“Here’s your message, Sister.” Lynda rose and handed her a slip of blue paper. “But it’s not from Mrs. Coughlin.”
Opening the note, Mary Helen read, “Noelle Thompson called. Meeting at Erma’s apartment with her daughter. Ten-thirty tomorrow morning. Expecting you and Sister Eileen.”
Not an extra word—so like Noelle. Mary Helen grinned. Clear, efficient, organized. Coincidentally, in keeping with the woman’s penchant for blue, Lynda had written the message on blue paper. Noelle had definitely taken charge and, with her running the inquiry, if there was any information to be had, she would certainly unearth it.
Folding the note, she shoved it into the pocket of her coat, went to her inner office, and called Homicide. It was time to bring Kate Murphy up-to-date.
* * *
Inspector Dennis Gallagher answered the phone on the first ring. Kate noticed her partner’s face start to turn red, forehead first, then his cheeks, finally, his neck. He loosened his already loose tie.
“What is it?” she mouthed. Poor Gallagher looked almost as though he were in pain. Forestalling her with a raised index finger, he listened intently.
“Yes, ’Ster,” he said finally. “Yes, ’Ster. Right here. Hold on.”
Pushing the Hold button on the phone, he held out the receiver to Kate. “Jeez, Katie-girl!” He ran his hand across his bald pate. “It’s that nun again. Something about a missing owl. I can’t make head or tail out of the damn thing. But I warn you, steer clear.”
Laughing, Kate removed her right earring and took the phone. “Hi, Sister,” she began cheerfully. “So, no word from your friend yet?”
Quickly, Mary Helen brought her up-to-date.
“When are you meeting the daughter?” Kate frowned slightly.
“Tomorrow at ten-thirty.”
“Well, that will probably solve the whole thing.” Kate tried to sound optimistic. “She’ll give you a relative’s name; you’ll contact your friend; and everyone will sleep easier.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mary Helen didn’t sound as convinced as Kate had hoped she would.
“You keep me posted, Sister,” Kate said. “And promise me you won’t try to do anything on your own.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Gallagher asked the moment she hung up. He watched her put her earring back on. “And why don’t you get one of them holes in your ears like my kids did?”
“Ugh!” Kate pushed her swivel chair back from her desk. “Sister Mary Helen belongs to a politically active group of older women called OWL—” she began.
“Murder wasn’t bad enough,” her partner interrupted. “Now the nun is into politics. What the hell is wrong with the Pope? Why can’t he keep the nuns in the convents where they belong?”
Kate ignored him. “A woman friend of hers hasn’t been heard from since the group returned from their convention in New York.”
“How long ago?” Gallagher leaned forward.
“A week tomorrow.”
“Did they ask relatives, friends, the usual?”
“They’re still checking things out But you know, Denny, I’m beginning to worry.”
“Missing Persons is not our department. We got enough homicidal maniacs running around the City to worry about without getting into somebody else’s detail” He riffled through the stack of papers on his desk. “See this?” He did it again, and a little cloud of cigar ash from the filled-to-capacity ashtray on his desk scattered across Kate’s blotter.
Gallagher blew it onto the floor. “Tell the Sister to call the nearest station. If the guy who gets the call figures something’s fishy, he’ll contact Missing Persons.”
“How can you be so callous, Denny, after all that woman has done for us? Now, really, where would we have been if she hadn’t helped us out in both the homicide cases on Holy Hill?”
Gallagher raised his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate what she did. She was a big help. My point is, this time why can’t you let her help out a couple of other guys?”
Kate went to the coffee maker and brought back two steaming mugs of black coffee. “Jack has a plan.” She set one cup in front of her partner, watching him blow on it, and hoped the coffee wouldn’t end up in the same place the cigar ashes had.
Gallagher looked over the rim, sipping noisily. “What’s the plan?”
“He wants me to turn her over to Honore. You know Ron Honore, in Missing Persons?”
“Know him! Sure I know him. What is it they call him?”
“It depends on who the they is,” Kate answered, knowing full well he was referring to Honore’s reputation as a ladies’ man.
