Murder Makes a Pilgrimage

by Carol Anne O'Marie

  “You will feel right at home here, Professor,” Pepe said when the bus stopped to let a group of hooting young men cross. “This is a university town. There are one hundred thousand people; fifty thousand are students.”

  Mary Helen wondered if Pepe made up those statistics, although from where she sat, they seemed correct.

  Within minutes the bus turned into Santiago’s central plaza. Sister Mary Helen sucked in her breath. It was as if she had been catapulted back several centuries. The glorious baroque cathedral, the ornate buildings surrounding the plaza had the undiluted ambience of a medieval town. It would not have surprised her in the least to see Chaucer’s long line of mounted pilgrims riding up to the hostal and dismounting for a night’s lodging.

  What she saw instead were several bellboys clad in gray and Kelly green uniforms hurrying out of the hotel with carts to collect their luggage. Before they all left the bus, Pepe gave them detailed instructions on how to register at the hotel, where to exchange their money, and the time and place of dinner. He suggested that until then they take a nap or explore the town.

  “Whichever suits your fancy,” he said with a flourish. After leaving the bus, he disappeared into the hotel with María José, undoubtedly to “consult,” Mary Helen thought wryly.

  Like two zombies, Eileen and she followed the bellboy, who could more accurately have been called a “bell grandfather,” through a courtyard and down a hallway lined with copies of the works of Goya and El Greco toward their assigned room.

  “This place is absolutely gorgeous,” Eileen whispered, but Mary Helen was too tired to appreciate their palatial surroundings. Once they had tipped the man, both nuns shed their shoes, removed their glasses, slid into their canopied beds, and fell into a deep sleep.

  A gentle yet persistent tapping woke Sister Mary Helen. At first she feared it might be rain. When she was a little more awake, she realized that someone was knocking on the heavy wooden door of their bedroom. She glanced at her watch. Without her glasses she could not make out the time. No matter; it was still set on San Francisco time, and at the moment she was too groggy to calculate the difference.

  “Yes,” she said, opening the door a crack. Her eyes met the eyes of Dr. Neil Fong.

  For a moment he looked confused. “I’m so sorry, Sister,” he said, blinking and fussing with his half glasses. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I thought this was Lisa’s room.” His face paled. “I just wanted to show her the Polaroid my wife took in Madrid.” He fumbled in his jacket pocket, pulled out the photo, and held it up for Mary Helen to see.

  Without her glasses, the figures were simply a blur, yet she smiled and muttered, “That came out very nicely.”

  “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “It is high time we were up anyway.” Eileen stood behind her. “What time do you have, Doctor?”

  “Six. Just six o’clock,” the dentist answered, and, apologizing again, hurried down the thickly carpeted hall. Mary Helen watched until he turned the corner.

  “Only six o’clock.” Eileen yawned and sat back down on the high bed. “And dinner is not until nine. I will never make it. My stomach is still on San Francisco time.”

  “That’s odd,” Mary Helen mused.

  “I think it’s quite normal. And you don’t mean to tell me that you’re not a wee bit hungry, too.”

  “Not your stomach, Eileen! Dr. Fong. Don’t you think it is a bit odd that he’d drop by the room to show Lisa Springer a Polaroid picture when he is going to see her at dinner in a very few hours? You don’t suppose he is smitten with her, do you? She is a beautiful girl, you know, and really quite a flirt.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Didn’t you watch her on the plane last night?”

  Eileen let out an exaggerated sigh. “Now don’t be making up situations where none exists.” She slipped on her shoes. “His wife may be asleep, and he’s wanting some company. Or he’s restless after the long flight and just wanted a reason to roam around.”

  “Why roam in a hotel when there’s a whole lovely, quaint little town at your doorstep?” Mary Helen put on her glasses and pulled back the heavy drapes. In the twilight she spotted a gray-headed man crossing the patio. “There goes Professor DeAngelo. See?” She hung out the open, screenless window. “He’s going for a walk. Why didn’t Dr. Fong go with him?”

  “Perhaps they didn’t run into each other.” Eileen pushed herself off the high bed. “Now, I’m starving! For all your noticing of things, did you happen to notice a place in this hotel where we could get a cup of tea? Maybe hunger is what’s making your imagination work overtime.”

