Carol Sister O'Marie - The Missing Madonna

“Ugh!” Kate pushed her swivel chair back from her desk. “Sister Mary Helen belongs to a politically active group of older women called OWL-” she began.

“Murder wasn’t bad enough,” her partner interrupted. “Now the nun is into politics. What the hell is wrong with the Pope? Why can’t he keep the nuns in the convents where they belong?”

Kate ignored him. “A woman friend of hers hasn’t been heard from since the group returned from their convention in New York.”

“How long ago?” Gallagher leaned forward.

“A week tomorrow.”

“Did they ask relatives, friends, the usual?”

“They’re still checking things out But you know, Denny, I’m beginning to worry.”

“Missing Persons is not our department. We got enough homicidal maniacs running around the City to worry about without getting into somebody else’s detail” He riffled through the stack of papers on his desk. “See this?” He did it again, and a little cloud of cigar ash from the filled-to-capacity ashtray on his desk scattered across Kate’s blotter.

Gallagher blew it onto the floor. “Tell the Sister to call the nearest station. If the guy who gets the call figures something’s fishy, he’ll contact Missing Persons.”

“How can you be so callous, Denny, after all that woman has done for us? Now, really, where would we have been if she hadn’t helped us out in both the homicide cases on Holy Hill?”

Gallagher raised his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate what she did. She was a big help. My point is, this time why can’t you let her help out a couple of other guys?”

Kate went to the coffee maker and brought back two steaming mugs of black coffee. “Jack has a plan.” She set one cup in front of her partner, watching him blow on it, and hoped the coffee wouldn’t end up in the same place the cigar ashes had.

Gallagher looked over the rim, sipping noisily. “What’s the plan?”

“He wants me to turn her over to Honore. You know Ron Honore, in Missing Persons?”

“Know him! Sure I know him. What is it they call him?”

“It depends on who the they is,” Kate answered, knowing full well he was referring to Honore’s reputation as a ladies’ man.

“Something like Don Juan or Ron Juan.” He scratched his bald pate. “Whatever! Those two nuns will slow him down. And if you ask me, it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Gallagher fumbled around in his jacket pocket, searching for his half-smoked cigar. “What’s more, the sooner you do it the better.

“By the way, Katie-girl.” He shoved a page of the morning Chronicle toward her. “What do you think of this?”

Kate glanced at the paper. It was a full-page ad from Emporium-Capwell’s Department Store. “To Mom with Love” was written above a page displaying jewelry, bathrobes, and food processors.

Mother’s Day! Oh, my God! Kate had forgotten this coming Sunday was Mother’s Day. She hadn’t even thought of a present for Jack’s mother. And she’d bet even money that Jack hadn’t thought of one either.

“What do you think Mrs. G. would like?” Gallagher hitched his trousers up over his paunch. “She’s not my mother, I keep telling her, but the one year I forgot, there was hell to pay for the whole week after.”

Kate smiled, trying to picture the sweet, accommodating Mrs. G. in a full-blown snit. It didn’t even seem possible. She wondered for a moment if Jack would ever forget her on Mother’s Day-or whether or not he’d even have the opportunity.

She could feel a familiar lump forming in her throat This is ridiculous, she told herself. Jack is absolutely right. If it is bothering me this much, I should get it checked out. Find out once and for all if I am going to be-how does the Bible put it?-a “barren wife.”

“How about this locket?” Gallagher pointed at the Emporium-Capwell ad. “Or maybe this Cuisinart, huh, Kate? Whatever the hell that is.”

Picking up the paper from the desk, Kate hoped Gallagher wouldn’t notice her eyes starting to fill as she scanned the page. At the moment nothing seemed appealing for either Mrs. G. or for her mother-in-law.

Kate glanced at her watch, wondering where Jack might be. It was getting close to lunchtime. She’d give him a call and remind him to pick up a present for his mother. Maybe he could do it on his lunch hour. And she’d tell him about Sister Mary Helen and ask him to contact Ron Honore. That would kill two birds with one stone. As soon as she thought it, Kate wished the word killed hadn’t popped into her mind.

When Sisters Mary Helen and Eileen arrived at Erma’s apartment, the front door was slightly ajar. Quietly they went up the narrow staircase. Caroline and Lucy were already in the living room standing silently beside a couple of armchairs. Finn, this time fully dressed with his long strand of hair plastered neatly in place, stared sullenly out the window.

An unnatural silence filled the whole place. Actually, the scene looked, to Mary Helen’s way of thinking, like a wake without a corpse, or refreshments either, for that matter.

“You beat us here.” Eileen’s cheerful greeting seemed to jar the group into action.

Smiling, Lucy walked toward the Sisters. “That’s the trouble with being punctual,” she said, attempting to be light. “Nobody’s ever there to appreciate it.”

Finn turned, nodded his head toward them, but said nothing. His eyes were red-rimmed and blinked nervously as he looked from woman to woman. Probably his bistro hadn’t closed until two A.M.

Caroline in a wide-brimmed black straw skimmer began to remove her gloves, one long finger at a time. If Mary Helen hadn’t known better, she would have picked Caroline out as the chief mourner.

“Why don’t we put your things in the bedroom?” Lucy offered, leading the way.

Mary Helen was laying her coat across the end of Erma’s bed when she noticed a black looseleaf binder propped against the leg of the nightstand. Before she even thought about it, she stooped over and picked it up.

“That’s our journal,” Lucy said “I guess she left without that too.”

Mary Helen must have looked puzzled.

“You remember, Sister. Erma and I started taking that intensive journal-writing workshop at the college. Well, that’s the binder they gave us. She must write in it just before she goes to sleep, like I do.” Lucy tried to smile, but her chin quivered. “It has all kinds of colored dividers with tabs to record our different experiences.”

“And all those experiences are intensely personal,” Eileen said, narrowing her eyes at Mary Helen, who immediately put the journal back where she found it.

“I was only going to look at the tabs,” she whispered, following Eileen back into the living room.

“Here comes another one,” Finn, trying to be helpful, announced from his place at the window.

“It must be Noelle. Good! As soon as Erma’s daughter arrives we can get started.” Caroline checked her wrist-watch. “You did tell her ten-thirty, didn’t you?”

Lucy nodded just as Noelle, in a whirl of blue, arrived at the top step. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Shall we begin by going over the facts we already know?”

She motioned them to sit down. Without a word, everyone, even Finn, followed her into the small dining area and sat down at the table. Noelle, their undisputed leader, took her place at the head.

“Erma’s daughter isn’t here, I see,” Noelle began. “Maybe that’s just as well. We can talk more freely among ourselves.” She glanced over at Finn. “Thank you, Mr. Finn, for letting us into the apartment this morning. I know it must have been an inconvenience. Please feel free to go about your busy routine. We’ll make sure to return the key when we’re done.”