Right after breakfast, Sister Mary Helen nabbed Eileen in the Sisters’ Residence. “What are you doing this morning?” she asked, trying to be offhand.
“The same thing I do every morning.” Eileen eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just hoping you might be able to get away for a couple of hours.”
“And what is it you have in mind?”
“I want someone to go with me to visit Leonel.”
“Oh, poor Leonel.” Eileen’s wrinkled face puckered with compassion. “He’s such a lovely young fellow. I know in my heart there must be some mistake.”
“You’ll come, then?” Mary Helen asked, as if she didn’t already know.
“Of course I’ll come. Just give me a moment to notify my office. Someone can fill in for me. The worst thing that can happen, God knows, is that a few books won’t get straightened.”
She’s almost too easy, Mary Helen thought affectionately, watching Eileen, round and blue, bustle toward the nearest intercom phone.
“Meet you by the garage,” she called after her friend.
Lifting the keys off the hook by the garage door, Mary Helen automatically began to sign out on the car calendar that hung beside the hook. “S.E. and S.M.H.” She wrote their initials in the tiny square. “Eight a.m. until noon, Hall of Jus…” She stopped abruptly. Sister Therese was an avid car-calendar reader. No sense spending an entire lunch answering questions about Leonel. Erasing “Hall of Jus…” she boldly printed “OUT.”
Smart move, she congratulated herself, hearing Therese’s nervous footsteps clipping along the parquet corridor toward her.
“I’m on my way to the chapel,” Therese whispered. “Third day of my novena.” She raised three arthritic fingers.
Mary Helen winked. With two of her own fingers, she shot the fleeting Therese a V for victory.
“Here I come,” she heard Eileen call cheerfully down the hallway.
“I’ll warm up the brown car,” Mary Helen called back.
With Eileen firmly planted in the passenger’s seat, Mary Helen pulled out of the garage. The headlights cut a comet of light through the low, dripping fog as she nosed the car down the curved driveway. The fog made small, bright halos around the headlights coming up the hill toward them.
“I can’t see the cars coming in until they’re nearly on top of me,” Mary Helen said, shifting into low.
“You keep an eye on the cars. I’ll keep an eye on the hill.” Eileen moved forward in her seat and crossed her fingers. “Don’t worry, old dear, I’ll let you know if the road disappears.”
“Eileen, if the road disappears, we’ll both know it!” Mary Helen hit the bright beams.
Eileen gasped. “Glory be to God, look!” She pointed over the side of the hill. “I swear by all that is good and holy, someone is crouching in the bushes.”
Stopping the car, Mary Helen checked in the rear view mirror. “Eileen, how could you possibly see someone in the bushes over the side of the hill? We can hardly even see the road.”
Carefully, she backed up and pulled over to the side.
“When you put on that high beam, I know I saw a head in that clump of pampas grass.”
Both nuns climbed out of the brown car. “I know I saw a head,” Eileen repeated, scrutinizing the mound of bluish-green grass. Its long, silvery-white plumes fluttered as cars passed on the opposite side of the road.
“I don’t see a blasted thing,” Mary Helen said. And it’s just as well, she thought, because I don’t know what I’d do if I did.
Eileen shrugged. “Well, I surely don’t see anyone now.” She stomped her feet to keep warm. “Maybe I’m just imagining things because of all that’s gone on. Besides, what in the world would we do if we actually saw someone?”
“I guess we’d be accused of more pluck than prudence.”
“How does the old saying go-‘Pluck makes luck’?”
Mary Helen pointed to one silky plume growing just above the grade. “It was probably the headlights hitting that.”
“You could be right. Come on in, old dear, before you freeze,” Eileen said, rubbing her hands together and climbing into the passenger seat.
After a final look, Sister Mary Helen slipped behind the steering wheel. She carefully rechecked the rear view mirror, then inched along down the driveway.
The two nuns were silent as they approached the downtown area. From the James Lick Freeway, they could see the dense morning fog beginning to lift. Ahead of them, the large antenna dominating the roof of the Hall of Justice had begun to penetrate the fog.
“Now, look at that.” Eileen pointed to the lone beam of sunlight reflecting off the antenna’s metal disc. “That has to be a good omen.”
“I surely hope you’re right.” Mary Helen was thinking about Leonel. Jailed in a strange country, with a strange language-how frightened and despondent the young man must feel.
After parking their car behind the large, gray building, the pair hurried along the walkway. Passing the Coroner’s Office, Mary Helen felt queasy. The coroner! The words “felony” and “penitentiary” jumped into her mind. She wondered when or if the man would notice the slit in his seal on the professor’s door. Through the glass she noticed a hurriedly dressed family huddled on the wooden bench. One older woman, her hair still in curlers, cried softly into a wad of Kleenex. Beside her, Mary Helen could feel Eileen begin to pucker.
“Those poor, dear people,” she muttered. “I wonder if there is something we can do to help?”
