The Mother's Day Murder Page 4

  In my own case, I had a somewhat irregular arrangement that was made to suit my unusual circumstances. My cousin Gene lived, and still lives, in Greenwillow, a home for retarded adults, and I wanted to make sure our relationship survived. There was no other family member who could care for Gene besides me when my aunt passed on. As it turned out, my leaving St. Stephen’s and my aunt’s death happened in the same year. Greenwillow is now in Oakwood and I see Gene frequently, much more often than the monthly visits I made when I was a nun.

  To my surprise, I had liked Jane Cirillo. Her almost aggressive outgoing personality had daunted me as a young person, but now I found it rather captivating. Above all, she seemed honest. I had not been sure—and still wasn’t—about Tina’s honesty. But if there were points of agreement in their stories, there was a good chance those were true facts. The question in my mind was where they would lead.

  I stopped in a restaurant near the garage where I had left the car and had lunch. As I ate, I thought about my next move. I was troubled that I had seen no taxi or car near the house when Tina arrived and I wanted to check up on that. And I decided, too, to call a friend at St. Stephen’s and try to get her to talk about Jane Anthony. I wasn’t especially interested in what I would learn about her, but perhaps I could maneuver the conversation to Joseph’s leave.

  I drove back to Elsie’s house to pick up Eddie. I found them cooking in her kitchen, his face nearly coated with chocolate from the nose down. Elsie was enjoying it and Eddie was trying to make his tongue reach out toward his cheeks.

  “I can’t even kiss you,” I said. “You’re covered with chocolate.”

  Eddie giggled. Suddenly he discovered he could touch his face with his hands and lick the chocolate off his fingers.

  “What a mess,” I said.

  “He deserves something sweet,” Elsie said. “He’s been very good.”

  I’ve never heard Elsie say anything else, but I appreciate her kindness. I asked her if I could use her phone while she got Eddie cleaned up and I went to her sun room and called the taxi company at the station.

  “One of your taxis brought a friend to my house yesterday and she thinks she forgot to give him a tip,” I said. “I wonder if you could find the driver for me.”

  “What’s your address, miss?” the gruff-voiced man at the other end asked. “I’ll check the trip sheets.”

  I gave him my address, told him she might have gotten off a block away, gave him the time she arrived, and said, “She’s a young nun. You may have seen her.”

  “A nun? Here in the station? Haven’t seen a nun here for months. Maybe years. But I’ll check.”

  I waited, hearing paper rustle, listening in on an incoming call for a taxi, and then I was put on hold.

  Finally he came back to me. “There’s nothing here for any address anywheres near where you live. I just asked the drivers in the station and no one saw a nun or took a nun. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  Funny, I thought. She sure didn’t walk from St. Stephen’s and it’s hard to believe she hitchhiked.

  * * *

  Tina was sitting out back when I pulled up the driveway. “There’s Tina,” I said. We got out and she came to greet us.

  “It’s been a lovely day,” she said. “Your phone rang a few times but I decided to let the machine answer.”

  “Good. I’ll check my messages. Are you hungry?”

  “Oh no. I had a good lunch. I used some of the tuna and made a salad. It’s very comfortable here, Chris, very restful.”

  It wasn’t restful for me but I had a two-and-a-half-year-old, a substantial difference in our lives. I took Eddie inside and I listened to my messages. Nothing was very important, so I got Eddie happy with some toys and I called St. Stephen’s.

  Angela usually answers the phone but this time, Sister Grace was on bells. Grace is a talented embroiderer and has made some of the most beautiful altar cloths I have ever seen. She is also older than both Angela and I and I knew she had been at St. Stephen’s more than twenty years.

  “I ran into someone you may remember,” I said, after we had done with our preliminaries. “Sister Jane Anthony?”

  “Oh my. That’s a name out of the past. You saw her?”

  “Yes. We didn’t talk long. I remember when she left but I never knew why. All she said was that the question was why she entered St. Stephen’s, not why she left.”

  “That sounds about right. She didn’t really fit in, Kix.” Grace is one of the people who occasionally still call me by my old nickname. “I used to wonder why she chose a religious life, although she did her part when she was here.”

  “She’s just the same,” I said. “Very direct.”

  “You might say tactless.”

  “No, just very honest. She didn’t say anything nasty about anyone, I promise you.”

  “Not that it would matter. What’s she doing now?”

  “She never said. We talked mostly about the old days, even about things that happened before I got there and when I was too young to know what was going on. Did she ever teach in the college?”

  “I think she did. Math. She was good at that.”

  “She seems to have a quick mind,” I said. “She remembered several nuns and she asked about Joseph. She was talking about when Joseph took a leave of absence, I guess before I got to St. Stephen’s.”

  “Yes, that was a long time ago. She went to Ohio to take care of a sick friend or relative, I think. I bet that’s twenty years ago,” Grace said. “It feels like yesterday.”

  “Well, I never knew about it. She was at St. Stephen’s when I got there.”

  “She came back when the crisis was over. I remember that. She seemed sad when she came back. And she never talked about it. I think she really began to get back to herself when you got here. That’s almost twenty years now, isn’t it?”

