The Mother's Day Murder

by Lee Harris

  He mumbled something that was probably good night and I left the room.

  My guest was sitting on the sofa, staring straight ahead as though I had left her ten seconds ago instead of ten minutes. When I sat opposite her, she seemed to come to life.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked, trying to be a good hostess and putting off my questions.

  “No, thank you. I have a problem and I don’t know who to turn to. I need your help.”

  “I’ll do what I can. What’s the problem?”

  She took a deep breath and her whole body quivered. “It’s Sister Joseph,” she said, speaking the name of the Superior at St. Stephen’s and my dearest friend. “I don’t know how to tell you this so I’ll just say it and you’ll see what the problem is. Sister Joseph is my mother.”

  2

  I could not exaggerate the shock I experienced at hearing her pronouncement. For a moment it left me short of breath and dizzy. I’m not sure whether there was a fleeting moment in which I thought that what she said might be true or whether I simply felt immediate disgust and anger that anyone would say something so untrue, so impossible to believe and so impossible to have happened—something that could devastate the life and career of a woman whom I believed to be a paragon of virtue.

  “Tina,” I said, “I think you should reconsider what you just said. I’ve known Sister Joseph for most of my life. She is a devout Catholic, a devoted member of the convent, a great leader. She has never had a child.”

  “Were you there twenty years ago?”

  I did some simple subtraction. “No, I wasn’t. I came there a little after that.” I had been fifteen, orphaned, unable to remain with my aunt and uncle. Joseph had been my friend and my adviser, almost an older sister. I had survived those first terrible months because she had dedicated herself to my survival and to my happiness.

  “I’m twenty,” the girl sitting on my sofa said. “I can tell you where I was born. I can tell you who adopted me. You can talk to them. They’ll confirm that they’re my adoptive parents.”

  “But you can’t show me any records with Sister Joseph’s name on them.”

  “Not right now. But they exist. She gave birth to me twenty years ago and if you give me some time, I can prove it to you.”

  “How did you get here, Tina?”

  “I took the train and then got a taxi.”

  I was starting to feel very uncomfortable. I knew she was going to ask me if she could stay overnight. Since the birth of my son two and a half years ago, I have become very careful and cautious. If this young woman was paranoid I didn’t want her staying in the same house as my child. But how could I throw her out on the street? “Where did you get the money for the train and the taxi?” I asked. I know how little money nuns and novices have access to. When I made my monthly trips to Oakwood, I needed special permission and money was taken out of my dowry to pay the expenses.

  “My parents send me money. It’s mine. I didn’t steal it.” She had a pouty look as she spoke and there was defiance in her voice.

  “Does Sister Joseph know you’re here?”

  “No. No! Please don’t tell her.” She looked as if she might cry.

  “I’m not telling her anything. But I think you have a lot of explaining to do. I need to know why you’re here, whether you got permission to leave St. Stephen’s, who you are, what the problem is, and what you expect from me.” I looked at my watch. “But there isn’t time now. My husband is coming home soon and I’ve got to get dinner ready. Will you join us?” I tried to sound pleasant and inviting, neither of which I felt.

  “Thank you, I’d like that. And I can help with dinner.”

  “That’s all right. There isn’t much to do.” I felt myself somewhat disarmed by her offer. I told her she could stay where she was or use the bathroom. As soon as my husband arrived, we would eat.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I need your help, Chris. I really do.”

  Jack came home a little while later and I went outside to greet him and tell him about our visitor.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “You should call Sister Joseph and find out what’s going on.”

  “I can’t do that yet. I’ve promised her I’ll listen to her story. As crazy as it may be.”

  “That’s your call. She staying the night?”

  “We haven’t discussed it but I don’t see I have much of a choice.”

  “You always have a choice. If push comes to shove, you can call Father Hanrahan and ask if she can stay at the rectory.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Let’s have dinner and let me listen to whatever she wants to tell me. Then I’ll decide.”

  He put his arm around me and we walked inside. Tina was sitting where I had left her but she jumped to her feet to say hello to Jack. He responded somewhat curtly and went upstairs to change. By the time he came down, I had the table set for three and the thermometer in my roast beef was within the acceptable range.

  “Thank you both very much,” Tina said, sitting down at the table. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “That must be over twelve hours ago,” I said.

  “It was.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of meat so don’t be shy.”

  We kept the conversation away from Tina, Jack talking about a new case he was reviewing, one that looked iffy for the police officers on the scene. He was afraid they hadn’t given the proper warnings and that they might not have used their weapons justifiably. As always, I could see how he was torn between what he knew to be legally correct and wanting to defend the officers, who had been in a very dangerous situation.

  As he knew from personal experience, police officers are often required to make instant decisions involving the use of their weapons, which after review in a calmer, less dangerous setting appear to be overreaction or unnecessary, and sometimes can cross the line into actual criminal activity.

