The Missing Madonna (13 page)

Noelle let Caroline’s observation ride on the air without comment. “I contacted the St. Louis Police Department, which graciously checked the city’s hospitals for me.” Noelle paused long enough to light a cigarette. Mary Helen was surprised she had waited this long. “Fortunately, Erma’s name was not on any of their lists.” She moved an ashtray from the coffee table to the arm of her chair.

“I didn’t get nowhere, either, with the union.” Blinking his eyes, Finn put his elbows on his knees and clenched his hands together. “I called the waitresses’ union and the bartenders’, too, just in case.

“Gal on the phone didn’t know nothing about Erma, ‘No record of her applying for membership here,’ she says.” Finn’s voice cracked and, for a moment, Mary Helen wondered if he was going to cry. Instead, he bent forward, resting his forehead in his hands.

For several seconds, the six women sat staring at the top of his threaded pate. The poor fellow, Mary Helen thought. He really does care for Erma. Funny, Erma had never mentioned him. Relationships, she remembered reading somewhere recently, are a pervading and changing mystery. How true! For the present, the relationship between Erma and Finn surely was a mystery—to her, at least. And that didn’t seem to be the only mystery the group had discovered. A sudden chill made Mary Helen hug herself.

“Now, now!” Lucy’s voice cut through the gloom. “Let’s not get down in the dumps,” she said, in what Mary Helen thought must be a superhuman effort to be optimistic, even for Lucy. “It’s not all bad news. After all, Noelle called the police and hospitals. And there was
no word of Erma there. So far as we know, nothing bad has happened to her.”

Trying to push away apprehension from the edge of her mind, Mary Helen forced herself to nod at Lucy.

Encouraged, Lucy looked hopefully from person to person. “Think positive!” Her voice rose higher. Mary Helen couldn’t help but notice the hint of anxiety. “We can’t let ourselves even imagine that something has happened to our friend.”

Across from her, Mary Helen watched Eileen, who was visibly trying to cheer up. “Lucy is right,” she said. “We must have faith that everything will turn out just dandy. We’ll get nowhere unless we keep our spirits up.”

Lucy picked up steam. “After all, the Sisters have been praying,” she said.

Eileen nodded. For a fleeting second, Mary Helen feared the two optimists might break into a duet of “Pack Up Your Troubles.”

“Besides”—Lucy’s eyes were wide behind her horn-rimmed glasses—“we still have to hear from . . .”

As though on cue, the roar of a motorcycle thundered through the small room. Over the noise, Lucy finished her sentence: “the boys,” she shouted.

“What the hell happened to Ma?” A deep voice ricocheted off the walls of the narrow staircase, as heavy footsteps stomped up toward them.

The vision that loomed on the top step was something, Mary Helen imagined, that could have come right out of a B movie about the Hell’s Angels. Stunned, the group just stared.

“I asked you guys a question.” Hands on hips, the thick-bodied young man glared back at them, his bare chest swelling inside his leather vest. Actually his chest was the only thing about him that was bare. The rest of him was covered with hair and leather and chains and tattoos.

“Where the hell is the old lady?” he shouted at no one in particular.

Recovering from the initial shock, Caroline pulled herself up to her majestic best “You must be Junior,” she said so icily that even Junior froze on the spot Mary Helen cringed. As if they weren’t having enough trouble! All they needed now was a verbal battle. Although if there was to be one, she had no doubt whatsoever about who would win.

“We can fully appreciate your concern for your mother,” Caroline continued, bestowing a look of regal understanding on the peasant before her. “And we sympathize. It is plain to see that you care about the old lady, even though, I believe, that is a misnomer. Your concern is further attested to, of course, by the fact that you have immortalized her on your thorax.” She pointed a long finger toward his chest.

Junior frowned, puzzled. Mary Helen knew he wasn’t quite sure whether he had been complimented or insulted. She swallowed the urge to laugh.

In the uncomfortable silence that filled the room while he was trying to decide, Ree sniffled nervously. “This is my brother,” she said, motioning at a young man nearly hidden behind Junior. “This is Buddy.”

“Excuse me.” Buddy edged his way around the elder Duran and toward Ree.

At first glance, Mary Helen was taken aback. Although he was slight, his resemblance to Erma was uncanny. Like his mother, he was short, curly-haired, and had the same brown eyes and round face. She felt a sudden ache. How she wished good old Erma would walk into the room right now, smile, and give them each that little squeeze of hers.