“Probably not,” Mary Helen said. “Let’s get upstairs and see if we can help poor, dear Leonel.”
A lanky patrolman in a dark-blue serge uniform held the lobby door open for them.
“Coming in, Sisters?” he asked.
“How ever does he know we’re nuns?” Eileen whispered.
“Maybe it has something to do with no makeup, no jewelry, conservative blue suits, and the cross we each have in our lapels.”
Inside, the lobby of the Hall of Justice was a thick stew of people: detectives, patrolmen, visitors, vendors criss-crossed the marble floor. A baby’s shrill cry pierced the din.
Along the far wall, a lonely line of men and women queued behind a cagelike window. “Over there,” Eileen said. Above the small window a sign read JAIL VISITING HOURS, 11 to 2.
“What in heaven’s name do you think we do?”
“Beats me.” Mary Helen checked her wristwatch. “We have plenty of time and absolutely no ‘know-how.’ “She shrugged. “Maybe we should drop in on Inspectors Gallagher and Murphy. They’ll help us out. All we have to do is play a little dumb.”
“And we won’t be fooling, old dear,” Eileen mumbled, following her friend to the large, black wall directory by the elevators.
“Going up?” A clean-cut young man held the elevator door open for them. Once inside, Mary Helen felt dwarfed. She had never realized how tall policemen were. Poor Eileen! Her nose must be a foot below everyone else’s. Eileen, wedged in the corner behind several erect backs, was rolling her eyes toward a peculiar bulge on the side of the conservative gray tweed suit in front of her.
“Gun,” she mouthed.
Mary Helen nodded.
The elevator came to a smooth stop. The two nuns zig-zagged their way out. Turning right, they followed the fourth-floor corridor to room 450.
From the doorway, Mary Helen scanned the cluttered room. It looked nothing like what she had imagined. Brightly colored phones, gray filing cabinets, and computer screens were scattered throughout. Fourteen wooden desks were pushed front to front into seven crowded groups. At each, two neatly groomed detectives faced one another. In dress shirts and ties, with jackets slung over the backs of chairs, they looked, Mary Helen thought, like insurance agents or realtors. That is, except for the shoulder holster and gun each man wore.
At the far end she spotted one desk with the flag of Ireland stuck in an empty Guinness bottle. On the facing desk was a lovely ceramic dish-garden full of healthy plants: piggy-back, philodendron, a touch of creeping charlie. Mary Helen knew, before she looked at the chairs, that the desk combination must belong to Inspectors Gallagher and Murphy.
Across the room, the inspectors were doing some spotting of their own.
“Oh, oh. Don’t look now!” Gallagher ran his hand over his bald crown.
“What’s up, Denny?” Kate looked across at her partner. He was cocking his head toward the doorway. When he did that, it always reminded her of a sparrow in search for worms.
“Who is it?” she whispered. She knew Denny well enough not to turn around.
Without answering, Gallagher sprang to his feet. She watched, fascinated, as he tucked in his shirt, hiked up his pants, straightened his loosened tie, and dropped his cigar stub into the already-filled ashtray. His mouth looked naked without the cigar.
It’s either the Mayor or the nuns, Kate thought, swiveling her chair toward the doorway.
“I’ll go get them, but then you handle it,” Gallagher muttered. Crossing the Homicide Detail room, he ushered in the two nuns.
A strange silence followed the trio across the room. Gallagher introduced them to the others in the room as he went. Detectives half-rose, stiffly shook hands, and nodded. “How do, Sister.”
These fellows can get used to crooks and criminals, Mary Helen observed, as she and Eileen smiled and shook hands. But they never seem to get used to nuns.
“Coffee?” Kate asked. Gallagher had seated the sisters on two stiff-backed chairs he pulled close to his desk.
“Please. Black.” Mary Helen answered for both of them. She was delighted that even in the midst of crisis the Homicide Detail revered a coffee break. It gave her a sense of confidence in the system.
“Well, what can we do for you today?” Kate set two Styrofoam cups on the desk.
“Sister Eileen and I would like to visit Leonel.”
“You’re a bit early,” Kate said.
Mary Helen cleared her throat and stole a glance at Eileen. This was the time Eileen should have jumped in with a bit of her blarney and saved the day. One glance at her friend told Mary Helen that Eileen’s mind was definitely not on the conversation. Eileen was minutely studying Kate’s beige, tailored suit. Mary Helen realized Eileen was looking for the gun bulge.
Adjusting her glasses with one hand, Mary Helen tapped Eileen’s knee with the other. “I guess we are early…” She let the sentence dangle.
“But how could we ever be too early to give that poor, dear lad a little support?” Good old Eileen was coming through!
Mary Helen could feel Kate’s blue eyes studying them, deciding what to do. She picked an imaginary speck of dust from her navy skirt.
