A Novena for Murder (9 page)

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?”