Buddy kissed Lucy on the cheek, shook Finn’s hand, and smiled warmly at the group of women he didn’t know.

He was so gentle and polite that, at first, Mary Helen
hardly noticed his earrings. To her knowledge, the only men who ever wore an earring were sailors who had crossed the international date line. Recently, she had noticed lots of sailors in San Francisco.

When she mentioned this, Sister Anne had explained they weren’t all sailors. Depending on whether the earring was in the right or left ear, Anne had said, it indicated that the wearer was either straight or gay. Although, to save her life, Mary Helen could never remember which was which. But this Buddy had an earring in each ear. She would have to question Anne on that one.

“Buddy is an artist,” Lucy announced proudly. “Right now he works part-time as a docent at the De Young Museum. But someday he’ll be famous.”

Embarrassed, Buddy shrugged. “I’m not really an artist yet,” he said.

Regardless, he looked the part—from his sandals to his rose-tinted glasses, earrings, and the wispy tail of hair curling down the scrawny nape of his neck.

“Now that the boys are here we’ll get back to business,” Noelle said, being very careful, Mary Helen noted, not to ask about Junior’s line of work. “If you’ll just take a seat, we can proceed.”

Junior recovered his voice, but the interval had not improved his manners. “What the hell happened to the old lady?” he shouted, ignoring Noelle’s rules of order. “Ree says she’s missing.” He swaggered toward the center of the room.

“If anything happens to her, you bastard”—he took a menacing step toward Finn—“you’ve me to answer to. Got that?” He pointed a thick finger at the man’s bald head. Mary Helen was startled to see that the nail was gnawed to the quick.

Stiffening, Finn met Junior’s dare with hard hazel eyes, the little yellow specks in them quivering. “Is that so, Junior?” Finn clenched his fists, his knuckles turning
white. “If I was you, sonny boy, I’d be real careful who I call a bastard and who I’d pick to get tough with.”

Taken aback, Mary Helen watched the usually polite, accommodating Mr. Finn rise. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise with him. A verbal battle was one thing; a real one was something else again!

Deliberately flexing his muscles, Junior glowered at Finn. The
Mother
and heart tattooed on his chest seemed to swell.

Much to Mary Helen’s chagrin, Finn didn’t back down even an inch. “You, sonny boy, was the one here pestering her the day she took off.” He nodded toward the young man with contempt. “You and your lousy motorcycle and your lousy mouth.”

Enraged, Junior set his jaw, pulled back his thick right arm, and squared off. Mary Helen was sure he was ready and able to throw the first punch.

Before she realized what she was doing, she was up from her chair and standing between the two.

“That will do!” she said in a voice that had stopped many a school-yard brawl midpunch.

Despite their anger both men stopped, shocked. But neither, Mary Helen was certain, felt as shocked as she did. There are some habits that just don’t leave you. Swallowing hard, she met their stares with one of her own.

“I said, That will do!”

Scowling, the men studied her. She wondered for a moment if either one would try to test her.

“Sit down!” she commanded, not bothering to consider what she would do if either one of them didn’t.

Just as she suspected, it was Junior who caved in first.

*  *  *

A general sense of relief descended on Erma’s living room the moment the boys left. As the roar of the motorcycle faded farther and farther into the distance, the atmosphere became almost festive.

Lucy giggled. “Let me get us all a glass of wine,” she offered. “I know exactly where Erma keeps the hooch. She would want us to have one and, God knows, about now we need it!”

“Good heavens, Lucy! It’s still morning,” Noelle protested, more for appearance than anything else, Mary Helen suspected.

“It’s four o’clock somewhere!” Lucy called, clinking bottles in a cupboard under the sink.

“There’s an old saying we have back home,” Eileen piped up. Mary Helen winced, knowing full well the old saying Eileen had in mind. “ ‘We may as well be drunk as the way we are!’ ” Eileen took the stemmed glass from Lucy.

“Here’s to our success in locating Erma.” Noelle, determined to remain their leader, proposed the toast. Smiling, they all raised their glasses.

“And to Sister Mary Helen who, thank God, did not get her block knocked off!” Lucy added.

Still a little shaken, Sister Mary Helen felt a lump begin to form in her throat. To good old Erma Duran—she thought, trying to smile brightly—wherever she is. And please, Lord, help us to find that out. Fast! Before we have any more mornings like this one.