“Just imagine yourself, Kate, an exile in a strange country,” Eileen began with a lilt. This time Mary Helen crossed her fingers. “Imagine yourself jailed, bewildered…” Eileen did not have to go any further.
“I’ll call upstairs and see if Bucky O’Donnell can arrange something.” Removing one gold earring, Kate picked up the phone and dialed.
“Bucky’s a graduate of St. Ignatius,” Gallagher explained, as if the man’s alma mater justified his bending the rules. “And I don’t know why she wears those things.” He pointed to Kate’s gold loop on the desk. “She must take that one off twenty times a day.”
Kate, her back turned toward the nuns, was talking quietly into the mouth of the phone. Gallagher covered any conversation they may have heard with more loud, harmless chatter.
Sister Mary Helen could not distinguish the words, but Kate’s tone was unmistakable. Kate was conning Bucky O’Donnell. She hung up, then dialed a second time.
“Everything’s fixed!” Kate turned toward the nuns with a look of triumph. “I’ve asked Jack Bassetti from Vice to take you up.” She replaced her earring.
Gallagher’s face clearly registered a nonplus. “Bassetti?”
“Yes,” Kate answered.
Without a word, Gallagher picked up his cigar and rolled it into the corner of his mouth.
I wonder what that was all about, Mary Helen thought. “Before we go,” she said, “there is something else I thought you should both know.” She paused. “I know why Leonel can’t be guilty.”
“His eyes?” Kate asked, a note of impatience creeping into her voice. Gallagher sank back into his swivel chair and laid down his pencil.
“No,” Mary Helen answered primly. “The motive.”
“Motive?” Gallagher perked up. “You know the motive?”
“Not exactly, but I am an avid mystery fan and I read recently, in one of my books, that there are only four basic reasons why anyone murders. Interestingly enough, they all begin with the letter ‘L.’ ” Holding up her hand, she counted off on her fingers, “Lust, love, lucre, and…” She stopped. “I can’t remember the fourth, but I know Leonel has none of these reasons.”
Kate and Gallagher stared open-mouthed. Even Eileen frowned.
Before anyone could speak, Jack Bassetti arrived. He flashed Kate a love look that Mary Helen did not miss. Kate flashed one right back.
“Sisters,” he said, “it’s my pleasure.” He motioned for them to lead the way.
Nice face, wide, generous mouth, Mary Helen thought, stepping in front of him. Altogether a handsome hunk. Kate and Bassetti? There certainly was some chemistry between them. The idea pleased her. She turned sideways to avoid hitting the desks on her way out of Homicide Detail.
Eileen followed closely behind. “I’ll bet the fourth ‘L’ is lunacy,” she whispered, “and, I swear by all that is holy, old dear, you are getting a touch of it.” Turning, Eileen smiled sweetly at a sinewy, young detective who stepped back to let her pass.
Gallagher watched the trio maneuver their way out of room 450.
“Why Bassetti?” he asked.
“Wanted him to get a look at her. I can hardly wait to see what he thinks.”
“What I’d be interested in is what she thinks.” Gallagher stared absently out at the James Lick Freeway.
“Fill out, partner.” Kate pushed a pile of forms toward his desk.
“What do you figure the fourth ‘L’ is?”
“I know, and I’m pretty sure she does, too.”
“What is it?”
“Loathing.”
“Loathing! How the hell do you know that?” Gallagher loosened his tie.
Looking up, Kate smiled wickedly. “Because I read the same mystery books she does.”
Jack Bassetti punched the elevator button. The three watched the red light crawl toward the fourth floor.
“So, Sisters,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and nervously jingling some change. “So, you’re from Kate’s alma mater?”
Smiling, he waited for one of the nuns to pick up the conversation.
“Yes, we surely are.” Sister Eileen jumped right in, raving about Kate and how proud the college was of her. Mary Helen was relieved. This would be the perfect opportunity for her to just smile pleasantly and take a long, hard look at Jack Bassetti. So far she liked what she saw. Bassetti was a very personable young man who laughed and smiled easily. He was impeccably dressed, she noted. The creases in his gray flannels were razor sharp. The navy jacket fit perfectly, with just enough tailoring to emphasize his broad shoulders and narrow hips.
Trying not to stare, Mary Helen felt sure his tie, which picked up both the gray and blue, must have designer’s initials on it somewhere. Probably doesn’t have that thick head of hair merely cut, she thought, I’ll bet he has it styled! Yes, Kate and he would make a very good-looking couple. The young man was full of Italian charm, yet she sensed a little uneasiness in him. Maybe he wasn’t used to nuns, or maybe there was something else. Maybe a little hanky-panky between him and Kate? Unexpectedly, her eyes met his. She could feel her face flush.
Well, actually, she reminded herself, looking away, if that’s what it is, it is really none of your concern. Right now, you have your hands full with murder.
