by A W Hartoin
Please say no. Please. Please. Please.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I think I remember Bishop Fowler saying that he didn’t have time to deal with Maggie. I was so angry. What else could be more important?”
Thank you, Lord.
Sister Clarence eyed me in her sweet, inquisitive way. “Why are you relieved?”
“Because Mercy instantly thought that the church had a problem with Maggie and her death solved it,” said Sister Frances.
“But why would that…oh. Mercy!”
“Everything’s a possibility.”
“Not the church killing a nun.”
Desperate times.
“Maybe not,” I said, turning to Sister Frances. “What do you think it was?”
She refused to say, but I had a good idea.
“You think it was about sexual abuse.”
The nuns clammed up like I’d never seen anyone clam up. It was like they’d lost the power of speech. I suppose I understood it. The shame. The horror. And Sister Frances was a nun during the time that abuse had run rampant. I wasn’t sure if that was the right way to describe it, but it felt like the right way. The church thought the institution was the important thing, not the victims. That sounded very familiar.
“You know I’m going to look at that as it relates to Sister Maggie, right?”
They nodded.
“I expect you to tell me everything you know about it.”
The color flooded back into their faces.
“We don’t know anything,” said Sister Frances with relief. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Secrets is what got you all into this situation.”
“I have no secrets,” said Sister Clarence earnestly.
I laughed and downed the rest of my cold Swiss Miss. “That I believe. And you, Sister Frances?”
“I will tell you everything I know about Maggie and that time period. It just so happens that I don’t know what was going on. Only suspicions…in light of what has occurred since.”
So plenty of secrets, just not about this stuff.
“There is one more thing,” said Sister Frances. “Bishop Fowler retired not long after all that fuss.”
“How long after?” I asked.
“In the summer, I believe.”
I had to think about priests and retirement for a moment. “Was he old? For some reason, I got the impression he wasn’t.”
“He was in his sixties. Very young to retire. There were some eyebrows raised, but we were happy to see him go,” said Sister Frances.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “You have my number, if you remember anything?”
“I’ll call you and I’ll do something else, too.”
“What’s that?”
Sister Frances set down her cup and steepled her fingers. “I will go to Miriam’s next appointment.”
“Really? Why? You’re not exactly best buds.”
“What makes you think it’s for Miriam?”
“It’s her appointment,” I said.
“Miriam is always telling me how bright you are so I’m sure you’ll figure it out at some point,” she said. “Now go on and hop to it.”
Sister Clarence timidly raised her hand. “I know what it is.”
“Lay it on me,” I said.
“She wants you to focus on Maggie and not be distracted.”
“Very good,” said Sister Frances. “I will, as they say, take one for the team, but I can’t promise an exam. That is unreasonable given who we’re dealing with.”
“I understand, but an exam would be ideal.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Me, too,” said Sister Clarence.
Aunt Miriam is going to be so pissed. This day just got better.
“I will do everything I can to figure out who murdered Maggie and the rest of it, but I can’t promise anything either. It’s been fifty years.”
“But you will have tried,” said Sister Frances. “That’s important.”
“It’s the thought that counts?” I asked.
“That is a stupid saying. Thoughts don’t mean anything. It’s the effort that counts.”
I sighed and sat back. Effort. Not my favorite thing.
“What are you waiting for?” asked Sister Frances. “I’m sure you have things to do.”
“I’m tired.”
“Then perhaps you’d like to relax for a while.”
Why does that sound like a trap?
“Maybe,” I said slowly.
She picked up her remote and turned on the TV, bringing up her Fire TV screen.
“Are we going to watch a movie?” asked Sister Clarence. “I love movies. Let’s watch Christopher Robin. We need something happy.”
“Is that happy?” I asked.
“Disney made it.”
“They made Saving Mr. Banks. That was miserable.”
Sister Clarence pursed her lips. “It was.” Then she whispered, “I hated it.”
Sister Frances held the remote aloft. “No happy movies. Those are for suckers and invalids, of which I am neither.”
Oh, no!
“Come on, Clarence. That’s our cue.” I jumped to my feet.
“Aren’t we watching a movie?” asked Sister Clarence.
“Yes,” said Sister Frances. “And this is the movie.”
She clicked a button and Us came up on the screen.
“I have a twenty-four hour rental.”
“We’ll see you in twenty-four hours or more. Don’t wait up,” I said, pulling Sister Clarence to her feet. “Come on, Sister. We’re hitting the bricks.”
“It looks like it might be interesting. That’s a lovely young woman on a beach. What’s wrong with that?”
I pointed at the screen. “‘Terrifying and uncanny’”
“That sounds like horror,” said Sister Clarence. “But—”
“It is and they like it. Trust me. You have to escape while you have the chance.” I dragged the young nun to the door under the gaze of a smiling Sister Frances. “Who’s they? Who likes it?”
“Sister Frances and Aunt Miriam.”
“No. They’re so sweet.”
“What can I say? Sweet likes the evil.” I pushed Sister Clarence out the door. “See ya, Sister Frances.”
