by Morgana Best
Sergeant Barnes threw back his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Okay, I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but are you guys hearing yourselves? First, she says that she saw a nun running away from a murder scene, and now you think that the gang members are posing as nuns? Nuns always have a Reverend Mother or someone in charge. Wouldn’t she know if she had criminals staying under her roof? Or are you implying that she’s in on it?”
“No,” Adam said. “However, one of the new nuns used Sister Bertrand’s name to auction off six gold chains recently.”
Barnes shifted from one foot to the other. “Let us investigate any crimes or concerns that might arise. If we find any evidence of bank robbers posing as nuns, then we will arrest them.” He crossed his arms and glared at us, while Constable Jones twittered behind his hand.
As Adam and I left the small police station, we could hear loud laughter behind us, and I shuddered angrily.
Chapter Ten.
Gemma had a very comfortable home, which she was always redecorating to suit her mood. One of the perks of her trade was having the money to redecorate at any time - another perk was her ability to make me intensely jealous on occasion, though this particular instance hadn't left much to be desired. This time, she had a nostalgic seventies theme, complete with lava lamps and beaded curtains.
And just like in the courtroom, Gemma had left no detail undone.
I leaned over to study the exotic fish tank. The creatures seemed completely indifferent to the neon plastic plants and the giant multi-colored peace sign that had found its way into their home. Then again, they probably saw it as an improvement. Last month Gemma was into an Asian theme, and their tank was invaded by a sushi cutting board, a menu background, and a hungry looking statue. Neon wasn't so bad in comparison.
“I'm sorry that I'm not better prepared for company,” Gemma said apologetically as she arranged the boxes and disposable tubs over the counter. “If I knew we were meeting tonight, I'd have made, well, okay, who are we kidding? I'm just not into the Domestic Diva thing. It would’ve been something from a bag. We all know it.”
She chuckled and spooned the re-fried beans into a bright yellow bowl with a classic smiley face grinning on it.
I smiled as I helped sort through the food. “I'm just grateful you guys could make time. Thank you again.”
“So why the sudden get together?” Gemma asked.
I shook my head as I unwrapped the tacos and stacked them on a plate. “I'll tell you and Janet at the same time. It's going to take a little while to tell the whole thing. Janet should be here soon.”
Gemma sighed and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, “I can't wait.”
“Be nice,” I chuckled.
“I have been nice. She hasn't been thrown off a balcony - yet.” Gemma’s tone was amused, but I knew there was more than an element of truth to her words. “But I can wait until she gets here. As long as it’s not about that handsome reporter you've been tailing. You aren't eloping, are you?”
I turned red as Gemma gave me an exaggerated, worried expression. “No. We have to wait until sunset, so he can get on his white horse and take me to his castle on it," I said, trying my best to deflect her attention.
Gemma laughed and shook her head. “Oh, the look on your face. You must have it bad, Rose-dear. Please say you guys have at least gone out for coffee or something. If he hasn't invited you for coffee, I’ll find a balcony to throw him off.”
“What is it with you and balconies this evening?” I asked, just as the doorbell rang.
“I’ve been listening to a news story about this balcony thing. Wish I was representing in that one. Balconies leave lots of room for reasonable doubt,” Gemma explained as she crossed the room to open the door. There stood Janet with a casserole-sized, Tupperware dish balanced between her hands. Gemma plastered on a big, welcoming smile. “Oh well, speak of the devil, and here she’s come a-knocking.”
“Goodness gracious, Gemma. What in the world did you do?” Janet demanded, as her eyes darted around the living room.
“You like it?” Gemma asked with exaggerated graciousness. “I was thinking about black lights and a disco ball, but it just seemed like they would clash with the lava lamps. What do you think?”
“Oh, I agree. We all know how you like, um, subtle decorating.” Janet nodded her head toward a vintage, plastic, hula girl lamp.
“I know, right?” Gemma took the Tupperware container from Janet. “Why don't you get comfortable, so Rose can tell us what this special meeting is about? It was so nice of you to bring something. What is it?”