The door of the elevator opened noiselessly. Bassetti held it while the two nuns edged into the crowd. His back to them, he pushed the button for the sixth floor.
O’Donnell met them outside the elevator. Bassetti quickly turned over his charges. Mary Helen thought she caught a look of relief on his face as he pushed the elevator’s down button.
Hot damn! Bassetti thought, stepping into the elevator. The inspector has definitely been inspected! He hoped Kate and Gallagher would still be in Homicide when he got there. He relished telling Kate she’d been outfoxed. Kate had wanted him to look the nun over, size her up. On the contrary, he had been the one looked over and very definitely sized up. Those old hazel eyes hadn’t missed a trick.
Bassetti knew Gallagher would enjoy the irony. The big Irishman would loosen his tie, throw back his bald head, and let his horse laugh rock the Detail. He liked Gallagher. He sensed the older man’s disapproval of his and Kate’s living together. Although they had never talked about it, Bassetti knew Gallagher wanted them to marry. Hell, so did he! What could he do? The days of hitting a woman over her red head and dragging her into your cave were definitely over.
Perhaps it was time for a new tack. Something about the little nun with the touch of brogue thinking Kate was such a lovely young woman, a credit to the college. Maybe he’d mention Sister Mary Helen picking up on their attraction for one another. He was sure he was right about that. There must be some good, old-fashioned Catholic guilt in Kate somewhere. He’d hit upon it.
Unfortunately, when Bassetti arrived back at Homicide, both Gallagher and Murphy were out.
Stiff-backed and precise, O’Donnell led the two nuns into a narrow, battleship-gray visiting room. Its only decoration was a No Smoking sign in both English and Spanish. A long counter and a glass wall reinforced with chicken wire divided the room in two, making it look even narrower.
“Sit here, Sisters.” Unsmiling, O’Donnell pulled out two worn chairs near a set of phones. There was a phone on either side of the glass wall. “I’ll get da Silva,” he said. The heavy keys hanging from his wide leather belt jangled as he walked.
“If this doesn’t look like something straight out of a Humphrey Bogart movie,” Eileen said, fidgeting uneasily, “I don’t know what does.”
Before Mary Helen could answer, “You said it, sweetheart,” the heavy iron door clanged open. Reluctantly, Leonel entered the visiting room and sank into the hard chair opposite the nuns. His appearance shocked Mary Helen. The tall, muscular body looked almost caved in. The shadow of unshaven whiskers emphasized the blue-black circles puffed under his eyes. His clothes were wrinkled. Even that curly head of hair was matted.
Leonel looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. Mary Helen searched his drawn face for a hint of his usual sunny disposition. At this point, she would even have settled for finding a touch of anger. What she couldn’t stand was the look she saw-one of a man who had all but given up hope.
Sullenly, Leonel picked up the phone.
“Hello, Leonel.” Mary Helen pressed the cold receiver to her ear. “How are you?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound cheerful.
“Fine, Sister,” Leonel answered, without raising his eyes.
“Can we do anything for you?” No response. “Is there anything you need or want?” Still, no response, although this time Leonel raised his eyes briefly. Mary Helen caught the hint of tears in his large, dark eyes. Her hand touched the cold glass wall. She wanted so badly to hug him.
“How is my Marina?” he asked, after a long pause.
“She’s fine. Upset, of course.” Although Mary Helen had not spoken to Marina herself, she had seen the young woman walking around the campus with Sister Anne just before supper last evening.
Anne hadn’t taken the time to change her jeans, but had just thrown her corduroy car coat over them. Her hands had been thrust deep into her pockets. Even from a distance, Mary Helen could see a grim expression shrouding the young nun’s usually peaceful face.
Marina had hovered close to her, a fur-collared coat enveloping her thin, straight body. The turned-up collar hid her face. Everything about the pair said “upset.” “Upset” was probably a classic understatement of what Marina was feeling. Poor kid! Who wouldn’t be upset? First finding the professor’s body, then learning her sister was missing, and now her boyfriend being held for questioning.
“She’s upset,” Mary Helen repeated. Leonel raised his brown eyes and studied her face. “But she knows you’re innocent.” That should make him feel better.
“Did she say I am-a innocent?” Leonel’s dark eyes snapped. Mary Helen caught what she thought might be a hint of fear. That was strange. Obviously, he had misunderstood her.
“I didn’t really talk to Marina.” Mary Helen spoke slowly and distinctly.
“You needn’t shout.” Eileen touched Mary Helen’s forearm. “He may not understand English very well, but he’s not deaf.”
Modulating her voice, Mary Helen continued, “But I’m sure she knows you didn’t kill the professor.”
“Why do you say that, Sister?” He seemed to be afraid. What on earth was wrong with him?
“Because she knows you, and she loves you. Anyone who knows and loves you would realize that you are too fine a young man to kill.” Slowly, color began to rise in Leonel’s cheeks. His face contorted. Was it hatred she saw? How could it be? What had she said wrong? Hadn’t she just assured him his girl friend thought he was innocent?
