The Mother's Day Murder Read online

  “Good night, Mrs. Brooks. I’m sorry to have upset you.”

  I closed the door with more pressure than I needed and I turned the bolt. Without looking out the window, I could hear the car in front of the house start up and drive away.

  This was simply crazy. I knew I was overwrought but my distress was justified. Joseph was as good a human being as anyone I had ever met. I knew that good people sometimes did bad things but I knew, too, that she would not. The very fact that she had told Detective Fox about Randy Collins’s ravings demonstrated her integrity. I knew it was dangerous to vouch for another person, but I would vouch for Joseph before anyone else I knew.

  I am aware that the day may come when my son comes home and tells me lies about where he has been and what he has done. I am sure my heart will break if and when that happens. But Joseph would not lie to me.

  I went upstairs and looked in on Eddie. He was fast asleep, the picture of innocence. I felt tears in my eyes, a combination of the anger I had felt a few minutes before and the peace that now came over me. I stroked Eddie’s hair. It was still so soft and silky.

  A car pulled into the driveway. I left the room, closing the door behind me. Jack was home and I would have to tell him what had happened.

  13

  “He said what?” Jack was carrying the jacket he had worn to work, along with a briefcase that he now frequently took with him.

  “I was so angry I threw him out. I wasn’t polite, I wasn’t nice, I wasn’t cooperative. I just wanted him out.”

  “You did the right thing. You don’t have to cooperate. I think you should call Sister Joseph and tell her what Fox told you and then think about calling Arnold. He’s good and he knows her.”

  “OK.”

  “You look all worn out.”

  “I feel that way. This has just been devastating.”

  “I’ll be down in five minutes and we can eat. It’ll give me a little more time to think.”

  Our dinner was nice and easy, leftovers from yesterday’s wonderful banquet. Fortunately, all I had to do was reheat, and in the condition I was in, that was taxing enough. By the time we had finished eating and Jack had heard all about my day, we had decided I should call Joseph and tell her what Detective Fox had said and ask her if she wanted me to call Arnold. Arnold is Arnold Gold, not only a great defense attorney but a dear friend since I left St. Stephen’s, a mentor to Jack, and an admiring acquaintance of Sister Joseph.

  Jack took over the dishes and I started with Joseph. It took a few minutes for the evening switchboard operator to locate her, but finally she came to the phone.

  “We had quite an afternoon with Detective Fox,” she said, sounding her usual calm self. “I’m not sure he left knowing any more than when he arrived, except that I told him what you’d learned and gave him the backpack you found in Randy Collins’s room.”

  “He ended up on my doorstep this evening,” I said. “Did he talk to you today?”

  “He asked me a few questions, but mostly he was interested in what you’d discovered. He sealed up the room that Randy stayed in. He’s sending over a crime-scene unit tomorrow morning to go through it. I told him we couldn’t have men walking around the dormitory at night.”

  “Joseph, I don’t know how to say this. Detective Fox thinks you could have committed the murder.”

  There was hardly a beat before she said, “Well, he must really be at a loss. I didn’t go to Oakwood till you called me and I gather she had been dead for several hours by then.”

  “He says you can’t account for your time yesterday morning. Joseph, you don’t have to give me any explanations. I believe you and I threw him out of my house. Jack thinks that one of us should call Arnold Gold. You may need the protection of a good lawyer.”

  This time there was a pause. “If Jack thinks so, I’ll take his advice.”

  “Would you like me to call him for you?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry to have upset you. Detective Fox was peeved that none of the nuns would help him. I told him they didn’t know anything, but even so, he thought I had put them up to it, not answering his questions. I told him he’d never solve this murder if he kept looking for a killer at St. Stephen’s.”

  “You’re right, but I don’t like this new turn of events.”

  “I’ll have Arnold call you as soon as possible.”

  In my book, Arnold is a great man. I’m sure there must be potential clients that he turns down, but I have seen him take on cases that were lost causes and win them. He is a firm believer in the Constitution and he doesn’t get on well with the police if they try to circumvent the law.

  Besides all that, he has been very good to me, so much so that I have come to consider him a surrogate father. He gives me work when he has it and included me in his office health plan until I married Jack, to make sure I was covered. When I left St. Stephen’s, there were a number of things I had very little knowledge about and I was grateful that he looked out for me.

  He met Joseph at our wedding, which was at St. Stephen’s, and he was greatly impressed with her knowledge and wisdom, as she was with his. I knew what I was going to tell him would distress him, but there was no choice.

  I called him at home and had a quick chat with Harriet, his wonderful wife. He came on the line with a breezy, “So, what’s up? Baby OK? Jack doing well?”

  “Everyone’s OK, Arnold. It’s good to hear your voice. I’m afraid I need your help. You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.”

  He must have sat down at that point and turned down the music. There is always music in the background when I talk to Arnold. His life is incomplete without music. I think that’s wonderful.

  I started at the beginning with the girl in a novice’s habit appearing on my doorstep less than a week ago and finished with the visit from Detective Fox this evening.

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” he said as I took a breath. “Give me Sister Joseph’s phone number. Can I reach her now?”

