Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

“Skull was bashed in?” Gallagher finished the sentence. “Just like that young girl you found last night?” He took his foot off the chair.

In her mind’s eye, Mary Helen saw the professor again, his cold face wreathed in an ever-widening halo of red. Then, Joanna, legs dangling, her delicate features splattered with dried blood. Both skulls crushed. Were they both killed with a statue? Could Leonel have done it? Was that what Gallagher was getting at? Mary Helen put her hand over her mouth, fighting nausea.

“Sister, are you okay?” Kate slid her arm around the nun’s shoulder. Mary Helen didn’t trust herself to speak. She simply nodded.

“We’re finished for now,” Kate assured her. “You may go. We’ll get in touch with you again, if we need you.”

Stiffly, Mary Helen rose from the chair. Forcing a smile, she bowed toward the two inspectors. Silently, she left the parlor.

“Poor gal,” Kate’s voice floated down the hall behind her. “You’ve got to admit, Denny, she’s feisty, but she’s got plenty of heart.”

“Not the best quality for police work.” Gallagher tried hard to sound tough.

“But top-notch for a nun,” Kate said.

By the time Sister Mary Helen returned to Anne’s office, the college bell was tolling noon. After a quick lunch, the three nuns met again, huddling in the small basement office with door closed, candles lit. Mary Helen’s spirits rose.

“We look for all the world like a scene from the French underground,” Eileen whispered. She snatched the thought right out of Mary Helen’s mind. Anne bit her lower lip.

“This is a wonderful list!” Mary Helen scanned the sheets of paper Eileen handed her.

“The professor didn’t have many on his,” Eileen said, running her finger down the first nine names.

“That’s all he helped?” Mary Helen asked. “Maybe he wasn’t such a philanthropist, after all.”

“The poor devil really wasn’t here very long.” Mary Helen could have counted on Eileen to defend him. Eileen didn’t believe in speaking ill of the dead.

“But he was the head of the department?”

“Actually, we had a terrible upset in the history department several years ago, and had to get in several new people. Villanueva came highly recommended, as I understand it.”

“Then, he wasn’t someone who had worked himself up through the ranks?”

“Not at all.”

“Interesting!” Mary Helen said.

“What do you mean by ‘interesting’?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what Kate Murphy said when I finished my statement last night, and as long as we are into investigating…”

Anne’s giggle filled the small office. Quickly, she made a cup of tea and two cups of instant coffee. “Let’s get back to the list,” she said, setting the mugs on the desk.

“Well, Professor Villanueva’s nine people were on Joanna’s list,” Eileen continued. “Then she had another maybe two hundred or so of her own.”

“Now you know as well as I we couldn’t possibly call all those people,” Eileen said, not stopping for breath. “Anne and I were just wondering what to do when I suddenly noticed a small dot by some of the names.” She shoved the papers toward Mary Helen.

Good old Eileen, Mary Helen thought, adjusting her bifocals. Who else would notice a speck that size? All that dusting had come in handy.

“How many with dots?” Mary Helen asked.

“About thirty.”

“Plus the professor’s nine makes thirty-nine. Divided by three equals thirteen phone calls each.”

“Good God, Mary Helen!” Eileen’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t we have enough trouble without putting thirteen anything on a list? I divided the thirty-nine into three lists, all right. Two have twelve names; one has fifteen.”

“Who gets the fifteen?”

“You do. This investigating business was your idea.”

“We put Kevin Doherty on your list,” Anne said. “I got his phone number from Marina.” She slipped a small piece of scratch paper toward Mary Helen.

Mary Helen had almost forgotten about Kevin Doherty, the young man Joanna had met at the University of San Francisco. The plot was thickening. Had Joanna been with Kevin before she died?

Mary Helen shoved the scrap of paper into her pocket. “Now for the phones,” she said.

“Well, Anne has one here. I have one in my library office and, Mary Helen, you can use the one in the convent.” Eileen had obviously thought the whole thing through.

“Wait a minute, you two,” Anne said, as the older sisters stood to leave. “What am I supposed to say when I get these people?” Apparently, Anne was going along with the idea, but had not yet caught the spirit of the hunt.

“Just ask them about Joanna. When was the last time they saw her-if they knew the professor, et cetera. Play it by ear.”

“You’ll do fine, love. Don’t worry.” Eileen patted her hand.

“I have this awful feeling we shouldn’t be doing this,” Anne said.

“Nonsense,” Mary Helen said. “We owe it to our college.” At least that’s my press statement if we get caught, she thought, shifting her eyes from Anne’s. “When should we meet back here? Two hours?”

“If you say let’s synchronize our watches, I’ll turn up my toes!” Eileen’s face wrinkled into a grin.

As Sister Mary Helen headed back down the hill toward the convent, she suddenly realized the morning fog had burned off. Completely! Sun flooded the campus. “Shook foil.” The words from Hopkins’s poem flitted through her mind. What was the rest? “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil.”

The campus and the city below it sparkled under the crisp autumn sun like “shining from shook foil.” How in the world did the poem end? She hadn’t thought of it in years. “The Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

In the sun’s warmth she felt His wings brooding over her, His warm breast. Yes, this murder business would, indeed, have a bright ending. “And if You have half a chance, God,” she prayed earnestly, “please, end it quickly.”

Just before four o’clock, the three nuns reconvened in Anne’s office, their lists marked and dog-eared.

“Well, how did we do?” Mary Helen asked brightly.

Anne had sunk into an overstuffed pillow. Slowly, she was easing her legs into a lotus position. Her list lay curled on the floor in front of her. Eileen looked peaked. Too much smiling, Mary Helen thought. Eileen was the only person she knew who smiled when she talked on the phone. As a matter of fact, Eileen’s was the only face she remembered that ever looked tired from smiling.

Eileen’s list was spread out neatly on the desk. “I had both Luis and Leonel on my list,” she said. “No sense in calling either of them. I can talk to them both up here. Furthermore, I should let poor Leonel rest. I’m sure he’s had quite enough questions from the police. I couldn’t get any of the others from the professor’s list. For the rest, I got nowhere in a terrible hurry. Some of them knew our professor. Of course, everyone knew Joanna. But no one knew where she had been recently. Quite frankly,” she said, “my phoning was a dismal failure.”

“How about you?” Mary Helen looked toward Anne, who, eyes closed, was rolling her head counterclockwise. “Are you all right?” the old nun asked.

“Fine. Just relaxing my neck muscles.” Mary Helen thought she heard Anne’s neck crack.

“I also drew blanks,” Anne said, “except for one. A Mrs. Rubiero. Professor Villanueva helped her two nephews to emigrate. They lived with her after they arrived. Well, she hasn’t heard from them for a while, and she’s a bit concerned. I couldn’t tell why, however.”