  Sister Mary Helen let the drapes fall. Eileen was probably right. She was imagining things. No wonder! During her years at Mount St. Francis College, she had been involved with several murders. She shivered. Was she beginning to view all events with a jaundiced eye? This trip was to be a pilgrimage, a holy journey, a time to relax and be rejuvenated.

  Mary Helen straightened her skirt and ran a comb through her hair. “Not only did I spot a little room with wooden tables,” she said, “but before we left home, I stuck a couple of packages of shortbread cookies in my pocketbook.”

  Without further delay the two nuns went in search of a cup of tea. The little room with wooden tables turned out to be the hotel bar. Save for the bartender, who was busy lighting candles in the center of each table, the place was deserted. The pair moved quickly to an unobtrusive table, sat on the red cushioned chairs, ordered their tea, and broke open a package of cookies.

  They had just asked for refills when Heidi Williams appeared in the doorway. “Thank goodness there’s someone I recognize here,” she said, joining them. “I can’t find anyone.”

  The flicker of light from the candle on the table caught a strand of gold in her butterscotch hair. Mary Helen noticed that her eyes were red and puffy. She had either suffered a severe attack of hay fever or been crying.

  “Is everything all right, Heidi?” Mary Helen asked softly.

  Heidi reached in her pocket for a tissue. “Yeah,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “I’m okay. I was just feeling a little lonely, I guess. I couldn’t find anyone around, and this whole place is so—so spooky.”

  With a wave of her chubby hand, she dismissed centuries of Spanish Romanesque architecture and a vast collection of priceless works of art.

  “We’re glad you found us.” Eileen offered her a cookie. “But where is your friend Lisa?”

  “I never should have asked Lisa,” Heidi mumbled through a mouthful of shortbread. “It was my trip, you know. I won it.”

  “Isn’t Lisa your friend?” Sister Mary Helen had wondered about the pair since she’d met them. Even on first appearance, they presented a very odd couple.

  “We used to be real close,” Heidi said, swallowing, then clearing her throat. “We’re next-door neighbors, and we’ve known each other since we were babies. Lisa and I were like this in grammar school and high school.” She crossed her index and middle fingers.

  “But then in our senior year she got a scholarship and went away to college. In college she changed. A lot!” Heidi bit emphatically into her cookie, leaving Mary Helen to guess what she meant by change.

  “When I won the trip, I was going to ask my cousin Doreen, but my mom said, ‘Why not ask Lisa next door? You two used to be such good friends.’ ”

  Heidi’s puffy eyes narrowed. “So I asked her, and sure enough she said yes. My mom and her mom were glad, but I should have known better. ‘You’ll have fun,’ my mom said. My dad’d kill me if I had fun the way Lisa does.”

  “Where is Lisa now?” Mary Helen asked. What she really wanted to ask was “How did college change Lisa, and what in the world does she do for fun that is worthy of murder?” Certainly it couldn’t be that rather amateurish flirting she had noticed on the plane.

  Heidi shrugged. “I really don’t know where Lisa is now. I was getting out of the shower when I heard someone knocking on our
bedroom door. Lisa must have answered because I heard muffled voices. Then she hollered, ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ and I heard the door slam.” Heidi’s eyes began to fill again.

  “We are just about to take a little look-see around the hotel ourselves. Get our bearings, so to speak, before dinner,” Eileen said brightly, “weren’t we, Sister Mary Helen?”

  It was news to Mary Helen, but she nodded in agreement.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” Eileen patted the girl’s plump hand.

  “If you won’t mind.” Heidi’s chin quivered.

  “Mind? Don’t be silly. We would love having you. . . .” Eileen let her voice trail off.

  Slowly the threesome made their way through the sumptuous hotel. They wandered into the Gothic chapel with its filigreed columns and its magnificent iron screen, which Ferdinand and Isabella had built for the medieval pilgrims. Mary Helen wondered what the royal couple would think of its modern-day use as a concert hall and gallery.

  They strolled through the four patios built by the monarchs as refuges for the exhausted pilgrims. In its heyday the Hostal de los Reyes Católicos had been the foremost hostel in the world. So many came that the enormous hostal could not accommodate them.