“Sister.” His voice was as cold and cutting as fine steel. “Any young man would consider it an honor to have killed that bloodsucker! It would have been an honor to have killed the animal with Dom Sebastiao’s image.”
Leonel stared at Mary Helen. She stared back, not knowing what to say. The phone connection made a monotonous hum. Beside her she could hear Eileen suck in air, then wriggle uncomfortably.
With a sudden bang, the iron door behind Leonel clanged open. O’Donnell reappeared. Strangely, Mary Helen felt rescued. He laid his hands on Leonel’s square shoulders. The young man slumped forward as though the air had been punched out of him.
Carefully, Mary Helen replaced the phone receiver in its cradle. Well, you were hoping he’d show a bit of fight, she reminded herself. She and Eileen stood. With forced smiles, they waved as O’Donnell led Leonel away.
Marina and Leonel baffled Mary Helen. What was it she sensed in the couple? Fear? Rage? A certain shrewdness? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But it seemed that whenever she ran into them, she had that same uncanny feeling of having stumbled over something without having the slightest idea what it was.
Then there were Leonel’s sudden changes of mood. His emotions seemed almost hair-triggered.
“Eileen,” Mary Helen said when they reached the door of the elevator. “I have a confession to make. I knew what the fourth ‘L’ was all along.”
Eileen shook her head. “It wasn’t lunacy as I suspected,” she said, a twinkle in her gray eyes. Mary Helen ignored the remark. “Furthermore,” Eileen continued, “I knew full well you were stalling.”
“You did?”
“Of course no one can keep track of every counter that’s been played during a whole evening of pinochle, old dear, and forget the fourth ‘L.’ ” She winked. “Unless, of course, one wants to. Why did you pretend?”
“Well, Leonel seems to have hated the professor so. Yet I know in my bones he didn’t kill the man. And I don’t want anyone else to think he did.”
“Could I have that, one more time?”
“The fourth ‘L.’ It might seem as if Leonel has it.”
“For the love of all that is good and holy, Mary Helen, what is the fourth ‘L’? ”
Mary Helen breathed deeply. She ignored the feeling of dread that overcame her. “It’s loathing,” she said. Beside her, she felt Eileen shudder.
By the time the two nuns arrived home from the Hall of Justice, the college dining room was deserted. Checking her watch, Eileen decided to grab an apple and run back to her library. “Just in case,” she said.
Mary Helen was glad to be alone. She needed time to sit quietly, eat, and plot her afternoon, although she was tempted to ask Eileen about her being in the library “just in case” of what? What more could possibly happen?
To avoid any talkative stragglers, Mary Helen chose a corner table with her back to the dining room and a view of the well-manicured campus. She had been so preoccupied she hadn’t noticed that the dense morning fog had finally burned off. Only one long, narrow roll still clung tenaciously to the top span of the Golden Gate Bridge.
A brave autumn sun was trying hard to pierce the mackerel sky and warm the city. Its optimism raised Mary Helen’s spirits. As surely as the sun did shine, she knew she’d get to the bottom of this murder business. Of course, the first thing she’d need would be a plan-a logical, well-thought-out plan. Was it Shakespeare who had said something about logic being the “scarecrow of fools and the beacon of the wise"? Or was it Huxley? Mary Helen could never remember which one-or the exact quote, for that matter-but the point was clear. Logic was needed. And what could be more logical than a stop by Sister Anne’s office to see exactly what the young nun had been talking about to Marina?
Yes, indeed, she’d pursue the logical course, but not before she threw the little bit of salt she found on the dining room table over her left shoulder. After all, what if Eileen was right?
Mary Helen smelled Anne’s office before she saw it. A light wave of jasmine drew her down the narrow corridor to the closed door. She listened. No voices, just the melodious sounds of the St. Louis Jesuits’ tape. They were singing something about “If God is for you, who can be against?” St. Paul’s letter to the Romans. And Paul was so right. Furthermore, whose side could God possibly be on but hers, especially when she was trying to help vindicate an innocent man-one who kept losing his temper and seemed in no way concerned about disproving his own guilt?
She knocked loudly on the calligraphy sign stating Campus Minister. “Anybody home?” she called.
“Come in.” Anne’s low voice rose above the strumming of guitars. Mary Helen pushed open the door.
Startled, Anne looked up from her desk. “Mary Helen. What brings you here?” Quickly, Anne crossed the room and gave the old nun an expansive hug.
What’s the thing with all this hugging business? Mary Helen thought, hoping Anne couldn’t feel the rolls around her middle. It’s always the young svelte nuns who do it.
“It isn’t often one of our senior sisters drops in,” Anne said, her mellow voice teasing.
Mary Helen could have bet on that. Actually, she wondered just how long she could stay in the office before the smell of jasmine permeated her clothes.