“Something like Don Juan or Ron Juan.” He scratched his bald pate. “Whatever! Those two nuns will slow him down. And if you ask me, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Gallagher fumbled around in his jacket pocket, searching for his half-smoked cigar. “What’s more, the sooner you do it the better.
“By the way, Katie-girl.” He shoved a page of the morning Chronicle toward her. “What do you think of this?”
Kate glanced at the paper. It was a full-page ad from Emporium-Capwell’s Department Store. “To Mom with Love” was written above a page displaying jewelry, bathrobes, and food processors.
Mother’s Day! Oh, my God! Kate had forgotten this coming Sunday was Mother’s Day. She hadn’t even thought of a present for Jack’s mother. And she’d bet even money that Jack hadn’t thought of one either.
“What do you think Mrs. G. would like?” Gallagher hitched his trousers up over his paunch. “She’s not my mother, I keep telling her, but the one year I forgot, there was hell to pay for the whole week after.”
Kate smiled, trying to picture the sweet, accommodating Mrs. G. in a full-blown snit. It didn’t even seem possible. She wondered for a moment if Jack would ever forget her on Mother’s Day—or whether or not he’d even have the opportunity.
She could feel a familiar lump forming in her throat This is ridiculous, she told herself. Jack is absolutely right. If it is bothering me this much, I should get it checked out. Find out once and for all if I am going to be—how does the Bible put it?—a “barren wife.”
“How about this locket?” Gallagher pointed at the Emporium-Capwell ad. “Or maybe this Cuisinart, huh, Kate? Whatever the hell that is.”
Picking up the paper from the desk, Kate hoped Gallagher wouldn’t notice her eyes starting to fill as she scanned the page. At the moment nothing seemed appealing for either Mrs. G. or for her mother-in-law.
Kate glanced at her watch, wondering where Jack might be. It was getting close to lunchtime. She’d give him a call and remind him to pick up a present for his mother. Maybe he could do it on his lunch hour. And she’d tell him about Sister Mary Helen and ask him to contact Ron Honore. That would kill two birds with one stone. As soon as she thought it, Kate wished the word killed hadn’t popped into her mind.
May 11
Friday of the Fourth Week of Easter
When Sisters Mary Helen and Eileen arrived at Erma’s apartment, the front door was slightly ajar. Quietly they went up the narrow staircase. Caroline and Lucy were already in the living room standing silently beside a couple of armchairs. Finn, this time fully dressed with his long strand of hair plastered neatly in place, stared sullenly out the window.
An unnatural silence filled the whole place. Actually, the scene looked, to Mary Helen’s way of thinking, like a wake without a corpse, or refreshments either, for that matter.
“You beat us here.” Eileen’s cheerful greeting seemed to jar the group into action.
Smiling, Lucy walked toward the Sisters. “That’s the trouble with being punctual,” she said, attempting to be light. “Nobody’s ever there to appreciate it.”
Finn turned, nodded his head toward them, but said nothing. His eyes were red-rimmed and blinked nervously as he looked from woman to woman. Probably his bistro hadn’t closed until two A.M.
Caroline in a wide-brimmed black straw skimmer began t
o remove her gloves, one long finger at a time. If Mary Helen hadn’t known better, she would have picked Caroline out as the chief mourner.
“Why don’t we put your things in the bedroom?” Lucy offered, leading the way.
Mary Helen was laying her coat across the end of Erma’s bed when she noticed a black looseleaf binder propped against the leg of the nightstand. Before she even thought about it, she stooped over and picked it up.
“That’s our journal,” Lucy said “I guess she left without that too.”
Mary Helen must have looked puzzled.
“You remember, Sister. Erma and I started taking that intensive journal-writing workshop at the college. Well, that’s the binder they gave us. She must write in it just before she goes to sleep, like I do.” Lucy tried to smile, but her chin quivered. “It has all kinds of colored dividers with tabs to record our different experiences.”
“And all those experiences are intensely personal,” Eileen said, narrowing her eyes at Mary Helen, who immediately put the journal back where she found it.
“I was only going to look at the tabs,” she whispered, following Eileen back into the living room.
