The Missing Madonna (15 page)

“See you on Monday morning, Sisters,” she said. She turned the key and her heavy engine purred into action. Slowly the automatic window moved down. Mary Helen couldn’t help noting the worried frown on Lucy’s usually cheerful face.

“It will all work out. You’ll see!” she said, feigning good spirits. With a wave, she made a quick U-turn and disappeared up Sanchez Street toward her home.

Watching the silver car disappear, Mary Helen had the sudden urge to go home herself. She’d have a cup of soup, some hot buttered toast, then take a short nap. One look at Eileen and she knew her friend would be open to the suggestion.

Mary Helen turned toward Ree. Much as she would have liked to, she just couldn’t leave her standing there on the wet corner. “Can we drop you at your house?”

Ree shook her head, then sniffled. “I was going to go into Mommy’s for a minute. There might be something else in there.” Those big doe eyes looked pleadingly from nun to nun. Mary Helen knew what was coming before Ree said it “Will you come with me? I don’t want to go in there alone. I won’t stay long, I promise.”

*  *  *

Mary Helen felt uncomfortable going through Erma’s dresser drawers. Although they were sparse and tidy, a lot tidier than her own, she noticed, she just did not feel right. And she tried to avoid altogether looking at the black loose-leaf binder propped against the night-stand. Not that she would have touched it. Heaven forbid! Going through someone’s drawers was bad enough, but to invade another’s privacy by reading a journal! Whatever the circumstances, it was unthinkable.

For all they knew, the woman was perfectly safe somewhere and having a wonderful time. She’d be horrified to know that someone had pawed through her things.

Apparently Eileen was having trouble with the search, too, since the moment it started she excused herself to make them all a steaming cup of tea.

Furthermore, Mary Helen didn’t have the slightest idea what she should be looking for. These considerations didn’t stop Erma’s daughter. Ree had taken off her padded jacket and was rummaging through the closet and the nightstand, looking through old letters. Her ponytail swinging, she was generally “invading privacy,” as the saying goes.

Then, as if suddenly exhausted, the young woman plopped onto the end of her mother’s bed. The springs creaked under her weight.

“I knew it!” she muttered. “I just knew that something’s happened.”

A cold chill ran up Mary Helen’s spine. The fatalism in Ree’s voice made the hair on her neck prickle. “What do you mean?” she asked. “How do you know something’s happened?”

Letting her double chin sink to her breastbone, Ree wagged her head back and forth. “The check not coming. Bills piling up. Mommy being so worried before she went to the convention in New York. I just knew it!”

Sitting down beside her, Mary Helen put her arm around Ree’s chubby shoulders. “Did you ever ask your mother what was troubling her?”

“Yes, I asked her, but Mommy would never say. You know how she was, always wanting to make everyone happy. The most she ever did was point to that.” Turning, she stared accusingly at the large picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help on the shelf in the corner as if the Madonna were somehow to blame. “ ‘She’ll take care of it,’ Mommy said. ‘And if anything should happen to me, look there.’ ”

Crossing the bedroom, Mary Helen stood in front of the picture. The large, sorrowful eyes of the Byzantine Madonna stared at her knowingly, sympathetically. The Christ Child in her arms, looking frightened, had one sandal dangling from His small foot. In each of the upper corners, an archangel hovered. One held a pot of hyssop, a sponge, and a spear, the other a large cross—clearly, the instruments of the Child’s passion and death.

Was Erma just being pious, or was there something there? The Erma Mary Helen knew may have been pious, but she was also practical. You don’t suppose she had taped a note or letter to the back? That only happens in mystery stories, old girl, she reminded herself, but just maybe . . . Mary Helen couldn’t resist. She
removed the picture and carefully checked it inch by inch, patting the backing for an extra bulge.

Except for a layer of dust, the brown paper back of the picture was absolutely clear and flat. Only a small gold tag said that it had been purchased at Kaufer-Stadler Religious Goods Store on Market Street. Feeling a little foolish, Mary Helen hung the picture back on the hook.

“Right after we drink this, why don’t we all go home and take a little rest?” Eileen appeared in the doorway holding a tray. Mary Helen could see the steam rising from the three mugs. The sharp tang of orange filled the room.

