Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

“What exactly do you mean, Sister?”

“At least one good thing has come from this tragedy,” Mary Helen said.

“And what exactly is that?” Eileen looked amazed.

“Leonel. I was right about Leonel. He couldn’t have killed the girl. He is still in jail.”

Kate studied Sister Mary Helen. “I hate to break this to you, Sister,” she said, leaning her head against the sacristy wall, “but your friend, Leonel, was released from the sixth floor this morning.”

Out on 34th Avenue, Jack Bassetti was busy preparing a candlelight supper. He’d taken the day off so he would have plenty of time. Tonight, he intended to propose to Kate. Again! He took the leaves out of the dining room table to make a small intimate circle.

Standing back, Jack admired his handiwork. The delicate Bavarian china looked both romantic and domestic. Just the right touch. He was glad he’d remembered the Waterford Crystal. The flickering candles caught the sharp cuts in the wineglasses. Kylemore, Kate had called the pattern. Named after a large abbey of nuns. Good touch. Furthermore, they had been her mother’s. A little sentimentality never hurt.

No flowers, Jack decided. That decision was easy for him to make. First of all, he didn’t know how to arrange flowers. Second, how could you hold hands across a table with flowers plunked right in the middle? Hand-holding was definitely in his plan. Flowers were out.

Mentally, Jack ran down his list: table set, wine cooling, martinis in glass pitcher in fridge, Chinese from Yet-Wah’s in oven. That last item bothered him. Take-out Chinese food lacked a certain romance. But, he reasoned, the Chinese people must propose to one another over egg roll. Look how many Chinese there were!

Atmosphere! That was the one thing missing. Jack pulled the long chain on the glass chandelier in the living room. Off! He lit the large candle on the coffee table. Perfect. Now to block out the noise of the traffic on Geary Street. He had just tuned in KFOG when he heard Kate’s footsteps on the front porch.

Gently, Jack planted a light kiss on her neck.

“Are you okay?” he asked. She looked exhausted.

“Yes, I’m okay. Just beat,” she said. Her slender body sagged against him. She let him take off her jacket and put her purse and gun in the hall closet.

“You’ll never believe the day I had.”

“You’ll never believe the night I have planned,” Jack said, taking her in his arms. Slowly, he moved her in a smooth dance step from the entrance hall into the living room.

“Good grief, pal.” Kate gazed around the candlelit living room. “Did we forget to pay the P.G. and E.?”

Ignoring her remark, Jack hummed softly. Getting her to accept his proposal wasn’t going to be any easier even with his added romantic ambience. Maybe he should wait till she had a better day. Hell, he thought, twirling her into a dip, when could he ever count on Homicide having a good day?

“My feet are killing me,” Kate whispered.

“Let me sweep you off your feet,” Jack whispered back.

“Let me take my shoes off.”

Good old practical Kate, Jack thought, his eyes following her up the stairs; it was part of her charm-and part of what made her so damn frustrating.

While she was getting her bedroom slippers, Jack poured the martinis.

“To us,” he said, handing her a long-stemmed glass.

“To us.” Kate sank into the overstuffed couch by the front windows. Jack sat beside her. Silently, they each took a sip. The candle threw soft shadows across Kate’s freckled face. Putting her glass on the coffee table, she began to twist a strand of hair around her index finger, then push it into a tight curl. Jack recognized the infallible sign. She was thinking hard.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“You’ll want your money back.”

“Try me,” Jack said, afraid she might be right.

“I know we agreed to try not to bring work home.”

“You must admit rape and murder do not make for relaxing dinner conversation.”

Kate smiled. “But I just can’t get today off my mind.”

Jack took another sip of his martini. His eyes paused on her face. “Okay,” he said, “let’s have it. What happened?”

“We had another murder at the college. Hasn’t it made TV yet?” Kate picked up her glass and twirled the long stem between her thumb and forefinger. “A young woman, Joanna Alves. She was the sister of Professor Villanueva’s secretary. Sister Mary Helen found her in the chapel-head bashed in.”

“Hot damn,” Jack swore softly. “Any suspects?”

“Not really. Leonel da Silva is our best bet so far. At least he had motive and opportunity to kill the professor. He won’t even deny he did it. But we don’t have enough to charge him. So this morning he gets out, and this afternoon the Alves girl is dead.” Kate took another sip of her martini. “And Sister Mary Helen may drive me bonkers.”

“How come?”

“She’s got her mind made up he couldn’t have done it.”

“Maybe she knows something you don’t know.”

“No. I don’t think so. It’s her intuition. She says he has ‘nice eyes.’ ”

“Did you tell her about Baby-Face Nelson?”

“I was tempted to-but you know something, Jack?” Kate shrugged her shoulders. “She’s right.”

“Right?”

“He does have nice eyes. Something is bothering the guy for sure,” she said. “Can’t put my finger on it, but he just doesn’t have the look of a murderer.”

Jack drained his glass. He was just about to launch into a firm, logical argument about the “criminal look” being a fallacy, but he thought better of it. This was not at all the way he had planned the evening. Tonight he wanted romance, not logic. He decided to make the best of the situation. Maybe he could back into the proposal.

“That nun is sharp,” he said. “Maybe she’s right. Got the feeling she doesn’t miss much.”

With the long glass rod, Jack restirred the pitcher of martinis. He topped Kate’s glass and refilled his own. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she picked up something between you and me.”

Kate’s mouth took on a straight-lipped fix. Jack recognized the fight sign. Go easy, he thought, lying back on the soft couch. Gently, he ran the heel of his hand up her rigid spine.

“Is that what this is all about?” Kate gestured toward the darkened living room. “Meeting that nun yesterday made you feel guilty about us living together, so you are going to ask me to marry you? Again!”

“Yes and no,” Jack answered calmly.

“What do you mean-‘Yes and no’?”

“Yes, it is all about asking you to marry me, again.” Jack put special emphasis on the again . “And no. No one made me feel guilty. I feel guilty all by myself. What I can never figure out is why the hell you don’t.”

Kate stared indignantly. Jack met her stare. “Do you know there is an official name for people like us?” She did not answer. “It’s POSSLQ: Persons of Opposite Sex Sharing Living Quarters.” He paused dramatically.

A smile played at the outer edges of Kate’s tight lips. Humor was always the chink in her armor. Jack pressed his advantage. “It’s true,” he said. “The Census Bureau invented the word. Do you want to go through life being my POSSLQ? On Valentine cards I can write “Roses are red, Violets are blue. Will you be my POSSLQ?”

Kate giggled. Relaxing, she kicked off her slippers and curled her legs up on the couch. Jack filled her empty glass. Snuggling closer to him, she began to twist a few strands of hair. Jack put his arm around her. Neither spoke for several moments.

Finally, Jack broke the silence. “Kate, I love you,” he said. “You love me. Why not get married?” If he couldn’t get her with romance, maybe he could do it with pure reason.