  “Almost.”

  “And a lot has changed. When are you coming to visit your old friends, Mrs. B?”

  “Maybe soon,” I said. “The spring semester is almost over. I have to write a final for my students. When that’s out of the way, I’ll give you a call.”

  “We miss you. And your little sweetheart.”

  “My little sweetheart is sticky from chocolate.”

  Grace laughed. “Well, that’s just the way a little boy should be. Give him my share, too.”

  I got off the phone a few minutes later, having sent regards to several of the nuns. I was sitting at the kitchen table, more or less alone. Eddie was on the floor in the family room and I could see him by cocking my head. Tina, I assumed, was outside. That gave me a rare moment to collect my thoughts. Ohio, on leave from St. Stephen’s, caring for a sick friend. Had Tina perhaps invaded the convent’s files and dug out this information? Had she then concocted the terrible tale she had told me? And if so, why?

  I admit I was shaken by the confirmation of Tina’s information, but I did not believe that Joseph had had sex or given birth while she was a nun. She and I had never discussed the physical feelings that women, including women in convents, experienced, and I had no intention of starting now. But I knew her. I might not know her family or her secular friends, but I knew this woman and I would vouch for her veracity and her chastity. I had to find out who Tina was and who her natural mother was, or Tina and her stories could prove dangerous.

  6

  I said nothing to Tina about her problems. She came inside while I was giving Eddie his dinner and she watched as he ate, fascinated with his behavior. It was as though she had never seen a small child up close. Actually, I hadn’t seen much of babies and small children when I gave birth, having entered St. Stephen’s at the age of fifteen with a minimum of baby-sitting experience.

  “Will your husband be home for dinner?” she asked.

  “Dinner will be whenever he gets here. With the job he’s doing now, he usually arrives between seven and seven-thirty. Eddie can’t wait that long for dinner so he gets fed first. I’m going to make my stir-
fry tonight. It doesn’t take long to cook so I can start it when I hear Jack coming up the drive.”

  “That sounds good. Uh, I said my evening prayers while I was outside.”

  I had the feeling she was apologizing for missing her morning prayers by oversleeping. “I always enjoyed evening prayers,” I said noncommittally.

  “And I think I’ve decided something.” She stopped and watched Eddie for a moment. “I think I’ll be leaving here on Sunday.”

  “OK.” I didn’t want to ask her destination. “Will you need a ride somewhere?”

  “The train. I’m going back to St. Stephen’s. I’ll call them tomorrow and let them know.”

  “Would you like me to drive you up there? The train is long and complicated.”

  “I know. But Sunday is Mother’s Day, isn’t it? You’ll probably want to be with your family.”

  As it happened, my in-laws were taking a vacation or we would surely have arranged to visit them. “We could go to early mass and I could drive you up and be back home in the afternoon. Jack is either cooking or taking me out to dinner. He won’t say. Either way, I can be back in time.”

  “He’s very nice, your husband.”

  “Thank you. I think so, too.”

  “If you really think you could, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Tina, if you want me to go with you to Sister Joseph, I will.”

  She pressed her lips together and her eyes filled. “Maybe we’ll do that,” she said. “If I get up my courage by Sunday. If not, I’m going to talk to Father Kramer. I think that may be the place to start.”

  Father Kramer was the priest who celebrated mass and heard confessions for the convent. I had known him for years and liked him. Although I wasn’t happy at the thought of Tina telling him her story—I didn’t want anyone to hear the story—I was sure he would keep her confidence. “I think that’s a good idea,” I said. “It sounds as though you’ve really been doing some productive thinking.”

  “I have. Your backyard really helped.”

  I was glad to hear it. When I took Eddie upstairs for his bath and story, I left Tina to slice up the vegetables.

  Eddie fell asleep while I was reading to him so I tucked him in and went downstairs. The vegetables lay on a sheet of wax paper, organized in groups and looking colorful, the peppers red, the snow peas bright green, the mushrooms their usual drab brown-gray. Tina had done a careful, thorough job.

  I told her so, then put up the rice. She set the table for me, then sat in the family room, doing nothing. Jack came home a little while later and we all ate, talking about other things. When we finished, Tina helped with the dishes, then excused herself and went upstairs.

  “She seems in a better mood,” Jack said.

  “She’s decided to go back to St. Stephen’s on Sunday and I’m going to drive her. I’ll go to early mass and be back in the afternoon, if that’s OK with you.”

  “Fine. Give me a little time to hone my culinary skills.”

  “She’s going to talk to Father Kramer,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of his hearing her story, but at least he’ll keep it to himself.”

  “I think that’s a very good idea. And he’s a good person for her to talk to. Tell me what happened in New York.”

  I did, and it didn’t take long because my visit with Jane Anthony was fairly short.

  “She sounds like something else.”

  “She is. But what seems clear is that Joseph did take a leave and did go to Ohio. I talked to Sister Grace afterward and she confirmed it. She didn’t like Jane Anthony much and she didn’t do much to hide her feelings.”