“Sister Eileen’s right” Mary Helen handed Ree a mug and took one herself.

“For all we know, Mr. Finn’s hunch may be correct.” Eileen pursed her lips. “Your mother may just call tomorrow.”

“That’s right.” Mary Helen patted the woman’s knee. “After all, Sunday is Mother’s Day!” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could catch them and push them back in again.

Ree’s dark eyes filled immediately and tears ran down her dimpled cheeks.

“Let me take you home.” Mary Helen pretended she didn’t notice the tears. “You’ve had—we’ve all had—a very hectic morning.”

Much to her relief, Ree wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffled, and stood up. “I live only a couple of blocks away.” She tugged at the back of her overblouse.

Silently, Eileen gathered up the cups to rinse. Mary Helen handed Ree her jacket Without comment she put it on. Looking remarkably like a Chinese pincushion, she walked into the living room and down the stairs.

Alone in the bedroom, Mary Helen snatched up the
binder. After all, whatever was troubling Erma could well be written in her journal. From what Ree had just said, it was abundantly clear to Mary Helen that Erma did not want her daughter to know what it was. And with all this going through Erma’s things, Mary Helen had no way of telling just how long it would be before Ree discovered the binder.

She flipped through it. To her surprise most of the pages were blank. Erma had written on only a few. Quickly she ripped them out and shoved them into the side compartment of her pocketbook, where they would stay for safekeeping. Knowing Erma would be grateful, she zipped it shut.

*  *  *

“My house is right down here.” Ree pointed to a narrow street, really an alley, off 17th. The street sign read
PROSPER.
With a felt-tipped pen, some wag had added
ITY.

The wooden houses along the short street might have once known prosperity, but no more. Several fronts extended at least six feet above the natural roofs. Mary Helen remembered reading some local history buff’s claim that the Italianate fronts were crafted back East, then shipped to the City. When they arrived it was clear that they were six feet too high. Immediately an Eastern extended roof became all the rage.

“The next one.” Ree pointed. Mary Helen pulled up to a pink house with long, narrow bay windows and fretwork along the top of its front.

“That’s my apartment.” Ree pointed again, this time to a door and square window cut into what was once the basement A flat metal mailbox by the door indicated a bona-fide apartment. Iron-blue hydrangeas bloomed in small patches on either side of the door.

“Aren’t those lovely!” Eileen remarked, to make conversation, Mary Helen assumed.

Ree just shrugged.

“Someone once told me he got that color by putting nails in the ground around them.” Eileen’s voice ended the sentence somewhere between a question and a statement. It was that old Irish trick again. No one commented. What was there to say?

After several tries, Ree struggled out of the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.” She slammed the door of the Nova.

“Get some rest,” Eileen called after her.

Silently, the two nuns watched her walk up the cement path.

“What do you make of it, old dear?” Eileen asked as soon as the apartment door shut. “She seems suddenly unseasonably calm.”

“I don’t know what to think. I’m so tired. I hope Allan Boscacci has the garage door fixed because I don’t think I have the strength to push it.” Carefully, Mary Helen backed out of the alley. “One thing I do know: I am going to take some of your advice.”

“And what advice is that?” Eileen looked pleased.

“The part about getting some rest.” Mary Helen smiled over at her friend. “After we get some soup, Eileen, let’s take a nap.”

“Just like a couple of old lassies?” Eileen asked in mock horror.

“Don’t be silly! It has absolutely nothing to do with getting old. Anyone—why, even Sister Anne—would be done in by our hectic morning.”

*  *  *

Kate Murphy was clearing her desk when her phone rang.

“Just our luck,” Dennis Gallagher grumbled, watching her remove an earring. “Bad enough we got the duty on Saturday, but quitting time and we get a damn call.”

“You guys about ready to close it up?” Kate was surprised to hear Ron Honore’s voice on the other end of
the line. Somehow, she would have expected him to be home showering for a heavy date.

She nodded at Gallagher, who was giving her a who-the-hell-is-it? look. “Honore,” she mouthed to her partner, who was shifting impatiently.

“We were just about ready to,” she said into the phone.

“How about you two meeting me in, say, half an hour at Fahey’s? Bring Jack too. I can use all the advice I can get”

Kate hesitated, wondering if either Gallagher or Jack, who had been home cleaning the house all day, had any plans.