  “I’m sure you can. And if the switchboard is closed, calls go directly to her room. She’ll answer.”

  “Are you going to continue working on this, Chris?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice now. I’ve got to prove that this defamatory story is wrong and I’d like to find out who killed that poor girl.”

  “They’ll probably come together at some point. It sounds as though you may have to travel to talk to some of those people. How’re you going to manage?”

  “I really don’t know. I just know that this is too important to leave to the professionals.”

  I heard a chuckle. “Good point. OK. Let’s say good night and let me call before those nuns all go to sleep. Thanks for bringing me in on this. Even though I feel my blood pressure going up, I’m rarin’ to go.”

  Nothing new as far as I could see. But I felt much better when I hung up.

  Almost as soon as I was off the phone, it rang. Jack did me a favor and picked up. It was for him and as he spoke, I realized he was talking to Detective Fox. Happy that I had avoided even the required pleasantries at the start of a conversation, I leafed through the Times and then picked up scattered toys.

  Jack got off the phone and joined me in the family room while I was on my hands and knees. “Joe Fox,” he said as I scrambled up. “He offers you a heartfelt apology for the misunderstanding he caused when he was here.”

  “There wasn’t any misunderstanding.”

  “What else could he say? He’s in a box. He went back to his office after his ordeal with the nuns and then you—I had to laugh when he said the nuns wouldn’t talk to him.”

  “They don’t know anything, Jack.”

  “Anyway, the autopsy on Randy Collins was done today and the report was on his desk. The single bullet could have come from the missing gun that our neighbor, Mr. Kovak, owned and allegedly lost. A Smith and Wesson Chief model, Z barrel, same caliber, thirty-eight with a standard lead round-nosed bul
let. Nothing exotic there. It could have been fired from any one of about half a million handguns. The clincher here would be to find the gun, do a few test firings, and match the known bullets with the recovered bullet. If the grooves are the same, the lab technician can testify as to the match. But we still don’t know whose finger pulled the trigger, or why. If it was Kovak’s gun, he’ll have a major problem. Ballistics can tell you a lot about the weapons, but not much about the people who use them. What else?” He had taken notes on the back of an envelope, more my style than his. “She was killed about six yesterday morning, give or take an hour. She hadn’t eaten anything since the night before.

  “Then he said he’d spoken to Randy’s parents. Needless to say, they were shocked out of their minds. Randy has been a student at an Albany college for two years, a pretty good student, they said. They told Joe she was adopted when she was about a week old. They have no idea who her natural mother was but they said Randy had expressed some interest in finding out for herself. They neither encouraged nor discouraged her. They believe she was a happy, well-adjusted young woman and they don’t know what she was doing in Oakwood or anything else that happened in the last few days. I guess he didn’t tell them about her taking a room at St. Stephen’s. What he told them was enough for one night.”

  “How did they account for her not being at the college she was attending?”

  “I think you put your finger on it the other day. She had finished her exams and told them she was visiting a classmate in New York or near New York. She didn’t give them a phone number but she called every day and said she was fine and having a good time.”

  “And meanwhile she was at St. Stephen’s finding an empty room, making friends with Tina Richmond, and stealing a novice’s habit. I guess parents believe what they want to believe.”

  “She also told them she might look for a job in New York for the summer. That gave her a good excuse for not coming home.”

  “She must have decided to play the part of a novice because she guessed I’d be more receptive to that than to a kid who landed on my doorstep with a wild story about Joseph.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Jack, I don’t know how I’m going to do this, but I’ve got to talk to this Mrs. DelBello from the adoption agency. And see where that leads me. I don’t think Detective Fox is interested in that, except for giving Joseph a motive for murder.”

  “He said Sister Joseph couldn’t account for her time Sunday morning.”

  “She doesn’t have to account for her time,” I said, raising my voice in uncharacteristic anger.

  “Cool down, honey. I know she doesn’t, and that’s what Arnold will probably say. But from a cop’s point of view, if he has someone with a motive, the unaccounted-for time gives her opportunity. He can’t let it pass just because you and I are convinced his suspect couldn’t and wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Which leaves me with a double mission. I have to prove Joseph didn’t give birth to Randy and then I have to figure out who killed Randy so that he’ll leave Joseph alone.”

  “Try the telephone,” Jack said, suggesting the easiest first step. “If it turns out you have to go out there, we’ll worry about it later.”

  “I’m teaching tomorrow morning, so Eddie will be with Elsie. I’ll come home when I’m done and start making calls. What a mess, Jack. What an unbelievable mess.”

  I have been teaching a course in poetry at a nearby college since I left St. Stephen’s. It’s a small income, which I used to live on but now put away for Eddie’s future. My purpose when I began was equally to earn something and to use my mind. Even though there are several times a year when the load of correcting papers and making up finals threatens my stability, for the most part it’s a godsend. I dip into a world that is different from the Oakwood world, one that is stimulating and enjoyable. I have never had a class that I didn’t find a pleasure to teach, and I enjoy interacting with the faculty. And although I would not put this first on the list of reasons why I continue to teach, I do get pleasure out of eating in the college cafeteria where all the food is prepared by students in the food service department. I’ve even taken home an occasional fruit pie, the crust still warm.

