Carol Sister O'Marie - The Missing Madonna

“A minute later, right?” Dennis Gallagher must have been watching her.

“Right,” she said. Then, unable to resist, Kate stuck out her tongue. Whoever invented sticking your tongue out was a master psychologist, she thought. It made her feel a little foolish but a lot better.

“Did you guys have a rough night?” Obviously Gallagher had chosen to ignore her reaction. “You look bushed. Still making up?”

Kate could feel her face flush. “For your dirty mind’s information,” she said, “what we did was have the nuns over for dinner last night”

“The nuns?”

“After we made up,” she added, to satisfy the incredulous look on Gallagher’s face.

He was about to comment when Kate’s phone rang. She was surprised to hear Sister Eileen’s voice, although at first the nun’s brogue was so thick Kate could barely understand her.

“Slow down, Sister,” she said.

“Speak of the devil.” Gallagher pushed back in his swivel chair to listen.

“Is there something wrong, Sister Eileen?”

“Something is always wrong,” Gallagher muttered. With her free hand, Kate shushed him.

“Glory be to God, I’m not sure, but I’m afraid so. I know how busy you are, Kate dear, and I would not think of bothering you ordinarily, but Sister Mary Helen took out of here about eight-thirty this morning like the devil himself was on her tail.”

For the third time in a matter of minutes, Kate checked her wristwatch. “That wasn’t even two hours ago.”

“You haven’t the ghost of an idea the amount of devilment the woman can get into in two hours. Or maybe you do. Anyway, she left without telling anyone where she was going and, what is worse, she had that look on her face.”

“What look?”

“ ’Tis difficult to describe unless you’ve seen it.” Eileen paused. “ ’Tis a cross between Joan of Arc and Miss Marple,” she said, “and it leads to only one thing-trouble!”

“Are you sure?” Kate tried to speak calmly and reasonably, but it was no use.

“Surr-re, I am surr-re.” Eileen was rolling her r’s. “I have been friends with the old dear for over fifty years, and I know that look when I see it. Besides, Kate, I have had a turrible eerie feeling all over since the moment I saw her leaving.”

Kate needed more to go on than faces and feelings. “Have you any idea of where-”

Eileen interrupted. “I have an idea, all right. A good idea that it has something to do with Erma Duran’s disappearance. And furthermore, I would wager all the books in Hanna Memorial, the rare ones included, that she is over there right now, poking around.”

“Perhaps she had another appointment.”

“Sure as the sun will rr-ise”-her r’s were really rolling now-“I know she’s into this Erma business. And don’t ask me if I called around. Sister Anne and I have called her office, her dentist, her eye doctor-anyplace we thought she might have an appointment. And the other OWLs as well. No one has any idea where she might be.”

“You realize, Sister, that, strictly speaking, this is not my case. It’s Inspector Honore’s.”

“Sister Anne is on the horn this minute, trying to get through to the Inspector.” Obviously Eileen had thought of everything. Kate was undoubtedly her last hope.

“What exactly is it you want me to do?” she asked and braced herself for the answer.

For the first time there was a long pause on the other end of the line. “I really do not know,” Eileen said. Kate noticed a slight quiver in her voice. “I just know my dear friend could be in some danger. And I cannot possibly sit by and let it happen.”

“I understand how you’re feeling, Sister.” Kate had picked that phrase up in a communications workshop, although she wasn’t at all sure she did understand. Sister Eileen must be frantic. She had never heard the round, jovial woman sounding so distraught “But I really don’t know what it is you want me to do.” There was another long pause. “Sister, are you all right?”

For several seconds there was no answer. “Sister?” Kate repeated.

Apparently Sister Eileen was mulling over something. “Just fine, dear,” she said, suddenly calm. “I realize, as you say, that this is not your case, so there is really nothing you can do. Thank you for listening.” Abruptly she hung up.

Kate stared at the dead receiver. “Damn!” She began to thumb through the phone book, looking for the number of the Sisters’ Residence.

“What happened?” Gallagher asked.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Kate dialed. The phone rang twenty times before someone finally answered.

“Sister Eileen is in the library,” a polite voice answered. “Would you like that number?”

By the time the voice found the number, gave it to Kate, and she redialed, Sister Eileen had just left.

“Double damn!” Kate slammed down the receiver.

“What was that all about?” Gallagher stood up.

“Let’s go, Denny.” Kate grabbed her coat. “I’ll explain on the way to the bistro.”

“The bistro? Why the bistro?” Apparently Gallagher wasn’t moving until he had some sort of explanation.

“Because that seems to be the only logical place Sister Eileen would go, and she was suddenly too calm for comfort-my comfort.”

“Sister Eileen?” Gallagher sat back down. “One’s bad enough; now we got the second one. And we have no damn business at all with either of them nuns. I told you not to get involved. It’s not our case. Stick to your own business.”

“Suit yourself.” Kate took her purse from her bottom drawer. “And I know you’re right, Denny, but I have the uneasy feeling that sticking to my own business may have caused Sister Eileen to make our business hers. Frankly, I couldn’t live with myself if I went by the book and let something happen to the old dears.”

Kate crossed the detail, heels clicking. Behind her she heard a familiar grunting noise. Gallagher!

“I thought you weren’t coming.” She pushed the Down button on the elevator and tried not to smile.

“Goddamn it! Get that smirk off your face.” Gallagher paused to light the stub of his cigar. “By rights, we should let those nuns get themselves killed. Serve them right! But you say you couldn’t live with yourself. What about me, huh? What do you think, that the younger generation’s got an edge on this guilt business?” He pointed his finger at her. “Hey, I could tell you stories about guilt, Katie-girl, that you wouldn’t believe!”

The moment Mary Helen heard the voice, she recognized it. She was not surprised. A little saddened maybe, but not surprised.

“I know you’re in here somewhere.”

From her corner, she watched him squinting, trying to adjust his eyes to the dimness of the basement.

How long would it take him to spot her?

“There’s no way out, you know,” the voice rasped.

Mind whirling, she crouched more deeply into the shadows. Think calmly! she told herself, ignoring the trickle of perspiration that ran down her back.

“I’ll find you. Why don’t you just come out?” Finn coaxed. He was moving slowly toward the center of the room.

She watched him peer around the old ice machine. Her hand groped along the rough wall, searching to grasp something-anything. If only she could find a board, an old wrench, something she could hit him with. That always happened in her mystery stories. But there was nothing. Not even a loose board! Her heart jolted.

Mary Helen’s legs began to cramp. She shifted her weight and tried to think, but the only thing she could think about was the sound of her own heart hammering in her ears. She pulled in a deep breath to slow it down.

“Where are you? I know you’re here.” Finn moved closer. Mary Helen closed her eyes, clenched her damp hands more tightly, and tried to shrink into an invisible ball that the man would overlook.