Rueful Death

by Susan Wittig Albert

  "His lawyers?"

  "Of course. You don't think the bishop will allow a nun to be questioned by the police without-''

  He interrupted. "Sounds to me like this mighta been an accident. 'Round here, folks is alius gettin' kicked. An' don't forgit that you screwed up that Dwight bidness, and you was real positive 'bout him."

  I shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, but I have physical evidence that a certain nun was here last night."

  "Well, it's yer hide."

  "You're saying that I have your permission to question the woman?"

  "Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. But hey, I don't want you thinkin' that you're-"

  "I know." I sighed. "I'm not officially on the team, untrained and a woman and all that. If I got hurt, I might sue the county."

  "Took the words right outta my mouth," he said.

  When I got back to St. Theresa's it was almost noon and the board-what was left of it-had adjourned to the refectory for lunch. I took Mother Winifred out into the corridor and gave her Tom's version of what had happened to Sadie.

  "Why, that's impossible!" she whispered, distraught. "Sadie trained Goliath herself. He'd never hurt her, or anyone else."

  "I said it was Tom's theory," I reminded her. "When I examined the horse, I couldn't see any evidence that he had kicked her. And there's nothing about her wound that suggests an accident with the animal."

  There was a silence. Mother's eyes were enormous with shock and bewilderment. "But if not the horse, then-" She shivered with a sudden chill. "Who did this awful thing, China?"

  "I need to talk to Olivia, Mother."

  Her hand went to her mouth as if to stifle a gasp. ' 'But you can't believe that she-"

  "I think it's better if I don't try to explain it just now," I said gently. ' 'But I have two pieces of physical evidence that prove she was with Sadie last night. I would like you to be present when we talk. And I must tell you that I have Deputy Walters's permission to question her."

  "To… question her? Olivia, of all people! She can't be involved in-She couldn't have-"

  "I'm sorry, Mother Winifred. We need to talk to Olivia, and quickly. Where do you think we might locate her?"

  Dominica was the one who finally found her, a half hour later, in the chapel. Olivia had apparently been there for several hours, for when she came out of the dim fight, her veil was askew, her habit was wrinkled, and she was blinking behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She seemed confused and disoriented. I had expected her to refuse to talk to me, or at least to put up some resistance. But the middle-aged nun who stood before me, head bowed, shoulders sagging, was nothing like the iron-willed administrator I had met my first day at St. T's. When I told her we needed to talk, she agreed submissively and almost, I thought, with relief.

  A few moments later, Olivia, Mother Winifred, and I were in Mother's cottage with the door closed and the kettle heating on the hot plate. Olivia sat at the table, knees and feet together, hands tightly clasped in her lap. The skin under her eyes was pouchy, her nose red, her cheeks blotched. She had been crying.

  I spoke quiedy. "There are a great many secrets at St. T's, Sister, and you seem to be at the heart of all of them. But we can't afford secrets any longer. There is too much at stake, too many people being hurt."

  She didn't answer.

  "On your way back from the airport last night, did you stop to see Sadie Marsh?"

  A tic appeared at the corner of her compressed lips. She bowed her head, staring down at her locked hands, folded as if in prayer. Her knuckles were white.

  I tried again. "When you went to the motherhouse this weekend, did the Reverend Mother General tell you about the deed restrictions that Sadie had brought to her attention?"

  Mother Winifred put the tea things on the table and sat down beside me. "Deed restrictions?" she asked, perplexed.

  I spoke to Olivia. "Knowing that Sadie was the main obstruction in your plan, you stopped by her place last night to change her mind. Isn't that true?"

  Olivia looked up as if she were about to speak, but she continued to cling to her silence.

  I took the boarding pass out of my pocket and laid it on the table in front of her. She glanced at it. A moan escaped her lips and her face went white.

  "I found this at Sadie's," I said. "Just outside the kitchen door."

  "Yes, I was there," she said, almost inaudibly. I could hear Mother's sharp intake of breath.

  "Thank you," I said gently. "Now, tell us what happened."

  Olivia was chewing on her lower lip. The silence thickened. Outside the window, a chickadee piped his penetrating four-note whistle. On the hot plate, the kettle was beginning to hum.

