Sister O'Marie - A Novena for Murder

At the far end of the main reading room, a large portrait of Archbishop Hanna dominated the scene. At the other end, short, round Sister Eileen worked feverishly at the circulation desk. Trying to get the murder off her mind, Mary Helen thought. She could always tell Eileen’s mood from the way she worked. Why not? They had been friends for fifty years.

Could it possibly be fifty years since they’d been in the novitiate together? Eileen, fresh from Dublin; she, newly graduated from the University of Arizona. They had met at the Motherhouse and liked one another instantly. “Water seeks its own level,” Eileen had said; her brogue had been thick, then. Maybe so, but for fifty years the two had been fast friends and, whenever possible, pinochle partners. Over the years, they had managed to meet at summer sessions, retreats, vacations.

Mary Helen watched Eileen smiling and stamping out books. Good old, plump, pleasant Eileen. Mary Helen had always thought of her that way, although Eileen was actually four or five years younger and not many pounds heavier than herself. Several times over the past few days, Mary Helen had thanked God that her friend was at the college. In Gaelic, the name Eileen meant “light.” She certainly considered Eileen one of the brighter lights in her dim view of coming “home” to Mount St. Francis College for Women.

Waving toward the circulation desk, Mary Helen headed for the tall, walnut card catalogs. She began to thumb through the Im section. Im, Imm, Immigration.

“See Emigration and Immigration,” the card read.

Under Emigration, she found Emigration-Atlantic Migration; Emigration-Europe on the move; Emigration-Greek-American; Emigration-Life story of an immigrant.

Finally, she hit Emigration-Portuguese; Portuguese in California; and Problems of Portuguese Immigrants. The catalog card read: “Problems of Portuguese Immigrants, Alves, Joanna.” The call number was MA 25.

A master’s thesis! Mary Helen could hardly believe anyone had already written a thesis on the subject. And Joanna Alves, one of the few names she could match with a face! What a coincidence! But then, why not? Anne had said she was a graduate student. The girl would have firsthand experience, and, after seeing her with Tony last week, Mary Helen had no doubt she had close personal contact with other immigrants. Mary Helen’s face flushed at her own pun. Too bad Eileen wasn’t closer so she could share it. But, then, she hadn’t told Eileen about seeing Tony and Joanna, nor had she mentioned her own idea for a research project. Eileen could have saved her a lot of time by telling her the subject had already been covered. Or had it? No harm in just checking to see exactly what Joanna’s conclusions were.

Slowly the old nun climbed the stairs to the stacks. Squatting down she ran her finger along the shelf. MA 22, MA 23, MA 24, MA 26. MA 25 was out.

Nobody ever reads a master’s thesis, let alone takes one out, she thought. She remembered her own, which, she presumed, was still gathering dust in Tucson. MA 25 must be misfiled. She rechecked. No MA 25!

Straightening up, she headed down the stairs and over to Eileen, who was still stamping books.

“Eileen, I need some help. I can’t find a master’s thesis, MA 25.”

“Come on in here,” Eileen whispered, ushering her into the Head Librarian’s office. Quietly, she shut the half-glass door.

“You can’t find what?”

“A master’s thesis. MA 25, by Joanna Alves.”

“Joanna? How strange. This is the second time her name has come up in less than an hour. Anne just dropped by. She is really upset. You remember how Marina insisted on going home last night, as unnerved as she was. Well, Anne just talked to her, and Marina is frantic. Joanna did not come home last night. She seems to have disappeared.”

“She couldn’t have,” Mary Helen said. “No one just disappears. Did Marina notify the police?”

“It’s too soon for Joanna to be a missing person. Poor Marina! First finding the professor, now her sister missing.” Eileen was near tears. “And you know, Mary Helen, ever since Anne dropped by, I’ve had the most dreadful feeling. No matter how I try, I can’t seem to shake it.”

“A dreadful feeling? About what?”

“About Joanna. You know the old saying, ‘Death always comes in threes’?”

The low moan of a foghorn echoed off the Gate. Its wail shattered the quiet of the Hanna Memorial Library. Mary Helen felt suddenly chilled. Eileen was right. Deaths did seem to come in threes. What if her premonition was correct? Mary Helen squared her shoulders. No matter what the case, a lovely young girl was out there somewhere-maybe hurt, or maybe in danger. And something should be done about it. She’d march right up to the professor’s office. The Inspector or Kate Murphy might still be around.

Mary Helen edged her way through a crush of students changing classes. Despite Cecilia’s P.A. announcement to pray rather than gossip, the words “murder” and “professor” seemed to ring from each noisy group she passed. Trying hard to block out the conversations, she mounted the stairs to the second-floor office. Like returning to the scene of the crime, she thought. No time for melodrama, she reminded herself, nearing the top step. Joanna might be in trouble. Somebody had to do something about it.

A crack of light shone from under the door of room 203. Good! The police must still be there. Tapping lightly on the oak door, she noticed a small slip of paper attached to it. Half was pasted to the door jamb, half on the door itself-like a giant Band-Aid applied to conceal some gaping wound.

“Warning,” it read. “This is the coroner’s seal. Any person breaking or mutilating it is guilty of…”

She stopped. A razor-thin slit ran down the middle of the paper between the words felony and penitentiary . That’s enough for me. Whoever is inside shouldn’t be! As she turned to leave, the door opened a crack. Cautiously, Marina peeked out.

Her thick, black hair fell uncombed around her pale face. Tortoiseshell glasses accentuated the blue-black shadows under her eyes. Even those beautiful eyes seemed to have lost some of their turquoise hue, Mary Helen thought, shocked at the girl’s haggard appearance. Well, no wonder! She’s had quite a night.

“I just heard about your sister,” Mary Helen said. “I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do…”

Marina’s large eyes filled with tears. She opened the door just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. “Come in, Sister,” she whispered.

Reluctantly, Sister Mary Helen ducked into the room, feeling like a spy coming in from the cold-wherever that was! At your age, you should have better sense, old girl, she thought, trying hard to block the words felony and penitentiary from her mind.

Quietly, Marina shut the door and leaned against it.

“Are you all right, dear?” the old nun asked. “I don’t want to bother you. I just thought the police might still be…”

“I was just looking for my contact lens,” Marina interrupted. Her voice had a hollow ring. “I thought maybe I dropped it here last night when I found…” The rest of her sentence dwindled into an awkward silence.

Well, I’ll be switched, Mary Helen thought, shaking her head. Contact lenses! No wonder her eyes were such a lovely turquoise blue. Let that be a lesson to you, old girl. Nothing is ever what it seems!

“That’s a shame!” Mary Helen said aloud, glancing around the outer office. Several file drawers were pulled open. Loose papers were spread on the floor. Manila folders were scattered across the desk top. The entire office had almost a ransacked look about it. The police must have done it. If Marina were searching for anything more than a contact lens, she’d know exactly where to look. After all, she was the professor’s secretary.