Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

“Will you handle that old nun?”

“Why?” Kate frowned.

“Because I’ve had one session with her already, Kate, and frankly, you two deserve each other.” He slammed her door shut.

Waving, Gallagher walked toward his car.

Kate giggled. Poor Denny. But then, he was not the only man who had trouble dealing with strong women. There had been her father. Poor Pa. Turning on her lights and windshield wipers, Kate merged into the downtown traffic. Fog had blunted the city. In a few minutes, she’d be home. Signaling left, she turned toward 34th Avenue-and Jack. He should be home already. She could hardly wait to tell him about her day.

On the way toward the avenues she passed the college. It had been nice going up there today, she thought. Seeing Sister Eileen and all the nuns again. She felt a little nostalgic. College had been such a safe, stable time in her life. Everything had been so certain. Pa reading the paper, ruling the household. Ma cooking, cleaning, loving every minute of waiting on them.

Everything had been so secure. That is, until her senior year. Pa had sent her to this small Catholic liberal arts college, so she would be prepared to take “a woman’s proper place in the home.”

“So as you’ll make some man a good wife and a good mother to his children,” he had said. Poor Pa. Kate had to laugh. He had deliberately chosen a small, safe, liberal arts college for her. Pa had counted heavily on the “arts.” Little did he realize that his choice would turn his only daughter, the apple of his eye, into a flaming liberal.

She remembered clearly the night when all the resentment she had built up toward her “proper place” burst into rebellion.

Pa and she had had a terrible row in the kitchen. “A regular Donnybrook,” Ma called it later, shaking her head.

“No daughter of mine is going to join the police force,” Pa shouted, his face red with anger. “I’d be the laughing-stock of the entire Department.”

“Oh, yes I am,” she shouted back. “As soon as I graduate.”

“I said, you are not! I forbid it!”

Stubbornly, Kate folded her arms.

Furious, her father had stormed from the kitchen, but not before he turned and shouted, “I wish you were ten years younger. I’d march you right upstairs and wallop a large dose of that stubbornness out of you!”

“Don’t be too hard on the girl, Mick,” Ma called from the sink. “Remember, the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree.”

“How can you stand him?” Kate asked her mother.

“Stand him? I love him.” Ma wiped her hands on her crisp apron. “And when you love someone, you can give a little.”

“I’ll never give an inch to any man,” Kate said.

“We’ll see,” Ma said. “In the meantime, Kate, do what you need to do. Pa will come round.”

“I love you, Ma.” Kate kissed her soft cheek.

“But remember, Kathleen, whatever you choose, it’s almost impossible to have your cake and eat it, too.”

So much had happened since that night. Kate had joined the police force. Poor Pa had died suddenly. Heart. Not long after, Ma followed him. Now, Kate was living in the old, peaked wooden house on 34th Avenue with Jack Bassetti. Ma had been wrong. So far, Kate was having her cake and enjoying every bite of it.

“Hi, hon,” she called, turning the key in the front door. From the entryway, she could see the light in the kitchen.

Eyes closed, lips puckered, Jack stuck his face around the corner of the small entryway. “Kiss me, Kate,” he said in his Charles Boyer accent.

Laughing, Kate pushed the front door shut with her foot. Eyes closed, she kissed Jack loudly on his puckered lips.

Before she could open her eyes, he wrapped her in a bear hug and carried her, feet dangling, into the warm kitchen.

Rocking her back and forth, Jack kissed her neck and ears. “I made spaghetti, salad, and pot roast, my love,” he whispered. “There is Dago red chilling in the fridge. Let us eat dinner, then I will eat you.”

“Put me down, you beast!” Kate pushed against his chest, which was covered with flour. “Why don’t you ever wear an apron?” she complained, dusting the white film off her blue plaid jacket. “And don’t you know red wine should be room temperature?”

“Sixteen hours over a hot stove, and all I get is bitch, bitch, bitch.” Teasing, Jack dabbed his eyes with a pot holder. Turning to the stove, he stirred the rich, red meat sauce bubbling in an iron pot.

“What a day I had, pal.” Kate slipped a butcher apron over her head and stood next to Jack at the stove. She stole a quick peek into the oven. The spicy aroma of Italian pot roast filled the cozy kitchen. She slipped her arm through Jack’s, and rested her head against his shoulder.

“I was on Holy Hill all day. Made me feel a little sentimental. It was such a nice, sheltered place to go to school.”

“ ‘Was’ is right. That homicide is big news.” Jack took the lid off the pot of boiling pasta and tested one strand.

“Yeah, the history professor. Talked to the old nun that reported the body. Quite a character. You’d enjoy her. And you know what Gallagher asked me as we were leaving the main hall?”

“What?” Jack held up a wooden spoonful of sauce for her to sample. His dark eyes waited for her reaction.

“Delicious. He asked me if I would do him a favor and handle the nun.”

“Why?” Jack put the spoon back into the pot.

“He says we deserve each other. She is quite a formidable lady. Sharp old gal. I like her. Has one of those faces that may not have launched a thousand ships, but she certainly is captain of whatever ship she’s on.

“But you know what I think his reason really is?” Kate kicked off her shoes.

“What?”

“I think he wants to sic the nun on us and our living arrangement. He doesn’t approve, you know.”

“He doesn’t! Hell, neither do I. Neither does my mother, speaking of formidable ladies!”

“Did your mother call again tonight?” Kate stiffened. She dreaded the phone calls from Mama Bassetti. Jack was always more insistent about marriage after one. “Marry the girl, Jackie! Irish is better than nobody. Start a family before you’re too old!” Jack never said so, but Kate was pretty sure that’s what Mama Bassetti said. And she knew, even if his mother had never called, that he wanted a family, too. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she’d be able to put him off.

Jack turned toward her. He always looked more than his six foot three when he was making a point, she thought. “Kate, why don’t you just marry me?”

Lovingly, Kate reached up and ran one hand through his curly, dark hair. She knew that would distract him. No sense having the argument again and spoiling a perfectly good dinner.

“I love you, Jack,” she whispered, running her long, slim fingers down the back of his neck. “And some day we will get married. But I’m not ready yet.”

Softly, she planted a kiss on his cleft chin, then one on each corner of his wide mouth. “Smile,” she coaxed.

Slowly, Jack’s face softened, and he grinned. Reaching behind, he turned off the gas burners on the old Wedgwood. “The hell with dinner, my love.” He poured them each a tall glass of red wine. “Dinner, we will eat later. Now, I will eat you!”

Playfully, Jack carried Kate into the old-fashioned sun porch off the kitchen. Laughing, they sank into the soft, chintz-covered couch. The Dago red on the kitchen table got warm.

Right after breakfast, Sister Mary Helen nabbed Eileen in the Sisters’ Residence. “What are you doing this morning?” she asked, trying to be offhand.

“The same thing I do every morning.” Eileen eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”