Death Goes on Retreat
Page 22
Relief made Mary Helen’s knees melt and she buckled into the desk chair. “For Greg’s murder and Laura’s death, too?”
“Affirmative,” he said, all at once more businesslike. “When I first read her her rights, she raged like a madwoman, which she well may be, accusing Monsignor McHugh of the crime.”
Mary Helen was stunned. “Why the monsignor?”
“Seems she had a bad experience with his temper as a child in San Francisco. Something about losing his temper in the confessional and it made her hate all priests. The monsignor, of course, didn’t have a clue who she was.
“When the first heat was over and she knew I wasn’t going to change my mind, she broke. I think even she was shocked by what she had done, especially, if you can believe it, about killing the dogs.”
“Did she tell you why she murdered them?”
“She didn’t mean to. She only wanted to sedate them because she knew they would bark and chase her car when she drove away.”
“No.” Mary Helen dismissed the answer impatiently. “Greg and Laura! Did she tell you why she killed them?”
“With Greg it was flat-out jealousy. As I think I indicated earlier, Beverly is a lesbian. She wanted all of Laura’s attention and affection. She thought that if she did away with Greg . . .” He let the sentence dangle.
Each of Little’s answers raised another question in Mary Helen’s mind. “How did Beverly persuade Greg to go to the grotto without making any commotion?” she asked. “If any one of us had heard him . . .”
“Let me tell you what she told me.” He sounded eager to get through with her questions. “Beverly called Laura’s number, which she, of course, knew. She pretended to be from Dominican Hospital and told Greg his mother was in Emergency.”
“Why would he believe her?” Mary Helen wondered.
“I don’t know, Sister, but when they are awakened in the middle of the night, most people aren’t thinking too clearly. Remember, this guy was also full of bubbly, which didn’t help make him any more logical. Anyway, by the time he arrived, he was probably beginning to have some doubts and when he saw Beverly, they struggled.”
Little cleared his throat. “Beverly’s a strong woman and he fell and hit his head against the car door. She shoved him into the car and drove him to the entrance. When he came to, he didn’t have any idea how long he’d been out. Anyway, she took advantage of that. Beverly had the knife at his throat and told him that she had Laura at the grotto and if he made any sound she’d kill him first and then kill Laura.
“You can imagine how quickly and how quietly the guy got up there. When he saw the place was empty, he turned, but she was on him. You saw the results.”
Mary Helen’s stomach roiled. “Why did she murder Laura?” she asked softly.
“Because Laura wanted no part of her. Their meeting in the bedroom must have been brutal. Enraged that she had killed for no reason, Beverly dissolved sleeping pills in Laura’s soup and sent an unsuspecting Sister Felicita over with it on a tray. Later she slipped into the room, put the overturned vial on the bedstand, and figured I’d call it suicide!”
“How do you account for Greg getting the acorn stuck in the sole of his shoe?” she asked quickly, sensing Little’s growing impatience to get off the phone. “Did she take him to Bonny Doon?”
Little gave a dry cough. “The acorn that gave you the break, you mean? As far as I can figure, Beverly never went near Bonny Doon, but the carpet of her car was full of stuff from living in the country. You know what I mean?”
Mary Helen did. Sister Therese was always complaining about the twigs and leaves that appeared on the carpet of the convent’s Nova from just getting in and out at the Mount.
“Somehow, he must have stepped on it when he was getting out,” Little said.
An awkward silence filled the line while Mary Helen searched for a way to frame the next question tactfully. There was none. “Did Beverly threaten to expose you?” Mary Helen asked, dreading the answer.
“Yeah, she did. But don’t worry.” Little’s voice was thick. “I talked to Terry and regardless of what happens, he’ll stick by me. With him I’ll get through this. I’m a survivor!” The old good humor was slowly returning.
“And you know what, Sister?”
Mary Helen could not imagine what else.
“The two dogs were drugged with the same pills as Laura. Beverly crushed them into their water. Like I said, she had no intention of killing them. She just wanted them out for a while. Beverly really loved those dogs and was distraught when she went looking for them on Monday and found them dead.”
Mary Helen imagined Little shaking his head in amazement.
“I guess nobody’s all bad!” he said.
“Nobody is all bad!” Little’s words haunted Mary Helen as she slipped back into the chapel pew. And nobody is all good either, she thought. We are all just human beings.
She thought of the five priests, back in their own parishes by now. And who, she was sure, after this retreat experience would never be the same. The renowned monsignor, a dedicated, faithful man who still struggled to conquer the quick temper that had planted the seeds of hate in a young child. Ed Moreno ministering compassionately to the lost children in God’s flock, without ever being able to own his own feelings. The extremely talented Tom Harrington with a drinking problem. Zealous, good-hearted Andy Carr unaware of his own goodness. Young, sensitive Mike Denski, yet to find meaning in his commitment.
Maybe that was what this retreat was all about—facing our shortcomings, acknowledging our strengths, and allowing God to love both. For she knew with certainty that God does love each of us individually—the priests, Greg and Laura, Bob Little and Terry, Sisters Felicita, Eileen, and herself, Eric Loody, and Beverly Benton!
God looks on us and the mess we have made of the graces He gives us, yet He continues to love us gently, deeply. There is nothing we can ever do that will change it.
In this quiet, beatific spot, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of God’s unconditional love. Maybe that was the fruit of any retreat: realizing that great love and then spending our lifetime trying to extend the same unconditional love to one another.
The chapel door swung open. Eileen stuck her head in. “Tuna salad is ready when you are,” she whispered.
Slowly Mary Helen rose to join her.
“You will never guess what Sister Felicita asked me.” Eileen’s wrinkled face glowed with amusement.
Mary Helen bit. “What?”
“She asked me if I would consider staying on and being the cook here at St. Colette’s. And . . .” She paused. Mary Helen waited for the punch line.
“And . . .” Eileen’s bushy eyebrows rose. “She wanted to know if I thought you, old dear, would like to stay on and be my assistant!”
“Me? The cook’s assistant?” Mary Helen repeated incredulously. All at once, facing the music at Mount St. Francis College didn’t seem like such a bad prospect after all!