Carol Sister O'Marie - The Missing Madonna

And this picture business! What had Erma really said? Or had she said anything? After all, they had only Ree’s word for it. Maybe she had fantasized the entire conversation. But if so, why? If there was a reason, what in the name of all that was good and holy could it be?

How she wished Erma had left a phone number! Then she could “reach out and touch someone,” as the phone company frequently suggested, and clear up the whole mess.

“Hi, Sister.” Pat Boscacci’s voice startled her. The petite young woman had the two youngest of her four daughters trailing behind her. “Allan’s here somewhere.” She gave Sister Mary Helen a squeeze. “Sister Therese called him. The girls and I have come to pick him up.”

Two shining little faces smiled up at her.

“The girls had the day off. A teachers’ meeting or some such thing,” Pat said, winking at the one closer, “and we’re on our way to spend the day in Golden Gate Park. We haven’t done that in years.”

“Your poor husband,” Mary Helen said, ushering the little brood of Boscaccis toward the convent, where they could get out of the cold.

Two final bangs as soon as she opened the back door were a sure sign that Allan was finishing up. They came from the laundry room.

“Hi.” He smiled as soon as he saw them. Immediately Mary Helen noticed a large tattered and discolored rag on top of the avocado-green Maytag. Avocado-green appliances had been the last convent buyer’s idea of chic.

“That’s the culprit.” Allan pointed to what had probably once been a lovely bathmat. “Somebody must have dropped it behind the washer, then pushed the machine back on top of it, which messed up the balance.”

“Are you finished already?” Sister Therese swept down the hallway. “And here are those darling little girls. You must be frozen.” She bent toward them. “Come, come! Let me get you some hot chocolate with marshmallows floating on top.”

“No, thank you, Sister.” Pat took the girls’ hands. “We’re on our way to the park.”

“And the Japanese Tea Garden,” the younger one piped up.

Leaving the Boscaccis and Sister Therese arguing about the relative merits of hot chocolate in a warm convent versus Japanese tea in a windy garden, Mary Helen walked down the hall.

“Telephone for you, Mary Helen.” Sister Anne’s voice made her jump.

As she neared the phone booth, Anne pointed to the blinking light. “It’s Kate Murphy and she sounds wonderful.”

Kate did sound wonderful, if a little rushed. When they met at the Bay-to-Breakers, she had said she would call soon. But Mary Helen never expected it would be this soon. Something in Kate’s tone made her suspect that this was more than a friendly call. Kate had something on her mind.

What could it be? Maybe she had rashly judged her last Sunday, as Eileen suggested. Perhaps she really was concerned about Erma and had uncovered something important. Could this be the good news Eileen had predicted early this morning?

“Is there something you have to tell me?” The question was blunt, but at the moment Mary Helen’s hope overcame her finesse.

“Ask you,” Kate said.

Mary Helen was surprised and delighted when Kate invited Eileen and herself to dinner on Wednesday night. She was not nearly so delighted when Kate promised they wouldn’t say a single word about police work.

She could have sworn Kate had something important on her mind. Maybe she was losing her touch.

“Why don’t you come about seven o’clock?” Kate had said. “That sounds like a nice, fashionable hour to dine. Furthermore, it will give Jack and me time to get home from work and get dinner ready.”

“And for the two of us to have a snack, so we won’t be starving to death,” Eileen had said when Mary Helen relayed the message.

Since they received Kate’s invitation on Monday afternoon, Mary Helen had been wrestling with how best to get Kate interested in her growing uneasiness about Erma’s whereabouts.

“It’s not against the law to move,” Kate had told her.

It’s also not against the law to find out why a person needed to do it so quickly, she reassured herself.

She might even mention that strange dream entry she had discovered in her friend’s journal. But how could she bring that up without letting on that she had ripped out the pages and read them? As hard as she tried, she could not figure out a way.

On the dot of seven, the Sisters arrived in front of the yellow peaked-roof house on Geary Boulevard. Mary Helen was surprised to see a white Camaro parked in her usual spot.

“She never mentioned other company,” she said. “I wonder who…” It didn’t take her long to find out.

“Sisters, Sisters, come in.” Mary Helen recognized Mrs. Bassetti’s voice immediately. “It’s so good to see you! And right on time. Jackie, it’s the Sisters. Don’t just stand there, take their coats.”

Well, well! she thought, realizing now who the driver of the Camaro was. There’s lots of zip left in us old girls yet. If the opportunity arose, she must invite Mrs. Bassetti to join OWL.

The Murphy-Bassetti living room was warm and cozy. Outside, the fog hadn’t lifted all day. Mary Helen settled down in front of the roaring fire. Actually, as far as she was concerned, the fog hadn’t lifted-literally or figuratively-all week long. Not in the neighborhood and certainly not about Erma Duran. The living-room fire was so bright and welcoming. Tonight might just be the night. She moved over on the sofa to make room for Eileen and waited for the first opportunity to talk about Erma.

“What can I get you, Sisters?” Jack returned from hanging up their coats.

“Tell them what you have.” His mother settled next to the Sisters. “That’s not the way I raised him,” she apologized.

Patiently, Jack reeled off a long list of spirits. Both Eileen and Mary Helen settled on beer.

“He’s a good boy.” Mrs. Bassetti beamed, watching her son leave the room.

“He surely is,” Eileen agreed. “That reminds me of an old saying we had back home.”

Mary Helen frowned. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine which one.

“ ‘Three things are always ready in a decent man’s house.’ ” Eileen looked around, smiling, “ ‘A beer, a bath, and a good fire.’ ”

Both Mrs. Bassetti and Mary Helen stared. For a split second, Mary Helen feared Mrs. Bassetti was about to run the tub.

Jack reentered with the drinks. Now might be her chance. Kate, who had been sitting quietly, passed around a platter of crisp vegetables and creamy dillweed dip. Mary Helen was amazed to see how much more patient the young woman had become, especially with her mother-in-law.

You could do well with some of that patience yourself, old girl, she thought, trying to stay calm. Erma and her predicament would come up in its own good time.

The five chatted pleasantly about everything and nothing, until Mary Helen was nearly convinced that the evening would turn out to be purely social. Try as she might, there was no polite way to introduce Erma Duran into the conversation. Mary Helen was beginning to seriously consider impolite ways.

As they finished their second drinks, Jack excused himself. “Dinner will be served,” he announced, “just as soon as I finish the gravy.”

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Mrs. Bassetti frowned at her daughter-in-law.

“He hates it when I help him,” Kate answered. “Besides, he’s getting to be a much better cook than I am.”

Unable to restrain herself, Mrs. Bassetti rose and bustled toward the kitchen. “Jackie,” they heard her say, “don’t use a fork. Here, let me do that. Get me a wooden spoon. God help us, you’ve got company and there’s nothing worse than lumpy gravy.”