The Mother's Day Murder Page 3

  “I see what you mean.”

  “I want to put it to rest. I want to stop her. I don’t want these lies to go any further.”

  “I don’t see how you can stop her. You can’t lock her up. Even if she goes back to wherever she came from, she can still talk.”

  “I know.”

  “Sleep on it, Chris. There’s a great old movie on TV tonight. I haven’t seen it in years. You up for it?”

  “As long as it’s diverting.”

  “Then let’s watch.”

  I have no idea what the name of the movie was or who was in it. I sat with my eyes turned toward the screen but I probably didn’t see any part of it. I kept thrashing Tina’s insinuations over in my mind, trying to think of a way that I could prove her wrong without talking to Joseph and embarrassing them both. The problem was, the only people I knew who knew Joseph were nuns at the convent, and I couldn’t ask any of them.

  I literally went through every nun in my head while I sat there, considering whether I could pose an indiscreet question, or at least a question about an indiscreet happening. I knew I couldn’t ask Angela, one of the nuns I was friendliest with and who runs the switchboard, knows where everyone is, how to reach nuns who are away, and whom to inform if some disaster occurs. Angela is younger than I by several years so there was no chance she would have any firsthand knowledge of something that might have happened twenty years ago. I made a short list of nuns I might ask but I wasn’t sure how I would handle it.

  There had to be some family name in the file for Joseph, but there was no way I was going up to the convent to slink around and peer into documents that were none of my business. If I were investigating someone else, if the source of the information was a secular company, I might do something like that. In fact, I’ve probably done it already. But this was different. This was St. Stephen’s. This was Joseph, General Superior of the convent.

  “Still does it to me,” Jack said, and I jumped. On the screen in black and white, names were rolling by. Two hours had somehow elapsed since I promised to watch the movie.

  “Does what?” I asked, giving him a squeeze.

  “Tugs at the old heartstrings.”

  I rubbed my cheek against his, feeling the stubble at the end of a long day. “Come on up and I’ll tug at them.”

  “No news?”

  “I don’t care about the news. I want you.”

  “That’s an invitation I can’t turn down.”

  We went upstairs, both of us looking in on Eddie who was sound asleep. Then I quietly turned the knob of the door to the room where Tina was staying. It was very dark inside but she was in bed, her head turned away from me. I listened to her breathing for a moment, then backed out.

  I had better things to do.

  I had a rocky night. I kept waking up and thinking of how I was going to prove Tina wrong, trying to think of whom I could ask, knowing there wasn’t anyone at the convent I could approach. Each time I awoke, I listened for sounds, for someone walking around, but it was very quiet. Suddenly, something came to me in a dream. I almost spoke out loud, I was so happy to have thought of it.

  I had gone to live at St. Stephen’s when I was fifteen, becoming a novice a few years later when I was old enough. At that time there was a nun there named Sister Jane Anthony, a woman at least ten years older than I and very worldly from my point of view. She had a good secular education, she had friends around the country who used to call her in the evening. I remember thinking that I had almost no one who called me except Aunt Meg and I admitted to being somewhat envious of Sister Jane Anthony. She smoked, too, usually out of doors while sitting in an ungainly position at the foot of a tree or on a rock when the weather was warm or while walking one of the many beautiful paths through the winter snow. If you walked behind her, you might see little holes in the snow where her ashes had dropped.

  Her departure from St. Stephen’s was so abrupt that it took me a couple of days to realize she was gone. No one said anything, at least not to me, which made me think there was something mysterious and perhaps not completely acceptable about her leaving. I asked one or two of the nuns and got comments that led me to believe we were all better off with Sister Jane Anthony gone.

  I knew her last name because she had once told me. It was Cirillo and she had the coloring to go with an Italian name—dark eyes and a wisp of dark hair that sometimes showed outside her veil. I knew, too, that she had gone to New York, because mail that arrived for her had to be readdressed and that was one of my daily charges, along with distributing mail to the nuns’ cubbies, for a period of time after she left. Tomorrow morning I would look her up in the directories Jack kept on hand.

  My mornings are usually quite busy. I have a toddler to take care of and a husband to feed. I didn’t think about Tina till Jack had left and Eddie had eaten his cereal, drunk his juice and milk, and clamored to get out of his feeding table. Then I looked at my watch, decided it was time for everyone else in the household to get up, and went upstairs. I knocked on Tina’s door and didn’t get a response. I called, “Tina? Are you up yet?” and knocked again.

  A muffled response came from inside.

  “Time to get up,” I said.

  “Oh. Sorry. I guess I overslept. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Is your husband still here?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Good.”

  I knew what she meant. If only I were home, she could come down in her robe or nightgown. If Jack was still here, she would have to dress. I had fixed up the bathroom for her, covering the mirror as my aunt had covered it for me all the years that I visited here. I had set out towels and a wash cloth and made sure the sink and bathtub were good and clean. Eddie uses that bathroom and his etiquette still leaves something to be desired.

  I went downstairs and set a place for her. A few minutes later, she came down and sat at the kitchen table.