  The trio stopped to admire the magnificent paintings on the walls and to peek into spacious lounges with overstuffed furniture, ornate fireplaces, and exquisite flower arrangements.

  For all their meandering through the hotel, they did not come across one other member of their tour group. In fact, except for two or three uniformed maids, they did not run into another living being. Spooky, Mary Helen thought, using Heidi’s word to describe her own feeling.

  They paused momentarily and waited in the hallway while Heidi went in to use the rest room.

  “Where do you think everyone else is?” Mary Helen asked, glad that they were alone for a minute.

  “If they have any sense at all, they are resting in their rooms.” Eileen sagged down into an antique velvet-covered chair in the hallway.

  “Here you are!” Pepe’s voice roared down the empty hallway. “I am glad I found you,” he said, waving a list of names and room numbers. A tousled-looking María José followed in his wake. “I was just making sure that all my peregrinos remember that dinner will be served at nine o’clock in the Salón Real.”

  “There’s even a seashell for a basin in there.” Heidi burst out the door of the rest room.

  “Ah, another of my lovely ladies.” Pepe bowed, and Mary Helen watched the color rise from Heidi’s jaw right to her hairline. “I was telling the Sisters that dinner will be served in the Salón Real.”

  “Where is that?” Heidi asked, wide-eyed.

  “Just off the courtyard to your—” Seeing the puzzled look on her face, he stopped. “But never mind your pretty head. I will call for you in your room myself, Señorita Heidi.

  “Sisters”—he turned toward them—“María José, my wonderful assistant, has arranged for a group of bagpipers to entertain us during our aperitif.” Pepe winked. “You need only follow your ears to find the dining room.”

  Eileen’s eyes glowed. “Bagpipers, is it?”

  “Yes, indeed, Sister. And since you seem to have a touch of the Celt in you, would you honor us by pronouncing the benediction before our meal?”

  “Assistant?” Mary Helen watched Pepe disappear down the hallway. “I ask you, Eileen, how in the world did María José go from consultant to assistant in a few short hours?”

  Eileen didn’t seem to be listening.

  Back in their bedroom, as they tidied up for dinner, it was obvious that Eileen was stewing. “Benediction! No one ever asks me to give the benediction, Mary Helen. You are the one who usually says grace on these kinds of occasions. What in the name of all that’s good and holy shall I say?”

  Mary Helen turned from the mirror, where she was straightening the bow tie on her blouse. “In over fifty years of friendship I have never known you to be at a loss for words. I seriously doubt if tonight will be the first time.”

  “Let me think.” Eileen brushed imaginary lint from her suit jacket. “Something Celtic. Perhaps from one of the saints.” A mischievous glint shone in her gray eyes.

  Mary Helen groaned. “Not that prayer of St. Bridget.”

  “Why not? Now, how does it go?” She paused, although she didn’t fool Mary Helen for a second. Eileen had proved time and again that she had a wonderful memory. Mary Helen knew it was especially keen on nonsense.

  “I’d like to give a lake of beer to God.” Her brogue thickened, and she sounded as pious as St. Bridget herself. “Because the happy heart is true . . . . /I’d sit with the men, the women and God,/There by the lake of beer. We’d be drinking good health forever,/And every drop would be a prayer.”

  Mercifully the bagpipers will be on hand, Mary Helen thought, closing the heavy bedroom door behind them. If she does really start that thing, with any luck at all I can signal them to drown her out.

  By the time the two nuns arrived for dinner at the Salón Real, most of the tour members were assembled. The promised bagpipers played loudly and, if Mary Helen could judge by the smile on Eileen’s face, extremely well.

  From just inside the door she surveyed the long room. As its name promised, the salón was indeed real. Chandeliers with tassels and tiers of electric candles hung from the carved wooden ceiling. Tall-back chairs surrounded lavishly set tables. With regal detachment, the monarchs in dark, stiff portraits presided over the gathering from their places of honor on the side wall.

  Formally dressed waiters milled around with trays, offering flutes of the local white wine. At least Mary Helen assumed it was local because Professor DeAngelo kept sniffing his glass and commenting for all to hear on the “hardy Galician bouquet.”

