♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
At the convent, Helen rang an old-fashioned library bell on the desk blocking access to the convents’ central stairwell.
“Anybody here?” Max hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but the marble corridors down each side hall from the stairs echoed with his deep tones. He turned back to ring the bell but his elbow knocked a vase of white lilacs to the floor, smashing the vase, spreading water and crushed flowers for yards.
Helen apologized to a lady who peeked her head around an office door. “Do you know where we might find Sally Bianco?”
“She hasn’t returned.” The woman moved toward them, calling back over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of these people, Sister Alice. Could you clean up out here?” She extended her hand to Max and then Helen. “I’m Mother Superior, or you can call me: Sister James Marine.”
Max settled on “Sister.” He didn’t feel comfortable calling anyone Mother. Not because of the death of his own parents, but because the word was more of a swear word in the army. “Could I examine Mrs. Bianco’s room?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Do we look like a policemen?” Helen asked.
Max smiled his best attempt at Cary Grant’s famous grin. “Mrs. Bianco didn’t tell you she uses our detective agency?”
“Uses?”
Max wiped the dead actor’s grin off his face.
Helen opened her purse to present her detective license. “Sally Bianco left a message about a case and said we would see her in Ann Arbor on Monday.”
“We haven’t;” Max said. “When did you last speak to herl?”
“I expected her at four on Sunday.” Sister J.M. crossed her arms. “What day did she leave her message?”
Max reached for his notepad and pen. “Sunday, a little after one o’clock, why?”
“Right before they drove to Waterloo.”
Max looked up from his note taking. “They? Waterloo?”
Sister J.M. seemed upset by his questions. She directed them back to her sparsely decorated office. “Sister Antoinette, you may leave the filing for later.”
“Yes, Mother Superior.” The ancient nun quietly closed the door behind her.
Sister J.M. noticed and got up to re-open the door.
“Could I do that for you, Sister?” Max supposed there must be a rule about being in a room with a man. The square room’s ceiling was twice as high above them as the width of the room. He would need a ladder to touch the copper tiles.
“Mrs. Bianco offered to give Marilyn Helms and her dog an outing in Waterloo.” Sister J.M. touched her throat above the securely buttoned blouse. “I should call the police.”
“Don’t you think so?” Helen said.
“Could you describe Marilyn?” Max was on point. “Was she attending the recovery retreat, too?”
“AA, means anonymous, you know.” Sister reached for the phone. “However, Marilyn was working out a community service penance … sentence, I mean.”
“From what charge?” Helen asked.
“I’m not sure.” Sister J.M. seemed to be weighing her options to tell the whole truth, or only part. “Marilyn is addicted to prescription drugs.”
“How did she hook-up with Sally Bianco?” Max flipped a page in his notebook.
“My fault, I’m afraid. Marilyn is very resentful. One of her sources for the drugs died last year. Apparently, the doctor was involved in the death of patients at St. Anthony’s Hospital. No connection with our convent. I told Marilyn that Sally Bianco was a detective and might be interested in her story.”
“The doctor was writing her prescriptions?” Helen exchanged a glance with Max.
“Marilyn said he was an addict too, but yes, I think either that or he paid for the drugs.”
Max felt his temper rise under his open collar. “You let an old woman take a drug addict for a drive to the woods?”
“You make it sound unconscionable.” Sister J.M. started to twist the end of a lacy handkerchief. “They were all recovering addicts of some kind. Mrs. Bianco was going to bring a video back for the staff to enjoy on Sunday tonight.”
Helen was letting her sympathy for the nun’s predicament show by nodding.
Max held out his hand. “If you give me Sally Bianco’s key, Sister Alice could show us the way?”
“Of course.” Sister J.M. sniffed as she opened a small cabinet hanging on the wall behind her desk.
Helen saw fit to glare at him while the nun’s back was turned.
