“And what was it you discovered, Sister?” Honore settled back in his chair, rocking slightly.
“My mother’s medal and chain.” Ree dangled the gold medallion over the desk. Dropping it on top, she pointed despairingly at it. “She’d never leave without that,” she said. Her voice had an edge on it.
“You’re the daughter, ma’am?”
Obviously not trusting herself to speak, Ree nodded and fumbled in her coat pocket for a handkerchief.
“She’s very upset, Inspector,” Lucy explained, although Mary Helen was sure the inspector hadn’t missed that. “We were all upset when we found it. As Marie said, Erma would never go anywhere without that medal.”
“Never,” Ree repeated, her large eyes filling with tears.
Popping his gum, Honore rocked back in his chair and looked from woman to woman.
Trying to decide whether we are just being emotional or whether we are on to something that he shouldn’t ignore, Mary Helen thought. And we really can’t blame him. The gold medal and chain bunched up on his blotter did seem pretty insignificant for such a fuss.
Adjusting her bifocals, Mary Helen tried to look as levelheaded and sensible as possible. “That is why,” she said, “we have come to file an official missing-person report.”
Honore hesitated, as if he were about to say something. Instead, he rummaged through the wire basket on the corner of his desk. Finally he dug out a report form.
“Lots of missing persons turn up, Sister.” He foraged through his pencil holder until he located a sharpened one. “Sooner or later, anyway.”
Good night, nurse! I hope he’s better at finding people than he is at locating his paper and pencil! Impatiently, Mary Helen scooted forward in her chair.
“But let’s fill out a report, anyway, ma’am.” Honore turned the form sideways toward Ree. His tone said, If it’ll make you feel better.
Mary Helen strained to see. Her stomach gave a turn when she read SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES/FOUL PLAY clearly printed at the top.
Ree answered Inspector Honore’s questions calmly, stumbling a little only over waist and bra size, which was understandable. One seldom thinks about those things in reference to one’s mother. Also, Mary Helen noticed that Erma’s daughter hesitated when he asked, “Probable destination?”
The police officer must have noticed too.
“What makes you think she didn’t go to St. Louis, ma’am?” he asked, cracking his gum again.
Mary Helen watched the young woman’s lower lip quiver. Oh, no! she thought. If the man even suspects we are being too emotional, one of Ree’s scenes will convince him he is right.
“She’d never go without her medal, Officer.” The words caught in Ree’s throat “That’s what makes me think that something bad has . . .” Poor Ree could go no further.
Again, Honore reached into his jacket pocket for his pack of gum. He peeled a piece and added it to the other two. Mary Helen wondered absently just how many pieces the fellow could chew at one time without his jaw getting sore.
“I know you ladies are worried.” He cracked the wad. “But what I’m trying to say is that lots of times older people go away for a while. Take a trip, you know. Their families get all upset, naturally. When they get back, they can’t figure out what all the fuss was about”
He paused and grinned. Almost patronizingly, Mary Helen thought.
“They just forget to tell anyone. Maybe on purpose, maybe not. All the proof you have that Mrs. Duran has met with foul play is this medal”—with his big hand he turned the medallion over—“and your feelings.”
Mary Helen bristled. She could feel her blood pressure rising. The inspector’s implication was clear. Erma was an old woman and, therefore, a bit dotty. Not only Erma, but Lucy and Eileen and herself as well. And Ree he had discounted completely! She could understand that their evidence was scanty, but really!
She set her lips. Her dimples must have started to show because she felt Eileen pat her knee with her take-it-easy-old-girl pat.
“Forgot to tell anyone!” Mary Helen said as evenly as she could manage. “Let me tell you something, young man. Erma Duran is a member of our OWL chapter—Older Women’s League, if you are unfamiliar with the acronym.
“Mrs. Duran, who, incidentally, is a college graduate, heads our committee on social-security reform. And, I might add, quite successfully. She has been active in helping welfare mothers, promoting senior-citizen health programs, and coordinating several letter-writing campaigns. In addition, she holds down a job.”