“I know you’re cooking impaired, and there aren't many places in town to buy a good, healthy meal. So I just threw something together.” Janet’s tone was cheerful. “Rose, you really must try this pumpkin meatloaf.”
“A what?” Gemma asked, as she did a slow head turn.
“A pumpkin meatloaf.” Janet’s tone was matter of fact.
“Is there any actual meat in the meatloaf?” Gemma eyeballed the woman, who gave her a very annoyed, patronizing look in return.
“Of course, or it wouldn't be a meatloaf.”
Gemma opened a small corner of the Tupperware. “What kind of meat?”
“Free range wild turkey, with gizzards.”
“You are a sick puppy,” Gemma said, closing the bowl. “Come eat something normal for a change. You might actually like it. I was even nice and bought Mexican. You've been going on about how wonderful Mexican is, right?”
Janet sighed loudly and dramatically. “No, I was talking about Mediterranean diets.”
“Ah. Well, I knew it was something that started with an M. Close enough, right? And look. Lettuce and beans. You like beans. Lots of fiber and stuff.”
“They are fried and processed, Gemma.” Janet gave a long-suffering sigh, and then looked at me, presumably wanting back up.
“And fried again,” Gemma said helpfully.
“I'll stick with what I brought with me, thanks.”
“Your loss. I tried.” Gemma gave a half shrug, and for a second I wondered if she really had tried to make an effort with Janet's diet. The moment passed quickly, however, as Gemma started piling plates. “Okay Rose, time to spill your reason for the surprise dinner gathering. Why didn’t you want Bunny to come?”
Janet fixed her gaze on me. She looked surprised, but then I figured that might have been due to her latest eyebrow lift. “You didn’t want Bunny to come?”
“Is she driving you crazy already?” Gemma asked. “She's not like stalker clinging or anything? I wonder how she got her name? If she starts boiling bunnies or anything, you let me know. I can get restraining orders.”
“What's wrong with eating a rabbit?” Janet demanded. “They are very lean meat.”
“It's a creepy, stalker movie reference, Sherlock.” Gemma was visibly annoyed. “Where have you been? It’s been out for like twenty years.”
“Oh, it will go with the rest of the décor, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “Actually, I need some help, and I just can't see Bunny not telling the wrong people. Plus, she was married to Dave, and this might have something to do with his murder.”
“What is it you need help with?” Janet asked.
“I need to stake out the convent.” My declaration caused Janet to gag on a piece of her pumpkin thing.
“You need to do what?” Gemma asked, as Janet cleared her throat. They both looked at me in surprise.
“Stake out the convent,” I repeated. “You know that I saw a nun running from the scene of Dave’s murder, and then Adam and I went to the convent, and met the new head nun? She said that Sister Bertrand has gone overseas on a pilgrimage, and then when I went to a bathroom, I saw a nun with very hairy legs.”
“Say what?” Gemma’s mouth had fallen open. “Do you think a convent full of nuns would be starting a crime ring? I know the world is a crazy place nowadays, but even that's a bit of a stretch.”
I shook
my head. “Let me finish; I’m just giving you a potted summary. And by the way, this is all top secret. This has to stay between the three of us. Adam is in town to write a book on the Shadow Gang. Adam and I now think that Dave was the gang’s fence.”
Janet gasped. “You can’t be serious.”
I nodded. “Remember when we last had dinner with Bunny, and she said that Dave was laundering money?”
Gemma shook her head. “No, she said Dave owned a laundromat.” She paused for a moment. “Oh! I see!”
“And Adam thinks that the alleged new nuns at the convent are actually the Shadow Gang disguised as nuns,” I continued.
Gemma and Janet looked at me as if I had completely taken leave of my senses.
I held up my fingers and tapped each one as I continued. “One, I saw a nun fleeing the scene of Dave’s murder. Two, I saw a nun in a calf-length habit and she had very hairy legs. Three, the fact that they are wearing traditional habits is suspicious in itself. Four, one of the nuns sold six gold chains at the auction the other day.”