“Just for half an hour or so,” Honore added.

His voice was so serious Kate began to worry. “Is there something wrong, Ron?”

“Wrong? Not unless you consider meeting Famine, Pestilence, Destruction, and Death something wrong.”

“Pardon me?”

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

Kate was impressed. She would have thought Honore’s Four Horsemen would have been Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley, and Layden from Notre Dame.

“Or should I say,
horsewomen?”
Honore continued. “Your two nun pals and two more of their cronies were in today.”

So that was it. Kate laughed.

“It isn’t funny.” Ron sounded offended.

She couldn’t resist. “Gee, Ron, I don’t know.” She paused, baiting him. “It is Saturday night. That’s a big night on the town. In fact, I’m surprised a bachelor of your reputation isn’t home sprucing up for the evening.”

“I promise it won’t take long,” he said, paying no attention to her jibe. “And, I’m buying.”

Kate waited, listening to the phone line click in the silence.

“You did get me into this, you know.”

A touch of the old Honore she knew and loved. She cleared her throat, letting him dangle.

“Oh, please, Kate. Give me a break.”

“Okay, for a few minutes.” Kate wondered for a moment if any sound could be as sweet as the sound of the cocky Inspector Honore begging.

*  *  *

Luckily, Gallagher found a parking space on Taraval Street where the Parkside branch of the library meets McCopp Park, about a block up from Fahey’s Saloon. Hands in pockets, he started down toward 24th Avenue. The wind whipping up Taraval pulled at his coat, flung his tie over his shoulder, and pushed his pants legs against his shins.

Shivering, Kate, trying to use her partner’s bulk as a windshield, followed half behind him to the corner. Together the pair dashed across the intersection.

“God Almighty, I’ll need two straight shots,” Gallagher panted, “just to get my blood unfrozen.” He held the half door of Fahey’s open. “After you.”

Inside, the long, narrow bar was warm and cozy. The jukebox near the entrance played softly. On the back wall over the electric scoreboard, a wooden sign announced
FAHEY
’
S SALOON
,
WHERE THE ELITE MEET
!

Kate blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

“Well, if it isn’t a couple more of San Francisco’s finest!” Kate heard the voice of Snooky, the bartender, before she saw him.

“And look who it is too.” Snooky put down the glass he was wiping and looked at her over his horn-rimmed glasses. “Although I should have guessed when your better half came in.”

Jack waved from a round table in the back. Honore
and he were already there, sitting under the leaping sailfish. mounted on the wall.

“Long time no see.” Snooky came around the end of the bar and gave Kate a hug. “Marriage seems to be agreeing with you,” he said, inspecting her at arm’s distance. “You look great!”

Several customers on the bar stools turned to double-check Snooky’s opinion.

Kate blushed. “It’s good to see you too,” she said, and it was. Snooky was like part of the family. His brother was with the sheriff’s department and he had an uncle and a cousin or two who were cops.

The tavern was as warm and friendly as Snooky. It was one of those old-fashioned neighborhood bars, the kind San Francisco once had lots of, where people, cops included, could go just to sit, visit, and unwind. As a matter of fact, on any given night, but especially when the 49ers were playing, Fahey’s was probably the best-protected tavern in the Parkside District.

“What’s your pleasure tonight?” Snooky asked. “It’s on the house.”

“Not tonight. Honore’s paying tonight.” Kate winked at the astonished Snooky. “I’ll take a rain check on your offer,” she said.

“What the hell is this all about?” Gallagher asked Honore as soon as they sat down in the wooden captain’s chairs. “Last night I complained that we didn’t get fish on Friday anymore, so tonight Mrs. G. is poaching salmon for my dinner. My mouth’s been watering for it all day. It better be important.”

Honore gave a self-conscious little shrug and asked what they were drinking. Raising his arm, he called their order, three beers and one straight shot, over to Snooky.

Kate noticed the seams of his coat sleeve pull. Honore had put on a little weight since she’d last seen him.

“Given up smoking.” He took off his jacket and hung
it over the back of his chair. “Now everything I own is strangling me.”

Snooky put the drinks on the table. “And that ain’t all. Don Ron here is the only guy I know who drinks beer and chews gum at the same time.”