Murder on Memory Lake

by J. D. Griffo

  Continuing to eat, Alberta said to Jinx, “Well, I tried, lovey.”

  “Thanks, Gram,” Jinx replied. “I know it’s not for everyone, but too many carbs and rich foods aren’t good for you. It’s unhealthy.”

  “Listen to me, Jinxie, as a woman who has lived a lot longer than you have,” Helen lectured. “What’s unhealthy is to deny yourself simple pleasures, and one of the simplest, most satisfying pleasures that God gave all his creatures here on earth is the joy of eating good food. And I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but gluten-free anything just ain’t good food!”

  “Maybe it’s time you stopped living in the past, Helen,” Alberta said, munching on some broccoli. “Foods, like bosses, change.”

  Jinx’s eyes popped open, glowing like two lightbulbs. “Would you like to prove that, Gram?”

  Suddenly the kitchen was filled with silence and the sound was panic-inducing. The women had come to learn that whenever Jinx made a proclamation at the kitchen table it usually entailed them engaging in some undercover work. They reacted like Italian Pavlovian dogs, both excited and scared to receive their latest assignment.

  “Prove what?” Alberta asked nervously.

  “Your boss’s innocence,” she replied.

  “As long as it doesn’t entail me compromising my own innocence, I’m willing,” Alberta said.

  Jinx explained that Marion was linked to both Lucy and Beverly because they worked at Wasserman & Speicher, so that’s where they had to go to dig into Marion’s past.

  “Ladies,” Jinx announced. “It’s time for another break-in.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Non guardare a caval donato in bocca.

  Alberta had only been Marion’s secretary for two weeks, and already she knew his schedule well enough to know that he spent Saturday mornings playing golf at the Tranquility Country Club with a rotating roster of business colleagues. This Saturday he was scheduled to play eighteen holes with Elliot from accounting, who was notorious for hitting at least two balls into the sand trap, so even if they unexpectedly came back to the office after playing for some work emergency, the coast would be clear for several hours. That meant that Alberta and company would have more than enough time to do their snooping and make an exit without being seen.

  Alberta had previously been advised by Denise that her employee ID card would give her access to the building on weekends for any office-related emergency that might arise, even though Denise told her that in her nine years of working at Wasserman & Speicher, such a weekend emergency had yet to arise. So, the worst-case scenario would be that if Alberta was later questioned as to why she was at work on a Saturday morning she could simply say that she left her pocketbook at her desk and needed to retrieve it in order to engage in some weekend retail therapy after a hard week’s work.

  At 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning the building was eerily quiet so any small noise the women made would be heard by anyone else who might be around. To avoid any suspicion, they decided to act natural, as if they truly were on the premises at such an odd hour to retrieve Alberta’s forgotten belongings.

  They stepped off the elevator, and once they turned the corner, Alberta couldn’t hide the feeling of pride that crept into her voice, “Here’s my desk.”

  “Ooh, it’s fancy, Gram!”

  “Also too, it’s expensive,” Joyce added. “They don’t make desks like this anymore.”

  “If we’re done fawning over the office decor, can we get to work?” Helen sniped.

  Prior to arriving, Alberta instructed them on the floor plan so they knew exactly where Marion’s office was located. Jinx quickly surveyed the area to make sure they weren’t being watched and then announced to the ladies that their work could begin.

  With Helen standing guard in the hallway, Alberta, Jinx, and Joyce entered Marion’s office. Jinx immediately took out the small fingerprint kit she borrowed from work that Wyck boasted he used in order to figure out who was stealing his lunches from the fridge and began lifting Marion’s fingerprints from his phone, keyboard, and various spots on his desk. When she was finished, it was Alberta’s turn to take over. Her job was to type in Marion’s password and get into his computer since he had given her his password one morning last week when he was running late and couldn’t log in remotely through his phone because he forgot to charge it overnight. Confidently, Marion typed in “Duke1907,” the year of John Wayne’s birth, but her confidence waned dramatically when a prompt appeared on the computer screen stating that the password was incorrect.