Gemma held up her hand. “What?”
I gave them both a rundown of the nun and the auction and what the manager had told us. “Although I can’t see how they would manage to sell gold chains that had been stolen,” I concluded, “because there are police lists that the auction house has to check against.”
Gemma took a gulp of wine and wagged her finger at me. “On the contrary, mass produced chains all look alike. Gold jewelry doesn’t have hallmarks like silver. If they’re made in Australia, they would just be stamped 18c, and if made in USA, they’re stamped 850, or even 18k. There’s no way to tell most gold chains from one another; they’d easily slip through the stolen items police lists. How much did they sell for?”
“About $16,000 all up.”
“Perhaps someone donated some gold chains to the convent, and they were selling them to raise money,” Janet said.
“Perhaps.” I nodded as I gingerly tried a tiny bite of the pumpkin thing. No one could convince me it was a meatloaf, but it was a little tastier than it sounded. “But that's what I want to find out.”
“How are you planning to do that, exactly?” Gemma asked. “Rose, I love you. I adore you. I'd give my left kidney for you, but I can't help with any breaking and entering.”
“No, nothing like that. Not exactly.” I raised my hands and shook my head for emphasis. “Actually, I want to go in and talk to the Reverend Mother again, and while I do that, have someone watch the courtyard from the top of the hill.”
“What would that accomplish, though?”
“I really don’t know,” I admitted, “but it’s worth a shot. If one of you comes in with me, the other nuns might do something because they think she’s busy with guests, and one of you can be up on the hill looking into the walled courtyard with binoculars.”
“Oh come on, Gemma. It sounds harmless enough,” Janet said. “There's no crime in looking into a yard, right?”
“You really want me to make you a list?” Gemma asked, which seemed to be exactly what Janet was waiting for.
“Well then, it's settled. You go watch from the hill, and I'll go in with Rose to talk to the Reverend Mother.”
“Now, why would I be the one on the hill?” Gemma demanded, turning her attention to Janet. “I’m the one in the news with these big success stories, so it wouldn’t be strange to see me making a donation to a convent.”
Janet looked as if she wanted to argue with her. With a sigh of resignation, she looked at me. “Okay, sure, whatever you want. Anyway, what brought on this sudden need to stake out nuns?”
“I’ve already explained -” I said, but I was interrupted.
“She's trying to impress the hot eye candy,” Gemma said helpfully, giving me a playful nudge with her elbow. “Gumshoe detective and the witty junior reporter. It's adorable.”
“It's not about that at all,” I protested, feeling my face turn red as they both stared at me, skeptically.
“What’s going on with you and what’s-his-name anyway?” Janet poked at her food and took another hearty bite. “Have you had dinner yet?”
“No. One bite of her cooking, and he would have already proposed to her,” Gemma said, with a sigh. “You need to make him something, Rose. Bait him. Reel him in before he gets away.”
“He's a guy, not a fish,” I muttered.
“No, he's a man. You know what they say. The closest way to a man's heart is with Rose’s chocolate fudge-cake,” Gemma said. “C'mon. He's a nice enough guy, right?”
“We're supposed to be discussing a convent.” I didn’t want the attention focused on me and my love life, or lack thereof. Adam was a nice guy. I liked his energetic approach to getting his story. His smile. The way his brow furrowed when he was mulling over a potential clue. But that didn't mean I was ready to make the first move. Or any move at that.
“And discuss it we did. Now it's time to discuss the hot-off-the-presses reporter.” Gemma grinned at me.
“Down girl, Rose saw him first,” Janet said in warning.
“That doesn't mean I can't drool a little. So sue me.” Gemma smirked in challenge at Janet.
“Absolutely not.” Janet sniffed, and glanced around the place. “I might end up with those awful lamps. Honestly, Gemma, let me recommend a decorator.”
“And have my place look like it was attacked by a bleach factory? No thanks.” Gemma shook her head. “I'll save you the money and come decorate for you sometime. Give your place some character.”
I thought now was a good time to interrupt. “Anyway. This weekend?” I asked hopefully.