  Tina contributed little to the conversation. If anything, she seemed confused. She ate heartily and helped me clear the table when we were finished.

  After the dishes were done, I suggested she and I sit in the living room, a room we hardly use since adding a huge family room to the back of the house before Eddie was born. Jack retired there with a whispered “Don’t make any promises,” and Tina and I went to the front of the house and got comfortable.

  I didn’t say anything, but I recalled a visit to St. Stephen’s about a year ago when I had had a long talk with Sister Joseph. At that time she told me how few novices had entered the convent and that she had her doubts about one of them. No names had been mentioned but I wondered whether this was the one she had referred to.

  I was troubled and starting to regret allowing myself to get into a situation where I was about to hear things I did not want to hear from a person whose credibility was shaky at best. Finally I looked up and saw Tina sitting like a statue on the sofa, as though waiting for permission to speak.

  “Why are you here, Tina?” I asked, just to get her going.

  “I need your help and I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “I’m afraid of her.”

  “Tina, you are speaking of someone I have known, loved, and trusted for more than half my life. I can imagine fearing her anger if I had done something reprehensible, but otherwise, she is not a person who inspires fear. You’ll have to explain yourself or I will ask you to leave.” I tried to sound stern, as though I were talking to one of my students who had not delivered a paper, although something about Tina touched me.

  “I’m afraid of her because I think she’s guessed who I am and she doesn’t want the truth to come out. She gave birth to me twenty years ago when she was in her twenties. She was living and working in Ohio at that time, and after I was born she went back to St. Stephen’s. She gave me up for adoption when I was just a few days old.”

  “I would think the records would have been sealed,” I said.

  “They were. But I was able to get a
summer job at the hospital. I got into the records.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Sister Joseph’s real name and the address she gave when she checked into the hospital. And the name of the agency that gave me to my parents.”

  I looked at her face, trying to see something of Joseph in it, but I could not. “There’s no resemblance between you,” I said.

  “I have a father, too.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No. I couldn’t find him.”

  “I take it you haven’t spoken to Sister Joseph about this.”

  “No. I’m very nervous. I want to get to the bottom of this but I need someone to help me.”

  “Is that the reason you entered St. Stephen’s, Tina?”

  “I want a religious life. I thought about several convents, but the reason I chose St. Stephen’s is probably because of her. I wanted to know her. I wanted to be near her. I wanted to know what kind of person she was.”

  “And what have you found out?”

  “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

  “Why are you here, Tina?”

  “I heard about you. I even saw you once or twice when you came to visit with your little boy. Once I knew your name, it was easy to find your address. It’s not hidden; it’s in a file. People talked about you, Sister Angela, Sister Dolores in the Villa, some of the others. I knew you had a close relationship with Sister Joseph and that you had left the convent a few years ago. And everyone seemed to like you. I didn’t know where to go so I thought I’d come here.”

  “Why now?” I asked.

  “Because—because I think she realized who I am. And there’s something about the way she’s been acting lately—I know she doesn’t want the truth to come out and I started to be afraid.”

  “What are you afraid of? That she’ll ask you to leave St. Stephen’s?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid of much worse. I’m afraid—I can’t say it.”

  “Tina, what you’re telling me is very improbable. Sister Joseph has been at St. Stephen’s more than twenty years.”

  “She left for a year. I think she took a secular job. I don’t know if that’s where her family lived, but she went out to Ohio and stayed there for about a year. I don’t know whether she was pregnant when she went or whether she got pregnant while she was there. I just know she had a baby and it was me.”

  I found the conversation so unsettling that I wanted to call it quits and ask her to stop talking. More than that, I wanted her to leave my house and never return and to take with her all the things she had told me so that I would never have to think about them. But I knew none of this was possible. I assumed this girl was unbalanced in some way but I had to press on, to prove to her and to myself that what she was saying was totally without truth.

  “Tina, I have known Sister Joseph much longer than I know you. I love her as a friend, I admire her as a human being and as a nun. It seems to me that the only way this can be resolved is for me—or us—to talk to her about your allegations.”

  “If you could help me—that would really be great. But I need a little time. I’ve done some stupid things.”

  “How would you like me to help you?”

  “Please don’t talk to her until I say it’s OK,” she pleaded.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Maybe we could—we could go together.”

  I hated the idea of being part of something that I knew was wrong and false, but at the same time, I wanted to put this story of hers to rest. Before she talked to anyone else, I wanted Joseph to have the chance to have her say. “I can do that,” I said.

  “Just not right now. I’m really a wreck about this. I need some time to think and decide what to do. I feel safe here. If I could stay a day or two, maybe I could decide what to do next.”

  “You can stay,” I said, knowing Jack would not be happy about this, “but if you can’t come to a decision, we’ll have to get counseling for you.”

  “Thank you, Chris.”

  “Would you like to call your parents?”

  “No. I don’t need to.”

  “Won’t they be worried if someone from St. Stephen’s calls and says you’ve left?”