Sister James Marine handed him the key and called in Sister Alice, who must have been waiting in the hall. “Show Mr. Hunt and Miss Costello to Sally Bianco’s and Marilyn Helm’s rooms.”
Max and Helen stepped into the hall.
“Miss Costello,” Sister J.M. called. “I remember there were three doctors involved with the three dead patients.” She came around her desk and touched Max’s arm. “Promise me you will keep me informed.”
Max looked at her hand on his arm. He covered her small hand with his free hand. “When we find either of them, we’ll let you know.”
“Bless you,” she said. “Bless you both and those you love.”
Max felt touched to the quick. Who did he love now Maybell, Anita, had tricked him? Only himself?
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Mrs. Bianco’s room at the convent was devoid of decoration. The modern ceiling nearly touched Max’s head, which was quite a contrast from the Mother Superior’s ancient office. Helen supposed all the rooms for visitors to the convent were identical: a telephone, but no television, computer or radio.
“Do you have a box to pack up Sally’s and Marilyn’s belongings?” Max asked. Sister Alice nodded and scooted off. “I hope she comes up with boxes without consulting Mother Superior. I’m glad you’re here to deal with the fussy business.” Max pulled out each drawer in the dresser and dumped the contents onto the bed.
Helen found Sally’s journal in the bedside table. Helen worried about all the women at the convent, who had made decisions never to give birth, none. Nuns would never caress their own babies; never see them grow into the parents’ image, never love a person who belonged, while growing up, entirely under their care. Helen prayed the Lord would see fit to grant her children of her own…all she could provide for. The responsibility for their souls seemed light compared to the wealth of comfort and love her children and husband would endow. “Please God,” she prayed aloud.
“For what?” Max asked.
“Not to be a nun.” Helen laughed.
“Never fear,” Max said in a sexy voice that unnerved Helen.
Without commenting on the mess he’d made, Sister Alice precisely folded Mrs. Bianco’s belongings and packed them neatly into Sally’s suitcase. Max filled a small box with the books, while Helen turned her attention back to Sally’s journal.
The last entry, first Sunday in May, read, “List more amends.” With an exclamation point, twice as large as the lettering, were the words, “Write down each of the sixty!”
“I liked her dog.” Sister Alice interrupted Helen’s speculations.
“Marilyn’s dog?” Max asked. “What breed was he?”
“Beautiful and friendly, an Irish setter. Yellow.” Sister Alice coughed. “Maybe he knew I’m Irish.”
“The dog knew?” Max failed to hide his disdain.
Sister Alice lifted her prideful chin. “Rufus. That was his name.” She left the room in a huff.
“I understand these sexless schmoos are all a little off kilter.” Without sufficient reason, Max seemed to congratulate himself for being sexually active. Helen watched Max’s shoulders slump when his memory of Maybell shot him down. Sister Alice returned with another box. With renewed respect in his tone, Max said. “I like dogs better than people, don’t you?”
Sister Alice clapped her hands. “Oh yes! Don’t repeat that to Mother Superior.”
“Our little secret?” Helen said.
Max picked up the suitcase and knocked a f
ramed tile sitting on the bedside table to the tiled floor. He tried to place the broken pieces back together like a jigsaw puzzle. The motto on the broken tile, “Grant that I may seek to comfort, rather than to be comforted; to understand rather than to be understood; to love rather than to be loved.” “Can anyone keep that advice?” Max asked Sister Alice, who swept the pieces into a wastepaper basket.
“Just for today is even more difficult.” Sister Alice smiled up at him.
Max acted like a chagrined bear in a very delicate glass house. Helen and Sister Alice followed Max as he toted the suitcase and boxes down to the reception desk. Then, Sister Alice guided them through a series of connecting poorly-lit tunnels under the convent and church to the back windowless, basement bedrooms of the hired help.
The room smelled of mildew and chocolate. The only light was a goose necked lamp on the bed. Marilyn’s clothing gave away her size. “Big woman?” Max stated. “Under thirty?”