Anne let go and stepped back. “Come in. Sit down.”
Mary Helen scanned the dim room for a straight-backed chair. Relieved, she spotted one. It stuck out among the overstuffed, madras-covered pillows strewn around the floor. Anne squatted, cross-legged, on a pillow opposite her.
“Can I get you some tea?” Anne pointed across the candle-lit office toward a hot plate in one corner. Above it, a philodendron dangled from a macramé holder.
“No thanks. I’m not going to stay long. I just want to talk to you about Marina.”
Anne fingered the ceramic crucifix hanging on a beaded leather string around her neck. She said nothing.
“And Leonel.”
Anne still said nothing.
Mary Helen continued, “I’ve just come from seeing him. Poor fellow is miserable. I’m sure he’s innocent of the murder, but something is very wrong. I have the funniest feeling that whatever it is has to do with Marina.”
Anne grabbed her crossed ankles and studied her toes.
“Anything she may have told you could help him, you know.” Mary Helen put special emphasis on her remark. That was exactly how Perry Mason said it, and it always worked.
“You saw Marina and me talking?” Anne asked.
“I just happened to notice you two…”
“You just don’t happen to miss very much.”
Mary Helen adjusted her bifocals. For several moments, she studied the bone-white ribbon of smoke serpenting from the terra-cotta turtle on Anne’s desk. The gentle strumming of the St. Louis Jesuits filled the embarrassing void. “If God is for you, who can be against?” they repeated.
Feeling exonerated, Mary Helen cleared her throat. “As I said, anything she may have told you could help Leonel.” The scene of Marina hovering in the corner of the professor’s office shot through Mary Helen’s mind. “Marina seems extremely frightened of something. Have you noticed?”
Anne bit her lower lip. Probably deciding what is confidential and what is common sense, Mary Helen thought. Frankly, she was worried. Common sense wasn’t as common as it used to be. Hadn’t Voltaire been the first to notice that? Well, it was as true today as when he had said it, especially in Anne’s age bracket.
“Have you noticed?” Mary Helen repeated the question with as much command in her voice as she could muster.
“No, I haven’t,” Anne said finally. Apparently, she had decided in favor of common sense, because she went right on. “But really, all the poor woman did during most of our conversation was cry. And I can’t say I blame her,” she added. “As you know, it is a terrible shock finding someone’s body.”
Mary Helen nodded. She understood perfectly. The shock itself had been bad enough. In addition, the old nun had been cursed with a too-vivid recall button. Every time it pictured the man lying in a ring of his own blood, she had to fight down a queasy feeling.
“And of course Marina’s worried about Leonel,” Anne said. “She was with him that night. That is, until she went to the office. Leonel couldn’t have done it. Not enough time. Marina’s afraid the police didn’t believe her. And their holding him for questioning doesn’t make her any more confident.” Anne uncrossed her legs and wriggled them in front of her.
Mary Helen suppressed a grin. It was just as she suspected: even young legs go to sleep in that crisscrossed position.
“Actually, if I were the police, Marina would seem like a better suspect to me,” Anne said.
“Do you think she did it?” Mary Helen asked. Now, there was a good reason for the young woman to look frightened.
“Not from what I know of her. She seems too gentle for such violence.”
Gentle, but strong, Mary Helen thought, remembering the young woman’s firm handshake and steady gaze. She chose not to comment.
“Besides”-Anne repretzeled her legs-“she had no motive that I can think of. Now, Leonel-it seems he hated Villanueva. Told several people he wanted to kill him. Marina tells me you even saw one of his outbursts.”
“Yes.” So far, Marina’s conversation with Anne had been anything but helpful to poor Leonel.
“Besides that”-Anne grabbed her ankles and leaned forward. Now for the good news, Mary Helen hoped-“she is frantic about her sister. Joanna didn’t come home Sunday night. She called from San Jose. Wouldn’t tell Marina what she was doing there. Marina hasn’t heard from her since. She’s called every place she can think of. Joanna has completely disappeared.”
Anne paused. “That’s what we talked about. Is any of it helpful? I’d really like to help the poor woman,” she added.
“Me, too,” Mary Helen said, without much enthusiasm. For several minutes, neither spoke.
“Actually, I asked Marina to drop by this afternoon for a cup of tea,” Anne said finally. She checked her Mickey Mouse watch. “She should be here in a few minutes. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like me to ask her?”
Mary Helen didn’t have to think long. “Joanna,” she said. “Just before he was arrested, Leonel called her ‘nosy Joanna.’ Maybe you can ask her what he might have meant by that. We could get a clue of what she was nosing into. That may explain her disappearance.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Anne said.
“I know we’ll be able to figure this thing out, Anne,” Mary Helen said, slowly pushing herself up from the straight-backed chair.
Nimbly, Anne rose from her pillow. “There but for the grace of God goes Sherlock Holmes.” She gave Mary Helen a generous hug. This time, the old nun hugged back.