  “No. I’ve taken care of that.”

  I couldn’t imagine how she could have “taken care of” telling her parents unless she lied to them, but I didn’t want to press her, partly because I didn’t want her to multiply the lies. “We have a guest room upstairs you can stay in. I suggest you continue your morning and evening prayers. And I think you should spend as much time as possible trying to resolve your problems. I’m here if you want to talk to me.”

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “Do you want to return to St. Stephen’s as a novice?” I asked. It would be a difficult situation at best, but I wondered if she had thought about it.

  “I’m not sure. What are you going to do?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what her question meant but it put me on the spot. “I’m going to try to find out the truth.”

  “But you won’t talk to Sister Joseph till I’m ready.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’d like to go to my room now.” She got up and went to the front door where she had left her duffle bag, which was so stuffed that the seams were stretched. She picked it up and followed me up the stairs to the room I had used when I visited Aunt Meg for so many years and which Jack and I now used as a study. But Jack’s bar exams were behind him and I wasn’t doing any work at the moment for my friend Arnold Gold, the attorney, so Tina could have her privacy.

  “This is very nice,” she said politely. “Is it all right with you if I just go to bed now? I’ve been up since five and I’m very tired.”

  Five was the hour the nuns at St. Stephen’s normally awoke. “Whatever you’d like. There’s an alarm clock next to the lamp. You’re welcome to get up whenever you want.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good night, Tina.”

  “Good night. Thank you for letting me stay.”

  3

  I stopped in to look at Eddie, who was sleeping peacefully. Then I went downstairs to where Jack was sitting in the family room surrounded by newspapers, a magazine, and some papers that looked like they came from work. He looked up and came as close as I had ever seen him to scowling.

  “There’s something in her eyes, Chris. This gal’s not all there.”

  “I told her she could stay a couple of days. She’s gone to bed. I feel more upset than I’ve felt in years.”

  “I’m not surprised. You want to talk about it?”

  “I have to. My head is going around in circles.”

  He pushed the papers off to the side. “How ’bout we have some coffee and put our heads together?”

  I agreed. I went to the kitchen and started making the coffee. I didn’t want to believe Tina’s fantastic story but it nagged at me. I had known Sister Joseph since long before she became the Superior of St. Stephen’s. She had been my spiritual director when I came to the convent at the age of fifteen and with time she had become my best friend. She never spoke much about her past or about her family and I had never asked. What business was it of mine where she came from or who her parents were? I knew all that was necessary and relevant and I had learned it by knowing her. It was possible she had come from Ohio and it was equally possible that she came from Missouri. It was possible her parents were living, but I thought it likely that they had died when I was young and new at the convent and the nuns protected me from unpleasant news. The truth is, I remembered no time that Joseph had left for any kind of family matter. Nor did I recall that she was ever mysteriously gone for any length of time.

  “Smells good,” Jack called from the family room and I came back from my thoughts to the kitchen I was standing in.

  I took out the cups and saucers and found some cookies I had tucked away for him and put them on a plate. He came in and filled the cups and carried them back to the fami
ly room.

  “You didn’t tell me much before,” he said when we were sitting. “But I can tell you this little gal is not your normal teenager. She’s a nervous wreck. What did she tell you?”

  I went over it quickly. There wasn’t much, as I thought about it, no proof for her accusation, just the promise that she had such proof, just enough to upset me.

  “Chris, honey, I can see what this has done to you. You’re too sensible to listen to this girl and take anything she says seriously. I don’t know if she’s out to hurt you or to hurt Sister Joseph, but she’s not credible. Believe me. I’ve heard them all.”

  Which was true. Until he had graduated from law school last year, he had worked most of his career in a precinct, handling crimes that included homicides. I couldn’t guess how many hours of his life had been spent interviewing suspects and witnesses, but the number would be huge. Also, he had met Sister Joseph and, like me, he found her to be an admirable human being.

  “What do you think I should do?” I asked, a question I didn’t ask very often.

  “You want the truth? I think you should just forget everything this kid has told you, point her in the direction of the convent, and wash your hands of this. Chris, you know Sister Joseph. What this girl says happened didn’t happen.”

  I knew he was right and I felt better hearing him say it out loud. “Why would she make up a story like this?”

  “Because of her own troubles. She needs something, she wants something. She thinks she can get it by spreading this garbage.”

  “I told her she should get counseling,” I said.

  “You’re right. But she can’t get it here. She has to go back to St. Stephen’s or back to wherever her home is and work out what’s bothering her. And you’re not the one who can help her.”

  He was giving me good advice, advice that I had asked him for. It remained to be seen whether I would take it, but for the moment I felt better. He went back to the kitchen and got the rest of the coffee.

  “You still thinking about it?” he said as he poured.

  “I’ll be thinking about it for a long time. Even if nothing Tina says is true, it bothers me that she thinks it’s true and that she can tell this terrible story to anyone at any time.”