
“Yes, we did.” Her pretty face curved into remembered grief. “It was a terrible time. You know my husband died not long after.”
“A year later?”
“A little over a year. Please don’t ask me about that. Maggie is enough to think about.”
“I won’t. I just want to know why you and Millicent stopped going to church.”
Myrtle jolted into sharp focus and looked at Joy. “Did your mother say that?”
Joy nodded.
Apparently, The Girls didn’t stop going to church. They stopped going to the cathedral and started using the tiny chapel at Prie Dieu, the family’s country house. They didn’t tell the staff because they didn’t want to talk about it. Lester knew, of course, but he wasn’t a gossip. I questioned whether or not Lester’s wife, Mary, knew, but Myrtle wasn’t sure. They were extremely close to Lester, Mary less so, but she wouldn’t be surprised. Lester adored Mary.
“I’m going to talk to her,” I said.
“Mary?” asked Joy. “What for?”
“I’m thinking Lester talked to his wife. She might remember something. Did she know Maggie?”
“Yes.” Myrtle frowned. “But I don’t think they were close. I hope you’ll be gentle with her. She’s not doing well since Lester died.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I’ll be careful, but I want to talk to her.”
Joy and Myrtle didn’t get it and it was just as well. I should’ve thought of it before. What did Joy’s mother say? The Girls and Lester would be curled up looking at the Bled family tree and talking about me. Mary might know if I was a Bled for sure and how. That and Lester was a keen observer. He might’ve had his own theories about Maggie’s death. He went everywhere with The Girls and was practically a fixture in the kitchen where they did their best chatting. He’d have known Father Dominic and a man wouldn’t be blinded by a pretty face. If Lester didn’t like that priest, I’d bet the farm that he told Mary.
“So why did you stop going to the cathedral?” I asked. “Was it because of Father Dominic being accused?”
“In part, but it started before that. Did you know that Maggie wasn’t reported as missing for four days?”
I didn’t and I didn’t know that the bishop had said that Maggie probably ran off with a man and he couldn’t be bothered with wanton women. Myrtle would never forget sitting in his office asking what was being done to find Maggie and being told nothing. The bishop thought she’d purposely left him waiting and he didn’t have any more time for her. He implied to The Girls that a woman with a face like that could not give herself to God. It was the same old story. He judged her by her cover and her disappearance solidified his opinion. The Girls went over his head and together with Uncle Josiah they got Maggie listed as a missing person against the church’s—really the bishop’s—wishes. Myrtle didn’t remember what the police found out. It was a blur of fear and sleepless nights. She did remember Father Dominic in a panic sitting in that office with them, begging for help and not getting it. Dominic organized a search party around the convent and had flyers printed out of his own pocket.
“Uncle Morty looked at the papers at the time. There was nothing in there about Maggie until she died. What’s up with that?” I asked.
“The church wanted it hushed up. They didn’t want anyone knowing that a nun was missing, that she’d run off, in their opinion. Dominic couldn’t get it in the papers. He tried. He was frantic. Out of his mind he was so worried. Her family searched with him. The Mullanphys tried to get the newspapers interested, too, but they wouldn’t go against the church. And then when she was dead…” Myrtle choked off and I took the cup from her hands.
“The church thought he did it,” I said.
She nodded.
“Did that bishop do something about it then?” asked Joy. “My mother didn’t say anything about any of this.”
“He…he acted like Maggie’s death was an accident and at the same time he accused Dominic of murdering her. He kept her from having the funeral she deserved. He forced the Mullanphys to agree to not having it at the cathedral, but instead at St. James the Greater in Dogtown. He said it was because it was her
family parish, but it was really because he didn’t want the publicity. He said such things had to be kept quiet, like it was Maggie’s fault someone murdered her and it shamed her somehow.”
I exchanged a glance with Joy. She was pale and I knew she was thinking what I was thinking. The bishop might’ve been an ass, but he had a reason. I had to get ahold of the autopsy report if it still existed.
Joy leaned forward and said softly, “Do you think that’s why Father Dominic killed himself?”
Myrtle broke down and we let her cry it out as if that was possible. People say that. Cry it out. Like if you cry the sorrow leaves your body permanently. Let me tell you it doesn’t. I cried myself into hysterics after my boyfriend David disappeared. My sorrow didn’t go anywhere. Like The Girls, it’s the not knowing what really happened that gets you.
Once her sobs quieted, she said, “The worst thing was…”
I braced myself. The worst thing? There was something else? No wonder Aunt Miriam didn’t want to talk. I felt drained and I was born decades later.
“What was it, Myrtle?” asked Joy. “Mercy has to know.”
“He…he barred Dominic from the funeral.”
“Oh crap,” I burst out. “Sorry, Myrtle. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“I’m glad you understand,” she said. “I think that broke him. He couldn’t say goodbye. The accusations were one thing. But that…he couldn’t stand it.”
“The Mullanphys couldn’t do anything about it?” asked Joy.
“We were all so upset. She was their last surviving child with Patrick gone. I don’t know how they got through. I don’t know how we did. Millicent wailed for hours when Uncle Josiah told us. We couldn’t do anything for her. And then Dominic was dead. I didn’t believe it at first. They never found his body. We thought they were wrong. They must be. He was a priest and he never said anything to us about doing something like that.”
“He was distraught,” said Joy.
“But suicide,” whispered Myrtle. “Not to be buried in consecrated ground.”
My mind was racing. First Maggie and now this.
“You don’t think he killed himself,” I said, my heart sinking. Two crimes. Fifty years ago. God help me.