  When I finished my class on Tuesday morning, I had a good lunch and then went straight home, not stopping to do the usual shopping I try to accomplish before I pick up Eddie. That could all wait till later. I sat down with my notebook open in front of me and called information for the number of God’s Love Adoptions.

  That took only a few seconds. I breathed a sigh of relief, having worried that with adoptions down, they might have gone out of business. But they were there and someone answered and referred me to Debbie Wright, who picked up almost immediately.

  It was a complicated story but I felt if I expected her to give me any help, I’d better tell a good part of it, so I did.

  “You’re telling me that the child has been murdered?” Ms. Wright said.

  “She was shot on Sunday morning. I can refer you to our local police department. And she’s not a child. She’s twenty now.”

  “And you want me to help you find her birth mother.”

  “I’d like you to do as much as you can. Someone’s life and reputation are at stake here.”

  “Those records are sealed, Ms. Bennett. You’d need a court order—You couldn’t get a court order. You have no status in this case. I don’t see how I can help you.”

  “Perhaps you can tell me how to reach Mrs. DelBello.”

  “Oh, Sophie. She retired a few years ago and she’s not well.”

  “If I could just talk to her.”

  I heard a faint sigh. “She’s really not at all well.”

  “Ms. Wright, if the police arrest an innocent woman for the murder of Randy Collins—”

  “They suspect a woman?”

  “A woman I know, a woman who is beyond reproach.”

  “What does this have to do with Randy’s birth mother?”

  “There’s a link there and I’ve got to find out what it is. There are so many unanswered questions that it’s hard for me to give you more information.”

  “Well.”

  I waited.

  “Here’s Sophie’s phone number. If she wants to talk to you, it’s up to her.” She dictated a number without saying where it was.

  I told her how much I appreciated her help and then I sat back looking at the number I had written. Sophie DelBello, retired, not well. OK, Kix, I said to myself. Let’s do it.

  The phone at the other end rang several times before it was picked up. It was a woman’s voice and it wavered slightly.

  “Mrs. DelBello?” I asked.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “My name is Chris Bennett. I’m calling to ask you about an adoption that took place about twenty years ago.”

  “Is this Randy?”

  “No, it’s Chris,” I said, realizing she was recalling a conversation with Randy Collins. “I met Randy last week. I’m sorry to tell you Randy died.”

  “Oh no. She was just a child.”

  “Yes, she was quite young. Mrs. DelBello, I need information on Randy’s natural mother.”

  “I told her everything I knew. I don’t know anything else. The records are at the agency and I wouldn’t be able to tell you what was in them if I had them.”

  “I have some questions that I don’t think she asked you.”

  “Please, this is very hard for me. I’m not in good health. Can you come over so we can talk face-to-face? My hearing isn’t so good anymore and even holding the phone is hard.”

  I had to say it. I wasn’t sure how I would manage, but there wasn’t any choice. “I can come, but I can’t get there till Thursday. I’m calling from New York.”

  “That’s far away.”

  “If you can give me your address—”

  She told me slowly where she lived in Ohio and how to get there from the airport. It was hard for her to get around, she said, so if it took a m
inute for her to get to her door, I should be patient. I promised I would.

  When I got off the phone, I called Jack.

  14

  I am not a world traveler. I have neighbors who get on and off planes almost as frequently as I get in and out of my car. Business takes them across the country and sometimes across an ocean. I have flown very few times in my life and never since Eddie was born. I had never left him overnight. I didn’t want to go, but I wanted to clear Joseph’s name more.

  Fortunately, Jack’s current job requires no overtime and he agreed to drop Eddie off at Elsie’s before work on Thursday and pick him up on the way home. I assumed I would be gone for one day, but just in case—Jack is the “just in case” man—I packed a small suitcase and made a hotel reservation that could be cancelled if I called by four in the afternoon. To be perfectly honest, he made the reservation because he had the credit card. That was another worry. What if I needed to pay for something and I ran out of money?

  Sometimes I really get angry at myself. You’re not a nun anymore, I said sternly as I went to collect Eddie after making a lot of phone calls. Why don’t you take your place in the twentieth century before it becomes the twenty-first?

  Jack saved the day, as he often does. When he came home, he said he had a little present for me. It was indeed one of the smallest presents I had ever received. Apparently when he renewed his credit card, he asked for one for me and he put it away for a rainy day. Figuratively at least, it was pouring today.

  “Have I told you you’re wonderful?” I asked, looking at the plastic card with the little hologram in the corner.

  “Don’t worry about it. At work they fall all over themselves telling me how great I am. And I don’t even give them plastic.”

  “I promise I won’t be a spendthrift.”

  “Chris, you don’t know how to be a spendthrift. Just keep it with you and use it when you have to.”

  I have to admit that having that little card gave me a sense of security that I had not had on a number of occasions. At least now I knew that I didn’t have to worry about whether I could pay for the hotel if it turned out that I needed it. Or for a dinner that might cost more than I would ordinarily spend. I put the little card in my wallet and started to think about tomorrow.