Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

Standing there, mutely, next to Anne, Marina looked so fragile, so helpless. Yet Mary Helen remembered her strong hands and that glint of steel in her eyes. She had needed that strength to kill, not like Cain and Abel, but more like David slaying the giant Goliath. The scene in the professor’s office must have been horrible!

And the presence she had sensed in the darkened hallway. Why, that had been Leonel, of course.

“Why didn’t they say something sooner?” Kate asked.

“Frightened of the police, of the system, of deportation.” Anne looked at Marina tenderly. “They decided the earthquake was an act of God. They left the statue on the ground, but were so distraught they totally forgot the prints.”

“And the knife? What happened to the knife?”

“Leonel just slipped it back in a kitchen drawer with all the other knives.”

“I’m sure they would have come to the police eventually,” Anne said. “In fact, after the professor’s death, they went through his office trying to find a copy of Joanna’s thesis, but all the copies had been destroyed.”

Mary Helen fidgeted uncomfortably. “What will happen now?” she asked, eager to get off the subject of the professor’s office. No sense in bringing that up.

“I don’t know. It will be up to the D.A. and the Immigration Service.” Kate stood up. “I’ll have to take her in,” she said gently.

For a moment, Marina cringed in the corner like a frightened child, but only for a moment. Then, squaring her shoulders, she wiped her eyes and stepped forward. Mary Helen recognized a survivor. Good for her!

Sister Eileen pulled open the heavy bronze doors of the college chapel and hooked them back.

“Glory be to God, it is almost full!” She tugged at Sister Mary Helen’s new blue jacket. “And we still have fifteen minutes to go. Here, look.”

Sure enough, the nave of the large gothic chapel was almost completely filled. An interesting assortment, Mary Helen noted. Portuguese and policemen, peppered with nuns. They sat in friendly clusters chatting softly. Sister Cecilia walked down the aisle like a political candidate, smiling, nodding, shaking hands. General Motors was running smoothly once more.

Mary Helen waved back to Mrs. Rubiero, who had spotted her immediately. The poor woman had taken the news of the deaths of her two nephews quite bravely. The old nun was glad to see that Luis had escorted her to this wedding. And wasn’t that Kevin Doherty’s blonde head bobbing up in the crowd? Nice boy, she thought. Glad he came.

“Don’t you just love a November wedding?” Sister Therese gushed. “Although I sincerely hope Sister Eileen doesn’t throw rice all over the chapel floor. It is dangerous, you know.” Eileen had insisted that a wedding without the good luck that rice brings would be far more dangerous than somebody taking a tumble.

“Look at the lovely mums.” Therese pointed to the large baskets of yellow and white spider chrysanthemums banking the main altar. Clicking down the middle aisle, she squeezed into a seat at the end of one of the front pews.

Sister Mary Helen looked. For once, she had to agree with Therese. The altar did look lovely. Anne and a group of students were to the left of it, setting up music and tuning their guitars. Why, Anne even was wearing a skirt and had traded her Paiutes for sandals!

Mary Helen loved weddings, anybody’s wedding. But today’s were especially special. Today she felt a little like the mother of the bride. Or in this case, brides.

With a flurry of activity, the bridal party arrived in the hallway outside the chapel doors. Marina, her hair framing her delicate face, floated in on a cloud of chiffon. Leonel, tall, muscular, clung to her hand. “Hi, Sisters.” He flashed his wide smile.

“You look lovely,” Eileen said, squeezing Marina. “And you, too.” Turning, she squeezed Kate Murphy. “And the weather is cooperating! ‘Blessed the bride that the sun shines on!’ ”

Kate nodded, laughing. A soft, blue gown swirled around her slim figure and accented the Wedgwood blue of her eyes. She leaned her head against Jack’s shoulder. He kissed the top of it, then grinned. A little, Mary Helen thought, like the cat who had just swallowed the canary.

“Get a load of my mother,” Jack whispered. “Front pew.” Mary Helen stretched to see. The short, round, silver-haired woman hugging the end of the pew was dabbing her eyes.

“She started crying the minute I picked her up this morning,” he said. “If we don’t start this wedding on time, I’m afraid she’ll drown.”

“Sisters, I’d like you to meet my wife.” Gallagher interrupted, nodding toward the slim, attractive gray-haired woman straightening his tie.

Mrs. Gallagher turned and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you: Denny told me what a help you were in solving the Holy Hill murder case.” She brushed several tiny specks of ash from the front of her husband’s jacket. “He thinks you should have been mentioned in the commendation he and Kate received.” Planting a light kiss on Gallagher’s cheek, Mrs. G. hurried down the main aisle to a place near the front.

Eileen checked the big clock in the hall. “Five minutes to go,” she warned.

“Have you heard anything about Leonel’s and Marina’s cases yet?” Mary Helen covered her mouth and whispered to Kate.

“Self-defense. It’s up to Immigration now. I think it will all work out. The press has really done a job on Professor Villanueva and his activities. And the whole city is crazy about our friends here. They’ve become heroes.”

“So what guy from Immigration is going to have the guts to throw a hero and his heroine out of the country?” Jack added.

Kate turned toward him. “Even if they are deported, they might as well go back as husband and wife.”

“Poor guy couldn’t wait much longer.” Jack gave Kate a knowing smile.

“Gentlemen, take your places,” Eileen ordered.

The two grooms rushed down the hallway toward the side door of the sacristy.

“See you in church,” Jack called over his shoulder.

Clutching her sack of rice, Eileen hurried up a side aisle toward her place.

The folk group strummed the opening chords of the entrance hymn. Gallagher, a bride on either arm, straightened his shoulders, preparing to follow. Sister Mary Helen took her first solemn step down the long center aisle of the college chapel.

This is ridiculous, she thought, clinging to her small bouquet. Whoever heard of a seventy-five-year-old flower girl!