  “Are you sure it’s right, Alberta?” Joyce asked.

  “It was the last time I used it,” she replied. “But he must have changed it.”

  “Oh no!” Jinx cried. “We can’t hack into his computer if we don’t know the password.”

  “Do you think he kept a notebook like Beverly did with all his passwords listed?” Joyce questioned. “Maybe not one with a cute kitty cat on the cover, but possibly one with a picture of John Wayne? Or a traditional western motif?”

  “I don’t think so,” Alberta said. “I never noticed one.”

  “Try Alberta Klausner,” Helen said smugly, still standing outside the office.

  “Helen!” Alberta cried. “That is ridiculous!”

  “It might be ridiculous, Gram,” Jinx said. “But it worked.”

  If Alberta’s scream didn’t result in someone rushing into the office to inspect what the commotion was about, nothing would. They were obviously alone and could rifle through Marion’s e-mails undisturbed.

  Joyce immediately recognized some of the names of Marion’s business colleagues from her days working on Wall Street. She opened a few and confirmed that they were filled with the usual business jargon and what she liked to call empty language, which constituted business speak. Just to be on the safe side she printed a few of the longer ones to read later. They went through several screen lengths of e-mails before they came to a name that made them all gasp.

  “That’s Father Sal!”

  “What?” Helen shouted from her post.

  “Marion e-mailed Father Sal,” Alberta confirmed. She quickly read one of the e-mails and it gave them all the information they needed. “He was seeking his counsel because he knew that leading Beverly on with no intention of marrying her was wrong.”

  “I told you he was a cad,” Helen sniped.

  “Technically, a cad with a conscience, Aunt Helen,” Jinx said. “Since he was e-mailing, you know, an ecclesiastic.”

  “This means you have to go meet up with Father Sal again, Helen,” Joyce declared. “He knows more about Beverly and Marion’s relationship than he’s letting on, which means he might know more about the TV Guide collection and maybe even Lucy’s murder.”

  Tired of shouting from the hallway, Helen entered with her own declaration. “Absolutely not.”

  “You have to, Helen,” Alberta said. “You’re the only one who can get Father Sal to talk.”

  “Do you know how it makes me feel to have a sit-down with him?” Helen confessed. “It reminds me of everything I dislike about my religion and why I left the convent.”

  “Aunt Helen, will it make you feel better if I go with you this time?” Jinx asked.

  Softening a bit, Helen—like Alberta and Joyce—realized there was little that Jinx could ask of her that she could refuse. “Well . . . that might make a tiny bit of a difference.”

  Jinx hugged Helen tightly and squealed, “Hashtag ThankYouAuntHelen!”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Helen replied. “But you’re welcome.”

  On their way out of the building, Jinx announced that Father Sal would be presiding over a service at St. Winifred’s at 9 a.m. “I’ll meet you at the side entrance of the church at 8:45 and we’ll ambush him right before he’s about to go on for his big number.”

  “Where are you going?” Helen asked.

  “I have a quick errand to run,” she replied. “I know of a way to make sure Father Sal answe
rs all of our questions.”

  After she ran off, Alberta commented, “I’m not sure if that girl is adding twenty years to our lives or if she’s going to put us into early graves.”

  * * *

  Standing outside of St. Winifred’s, Helen looked around for Jinx, but only saw a few older women climb the stairs of the church and a lone novitiate walking down the grassy path leading to the rectory. At 8:47, Helen dialed Jinx’s number on her cell phone and although she could hear her niece’s ringtone fill the quiet morning air, Jinx was nowhere to be found. Because she was in disguise.

  “Aunt Helen, over here.”

  Helen whipped around and saw that the novitiate was Jinx dressed up as a nun.

  “What in the world are you doing?” Helen whispered harshly.

  “Don’t you love it?” Jinx cried proudly. “I figured Father Sal would be more likely to spill the beans if he knew that I was, you know, playing for the same team.”

  “You might win over Father Sal, but I’m not sure if you’re going to make Our Father all that happy,” Helen said. “Where’d you get that thing?”