  Next to him, Bud Bowman rolled his eyes and muttered something about nothing hitting the spot like a cold beer.

  Cora glared.

  “You look lovely this evening, Cora,” Eileen said, hoping no doubt to avert another Bowman spat. To Mary Helen’s surprise Cora’s face became even rosier. She was blushing!

  Nervously Cora touched her waxy yellow hair, which was tightly curled. “I was afraid I had left the hot rollers in too long,” she whispered to Sister Eileen.

  “Not at all! Your hair is lovely. And your dress is stunning. It is a perfect color for you.”

  Self-consciously Cora swished the emerald green silk skirt that was draped softly over her broad hips. “Thank you,” she said.

  In Mary Helen’s opinion, the thing that was really stunning was the diamond and emerald necklace hanging in Cora’s open neckline, not to mention the enormous diamond ring on her finger.

  “I thought that I’d dress up a little for the occasion,” Cora said, accepting a second flute of wine. “How often do you win a trip to Spain?”

  Straightening the bow tie of her own new pink blouse, Mary Helen surveyed the room. Actually every one of the women had dressed up quite a bit for the occasion. Rita Fong, who stood next to her husband, if you considered a yard apart “next to,” wore a voile outfit of the softest periwinkle blue. It gathered dramatically at her waist, proving for all who had eyes to see, the value of regular aerobics.

  Bootsie DeAngelo was sheathed in a burgundy crepe dress that draped her tall, slim body in all the places that crepe should drape. Wine in hand, Bootsie wandered away from her husband toward the Fongs, who seemed happy for a distraction.

  As soon as he could do it politely, Dr. Fong left the ladies and sidled up to Sister Mary Helen. “Let me apologize again for disturbing you this afternoon,” he said, his words barely audible.

  Why is he whispering? Mary Helen wondered as she assured him that he had caused no disturbance at all. Was there someone he didn’t want to overhear him? Who? Quickly she dismissed the idea, chiding herself for being suspicious. The man is simply reserved. They smiled at each other in awkward silence. Mary Helen was relieved when Bud joined them.

  “Did you two happen to get
a gander at the cathedral yet?” Bud asked. “While Cora was fussing with her hair, I went over and took a peek. Now, that is really some church,” he said, in what Mary Helen considered would be undoubtedly the understatement of the trip.

  “Did you get a chance to see it yet, Doc?”

  Neil Fong blinked as if he were trying to remember, then flashed a look toward his wife, who was totally ignoring him.

  You either saw it or you didn’t, Mary Helen thought impatiently. So what is all that blinking about? She adjusted her glasses and focused on Dr. Fong’s face, which to her surprise had drained of color. Neil was spared by Bud Bowman’s low whistle.

  “Speaking of ganders, get a gander at what’s coming,” he said.

  Mary Helen turned to watch Pepe glide into the salón. Lisa Springer clung to his right arm. She was ablaze in a raspberry lamé chemise which did outstanding things to her flaming hair. On his left arm was Heidi, again looking, Mary Helen thought sadly, very much like a butterscotch drop.

  Smoothly detaching himself from both women, Pepe moved about the room, slapping backs and kissing hands. Mary Helen was thankful that she held her wine in one hand and her pocketbook in the other. Furthermore, she had no intention of doing any juggling.

  Pepe took in the room. “Aha! I see we are all here. Bueno! Bueno!”

  All but María José. Mary Helen wondered where she was. Before she could ask, the tiny woman, strikingly glamorous in a strapless gown of black velvet and silver lace, slid in through a side door. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face and held in place by an ornate comb. Even from across the room, Mary Helen saw that her eyes were blazing. She could almost feel the heat emanating from the small, angry body.

  Like a polished host, Pepe ushered each guest to a seat at the round banquet table. Cleverly he placed himself between Lisa and Heidi with María José directly across from him, as far away as one could get at a round table.

  Tapping a crystal goblet, he called upon Sister Eileen to pronounce a blessing. Mary Helen held her breath. She need not have worried. Eileen’s prayer was short, sweet, and, much to Mary Helen’s relief, considerably duller than the one that she had threatened.