*  *  *

Caroline fished in her Louis Vuitton clutch bag for her gloves. “Where do we go from here?” she asked.

As a matter of form, Noelle consulted her peacock-blue pocket calendar. “Tomorrow, as you know, is Sunday and Mother’s Day, to boot,” she said. “We all have obligations, I am sure, so I propose we meet at the same time on Monday. If no one has heard from Erma by then, I feel we not only could but should report her as a missing person.”

“Monday? But Mommy would never be away from us on Mother’s Day without calling.” Ree’s round face was
flushed and she looked dangerously close to tears. The strain of the last week was beginning to tell on her.

“Relax, Ree.” Finn, who had apparently regained his composure, twirled the stem of his empty wineglass between his fingers. “It’s not like we don’t know where she said she’d be. Besides”—he stood up and set his glass on the coffee table—“I’ve got a hunch she’ll call tomorrow.”

“You and your hunches!” Ree’s large eyes narrowed with resentment. She pulled her mouth into a pout but said no more. Mary Helen was glad. She didn’t know if her nerves were up to another fight.

Mumbling something about checking on supplies in the kitchen, Finn had the good sense to leave.

Caroline moved to the edge of her chair, poised to go.

“Has anyone anything further to add?” Apparently, Noelle sensed the meeting was getting ready to break up. She glanced in Caroline’s direction.

“I have nothing to add.” Caroline stood and tilted her beautifully coiffured head of champagne-colored hair. “I would just like to concur with Noelle”—she gazed around the room, innocently batting her eyes—“that if by Monday Erma has not yet been heard from, we should either pee or get off the pot.”

She swept from the room and down the stairs, leaving the rest of the group questioning their hearing.

“Thank God she cleaned it up a bit for present company.” Noelle gathered up her blue paisley umbrella. “Monday morning, then? Here at ten-thirty,” she reiterated, then followed Caroline.

Standing, Mary Helen straightened her skirt and checked her wristwatch. Not even noon, and nothing to do but mark time until Monday. For whatever reason, she felt a little uneasy about the wait. Yet maybe Mr. Finn was right. Maybe Erma would call and they would all feel foolish for having worried. She looked to see if her friend was ready to go.

“Let me get your raincoats.” Lucy bustled toward Erma’s bedroom with Eileen close behind. Mary Helen followed.

The moment she stepped across the threshhold, a dampness made her shiver. Suddenly lightheaded, she stopped. Although the room was chilly, perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her palms felt clammy. She tried to take a deep breath and pull herself together, but she could barely swallow. The inside of her mouth felt so furry. The room was tilting around her.

Could it be the wine on an almost empty stomach? Or was it something else? Something unseen yet felt in Erma’s bedroom? Was it the same foreboding—a premonition perhaps, that had made her so uneasy when she awoke this morning?

Don’t be silly, old girl. Those things only happen in your mystery stories, Mary Helen told herself. Yet she could feel her legs begin to tremble. She grabbed for the end of Erma’s bed to keep from falling.

“Glory be to God, you look like the wreck of the
Hesperus.”
Eileen stood in front of her, a damp raincoat in each hand. “Sit down.” She nodded toward the bed. “Quickly!”

Still holding on, Mary Helen stumbled, then sat heavily on the foot of Erma’s bed. “All of a sudden, I’m just a little dizzy.”

“Put your head between your knees.” Lucy was beside Eileen in a moment. “Breathe deeply.”

Closing her eyes, Mary Helen did as she was told. The last thing anyone needed this morning was for her to faint.

The dizziness passed slowly. She blinked her eyes open and it was then that she saw it hanging down from under the edge of the bed: a gold chain with a large filigree-edged medal dangling from it. It was caught, caught on a bedspring. Mary Helen’s heart gave a jolt The medal looked familiar. Where had she seen it before?
Her mind flashed back to New York, to Bloomingdale’s. The mugging! Erma’s medal. That’s what it was! She could see Erma, her chubby hand covering her throat. Her brown eyes troubled. What had she said?
I don’t know what I would do if anything ever happened to this
. Could it be the same—

Crouching down on the floor, Mary Helen dug at the spring from underneath the bed. She couldn’t reach it. She tilted her head to take a better look through her bifocals. Kneeling, she lifted the edge of the mattress and stuck her hand into one of the metal spirals.