  Mother Winifred spoke, her voice calm and unexpectedly firm. "You must tell us what happened, Olivia, and what you know. Answer the question, please."

  Olivia glanced at Mother with faint surprise. She hesitated, then lifted her head. "It wasn't quite the way you say." Her voice was taut with the effort required to keep

  it from trembling. "I know Sadie Marsh. I know that when she says something, no matter how stupid, she sticks by it."

  "So you weren't trying to change her mind," I said.

  "I told Reverend Mother General that seeing Sadie wasn't going to do any good, but she instructed me to try to talk reason into her. I obeyed. But Sadie had already made up her mind. She wouldn't listen."

  Mother Winifred had sat forward on the chair. Both of us were totally captured by Olivia's thin, reedy voice. "What time did you arrive?" I asked.

  "I flew into Austin about seven-thirty and telephoned to make sure she would be there. I drove straight from the airport. I got there about nine-thirty. She was ready for bed."

  Beside me, Mother stirred. The kettle was beginning to whistle faintly, but I don't think she heard it. "What time did you leave?" I asked.

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. ' 'About a quarter to ten. It didn't take long for her to make her position clear. I could see that nothing I could say would change her mind." The blotches grew brighter, and color suffused her neck. "But I had promised Reverend Mother General to give it my best effort, so I did."

  "What did you say?"

  Her voice seemed to strengthen. "I tried to get her to see that she was making a mistake. I told her that the retreat center would bring a new life to St. Theresa's, that it would contribute jobs and revenue to the local economy." She stopped, cleared her throat. "I told her to think carefully before she closed off those possibilities, because once closed, they couldn't be opened again."

  "How did she respond?"

  "How do you think?" she asked bitterly.

  "Just tell us, Sister," Mother said.

  "She laughed." Olivia looked down at her clasped fingers and loosened them until they began to shake, then

  pressed them tight again. Her voice had thinned to a thread, each word pulled out of herself with an obvious effort. "She said that after the board meeting there'd be no hope of developing a retreat center here. She said that… the only way to stop her was to… kill her."

  Olivia's last sentence paralyzed Mother Winifred and me in absolute, horrified attention. Into that frozen silence, the kettle poured its shriek like the cry of the dead. Blindly, Mother Winifred got up and groped toward it.

  I spoke, not so much from a desire to hear the truth as to get the awful, bloody business done with. "What happened then?''

  "Then?" Olivia looked at me, her eyes opaque, staring, behind her glasses. "It was over. I left."

  "You… left?"

  "Yes, I left. What else could I do?" She raised her clasped hands to her breast, speaking with weary despair. "I drove back here."

  "That's when I saw you?"

  "Yes. I went to my room and tried to sleep, but I couldn't. When everyone went to breakfast, I went to the chapel to pray."

  "For forgiveness, I trust." Mother Winifred's voice was ragged. Her hand shook as she poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot.

  "For forgiveness?"
Olivia cried wretchedly. Half-imploring, half-rebellious, she lifted her eyes toward heaven. "I was praying for guidance! What in the name of Christ am I to do with my life? Does He mean me to dig in the dirt for the rest of my days?" Her voice shattered and she wrapped her arms around herself, bending forward, rocking back and forth. "If anyone should pray for forgiveness, it's Sadie Marsh. She thwarted God's plan for this place!"

  "Olivia, Olivia," Mother remonstrated softly. "Only human plans can be thwarted. His, never."

  Olivia raised her head. Her eyes were filled with tears and her chin was trembling. If I had not seen that bloody body lying in the straw, had not seen how ruthlessly Sadie sad been struck down, I would have felt pity for her. She seemed so utterly destroyed, less a criminal than a victim jf her own high expectations, her hopes for a dream that – ould never be real.

  And now that her defense against the truth had been breached, we had come almost to the end. There was only:he admission left, only her final confession. For that-

  I took the card out of my pocket, unfolded it, and held it out. "What is this, Olivia?"

  She glanced at it, then away. "It's a cross," she said helplessly. Her voice cracked.