The old nun saluted and laughed. She definitely knew how to motivate me.
I said goodbye to the confused Sister Clarence and booked it down to the car. I only got lost once, which was a record for me. The convent was such a maze. I wonder if they did that on purpose. Every time I got lost in there, I’d find myself praying. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Before getting in Mom’s car, I got out my phone and considered my options, trying to find a different one than the one that was obvious. Call Uncle Morty and go to St. Seb. I didn’t want to go to St. Seb. Watching Christopher Robin sounded a lot better, even if it turned out to be miserable.
I sighed and dialed. A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.
“Hey, it’s me,” I said.
“What’d ya want?” asked Uncle Morty.
“I just interviewed Sister Frances.”
He started typing. “Oh, yeah?”
I opened the door and slid in. “Holy crap!”
“Good stuff?” he asked.
“Yeah, but not in a good way.”
I think I prayed too hard.
Sitting in the passenger seat was Sister Clarence, who looked scandalized at my foul, foul language. “I’ve decided,” she said primly.
“What?” I asked.
“Goddammit,” said Uncle Morty. “What’s going on? What’ve you got?”
“A nun in my car.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”
Sister Clarence smiled at me the way only the truly good and innocent can. “I’m going to help you.”
“How?” I asked. By slowing me down? By freaking people out wit
h your saintliness and veil?
She held her palms up to the sky. “It will be revealed.”
Dammit!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TRY AS I might I couldn’t get Sister Clarence to believe that putting Uncle Morty on speaker wasn’t a good idea. I also couldn’t get her to let me drop her off at a hospital or fire station. She knew that was where people dropped unwanted infants, but she didn’t make the connection.
What was I going to do? Clarence was sweet, unworldly, and utterly useless, unless I needed to teach someone to read or use the potty. I couldn’t subject her to my life. Uncle Morty wasn’t even the worst part. My own language wasn’t exactly pristine and I slept with Chuck on a regular basis, unmarried. Aunt Miriam knew, I assumed, but she chose not to acknowledge it. That was the only time in my life, other than Maggie, that she kept her trap shut. And how could I explain Fats, unwed and pregnant, with her questionable connections and undercurrents of violence? She’d probably scare the little nun into being cloistered.
“I can take it,” said Sister Clarence with confidence that she shouldn’t have had.
“You don’t understand. How can I make you understand?” I asked.
“I know that people use foul language.”
“But Uncle Morty uses all the foul language. Sometimes in one sentence.”
“I will get used to it,” she said, smiling. “And I’ll find a way to serve God while I’m helping you.”
“He uses the ‘C’ word, Sister Clarence,” I said, thinking that ought to do it.
“As long as he doesn’t use the ’N’ word, I’m fine.”
I turned off of Kingshighway into the Central West End as a storm rolled in. Traffic was backed up and I had to get a nun out of my car. The cathedral. Yes. I’d lure her in on some kind of pretext and make a run for it. Not something that Aunt Miriam would approve of, but I knew she didn’t want Sister Clarence with me. I wasn’t good enough for her. She’d made that abundantly clear before I went to New Orleans. Something about crushing her spirit. Well, this case wasn’t going to be good for anyone’s spirit. I had a feeling.
“Uncle Morty would never use that word,” I said.
“Then we’re good to go.”
“The ‘C’ word. Think about that. I don’t like hearing it.”
“You just used it,” Sister Clarence explained patiently.
“The other ‘C’ word.”
“There’s another one?”
Oh, my God.
“Yes, there’s another one,” I said.
“What is it?” She leaned over to me. “You should whisper it so I know what it is.”
Not going to happen.
“Let’s skip that for now.” I leaned to the side to see what the holdup was, but the problem was too far ahead. “I should’ve gone straight to St. Seb.”
“Why didn’t we?” asked Sister Clarence.
“I thought I’d pack a bag. I didn’t want to have to drive back and forth. This isn’t going to be quick.” Wait a minute. “Oh, Sister, I’ll have to take you back. I could be there for days.”
“That’s absolutely fine. We have a four-day weekend for training.”
“Don’t you have to, ya know, do the training,” I said, trying to keep the hope out of my voice and failing.
“I did my training after work.” She held up a Hello Kitty backpack. “And I packed a bag. I’m ready for anything.”
You really aren’t. ‘Cause I’m not and I’m me.
“Look, I’m going to give it to you straight,” I said. “This isn’t for you. It’s going to be bad. I have a sense about these things.”
“I heard,” she said solemnly. “I will deal with it.”
“No, really. Bad stuff. Really, really bad.”
Sister Clarence shifted in her seat and looked at me steadily. “The parents don’t understand me.”
I’m with them.
“Which parents?”
“All of them.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief that had kittens and rainbows embroidered on it. I’m not kidding. She was my age. Kittens and rainbows. She was so not ready for autopsy photos. “They’ve raised concerns.”
“About what?” I asked.
“Me. They say that I can’t understand the challenges and concerns that normal people face. But I am a normal person.”
