The Missing Madonna (5 page)

“How do you like it?” she had asked at breakfast, blinking naively behind her purple-rimmed glasses. Mary Helen cringed.

Sister Therese, who preferred her name pronounced
trays
, sniffed and answered for the group. “I do think something from the shrine of St. Elizabeth Seton might have been more appropriate.” She rolled her dark eyes toward Mary Helen, then heavenward. “However,” she added, with a little jab in her voice, “it does match the blue jeans and those sandal-like shoes you insist on wearing.”

Mary Helen could tell from Anne’s face that the young nun took the remark as a compliment. Mary Helen knew better.

“Do you feel as if you have just been accused of contributing to the delinquency of a minor?” she asked Eileen, out of Therese’s earshot Although Therese was slightly deaf, her hearing had an uncanny way of suddenly improving. Not taking any chances, Eileen answered with a wink.

There was no question about the Fanny Farmer chocolates they brought home. The candy was an overwhelming success. By Sunday noon the whole box was empty, except for the marzipan piece that no one liked. Mary Helen knew from experience that before much more time passed someone’s sweet tooth would get desperate and that piece, too, would disappear.

At first everyone had asked about their trip. At Sunday supper, however, Mary Helen noticed that although the other nuns listened politely, their eyes were
beginning to glaze over whenever someone mentioned New York.

Monday morning Mary Helen had gone over to her office late. All day long she had fully expected Erma Duran to call so they could hash over the trip. Actually she was disappointed when Erma didn’t get in touch. Somehow, reliving the adventure was half the fun.

In fact, she had called Erma’s apartment once or twice, but there was no answer. Monday was Erma’s day off, and Mary Helen was beginning to get a bit concerned.

“Don’t be silly,” Eileen said when Mary Helen mentioned it to her at dinner. “The poor woman is probably dog-tired. Maybe she’s just not answering. Anyway, isn’t today the day she comes up here for her class?”

Mary Helen tried to remember whether or not it was a Monday when she had met Erma and Lucy at the college, but she couldn’t recall.

“If that were the case, don’t you think the two of them would have dropped by to see us?”

“They are probably exhausted, jet lag and all,” Eileen had answered sensibly.

Mary Helen nodded. Her friend was most likely right. Lately she noticed that she was able to develop a case of jet lag on a trip between San Francisco and Los Angeles.

She had just settled down in a comfortable chair in the community room and switched on the six o’clock news when the phone rang. She could hear Therese’s short staccato steps echo down the parquet hallway to the phone booth. She answered it on the third ring.

Mary Helen could have laid odds that she would. In fact, she was secretly working on the theory that Therese, despite her deafness and arthritis, could catch the phone on the third ring from any spot in the entire convent. She was so good at it, Mary Helen speculated, that with a little backing, Therese could make phone-answering into an Olympic event.

“It’s for you,” Therese called from the doorway, a little out of breath. “It’s your OWL friend. That Caroline Coughlin.”

From the way she emphasized
that
Mary Helen could tell that she must have been privy to some of Caroline’s profanity.

“Hello, Caroline.” Mary Helen didn’t have a chance to say anything more.

“Have you heard from Erma?” Although Caroline’s voice was still controlled and polished, Mary Helen could hear an undertone of worry.

“No, I haven’t. Not since we came home.” Mary Helen felt a flicker of dread in the pit of her stomach. “Is anything the matter?”

“Noelle and I think there is. Lucy keeps saying that we are probably just missing her. Calling when she steps put and not calling when she is home. But you know Lucy—she doesn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Has anyone talked to Erma?”

“No, Sister, that’s my point. Nobody has heard from her all weekend. Lucy dropped her off at her apartment on Friday. She called her daughter that night to say she was home. But neither of them has heard from her since.”

“Has anyone been to her apartment?” Mary Helen winced, reliving for a moment the awful scene she had discovered last December in the apartment of her secretary, Suzanne.

“Yes. According to Lucy, her daughter dropped by on Sunday morning and let herself in. She found no Erma, no note, nothing that would indicate where her mother was.”

That was a relief!

“But in my opinion, Sister,” Caroline continued, “her daughter is about as effective as a pimple on an elephant’s ass. Excuse me.”

For a moment, Mary Helen was taken aback. Said
with Caroline’s finishing-school voice, that last little vulgarity sounded like poetry. She swallowed a laugh.

Today Noelle called the man Erma works for, but he was vague. He said something about her mentioning visiting relatives in St. Louis. But it does seem preposterous that she would leave again so soon.”

“St. Louis! I thought she was born and raised here.”

“That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have relatives in St. Louis,” Caroline answered reasonably, leaving Mary Helen feeling somewhat foolish.

“You’re our last hope,” she said. “We thought perhaps she might have called you or said something.”

“No.” Mary Helen could feel her dread growing. “As a matter of fact, I was just beginning to wonder myself. It’s just not like Erma not to have called today to chat.”

“Not a bit,” Caroline agreed.

In her mind’s eye, Mary Helen could see her nod her head of beautifully coiffured champagne hair. She wondered crazily if Caroline was wearing her hat and gloves.

“And what is more, it is not a bit like her to leave without saying something to her family and friends. She just isn’t that kind of person, unless . . .” Caroline left the sentence unfinished.

“But you say Lucy isn’t worried?” Mary Helen asked, trying not to overreact.

Caroline hesitated. “If you ask me, she’s pretending not to be. You know, today is the day the two of them are supposed to go to class up there at Mount St. Francis. When Erma didn’t call, Lucy tried her, but there was no answer.”

Unexpectedly, Mary Helen’s heart turned over, but she said nothing.