  "It's your cross, isn't it?"

  "Mine?" She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "No, of course not. Why would I have a cross like that?"

  "Why-?" I looked down. I'd been in a hurry when I picked up the cross, and I'd put it in my pocket without examining it closely. Now I did, and saw what I hadn't seen before.

  In the center of the cross was an emblem. On the emblem were two letters, a K and a C, elaborately intertwined. K and C. The Knights of Columbus.

  F. Lee Bailey once said that you should never ask a witness a question you didn't already know the answer to. "If you do," he said, "you deserve whatever the hell you get."

  I had known the answer to my question. I had been absolutely confident that Olivia would say, "Yes, that's my cross." But I had been wrong, disastrously wrong, wrong again. I looked down at the cross. There were two people who might have worn it, and neither of them were in this room.

  I cleared my throat. ' 'So you… you had nothing to do with the assault on Sadie Marsh?" It was less a question than a bewildered statement of the unthinkable truth that was just beginning to dawn on me.

  "The assault?" Olivia's gasping perplexity was even greater than mine.

  "Tom Rowan and I found her this morning in the barn at the M Bar M. She had been hit on the head and left for dead."

  "Dead!" Olivia half-rose. Her face registered both profound distress and a fierce, undisguised hope. ' 'Sadie Marsh is dead!"

  "No," I said. "At least, she wasn't when the ambulance took her to the hospital. But she has severe head wounds. She may not live."

  She sank back weakly. "Did she-? Did the board-?"

  "Look at the old deed?" I shook my head. "She didn't make it to the meeting. Somebody tried to kill her to keep her from talking."

  Her voice was thick, her eyes staring. "Somebody-But who-? Why-?"

  I shook my head, swallowing hard, painfully. "I don't know. Not yet." I could guess who, but I didn't want to. I'd been wrong so many times in the last few days. I could only pray I was wrong this time too.

  "You thought it was me!" Olivia was breathing through her mouth, short, panting breaths, like a dog. "You really believed I could have killed Sadie!" She threw back her head and began to laugh, a grating sound that ended in a crazy, gasping cackle. "You thought I-"

  "Olivia!" Mother Winifred put a hand on her shoulder. "Get hold of yourself!"

  Olivia stopped as suddenly as if she'd been gagged. She collapsed against the chair, her eyes closed. "I hated her for being so smug," she whispered. "I despised her for keeping me from doing what God wants me to do. But I didn't kill her."

  There was one last thing. "What was she wearing?" I asked.

  ' 'I told you. She was ready for bed. She was wearing a purple bathrobe and flannel pajamas." She opened her eyes

  and held out trembling hands. "You have to believe me. I'm innocent!"

  A purple bathrobe and flannel pajamas. The recollection of the unmade bed I'd seen this morning came back to me, and I realized its significance. Sadie had slept there last night, after Olivia had left. She had been attacked early this morning, after she dressed but before she had time to make the bed, by the owner of the cross I held in my hand.

  I folded the small silver object back into its cardboard packet and put it into my shirt pocket. Olivia couldn't help me determine what had happened to Sadie, but there were three other mysteries to be solved, and she had the answers to both.

  "You may be innocent of this morning's assault," I said, "but you are guilty on other counts. You know who murdered Mother Hilaria. You know who wrote the letters, and you know who set the fires. I want you to name that person."

  Mother gasped. "Murdered? Mother Hilaria was murdered!"

  Olivia's face was waxen. Her hands clutched the arms of her chair; her eyes were fixed on me. "You… know?" she whispered.

  I nodded. "But I can't prove it, and I can't obtain her confession. You are the only one who can make her tell what she has done."

  The silence crouched between us, waiting and wary. At last she shook her head.

  I held her eyes. "You want to become the spiritual mother of these women. How can you expect them to turn to you for guidance and comfort and at the same time protect a sick individual who threatens their safety?''

  Mother put her hand over Olivia's. "If you know who she is, you must lead her to confession, my child, and quickly. There has been another letter, delivered in the same manner, with the same enclosure-a leaf of rue."

  Olivia closed her eyes. Her voice was thin and thready. "Who received it?"