And probably keeps her employer and her children from killing one another, she wanted to add, but thought better of it. Old woman, indeed!
She glanced over at her companions. Both Eileen and Lucy were nodding, indignant expressions on their faces. Of the three, only poor. Ree looked a bit “spacey,” as Sister Anne would say. And that had nothing at all to do with age.
“And as for the medal, Inspector, it is a very precious possession of a very alert and intelligent woman.”
Poor Inspector Honore had stopped midchew. Sister Mary Helen suppressed an urge to smile. The big black Kojak looked for all the world as though someone had taken the proverbial wind smack out of his sails.
“Sister, I wasn’t implying—” he began.
“I should hope not, Inspector,” she said quickly, hoping to spare the fellow the rest of the fib. Mary Helen settled back in the wooden chair. “Now can we get on with the report?”
Looking eager to get their business finished and be rid of them, Inspector Honore thumbed through the wire basket on the corner of his desk and pulled out yet another form.
“Will you sign this, ma’am?” He shoved the paper toward Ree.
Mary Helen winced as she watched Ree’s lips move while she read the formal request. It authorized the dentist to release poor, dear old Erma’s dental records.
* * *
The rain had stopped by the time the four women arrived back at Erma’s apartment. Narrow patches of blue were beginning to show in the gray sky. Droplets of water stood out on the waxed hood of Lucy’s silver Mercedes. In fact, they had come back to the building so that Lucy could pick up her car.
“See you on Monday morning, Sisters,” she said. She turned the key and her heavy engine purred into action. Slowly the automatic window moved down. Mary Helen couldn’t help noting the worried frown on Lucy’s usually cheerful face.
“It will all work out. You’ll see!” she said, feigning good spirits. With a wave, she made a quick U-turn and disappeared up Sanchez Street toward her home.
Watching the silver car disappear, Mary Helen had the sudden urge to go home herself. She’d have a cup of soup, some hot buttered toast, then take a short nap. One look at Eileen and she knew her friend would be open to the suggestion.
Mary Helen turned toward Ree. Much as she would have liked to, she just couldn’t leave her standing there on the wet corner. “Can we drop you at your house?”
Ree shook her head, then sniffled. “I was going to go into Mommy’s for a minute. There might be something else in there.” Those big doe eyes looked pleadingly from nun to nun. Mary Helen knew what was coming before Ree said it “Will you come with me? I don’t want to go in there alone. I won’t stay long, I promise.”
* * *
Mary Helen felt uncomfortable going through Erma’s dresser drawers. Although they were sparse and tidy, a lot tidier than her own, she noticed, she just did not feel right. And she tried to avoid altogether looking at the black loose-leaf binder propped against the night-stand. Not that she would have touched it. Heaven forbid! Going through someone’s drawers was bad enough, but to invade another’s privacy by reading a journal! Whatever the circumstances, it was unthinkable.
For all they knew, the woman was perfectly safe somewhere and having a wonderful time. She’d be horrified to know that someone had pawed through her things.
Apparently Eileen was having trouble with the search, too, since the moment it sta
rted she excused herself to make them all a steaming cup of tea.
Furthermore, Mary Helen didn’t have the slightest idea what she should be looking for. These considerations didn’t stop Erma’s daughter. Ree had taken off her padded jacket and was rummaging through the closet and the nightstand, looking through old letters. Her ponytail swinging, she was generally “invading privacy,” as the saying goes.
Then, as if suddenly exhausted, the young woman plopped onto the end of her mother’s bed. The springs creaked under her weight.
“I knew it!” she muttered. “I just knew that something’s happened.”
A cold chill ran up Mary Helen’s spine. The fatalism in Ree’s voice made the hair on her neck prickle. “What do you mean?” she asked. “How do you know something’s happened?”
Letting her double chin sink to her breastbone, Ree wagged her head back and forth. “The check not coming. Bills piling up. Mommy being so worried before she went to the convention in New York. I just knew it!”