But before she could leave the office, a gentle but persistent knock told the two nuns that Marina had arrived.
“Come in,” Anne called.
Cautiously, Marina pushed the door open. Mary Helen studied the young woman. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Either she hadn’t slept very well, or she had been crying. Probably a bit of both. Her hair was pulled severely back, making her pale, delicate face look even more strained.
“Are you busy?” Marina asked in a tired voice.
“Of course not. Come in.” Anne hugged her. “Sit down,” she said, hurrying toward the hot plate. “Let me fix you a cup of camomile tea. Have you heard anything from Joanna?” she called across the room.
“No.”
“Sister Mary Helen was just about to leave.” Anne settled herself on an overstuffed pillow and motioned for Mary Helen to join her. Knowing full well when she was ahead, Mary Helen declined the offer. “Sister was telling me about seeing Leonel this morning,” Anne said.
Marina’s eyes widened. She turned toward the old nun.
“She’d like to help him. And you, too,” Anne explained. “I have the funniest feeling Sister Mary Helen is just about to launch a small investigation of her own.”
A wan smile flitted across Marina’s face.
“I’m curious about something Leonel said just before he was arrested,” Mary Helen began. No sense beating around the bush. “He called your sister ‘nosy Joanna.’ Do you know what he might have meant by that?”
“I know.” Marina shook her head sadly. A lone tear ran down her rigid cheeks, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “When we were children, even. She would let nothing alone. Why? Why? Always, why? In school she would provoke our teachers. She had to find out reasons for everything. After the thesis, it was the same. She had interviewed many from our country to find out their problems. She heard many stories. Some good. Some bad. Something she heard bothered her. It was like-how you say in this country? A bee in her hat?”
“Bee in her bonnet.” Mary Helen could readily understand that feeling.
“Right. She would not tell me what, but something ate at her. Then she started. Why? Why? Why? Nosy! Nosy! Nosy!”
“And you have no idea what it was?”
“None, but even Kevin was fed up.”
Another country heard from! Kevin? “Who is Kevin?” Mary Helen asked, while Anne rose and refilled Marina’s tea cup.
“Kevin Doherty. A nice boy from the University of San Francisco. She met him at class. They went out sometimes. But no more.”
“Think, Marina. What could it have been that was upsetting Joanna?”
“I have thought, Sister.” Her voice rose, and a look of desperation clouded her eyes.
“Well, all we’ll have to do is study the thesis,” Mary Helen said. The solution seemed so simple. “Surely among us we’ll stumble onto something.”
“The copies are all gone,” Marina answered flatly.
Mary Helen could not believe her ears. All gone? The library copy was gone, but all copies had disappeared? That was impossible.
“Surely her advisor must have a copy. Do you know who that was?”
“Professor Villanueva.”
Mary Helen was undaunted. “Then he must have a copy in his files.”
“No,” Marina answered.
That’s odd, Mary Helen thought. But after all, Marina was his secretary. She must know.
For a moment, Mary Helen was stumped. But only for a moment. “The typist! Who was the typist? She may remember what was in it.”
“I was.”
“And you still don’t know what was bothering Joanna?” Mary Helen couldn’t believe it.
Marina looked weary. “Not all she heard was in her paper. But I know it was something she found when she was interviewing,” she said finally.
Mary Helen hesitated, but only for a moment. “Then we must find out who she interviewed. By any chance, have you a list?”
Marina brightened. “I do,” she said. “I typed the original list, and I have the scratch copy at home.”
“Good,” Mary Helen said. “Could I have a copy?”
“Tomorrow. The police asked for a list of those people the professor helped. When I come to do that, I’ll make you a copy of the people Joanna interviewed.”
“That would be wonderful,” Mary Helen said.
Anne studied the toes of her Paiute moccasins. “And could you also get us”-the words seemed to stick in the young nun’s throat-“a copy of the list you’re giving to the police?” Well, I’ll be switched, Mary Helen thought, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from grinning. Even Anne was getting into the investigation business.
Wide-eyed, Marina nodded. “If it will help,” she said.
“Well, at this point it won’t hurt,” Anne said, then giggled. “Don’t tell me I’ve caught a touch of Mary Helen?”
Suddenly, the little color left in Marina’s face drained. Her slim body swayed. Lunging forward, Anne grabbed her upper arms and bent the young woman forward, head between her knees.
“Have you eaten today?”
“No.”
“Come on, my friend,” Anne said, carefully helping Marina to her feet and putting her long arm firmly around Marina’s shoulders. “We are going posthaste to the Hungry Mouth!”
Mary Helen watched the two tall, slim young women, like a matched pair, edge down the long corridor. After a quick trip to her small bedroom, Mary Helen set out up the driveway. She had decided to head for that secluded stone beach on the hillside and ponder the next step in her plan. “I’ll think till I’m weary of thinking,” she thought. She had brought along her faithful plastic-covered paperback to read if and when that happened. She hoped no one had beaten her to “her spot.”