  "Gabriella. The accusation was… ridiculous, or worse.'' Mother's voice was profoundly sad. ' 'Confession is the only way the writer can be redeemed, Olivia. And if you have been concealing her identity, it is your way to redemption, as well."

  Olivia clutched Mother's hand in both her own and began to sob.

  I stood. "I'm going to the hospital, Mother. But I should be back this evening. After supper, please gather the sisters-all of them-in the chapel."

  Mother slipped her free arm around Olivia's shoulders and looked up at me. "The chapel? Yes, of course. But why?"

  I looked at Olivia, still sobbing. ' 'Because,'' I said quietly, "it's time you assembled a Chapter of Faults. Sister Olivia is ready to accuse a sister who has sinned."

  I left the cottage and hurried down the path to the parking lot and the truck. I had lied to Olivia when I said I knew who killed Mother Hilaria. I didn't know-not exactly, that is. I had narrowed it down to two people.

  And then down to one. As I walked across the parking lot, I met two nuns coming toward me. I stopped to speak briefly, and held out my hand to each to thank her for her help. When I left them a moment later, I knew which of the sisters Olivia would accuse.

  But I shouldn't be so confident. I had made too many mistakes in the last few days. Maybe I should confess my errors to the Chapter of Faults.

  Chapter Sixteen

  His Physicke must be Rue (ev'n Rue for Sinne).

  George Wither, 1628

  Why, what a ruthlesse thing is this, to take away

  life…

  William Shakespeare Measure for Measure

  Every minute of the drive to the Carr County Hospital, I could feel that cross burning in my pocket like a hot coal straight from hell. Based on the information I had now, it belonged either to Tom or his father, both of whom were members of the Knights of Columbus.

  Tom or his father. One or the other had attempted to murder Sadie Marsh, but I didn't know which. And I couldn't imagine why either one would have done it-until I remembered the short bit of conversation at the Lone Star the night before. The old man had been deeply upset at the idea that Sadie had invited me to the board meeting. What's that woman up to, anyway? he had demanded. Tom had answered, sh
arply, I'll take care of Sadie, Dad.

  And then, when I pulled up in front of the hospital just before three o'clock, I remembered something else: the envelope I had retrieved from Sadie's kitchen table this morning. The fat, sealed envelope Sadie had shown me the day before. She had implied that the contents had to do with the foundation's trust accounts, which were under the control of the bank-under the control of Tom Rowan, Senior

  and Junior. The trust accounts that by now should amount to fourteen or fifteen million dollars.

  But maybe not. You know as well as I do, Sadie had said, what goes in don't necessarily come out.

  I took the envelope out of the back pocket of my cords and unfolded it. It wasn't sealed. And it wasn't fat. It contained just one sheet of paper.

  I'll never know what else Sadie had stashed in the envelope-records of the actual transactions, probably, with account numbers and balances, obtained from Mother Hi-laria. What was left was only one sheet of paper, filled with single-spaced typing, dated yesterday and signed "Sadie Marsh." It was the text of a statement she must have planned to read at the board meeting-and, from the look of it, to release to the county attorney. Whoever had taken the other pages probably meant to take this one as well.

  What goes in don't necessarily come out. The first paragraph told me why Sadie had made that bitter remark. The accounts that had been opened with something close to seven million dollars now amounted to two hundred ninety-some thousand and change.

  I stared at the page, incredulous. St. Theresa's legacy had been stolen! Who had done it? How had it been done?

  When I finished Sadie's report, I knew how, more or less, although the financial transactions were complicated and the details confusing. But I still didn't know who, or rather, which. I sat for a long time studying the paper, trying to see in it the face of the man who feared so deeply for his reputation-his, and his family's, and the bank's-that he was willing to murder to protect it.

  Was it Tom? The Tom Rowan I'd known in Houston, the wheeler-dealer, the boy banking wonder, would certainly have been slick enough to pull off a complicated fraud like this one. According to Sadie's statement, the first transaction hadn't taken place until after he'd returned to Carr and gone to work at the bank. Yes, Tom certainly had the ability-the means-to pull something like this off, and