  “Thank you. This looks very nice.”

  “Anything special you’d like? Eggs? An English muffin?”

  “An English muffin sounds wonderful.” She sounded very enthusiastic, as though it were a special treat.

  I had made extra coffee and when the muffin was ready, I poured for both of us. I enjoy a last cup of coffee after the morning whirlwind is over and I decided to take it with Tina.

  Since she had overslept, I knew she had not said her morning prayers, but it wasn’t up to me to keep her in line. Having left St. Stephen’s, she might well never go back. It was surely one of the things she was going to think about.

  “I have plans for today, Tina,” I told her as she buttered her muffin.

  “Sure.”

  “Eddie and I will be gone for several hours. Can you stay alone or is there something you’d like to do?”

  “I think I’d like to be alone. Is that all right with you?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be leaving within the hour. I can leave you a can of tuna for your lunch. There’s celery and mayonnaise in the refrigerator, milk, juice, coffee—whatever you’d like. Do you think you’ll be going out?”

  “What do you mean? Like for a walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. Do I need a key?”

  “Not if you stay close to home.” Actually, we lived in a pretty safe area but I’m married to a policeman and he has great concerns about security, especially where his family is involved.

  “I might go out back, if that’s all right with you. I just want to think in quiet.”

  “Out back is fine. There are chairs to sit on and no one will see you.”

  “Good. I’ll do that.”

  My plans for the day were to drop off Eddie at my babysitter, Elsie Rivers, who is a kind of surrogate grandmother for Eddie, having been my mother’s dearest friend when I was a child. I was then going into New York to see if I could talk to Sister Jane Anthony. Before I woke Tina, I had found a J. A. Cirillo in the phone book for Manhattan. The address was in the West Village. I had called the number and a woman had
answered on the second ring. I made up my mind, not with the most complete information, that she probably didn’t go off to work or she would have left by the time of my call. I might well be wrong but if she wasn’t there, I had time to kill and I could talk to the superintendent of her building or the doorman, as the case might be.

  “Chris?”

  I was slightly startled from my thinking. “Can I get you something?”

  “Are you going to see Sister Joseph today?”

  “No, I’m not. I told you I wouldn’t till you decided what you want to do.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled a quick smile. “I guess you have other things in your life besides my problems.”

  I smiled back without answering. She was right; I did. But not today, and I didn’t want to tell her that.

  4

  When I left the house, Tina was dressed, her bed was made, and the sun was shining. On the way to the car, I showed her where the outdoor chairs were and helped her set one up on the grass. She assured me she would be fine and I had the feeling she was relieved that I wasn’t going to be around. I got Eddie into his carseat, and we took off.

  It was after eleven when I got to the address for J. A. Cirillo. The building was old and large. I rang her bell but there was no answer. A man came out of the lobby as I stood outside waiting and he held the door for me, but I refused to go in. If she wasn’t home, I would ring the super’s bell and see what I could find out from him. I pressed her bell once more and started looking for the super’s bell when the buzzer sounded. I dashed over, pushed the door open, and went inside.

  Like many old buildings, it was dark inside. I found the elevator and took it upstairs. In contrast to the rest of the building, it was new and practically sailed up the shaft. I got off on five and found her apartment. She hadn’t asked who was ringing when I was downstairs so I didn’t know what to expect. A moment later she opened the door and I knew I had found the right person.

  She frowned. “Who are you? I was expecting someone else.”

  “I was Sister Edward Frances at St. Stephen’s. I’d like to talk to you.”

  She nodded slowly. “That’s weird. Yes, I remember you, the little girl who came in from the cold. Come in. I don’t know how long I can talk to you. Who gave you my address?”

  “I found it in the phone book.” I walked into her living room, which looked as though my son had used it and forgotten to put away his toys. But there was a chair to sit on and Jane Anthony sat on the sofa and lit a cigarette.

  “I gather you’re not at St. Stephen’s anymore either.”

  “I left a few years ago.”

  “I remember you very well. You came to us on a dark and stormy night.”

  I smiled. It was an accurate description. “And I stayed for fifteen years.”

  “Didn’t you used to take trips back to your family on a regular basis?”

  I was surprised she remembered. “Yes, I did. I have a retarded cousin that I was anxious to keep up with. I see him frequently now. We live in the same town.”

  “Anyone ever talk about me after I was gone?”

  “As a matter of fact, they didn’t talk about you at all, at least not to me.”

  “Well, you were young and delicate. They wanted to keep you pure and unsullied.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Now that we have that out of the way, tell me what you’re here for. You didn’t come here to chat me up on old times.”

  “I have a couple of questions to ask you about things that happened before I got to St. Stephen’s. I hope you’ll be able to help me.”

  “Why not? I have a pretty good memory. What’s this all about?”

  “It’s a little complicated,” I said, “and I don’t want to go into the whole story right now, especially if you’re about to have company. I wondered whether you remembered if Sister Joseph left the convent for any period of time.”