“You are good at this.” Sister Alice actually cooed.
Among Marilyn’s few belongings was a diet journal with scribbling in all the margins. Helen sat down on the squeaking bed to examine the book. A flea jumped onto Helen’s arm. Helen leapt up. “Fleas,” she cried.
Sister Alice screamed. “The dog must have slept in here sometimes. Marilyn said he laid down in the hall each night. Mother Superior will have a fit. Marilyn complained the food was giving her boils but I bet they were flea bites.”
As the three of them stood in the hall, Max craned his neck to look over Helen’s shoulder at the diet journal. “What are those, drawing in the margins?”
“That’s Gregg shorthand,” Sister Alice said. “My mother wanted me to be a secretary. I bet Marilyn’s mother wanted her to be a stenographer, too.” Max cocked his head to indicate he didn’t understand her ramblings about mothers. “…So Marilyn became a nurse. You know,” Sister Alice said. “Like I became a nun.” “Daughters often go against their mothers’ wishes,” Helen said.
“Is that right?” Max winked at her.
They had found no other reading material. Every available corner of the dresser and bookshelves had been stuffed with food. Tupperware packaged cookies and potato chips, tin cans filled with licorice and chocolates crammed the room.
Helen asked, “How long was Marilyn supposed to work here?”
“One month, 150 hours. For a five-hour day. She loved the grounds. Marilyn was always off somewhere with Rufus. We have a labyrinth, you know.” Sister Alice chatted away as if talking didn’t need an audience. “They were originally made to substitute for pilgrimages to Jerusalem. You know.” Max nodded. “You know about the Holy City and the Crusaders?” Sister Alice duly regarded Max. “You’re terrific.”
Playing Tom Terrific to the hilt, Max winked at his crusader rabbit, Helen.
Helen understood why Marilyn took her first opportunity to escape the convent’s boredom. She probably car-jacked Sally Bianco as soon as they were far enough away from the convent.
“Sally Bianco probably didn’t have a chance against a very large drug-addict,” Max said. “One, who obviously needed a fix.”
Helen called her father on her cell phone. “Better give the police Sally’s license number. I think she’s in trouble.”
Chapter Four
“…plagues upon thy heart, a pestilence…”
The Egyptian Plagues
First Wednesday in May, 2008
St. Anthony’s Hospital
The basement of the St. Anthony Hospital was a maze of identical corridors to Helen. Was Max ready to give up.
“Let’s call the records room from The Firm,” he said. “We can ask for the files to be delivered.”
Helen shook her head. “You’re more effective in person.”
She watched as Max let his vanity assess the compliment. “You should know.”
The truth was she wanted to keep Max interested in the agency long enough to convince him she was the only woman necessary in his life. She stopped every second person in the sterile halls to ask directions to the file room. Eventually, they found the small reception area for seekers of patient files.
The basement room’s walls were covered with cheerful prints by Gauguin. A horizontally placed mirror over the sliding window of the receptionist’s desk let Max adjust his smile. Helen squinted to read the file clerk’s name as she showed The Firm’s credentials. “Sharon, could we wait until you find the medical records for Larry Schneider?”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
“Did you pack a lunch?” Sharon Daley crowed. Sharon thought her filing job was demeaning compared to her nursing career. If the doctors weren’t lording it over you, some patient with a beef was willing to let you work all night to find a relevant file. Everyone wanted you to believe you would share in the financial rewards from damage settlements. Of course, Sharon was required to first produce enough facts to prosecute incompetent fools, like those with framed degrees littering their office walls. At least as a file clerk, there were no unpleasant bedpans to empty unlike her loftier years as a registered nurse.
Sharon re-read the request form. “The names of all patients who died between the time the University of Michigan consultants were terminated in 1990 and then reinstated.” She knew the names too well.