My spot! She smiled. Good night, nurse! A week ago, she hadn’t even known the spot existed. Now it was hers! If she wasn’t careful, pretty soon she’d begin to think she belonged here!
“Whew,” Mary Helen sighed audibly when she finally reached the stately clump of trees. The air had a crisp sting, but the sun brimmed the clearing. Its rays illuminated the drooping acacia, bowed with golden clusters. She sat down hard on the cold stone bench.
Crossing her legs at the ankles, Mary Helen took one long, luxurious stretch. The sun felt warm and friendly on her back. Let your mind wander freely, she reminded herself. Eliminate the impossible; test the improbable. That’s what Charlie Chan seemed to do in his cases. And somehow, his answers always popped up just in time to reveal it to Number One Son. She’d try it.
First, what is it I really know? she asked herself. Well, she knew there was a dead body. A vivid picture of Professor Villanueva, white and limp, a thin stream of blood trickling from each ear, shot through her mind. She felt the usual wave of nausea. Enough of that!
She struggled to rid her mind of that awful image. What do I need to know? she asked herself. What I need to know is who had the opportunity and the motive.
Opportunity? Obviously, Luis the janitor and Marina both had that. Poor Luis. She remembered how ghostly pale and shaken he had been. Was it the earthquake that had frightened him, or had he seen something else? And what about Marina? The young woman had been near hysteria. But, who wouldn’t be-finding a dead body in a halo of blood? What had Marina been doing in the office so late at night? In fact, what had she and Leonel been doing in that office yesterday? Were they really looking for a contact lens? As much as the old nun wanted to believe it, that was a bit hard to swallow. Then, what were they doing there? Mary Helen would have to find out.
Suddenly, the damp cold of the stone bench began to seep through her navy polyester skirt. She was chilled. Too bad the sun was losing its battle. A thick, gray wall of fog had begun to roll back in from the Gate. She had better get up and walk. Walking would warm her up, and maybe even help her unclutter her mind.
Leaving the small clearing, Mary Helen clutched her paperback and started down the winding dirt path through the trees. Around her, the eucalyptus made a soft swish as the wind ruffled the narrow, pointed leaves. Their gentle whisper was soothing, like a consoling presence. Which reminded her-what about that other presence, the one she had sensed in the darkened hallway? Had it just been her imagination, or had it been real? And if real, who had it been?
Then there was motive. Who had a motive? Leonel hated the professor. She had already decided that Leonel wasn’t the murderer. Therefore, someone else must have a motive, too.
Someone out there. Mary Helen paused and surveyed the side of the hill. But who? Everything appeared so peaceful, so unsullied, so “lovely, dark, and deep.” “But I”-she gazed at Tony’s freshly rooted ice plant and recited Frost aloud-“I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” Well, at least she had several hundred yards to go. And so many questions! She must not forget this Dom Sebastiao business, whoever he was. One thing she did know for an absolute fact was that the professor had not killed himself!
From the Bay, a foghorn sounded a mournful groan. Without warning, a cloud covered the sun. Mary Helen shivered. She folded her arms even more tightly, trying to fight off the damp chill.
Behind her on the path, she heard the twigs crackling. Someone was walking. She turned, ready to greet whomever it was. No one. Silence. She walked a few yards more, and listened. Below her, off the path, she heard the rustle of dried pine needles. Maybe a small animal was scurrying for shelter. She searched the wooded hillside. A long shadow fell from behind a tree. Was it the form of a man, or just a low-slung branch from a pine? Mary Helen adjusted her glasses for a better look. Nothing. Must be just a sudden gust of wind moving the trees.
Suddenly, coming toward her, she heard the crunching of gravel. She waited, stone still, expecting to see someone. No one. Again, silence.
“Hello,” she called loudly. Her palms felt damp with fear. No answer. Just the faint echo of her own voice mingled with the low groan of the foghorns from the Bay.
Impulsively, Mary Helen turned and ran up the dirt path. Her feet slipped on the small stones. Prickly junipers snagged her nylons. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. When she finally reached the clearing, she sat on the stone bench.
Calm down, old girl, calm down. She tried to soothe her nerves. Breathe deeply. She rubbed her knees. Not only did she have “rubbery knees"; right now they felt as if they were plain water. This is nonsense, she reminded herself, taking another deep breath. You have allowed this murder business to get the best of you. Now, what on earth are you afraid of? And who on earth would be out to harm you?
She decided, however, with a sudden surge of largesse, that tonight she’d throw in an extra prayer or two to St. Dismas. No harm at all in giving Sister Therese a hand.
Mary Helen was relieved to hear the loud, friendly gong of the college bell calling everyone to supper. This time, she’d be happy that the dining room was not deserted.