  She got a perplexed look on her face, as though she might not have understood the question. Then she said, “You mean like a few months or so?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared at me as if trying to figure me out. “Strange question,” she said. “I’m getting bad vibes. But yes, I think she did. I couldn’t tell you the year or how long she went for, but I remember that she took a leave of absence or some such thing.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “What’s your name now?” she asked. “I don’t suppose you’re still Edward.”

  “I’m Chris, Chris Bennett. And I’m married. My married name is Brooks.”

  “So it was a man.” She looked amused.

  “It wasn’t a man. I met him after I left. I got permission to leave.”

  “I didn’t.”

  That didn’t surprise me. “You just left.”

  “I just up and walked out.” She ground her cigarette into an ashtray loaded with butts. “Never looked back. Never heard from any of them again. Till right now. You’re the first.”

  And obviously I wasn’t inquiring about her health. “Are you still Jane?”

  “That’s what I am, Jane Anthony Cirillo. I never changed. I think I got off on a tangent. What was it you were asking me?”

  I glanced at my notes to make sure. “I wanted to know if you remembered where Sister Joseph went when she took time off.”

  “Where she went, let’s see. Somewhere west, I think. I wasn’t a personal friend of hers, you know. Why don’t you ask her, or aren’t you on speaking terms?”

  “We are, but I’d like to find out without asking directly.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “Do you remember if she was visiting family?”

  “Family. She was one person up there that didn’t talk family. I had sisters and brothers and I talked about them because they were part of my life, but she didn’t. She was like—how can I put it?—like she had no one outside the convent.”

  “But she took vacations,” I said. “She went to visit people.”

  “But she didn’t come back with stories.”

  It was true. You would see Joseph when she returned from a vacation and she always looked happy and well rested, but she never talked about where she had gone and whom she had seen, except for the times that she attended conferences. But that wasn’t family.

  “You trying to find her family?” Jane asked.

  “Not really. I don’t even know if she has one. I’m trying to find out where she went when she took that leave, whether she worked for someone, where she lived. I’ve run into someone who has an interest in knowing that.”

  “An anonymous someone?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re really piquing my curiosity. What’s Joseph supposed to have done? Screwed up somebody’s books?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “I’m pretty sure she was gone for more than a few months. She was teaching at the college and they got a replacement for her, so she must have been gone at least a semester.”

  That made sense. If she had been gone a few weeks or even a month or so, they might have parceled out her teaching among other nuns and not bothered hiring someone new. “I wish I knew where she’d gone,” I said. “If you remember, I’d appreciate your calling me. I’ll give you my number.” I started writing it down.

  “Don’t expect me to spend much time thinking about this. I was glad to get away from there and it doesn’t occupy my thoughts very much. Never did.”

  “Can you tell me why you left?”

  “Why I left is easy. It’s why I went there in the first place that I could never figure out. It was an idea that captured my imagination and hung on to me for a long time. I didn’t know I’d made a mistake till a long time after. I was sorry about leaving, even if the nuns wouldn’t believe it, but I was very relieved to be gone.”

  “You left so precipitously,” I said. “Did something happen to trigger it?”

  The doorbell rang at that moment and Jane jumped up an
d dashed to the kitchen to buzz in her friend. I knew I wouldn’t get an answer now, not that she owed me any.

  “I guess time’s up,” she said, coming back to the living room. “I’ll be going out now. Any quick questions?”

  “I’ve left my phone number on the coffee table. If you think of where Sister Joseph went, please give me a call. You can call collect, if you like.”

  She laughed. “If I had to pick a place, I’d say Ohio. How’s that?”

  “Not bad.” I picked up my bag and she opened the door for me. The elevator was just stopping and as I said good-bye, a woman got out. She was about Jane’s age, I guessed, quite nice looking, and dressed much more elegantly than Jane, who had been wearing a skirt and blouse with comfortable shoes. This woman was wearing heels with a suit and was carrying what looked to be a fine leather handbag on her shoulder. It was hard to believe they were going to the same place.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she called as she breezed past me, her perfume wafting through the air. “You’re actually ready.”

  I stepped into the elevator and pushed the L button. The door closed on their conversation and I went down to get my car.

  5

  It was the Ohio that got me, of course. What were the chances that she would pick the state that Tina had told me Sister Joseph had gone to? Not much better than one in fifty. I now believed that Joseph had taken a leave from St. Stephen’s before I arrived there and that she had stayed away for several months. Considering when I had arrived, the leave must have been twenty years ago or more.

  It was chilling to think about. I didn’t have to believe that what Tina accused Joseph of was true, but I was now convinced that there was some foundation for her story. It was not unusual for nuns to take a leave from a convent. I myself have known several who did it. People are fond of talking about finding themselves. Well, nuns are no different. Nuns have crises of conscience and belief just as the general population does, and one way to come to terms is to change their environment. They may go home and tend a sick parent or sibling, or they may go somewhere to work at a secular job with all that that entails. When the leave is over, many, perhaps most, return to their convent. Some do not.