Sitting down beside her, Mary Helen put her arm around Ree’s chubby shoulders. “Did you ever ask your mother what was troubling her?”
“Yes, I asked her, but Mommy would never say. You know how she was, always wanting to make everyone happy. The most she ever did was point to that.” Turning, she stared accusingly at the large picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help on the shelf in the corner as if the Madonna were somehow to blame. “ ‘She’ll take care of it,’ Mommy said. ‘And if anything should happen to me, look there.’ ”
Crossing the bedroom, Mary Helen stood in front of the picture. The large, sorrowful eyes of the Byzantine Madonna stared at her knowingly, sympathetically. The Christ Child in her arms, looking frightened, had one sandal dangling from His small foot. In each of the upper corners, an archangel hovered. One held a pot of hyssop, a sponge, and a spear, the other a large cross—clearly, the instruments of the Child’s passion and death.
Was Erma just being pious, or was there something there? The Erma Mary Helen knew may have been pious, but she was also practical. You don’t suppose she had taped a note or letter to the back? That only happens in mystery stories, old girl, she reminded herself, but just maybe . . . Mary Helen couldn’t resist. She removed the picture and carefully checked it inch by inch, patting the backing for an extra bulge.
Except for a layer of dust, the brown paper back of the picture was absolutely clear and flat. Only a small gold tag said that it had been purchased at Kaufer-Stadler Religious Goods Store on Market Street. Feeling a little foolish, Mary Helen hung the picture back on the hook.
“Right after we drink this, why don’t we all go home and take a little rest?” Eileen appeared in the doorway holding a tray. Mary Helen could see the steam rising from the three mugs. The sharp tang of orange filled the room.
“Sister Eileen’s right” Mary Helen handed Ree a mug and took one herself.
“For all we know, Mr. Finn’s hunch may be correct.” Eileen pursed her lips. “Your mother may just call tomorrow.”
“That’s right.” Mary Helen patted the woman’s knee. “After all, Sunday is Mother’s Day!” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could catch them and push them back in again.
Ree’s dark eyes filled immediately and tears ran down her dimpled cheeks.
“Let me take you home.” Mary Helen pretended she didn’t notice the tears. “You’ve had—we’ve all had—a very hectic morning.”
Much to her relief, Ree wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffled, and stood up. “I live only a couple of blocks away.” She tugged at the back of her overblouse.
Silently, Eileen gathered up the cups to rinse. Mary Helen handed Ree her jacket Without comment she put it on. Looking remarkably like a Chinese pincushion, she walked into the living room and down the stairs.
Alone in the bedroom, Mary Helen snatched up the binder. After all, whatever was troubling Erma could well be written in her journal. From what Ree had just said, it was abundantly clear to Mary Helen that Erma did not want her daughter to know what it was. And with all this going through Erma’s things, Mary Helen had no way of telling just how long it would be before Ree discovered the binder.
She flipped through it. To her surprise most of the pages were blank. Erma had written on only a few. Quickly she ripped them out and shoved them into the side compartment of her pocketbook, where they would stay for safekeeping. Knowing Erma would be grateful, she zipped it shut.
* * *
“My house is right down here.” Ree pointed to a narrow street, really an alley, off 17th. The street sign read PROSPER. With a felt-tipped pen, some wag had added ITY.
The wooden houses along the short street might have once known prosperity, but no more. Several fronts extended at least six feet above the natural roofs. Mary Helen remembered reading some local history buff’s claim that the Italianate fronts were crafted back East, then shipped to the City. When they arrived it was clear that they were six feet too high. Immediately an Eastern extended roof became all the rage.
“The next one.” Ree pointed. Mary Helen pulled up to a pink house with long, narrow bay windows and fretwork along the top of its front.
“That’s my apartment.” Ree pointed again, this time to a door and square window cut into what was once the basement A flat metal mailbox by the door indicated a bona-fide apartment. Iron-blue hydrangeas bloomed in small patches on either side of the door.
“Aren’t those lovely!” Eileen remarked, to make conversation, Mary Helen assumed.