“Here comes another one,” Finn, trying to be helpful, announced from his place at the window.
“It must be Noelle. Good! As soon as Erma’s daughter arrives we can get started.” Caroline checked her wrist-watch. “You did tell her ten-thirty, didn’t you?”
Lucy nodded just as Noelle, in a whirl of blue, arrived at the top step. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Shall we begin by going over the facts we already know?”
She motioned them to sit down. Without a word, everyone, even Finn, followed her into the small dining area and sat down at the table. Noelle, their undisputed leader, took her place at the head.
“Erma’s daughter isn’t here, I see,” Noelle began. “Maybe that’s just as well. We can talk more freely among ourselves.” She glanced over at Finn. “Thank you, Mr. Finn, for letting us into the apartment this morning. I know it must have been an inconvenience. Please feel free to go about your busy routine. We’ll make sure to return the key when we’re done.”
Finn fidgeted uncomfortably but didn’t move. It was obvious that he had something to say but wasn’t too sure how to say it. “Look, ladies . . .” he began finally, his jaw, Mary Helen thought, set a little like that of a not-too-friendly bulldog. “Erma’s my friend. Besides that, she works for me and this here is my apartment house. I want to be in on whatever happens.”
Short, sweet, and very much to the point. Mary Helen watched the look of surprise freeze on Noelle’s face.
“I see,” their leader responded crisply. “I suppose that’s reasonable.” Her bright blue eyes jumped from woman to woman, waiting for a comment.
“It would seem to me—” Eileen cleared her throat Mary Helen had seen her friend look calmer addressing a crowd of five hundred—“that under the circumstances, Mr. Finn might be a great help.”
One look at the man’s beaming face and no one had the heart to ask, What circumstances?
“Very well.” Noelle’s voice brought down the imaginary gavel, and Finn became one of the group.
Mary Helen smiled over at the man. Poor fellow had no idea what he was getting into. She wondered for a moment how he would fit in.
“How shall we proceed?” Noelle was all business.
“This may seem a bit superficial,” Eileen said. Mary Helen knew that would never stop her. “But before she gets here, I’d like to know Erma’s daughter’s real name. It can’t be Ree, surely.”
The group looked toward Lucy. After all, it was Lucy who knew Erma best and Lucy who had called her “Ree.”
Surprisingly, it was Finn who spoke up. “It’s Marie. Everyone calls her Ree for short And the brothers are Junior and Buddy. Thomas and Richard, actually.”
Noelle looked a little annoyed. Being part of the group is one thing, her expression said, but taking over, Mr. Finn, is something else again!
Finn must have caught the look. He began to blink nervously, then studied the scuffed toes of his shoes.
Funny fellow, Mary Helen thought, trying not to stare at the man. On the one hand, he was nervous and seemingly shy; on the other, he was tough enough to get his own way. And, although his overall appearance was a bit seedy, he did own a building and operate a successful-looking restaurant. Yes, indeed, he was a hard one to peg! The only thing she felt certain of was that he did care for Erma Duran.
Before she could give the man any more thought, a bang of the front door and a stumbling sound from the bottom of the stairs announced the arrival of Erma’s daughter, Ree.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I wasn’t feeling too well this morning.”
The high, breathless voice floating up the staircase set Mary Helen’s nerves on edge. God help us, she thought A whiner!
“If it isn’t her ass, it’s her elbow,” Mary Helen was almost sure she heard Caroline whisper to Lucy. The astonished look on Finn’s face convinced her she had heard correctly.
Lucy rose and went to the banister. The rest of the group turned to watch.
“Come on up, Ree, honey. We just got here.” Holding out her short arms, Lucy waited for the young woman to come to the top of the stairs. As soon as she did, she reached up to hug her and kiss both of Ree’s dimpled cheeks.
“Aren’t you feeling well, honey?” Lucy asked.
Ree shook her head and pulled her full mouth into a pout “I’m so worried about Mommy.”
“Don’t worry, honey.” Lucy soothed her almost as if she were a small child. “We’re all here to help.”