  Jinx explained that she borrowed the costume from her roommate, Nola, who taught English and creative writing at St. Winifred’s Academy and also ran the school’s theater program. Last year, they had put on a critically acclaimed production of The Sound of Music, and Nola had some of the costumes in storage in their apartment.

  “Your roommate is Nola Kirkpatrick?” Helen asked.

  “You know her?”

  “She asked me to act as a consultant on that production,” Helen replied. “It was terrible!”

  “But it got great reviews from The Herald,” Jinx stated. “I looked them up.”

  “I don’t care if it got five stars in the New York Times,” Helen retorted. “Their Liesl looked like she was sixteen going on thirty-five, and the girl who played Brigitta whined so much about everything I wanted to offer her up to a Nazi so she could really have something to complain about.”

  Ignoring her aunt’s critique, Jinx was shocked with how small her world was becoming. “I can’t believe you know Nola!”

  “And I can’t believe you’re dressed like that!” Helen hissed. “Now let’s get inside before we both get struck by lightning.”

  Helen led the way through the side entrance of the church and saw Father Sal fussing with his stole to make sure both hemlines lined up properly. “Sal, we need to speak with you,” Helen said, her voice just loud enough to alert him that she was prepared to cause a scene if he didn’t comply. When he turned around, he was surprised to see she had company.

  “Helen, I’m about to go on,” he pouted. “Pardon me, Sister. I didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s all right, Father,” Jinx said. “I’m Sister . . . um, Maria.”

  “Hello, Sister Maria,” he replied. “Perhaps we can meet later and talk.”

  “We’re going to talk now, Sal,” Helen interrupted. “Or else the six ladies in there waiting for mass to start are going to hear how you broke church confidentiality and told me all about Beverly’s confession.”

  “Are you th-th-threatening me, Helen?” Sal stammered.

  “No, I’m blackmailing you,” she replied. “As a priest, you should know the difference.”

  Before Sal could protest any further, Helen lied and said that Sister Maria was Beverly’s niece, who was concerned about her aunt’s whereabouts. Helen added that she also wanted to know why Marion, in addition to Beverly, was seeking his counsel. While Father Sal stuttered to try and come up with a retort, Helen told him that she knew all about his e-mail exchanges with the CEO, so it would be foolish of him to deny the relationship. Cornered, Father Sal had no other option but to acquiesce to Helen’s demands. He was about six months from officially retiring and living the rest of his life on a Vatican pension with two other former priests at a spacious ranch house in Palm Springs, and he didn’t want anything to interfere with his plans. For over forty years he had avoided scandal, and he wasn’t about to let an ex-nun and a curious novitiate ruin his record.

  “Like most men, Marion was a coward,” Sal announced. “He didn’t want to marry Beverly, but he didn’t have the guts to tell her the truth.”

  “So, he just strung her along?” Helen said.

  “You could position it that way if you were so inclined,” Sal admitted reluctantly.

  “And like most men,” Helen began. “You sat back quietly and let him do it.”

  Father Sal pulled back the heavy red velvet curtain that separated them from the small stairwell leading to the altar and looked out nervously. Helen didn’t have to peek to know that the altar boys were waiting impatiently, shifting their weight from one leg to the other as they held bottles of incense and a gold chalice. She knew that some of the women were sitting quietly in the pews, but most were whispering to each other about the latest town gossip, oblivious that such activity was frowned upon by the church’s landlord: God. She hated disrupting mass, but knew that Father Sal wasn’t going to answer her questions unless he was pushed further.

  “So, you enabled Marion, isn’t that right?” Helen insisted.

  “Now you s-s-see here, Helen . . .” Sal stuttered.

  “Don’t deny it Sal,” she countered. “Marion confessed to you that he lied to Beverly about his intentions and you did nothing to put an end to it.”

  “Yes, all right, what could I do?” Sal argued. “Marion was a weak man, and he fed Beverly lies for years, until he couldn’t any longer,” Sal replied.

  “Did Beverly . . . I mean, my aunt, give him an ultimatum?” Jinx asked.