“For what? Your date?” Gemma shot me a blank stare of confusion.
“Wait, I thought they weren't dating?” Janet looked between us.
I sighed. “The stakeout. Nuns? Convent?” Had they really gotten so distracted by talk about Adam and the decorators, that had they forgotten? Or were they teasing me?
“Oh, sure.” Janet pulled out her planner and gave it a glance. “I’m completely free actually, so it’s perfect timing. Just let me know what’s best for you.”
“I have an early morning meeting at the courthouse; otherwise I'm free,” Gemma added agreeably. “Is the reporter going to be there too?”
“Not this time.” I shook my head. “But if we find anything, I'll tell him.”
“Over dinner,” Gemma added. “Not a hamburger, either. Something nice.”
“There’s that new restaurant that’s serving all organic produce,” Janet said helpfully.
“I said someplace nice.” Gemma waved off Janet's idea with a shake of her head and a grimace. “A romantic dinner is not a spinach shake.”
I was exasperated. “We're solving a mystery,” I reminded them.
“Yes we are.” Janet's eyes shone with excitement.
“The Case of the Clueless Lovebirds,” Gemma said.
“The Mystery of the Hot, Wandering Reporter,” Janet chimed in.
I groaned. Of all the times for these two to get along and work together.
Chapter Eleven.
We were in Gemma’s BMW speeding toward the convent. I was nervous, whereas Gemma and Janet appeared to be excited. Janet was less excited, however, when we took a detour down a tiny lane that ran to the base of the hill overlooking the convent.
“Watch the walled garden the whole time, and see what they do,” I said, as Janet hopped from the car, binoculars in hand. I watched with envy as she sprinted up the hill with ease. Perhaps there was something to eating ghastly-tasting, healthy food, after all.
Gemma turned the car around, and soon we were back on the lonely road leading to the convent. “Now, what are we looking for exactly?” Gemma asked me again.
I shook my head. “We’ve been over this a hundred times; just look for anything suspicious, anything at all. The main thing is that I’m hoping the other nuns do something when the Reverend Mother is busy with us.”
“Yes, and I told you a hundred times not t
o get your hopes up. What are they likely to do? And why would they do it in the walled garden? I think you’re clutching at straws, Rose.” She shook her head, and cut the engine. “Besides, this is costing me a hundred dollars, and it won’t be a tax deduction.”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a small voice.
Gemma shrugged, and hurried off as fast as she could in her stilettos, while I walked after her.
As I rang the ancient bell, a shiver ran up my spine as the sound echoed. “It’s like being in a horror movie,” Gemma whispered, and I glared at her.
The bell was followed by a sound that sounded like an alarm, the same sound I had heard on my previous visit to the convent.
Sister Maria duly opened the door. “Rose Tyler,” she said, unable to mask the look of surprise on her face.
“No, it’s Rose Taylor,” I said. “Rose Tyler used to be on Dr. Who.” How did she know my name anyway? I thought I’d only introduced myself as Rose on my last visit. “And this is my friend, Gemma Farrentina,” I added. “She would like to make a donation. Gemma, this is Sister Maria of, um, of…”
“Sister Maria of Saint Leonard,” she said, looking at Gemma. It was clear that Sister Maria’s face had lighted up at the mention of the word donation. “Won’t you come in?”
Gemma made her way awkwardly over the uneven tiles, her stilettos catching every now and then. Just as we reached the reception room door, Gemma’s stiletto caught and she fell forward, throwing out her arms to save herself. In doing so, she knocked Sister Maria hard into the edge of the door.
“^%$#!” Sister Maria exclaimed.
I gasped, and looked at Gemma, who struggled to her feet quickly.
“What did you say?” Gemma asked Sister Maria, who was visibly shaken, and rubbing her elbow.
“I said, Sheep!” Sister Maria said. “All we like sheep have gone astray,
we have turned, every one, to his own way, and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.”
Gemma and I just stared at Sister Maria. “Yes,” Sister Maria continued, “your fall reminded me of a sheep that has gone astray.”