Even though Ree wore no makeup and, girllike, had pulled her blond-streaked hair into a ponytail, Mary Helen judged her to be at least thirty-five.
Lucy looked confidently around at the assembled group. “We’ll find your mother and bring her home where she belongs.”
Mary Helen wished she felt as confident as Lucy sounded. They hadn’t even considered the possibility that Erma might not want to be found.
For a moment, Ree, her chubby face still flushed, stood at the edge of the room. She tugged self-consciously at the back of the flowered blouse that hung well over her snug navy pants. The more she tugged, the more the buttonholes down its front pulled away from the tiny buttons.
“Come over, dear. Sit down.” Lucy patted the chair next to her. “You’ve met everyone here, I’m sure, except the nuns.”
The look on Noelle’s face said, Make the introductions brief. And Lucy did.
“Now, then,” Noelle began. “Our job is to locate Erma.”
Ree wrinkled her short nose and sniffled. Good night, nurse! Mary Helen squirmed, exasperated. Not only does the woman whine, she sniffles.
“Ree”—Noelle directed her gaze toward Erma’s daughter—“Mr. Finn tells us that your mother mentioned going to St. Louis.”
“She never said that to me.” Ree tugged again at her blouse and focused her large eyes accusingly at Finn. “Why would she tell him if she didn’t tell me?”
Finn leaned forward in his chair. For a moment he looked as if he might tell her why.
“That’s beside the point,” Mary Helen interjected, remembering only too well Finn’s opinion of Erma’s children. She didn’t want to appear rude, but this meeting was too important to let personal animosities disrupt it.
“What we want to know is, have you any idea whom we can phone to get in touch with your mother?”
“I can’t imagine who she’d go to see in St. Louis.” Ree sniffled again.
“Are there no relatives there, dear?” Caroline’s straw skimmer bobbed impatiently.
Her dark eyes filling, Ree shook her head.
“Friends, perhaps?” Caroline probed.
“Poor Mommy. You know her social-security check still hasn’t come.” Ree, ignoring the question, stared at Finn.
“Friends?” Caroline insisted, despite the growing feeling of tension in the room.
“Only Aunti
e Barbara.”
“Auntie Barbara?” the group repeated in unison.
“Not our real aunt. Just a friend of Mommy’s from college way back. But I’m not really sure exactly where in St. Louis she lives.”
“Now we’re beginning to get someplace.” Beside her, Eileen beamed. Mary Helen did not feel quite so optimistic. Something was bothering her. She must have been frowning because Noelle nodded her blue-rinsed head toward the old nun. “What’s wrong, Sister?”
“Well . . . I was just wondering about the money. Erma’s social-security check hadn’t come, and Lucy mentioned to Caroline and me that Erma was worried about money while we were in New York. How could she afford the fare to St. Louis?”
She was just about ready to answer her own question—Visa or MasterCard, of course—when Finn spoke up.
“I lent it to her.” He shrugged.
Ree glared at the little man. “You lent it to Mommy? You? Why, you can hardly pay her salary on time.”
“I got lucky.”
“At the track, I suppose.” This time Ree sniffed rather than sniffled. “Just like my father. He—”
All eyes shifted to Finn. Face flushed, he raised his broad hand, as if to stop stones instead of words. “Whoa!” he shouted. “Your father was a good man and a good friend of mine.”
The words echoed in the small dining room. Mary Helen could hear the others twisting uncomfortably in their chairs, the way people do who have inadvertently stumbled into a family fight. Several cleared their throats. Eileen, she noticed, was studying a cobweb on the chandelier.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Noelle interrupted quickly.
Mary Helen could sense the relief.
“We are straying from the point. How are we going to proceed with finding our friend Erma?”
Caroline, eager to help her neutralize the situation, raised her index finger. “Let’s divide the duties,” she suggested, with a nod toward Noelle, “then schedule another meeting.”
“Fine.” Noelle took a pocket calendar from her navy-blue leather handbag. “We had better not wait too long.” She paused briefly, waiting for comments. When there were none, she continued. “Shall we say tomorrow, same time, same place?”
The Missing Madonna Page 7