Well…
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I asked.
She blew her nose so daintily I doubt she made a mark on her adorable handkerchief. “I need experience. Real life experience.”
“This is murder we’re talking about. It’s not normal.”
“But you know normal people,” she said.
I thought about my people from Aaron to Grandad. Not normal. Nope.
“I wouldn’t say that. No.”
“But they’re real people doing what real people do. My principal says I have to get out there and experience life beyond the convent and classroom. I didn’t know how to do that. I was lost, but then I saw you going out there, fighting for justice, and I thought to myself, ‘Gosh darn it all, Clarence, go out and don’t be afraid. Nobody wants to hurt you.’ So here I am. Ready to experience life and do God’s work with you.”
“You know I get hurt all the time, right? People literally want to hurt me and they are surprisingly good at it.”
“I’ll help protect you,” she said happily.
“With prayer?”
“Yes.”
“Awesome,” I said. “We’re all set then.”
She put a soft hand on my arm. “You do pray, don’t you, Mercy?”
“I’m praying right now.” That you don’t get hurt.
“Wonderful. Now you should call your uncle and find out if he knows something,” said Sister Clarence.
I swallowed and told the Bluetooth to call Uncle Morty.
“Brace yourself, Sister.”
“Consider me braced.”
She wasn’t braced. Not even close. Uncle Morty opened with the F-bomb and it was all downhill from there. I think Sister Clarence stopped breathing in case the air was tainted. I think it was. I caught a hint of sulfur.
“Shut up!” I yelled. “For the love of something I’m not allowed to say in vain, shut up!”
Uncle Morty took a much needed breath and asked, “What’s your problem?”
“Sister Clarence is with me.”
“Who?”
“Aunt Miriam’s protégé. Sister Clarence,” I said.
“Son of a…sea biscuit,” said Uncle Morty.
“Hello, sir,” said Sister Clarence. “Glad to be on the team.”
“What the…something.”
“That’s right,” I said, cheerfully. “Sister Clarence has four days off from teaching kindergarten and she’s going to help us find the identity of a brutal murderer.”
“That is not a good idea,” he said.
“Don’t worry, sir. I’m ready,” she said. “What did you find out about Sister Maggie?”
“I…uh…”
“Go ahead,” I said. “We’re doing this.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but we are. What did you find out?”
“I got Maggie’s death certificate.”
Sister Clarence dabbed her eyes. “That’s so sad. Her poor family. Do you know her family? I should speak to them. We could pray together.”
Uncle Morty didn’t say anything. He was at a loss for words. It was kinda worth it just for that. “Great idea, Sister. Morty, what’s the cause of death?”
“Should I say it?” he asked. “For real?”
“Yes. Sister Clarence is on the team and she already knows anyway.”
“Strangulation. But that ain’t right.”
“Isn’t,” said Sister Clarence.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Not ain’t,” she said. “Isn’t.”
Uncle Morty seethed. He was silent, but I could sense the seething.
“Let
’s leave the grammar alone for now,” I said.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s fine. So, Uncle Morty, what’s not right?” I asked as I inched the car forward. I should’ve gone straight to St. Seb and bought what I needed at Walmart.
“The death certificate. It’s a duplicate. That don’t happen.”
“Doesn’t,” said Sister Clarence.
I looked at her.
“Sorry,” she said.
“What did she say?” asked Uncle Morty.
“Nothing,” I said. “What do you mean a duplicate? You can’t find the original?”
“There is no original. The dup is all there is. It’s the official death certificate and it’s got friggin’ ‘duplicate’ stamped on it.”
“What in the world?”
“I ain’t never seen that before,” said Uncle Morty and Sister Clarence twitched. The “ain’ts” were hurting her. You can take the kindergarten teacher out of kindergarten, but you can’t take the grammar out of the teacher.
I leaned to the side again and it looked like a three-car pileup. There was a break in traffic coming the other way and I did a quick u-turn, causing Sister Clarence to gasp. “Mercy, that was illegal.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “Morty, what are you thinking? It is fake?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m looking at the ME’s signature and it’s…messed up. I think somebody pulled the original and put this one in.”
“Why? Anything else odd on it?”
“No. Standard issue. Says murder. Right date,” he said.
“What’s the date?”
“The day she disappeared.”
“I wonder how good they were with that back then,” I said.
“Pretty good. That hasn’t changed much,” said Uncle Morty. “Body temp, lividity, insects, tissue breakdown. It hasn’t changed.”
“We need the autopsy.”
“Hell, sorry, yeah, we do. What’d you find out from the other one? What’s her name?”
“Frances?”
“Yeah. Her.”
I told him everything that Sister Frances said, causing Sister Clarence to tear up again. And Fats thought I was a marshmallow Peep.
“Got it,” said Uncle Morty. “What’d you want from me?”
I asked him to find out about our drunk chief, if there were any other problems reported. Something in the St. Louis papers. Anything. And more importantly, what other crimes were going on in his jurisdiction. The so-called small time crimes that he alluded to.