  “Will you talk to Sister Joseph?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’d like to do some digging on my own first.”

  “Where are you going to start?”

  I looked at my watch. “Tina should still be up. I’m going to ask her for some details that I can try to check. If they don’t check out, there’s nothing to her story. If they do, I’ll decide where to take it.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll put the coffee on and you can go upstairs and do your sleuthing.”

  I took my notebook and pen and went upstairs. From outside her room, I could hear Tina humming. I knocked and she opened the door.

  “May I come in for a minute?”

  “Sure. I was just looking for a book on your shelf to read.” She was already in her nightgown, a demure one with sleeves and buttons down the front.

  I sat on the desk chair. “I’d like you to give me some information, more detailed information than you’ve given me so far.”

  “OK.”

  “The name of the hospital where you were born.”

  “Good Samaritan.”

  “The date of your birth.”

  “May twenty-second.”

  “The names of your parents.”

  She paused for a moment. “Anne and Herbert Richmond.”

  “Their address.”

  She gave it to me, complete with the zip code. “Are you going to call them?” She looked worried.

  “Not without your permission.”

  “I’d rather they not be involved until I’ve settled this.”

  “I respect that. You seem to be afraid that Sister Joseph will take action against you because of what you claim. I’d like to give you my assurance that she would never do that.”

  “Just please don’t say anything to her before I’m ready.”

  “I promise. The name of the adoption agency.”

  “God’s Love Adoptions. I don’t have their address but they’re in Cincinnati. They’re in the phone book.”

  “Anything else, Tina? Any name, any date, any fact you can think of that would help me?”

  She gave me the date she was adopted, five days after her birth. She didn’t recall where her parents were living at that time, but she was sure it was in the file at God’s Love.

  “Have you seen the file?” I asked.

  “I was given information from it. I may have seen a page.”

  “Who gave you this information?”

  “It was the woman who handled the adoption. She was with my birth mother when she signed the papers.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Mrs. DelBello. I don’t know her first name. She may have retired by now, but I’m sure she’s still around.”

  7

  Jack agreed that the names and dates could prove to be a lot of help. Since tomorrow was Saturday, I wouldn’t get to any inquiries for a few days and I didn’t want to talk to Joseph until I knew more, or at least until more that Tina had told me had been confirmed, which might never happen.

  The question of Tina’s taxi ride to our house from the station evoked a raised eyebrow. Although there were reasonable explanations for the ride not appearing on a trip sheet—the driver might have decided to do it off the books—it was troubling to both Jack and me. If Tina had arrived by train, how had she gotten to our house? The duffle bag she carried with her was heavy and the distance was fairly great. It was one of the open questions I would keep thinking about.

  On Saturday I visited my cousin Gene at Greenwillow, taking Eddie with me. I often take Gene to mass on Sunday but tomorrow would be hectic and I didn’t want to rush him or make him feel he wasn’t included in the day’s events.

  In the afternoon, I ran into my friend, Melanie Gross, as Tina, Eddie, and I were walking down Pine Brook Road. She invited us in and Tina went, although she was hesitant and uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure why, but then, Tina was largely a mystery to me.

  “I think they may be hiring a professional mediator to decide what should be done about the tree and the fallout from the tree,” Mel said. She turned to Tina and gave a quick wrap-up of the problem.

  “That sounds like real progress,” I said. “Will both families abide by the decision?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard about it this morning from someone down the street.”

  “I can’t believe this is such a problem,” Ti
na said, clearly surprised.

  “We can’t either,” Mel said. “But it is. Two families that live next door to each other are on the warpath over it, and if they don’t come to terms, no one is sure where it’s going to end.”

  “This seems like such a trivial matter. Don’t these families know there are hungry children and homeless people within a few miles of here?”

  “I’m sure they do,” Mel said. “And I’m sure they’re concerned. But what’s close to people is what gets them riled up. You should see how angry parents can become when their children fail a test or write an essay that’s hardly distinguishable as English. They’re afraid their little darling won’t get into Harvard.”

  We talked about that for a while and then the three of us started down the block.

  “Chris, you have to do something about this,” Tina said as we walked.

  “About what?”

  “This tree problem. I love trees, but I don’t see how people can become so enraged about a little tree, even if it’s done some damage.”

  “There isn’t much I could do,” I said. “I’m not a close friend of either of the families and if a mediator can’t get them together, I don’t think I’d be able to.”

  “There has to be something.” She patted Eddie’s head and he looked up at her and smiled. “We should think about it really hard.”

  “Do you have any ideas?” I asked.

  “No. But it’s crazy for people to act like enemies when they’re neighbors. And everyone seems to accept it.”

  Although she was probably including me in her “everyone,” I didn’t respond because I didn’t want to get into a discussion without end again. We all ate together and then I got Eddie off to bed. Tina had made a point of telling me she had said her morning prayers today and I knew she had said her evening prayers before dinner. She stayed up for a while, talking about the tree problem, then excused herself.

  “So it’s up early tomorrow,” Jack said.