Larry Schneider, the little boy, was the hardest death to witness. Her friend, Marilyn, went crazy because of it. Stupid drug addict. Sharon hadn’t heard from her since her latest arrest. If the doctors hadn’t been so ready to pay up to keep her quiet, Marilyn wouldn’t have been able to afford her prescription drug habit.
Sharon scrutinized the couple in the waiting room. Helen Costello wore a pretty blue sweater. The big guy had flashed some sort of detective badge before they made themselves comfortable in the waiting room.
“Who started the investigation?” Sharon handed over the boy’s file.
“I’m not at liberty to say.” The curly-headed chick grabbed onto one end of the folder.
“If you tell me,” Sharon promised, “I’ll give you the name of a nurse I worked with on all three cases.”
“Sally Bianco came up with the case,” Max said, “during a retreat in Adrian with the same name as this hospital, St. Anthony.”
Sharon caught her breath. “St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost people and things.” Was she speaking to a friend or foe of Marilyn’s. “My friend. Well we’re not friends anymore, according to her. Anyway Marilyn Helms was doing community service in Adrian. She was arrested with too many prescription drugs in her car. They thought she was a drug pusher, which wasn’t true. She needed every pill for herself. I told her lawyer, but he wouldn’t let me take the stand. I’m sure Marilyn thought I didn’t try hard enough to get her off. She did need help. I was hoping she would be put in a recovery center. She had worked off and on in Ann Arbor with the doctors involved in the cases. They supplied the prescriptions for her elephant of a drug habit.” Sharon thought she might cry. “Looked pretty much like one, too.”
Helen offered her a tissue from the desk. “Maybe Marilyn told Sally Bianco about the deaths in 1990.”
“No.” Sharon didn’t think Marilyn would be that stupid. “I don’t think so.”
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
First Wednesday in May, 2008
The Firm
Max opened the door for Helen who ran into the back room. “We found one file at St. Anthony’s Hospital.”
Andrew held out his hand for the file as he smiled. “Now that’s a good day’s work, isn’t it, Max?”
“What did the police say when you reported Sally as missing?” Max put his hand on Helen’s shoulder.
Andrew reached for the phone, rested his hand on the handset. “I gave them her license number, RDS WAY.” He shook his head. “They were more interested in decoding the plate’s meaning than the fact that she could be missing.”
“The Recorder’s Way,” Max said. Sally Bianco wasn’t one of Max’s favorite people, kind of preachy and cold at the same
time; but he didn’t want any harm to come to her on his watch. “Do they know she was investigating a case for us?”
Andrew rolled his eyes. “Not much of a case, so far. I told them we all thought she’d been the victim of a car-jacking.”
“Captain Tedler was surely upset.” Helen put her arm around her dad.
Max apologized. “Sorry, Andrew. I know you and Mrs. Costello are friends of Sally Bianco.”
Andrew nodded unable to speak for a moment. “Let’s look at the file.”
“The file clerk, Sharon Daley, says a Marilyn Helms worked with her on the cases.” Helen pointed to Marilyn’s name in the file. “Larry Schneider was only a boy when he died in the emergency room.”
Max tugged on his curls. “I think the same Marilyn was doing community service at the convent. Sally invited her for a drive in Waterloo, according to the Mother Superior. They’re both missing, now.”
Helen said. “The nurses were both fired after the three deaths.”
“Nurses don’t hurt people, Andrew.” Max wasn’t as sure of his statement as he wanted to be but he wanted to relieve Andrew from any unnecessary worry.”
“I’ve got to see Tedler,” Andrew said.
Helen took a step toward Max as her father left. She slipped her arm around his waist. He knew she needed something or someone to hold onto. as if they were playing tag and Max was home base.
“We shouldn’t get involved, with each other?” Max disengaged himself and sorted through the file Andrew had abandoned. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions about Sally either. Larry Schneider,” he read. “Spinal meningitis was the cause of death?”
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way Page 6