Caroline continued, “She says she is sure Erma has just forgotten today is Monday and has gone somewhere. She thinks we will all feel foolish for having made such a fuss. But I can tell by the way Lucy’s
talking that she’s starting to worry too. Why, we managed a whole conversation without even one pun or one of her atrocious jokes. Now that shows worry, if you ask me!”

“What do you think we should do?” Mary Helen asked.

“Lucy said she will try to get in touch with her the first thing in the morning. I am of the opinion that if we haven’t heard anything by tomorrow evening at the latest, we should get together and do something about it.”

“Maybe we should call somebody this evening,” Mary Helen said, thinking immediately of her friend Kate Murphy. Although Kate was an inspector in Homicide, and so far this was, at most, a missing-person case, she knew Kate would know how to help them find their friend.

“We have called everyone we can think of. Unless you mean the police department.” Caroline’s voice rose a notch. She was frightened, Mary Helen could tell. No wonder Lucy was playing it down. No good would come of getting everyone upset. They’d all be better able to function intelligently if they kept calm.

“No, I didn’t mean the police. I meant her relatives or other friends.” Mary Helen fudged a little, hoping the end justified the means.

“Oh, yes, then we have called everyone we can think of.” Caroline sounded a little calmer. “In my opinion,” she said, “if the woman cannot be located by tomorrow, we should go to her apartment and have a look around. We may stumble across a letter or note or something that will tell us where she is, or at least that she is all right. Are you game to go along, Sister?”

Game? Mary Helen was absolutely dead set to get involved. She was extremely fond of good old Erma Duran, and she was still curious about that upset she had noticed while they were in New York. What was the
problem she had overheard Erma and Lucy discussing? What would they “work out”? Could there be some connection between that and Erma’s seeming disappearance?

Get involved? Of course she would! It was the only decent thing to do. Furthermore, it was more than a matter of decency. It was a matter of conscience.

On weekday mornings the college began serving breakfast at seven. Even though she had already been to the alumnae office, Mary Helen was one of the first in line. She felt in her jacket pocket for the slip of paper with Erma’s address. She double-checked: The Mission District, 400 block of Sanchez.

Taking her toast and half a grapefruit into the dining room, Mary Helen searched the tables hoping to spot her friend Eileen. She found her sitting with Sister Cecilia near a set of windows overlooking one of the college’s formal gardens. Outside, the morning was already beautiful. The spring sun was just beginning to touch the row of funnel-shaped petunias that bordered the lawn. A row of sweet alyssum ran behind them, their grayish leaves glistening with drops of early-morning fog. A bed of yellow and gold marigolds circled the marble statue of the Blessed Virgin. Above, the sky was a bright, cloudless blue. All in all, it was a perfect day for an attack of spring fever and a perfect opening for Mary Helen.

“I feel like playing hooky,” she said, sliding into the chair across from Eileen. “It’s much too nice a day to stay home. We should go somewhere.”

“We just came back from somewhere.” Eileen eyed Mary Helen’s grapefruit.

Since she found it nearly impossible to eat grapefruit without squirting those around her, Mary Helen put it aside for later. She wanted nothing to distract Eileen’s attention. Much to her surprise, it was Cecilia’s attention she aroused.

“You’re absolutely right, Mary Helen.” The president smiled nervously. “It is much too nice a day to stay home. Where are you thinking of going?”

“Oh, just for a little ride. Sightseeing, maybe, as if we were tourists. Visit someplace we seldom go, like . . . say”—she paused for effect—“like Mission Dolores . . .” Mary Helen let the phrase ride on the air.

Eileen looked at her perplexed. “Mission Dolores? Why on earth? Besides, we have jobs, old dear. Remember?”

“What a grand idea!” It was Cecilia who seemed enthusiastic. “I’ll bet it’s beautiful out the Mission today.” Her eyes glowed. “I was born and raised in the Mission,” she said.

Mary Helen gulped. She might have known. The Mission District was home to many of San Francisco’s notables. She could feel the college president warm to the bait.

“Would you like to go?” she asked, trying not to sound as if she had caught the wrong fish.

Cecilia shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d love to, but you know I can’t. What would people think if I took a Tuesday morning off? Besides, I have several meetings today and . . .”

Mary Helen didn’t hear the rest of the answer. She was trying too hard to suppress a sigh of relief.

“And neither can we!” Eileen rose from the table. “We have responsibilities, too, even if our age entitles us to be legitimately part-time.”

“What is the point of being part-time unless we are gone part of the time?” Mary Helen addressed her
friend’s fleeting back. “We owe it to them to go. It keeps them honest!”

It took her until nearly ten o’clock to convince Eileen that a ride to Mission Dolores was exactly what the two of them and the system needed.

Fortunately, the convent’s green Nova was free and Mary Helen signed it out on the car calendar “till late.”

“How late?” Eileen followed her toward the back door.

Mary Helen pretended not to hear. At her age, she could act a little hard of hearing. It worked for Therese, who was a full ten years younger.

As the pair passed the kitchenette just inside the back door, Mary Helen heard voices. It was Therese with a couple in tow.

“Hi, Sisters!” Patricia Boscacci turned quickly and moved across the room, giving them each a big hug.

Mary Helen liked Pat. She had graduated from Mount St. Francis almost twenty years before, but she still could easily have been mistaken for a coed. It was hard to believe that the petite, perky lady with curly honey-brown hair had four children, two of them teenagers.

Behind her stood her husband, Allan, quietly smiling. Allan towered over his wife. He was as calm and contained as she was vivacious and talkative. To Mary Helen they seemed a perfect pair, although she had to admit she sometimes felt a twinge of sympathy for Allan.

The man was the successful head of a large electrical firm somewhere in the city. Although he had a degree in electrical engineering, his wife always considered him an electrician. Pat loved the Sisters and was a very active alumna. Therefore, whenever there was an electrical problem at the college—from a balky socket to the whole heating system—she arrived with Allan.