  “I think so. At least, that’s what she said she was going to do,” Sal replied. “The last time we talked.”

  “So, you don’t know if she really went through with it before she disappeared?” Helen asked.

  Sal was growing very uncomfortable standing in the entrance to the church disclosing confidential information when he was supposed to be saying mass. It was bad enough that he was secretly counseling two people who were involved with each other, but now one of them had gone missing.

  “Look, I tried my best to get Marion to tell Beverly the truth, and I tried even harder to get Beverly to open her eyes to the real kind of man Marion was,” Sal admitted. “But you know as well as I do, Helen, that sometimes you can put a glass of water right under a thirsty horse’s nose and he’ll still refuse to take a drink.”

  Sadly, Helen understood. Through her many years of service she had met men and women who were incapable of seeing the truth about their partner no matter how horribly they were treated. Acting like a martyr was part of the human condition.

  “Did my aunt give any indication that she was scared of Marion?” Jinx asked.

  Sal’s face turned a shade of gray that Helen thought looked quite attractive in contrast to his deep purple robe, but it was an indication that he was shocked by this statement. “Scared of Marion?” Sal repeated. “No, he was weak, not dangerous.”

  Before Helen could ask a follow-up question, they were interrupted by the older of the two altar boys. “Father Sal,” the boy said. “We kind of can’t get started without you.”

  “I’m sorry, Jason,” he said. “Tell Virginia to play ‘Make Me a Channel of Your Peace,’ the long version, the ladies always love to sing along to that one.”

  “Sure thing, Father.”

  The boy stared at Helen and Jinx suspiciously before retiring back into the church, presumably to follow Father Sal’s instructions. The priest, however, wasn’t finished giving orders. “I’m done with this, Helen,” he announced. “Done with this whole thing. Follow me.”

  Moving so quickly that his robes rippled behind him, Father Sal bounded out of the building with Helen and Jinx close behind him. He dashed across the alley and into the rectory where he lived without looking back, confident that his interrogators would follow him, which they did, until they reached his bedroom.

  It was only because of instinct tha
t Helen paused at the door before entering, since she couldn’t remember the last time she walked into a man’s bedroom. The room was small and sparsely decorated—a gold cross over the twin bed, a chest of drawers, scuffed and wooden, a nightstand holding a few books and a lamp, and a small writing desk and chair. Helen was surprised by the threadbare nature of the room, especially in comparison to his office, and couldn’t believe that Sal hadn’t spruced it up a bit, knowing his penchant for excess. She was actually impressed by how frugally he lived.

  She was so thrown by Sal’s living conditions that she didn’t think it odd that he was standing on the chair rummaging through the top shelf of his closet until Jinx whispered in her ear.

  “You don’t think he’s looking for a gun, do you, Aunt Helen?”

  “No, priests usually carry those in their robes,” she deadpanned.

  Sal jumped down off the chair and whirled around to reveal his find. “This is yours.”

  Helen looked at the small package Sal was holding and wondered what he was talking about. Was this a setup? Some kind of peace offering? An unwanted gift from an obsessive parishioner? “What is it?” she asked.

  “It came in the mail a few days ago,” Sal said. “From Beverly.”

  “Oh my God!” Jinx shouted before realizing such an exclamation wasn’t appropriate for a woman of her position. “I mean, Gee willikers!”

  “You’ve spoken to Beverly?” Helen asked.

  Father Sal’s coloring took on a gray pallor again and he shook his head. “No, from her attorney,” he replied. “He was instructed to send it to me in case she . . . um . . . disappeared.”

  “Non guardare a caval donato in bocca,” Helen replied.

  “I don’t think the box is big enough to hold a horse or just its mouth,” Jinx whispered. “And neither would make for such a nice gift anyways.”

  Ignoring Jinx’s feeble attempt at translating her Italian, Helen continued on with her inquiry. “What’s in the box, Sal?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” Sal said, offering the package to Helen. “You asked me for a favor and now I’m asking one of you. Take this package off my hands and do with it what you will. I don’t want any part of it or them.”