Ree just shrugged.
“Someone once told me he got that color by putting nails in the ground around them.” Eileen’s voice ended the sentence somewhere between a question and a statement. It was that old Irish trick again. No one commented. What was there to say?
After several tries, Ree struggled out of the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.” She slammed the door of the Nova.
“Get some rest,” Eileen called after her.
Silently, the two nuns watched her walk up the cement path.
“What do you make of it, old dear?” Eileen asked as soon as the apartment door shut. “She seems suddenly unseasonably calm.”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m so tired. I hope Allan Boscacci has the garage door fixed because I don’t think I have the strength to push it.” Carefully, Mary Helen backed out of the alley. “One thing I do know: I am going to take some of your advice.”
“And what advice is that?” Eileen looked pleased.
“The part about getting some rest.” Mary Helen smiled over at her friend. “After we get some soup, Eileen, let’s take a nap.”
“Just like a couple of old lassies?” Eileen asked in mock horror.
“Don’t be silly! It has absolutely nothing to do with getting old. Anyone—why, even Sister Anne—would be done in by our hectic morning.”
* * *
Kate Murphy was clearing her desk when her phone rang.
“Just our luck,” Dennis Gallagher grumbled, watching her remove an earring. “Bad enough we got the duty on Saturday, but quitting time and we get a damn call.”
“You guys about ready to close it up?” Kate was surprised to hear Ron Honore’s voice on the other end of the line. Somehow, she would have expected him to be home showering for a heavy date.
She nodded at Gallagher, who was giving her a who-the-hell-is-it? look. “Honore,” she mouthed to her partner, who was shifting impatiently.
“We were just about ready to,” she said into the phone.
“How about you two meeting me in, say, half an hour at Fahey’s? Bring Jack too. I can use all the advice I can get”
Kate hesitated, wondering if either Gallagher or Jack, who had been home cleaning the house all day, had any plans.
“Just for half an hour or so,” Honore added.
His voice was so serious Kate began to worry. “Is there something wrong, Ron?”
“Wrong? Not unless you consider meeting Famine, Pestilence,
Destruction, and Death something wrong.”
“Pardon me?”
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
Kate was impressed. She would have thought Honore’s Four Horsemen would have been Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley, and Layden from Notre Dame.
“Or should I say, horsewomen?” Honore continued. “Your two nun pals and two more of their cronies were in today.”
So that was it. Kate laughed.
“It isn’t funny.” Ron sounded offended.
She couldn’t resist. “Gee, Ron, I don’t know.” She paused, baiting him. “It is Saturday night. That’s a big night on the town. In fact, I’m surprised a bachelor of your reputation isn’t home sprucing up for the evening.”
“I promise it won’t take long,” he said, paying no attention to her jibe. “And, I’m buying.”
Kate waited, listening to the phone line click in the silence.
“You did get me into this, you know.”
A touch of the old Honore she knew and loved. She cleared her throat, letting him dangle.
“Oh, please, Kate. Give me a break.”
“Okay, for a few minutes.” Kate wondered for a moment if any sound could be as sweet as the sound of the cocky Inspector Honore begging.
* * *
Luckily, Gallagher found a parking space on Taraval Street where the Parkside branch of the library meets McCopp Park, about a block up from Fahey’s Saloon. Hands in pockets, he started down toward 24th Avenue. The wind whipping up Taraval pulled at his coat, flung his tie over his shoulder, and pushed his pants legs against his shins.
Shivering, Kate, trying to use her partner’s bulk as a windshield, followed half behind him to the corner. Together the pair dashed across the intersection.
“God Almighty, I’ll need two straight shots,” Gallagher panted, “just to get my blood unfrozen.” He held the half door of Fahey’s open. “After you.”
Inside, the long, narrow bar was warm and cozy. The jukebox near the entrance played softly. On the back wall over the electric scoreboard, a wooden sign announced FAHEY’S SALOON, WHERE THE ELITE MEET!
The Missing Madonna Page 11