Moving Can Be Murder (21 page)

Concentrating on getting the most items for
the least amount of money is a game I’ve been playing with myself
ever since Jim retired. I usually lose, to hear My Beloved tell it,
but I keep on trying. It’s kind of like going to one of the casinos
Connecticut is famous for and playing the slots.

I was concentrating extra hard today on
bargain shopping because I didn’t want any stray thoughts of dead
house buyers, failed real estate transactions, or possible arrests
of best friends for murder to creep into my mind. So I didn’t even
see another grocery cart coming down the canned food aisle until I
careened into it.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “My mind was on
something else and I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“You always had your mind on other things,
Carol. That’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed,” said the
driver of the other shopping cart.

Good grief. It was Sister Rose.

“What’s wrong, Carol? You were never at a
loss for words. Didn’t you think nuns ate?”

This was too much. I was in no mood for the
good sister’s peculiar brand of sarcasm today. And, besides, if Jim
and I decided to – graciously – allow our antique home to be used
as a fundraising venue for Sally’s Place, Sister Rose had better
straighten up and start being nicer to me.

Of course, I needed her cooperation, too,
for my potentially Pulitzer-Prize-winning article on domestic
violence, but I chose not to focus on that. Right now, I had other
matters to clear up with my former English teacher.

“You know, Sister,” I said, “I never
understood why you always went out of your way to criticize me when
I was in high school. And now that I’m an adult, even though we
haven’t seen each other in years, you’re still doing it. I never
had the nerve to speak up for myself when I was a teenager, but you
can’t give me in-school suspension any more. I think you owe me an
explanation. And an apology.”

We stood there, shopping cart to shopping
cart, while other shoppers maneuvered around us. I was shaking,
either from anger or fear. Would I be punished in hell for calling
a nun out?

Sister Rose finally broke the silence.

“You’re right, Carol. There are some things
I need to say to you. But not here. How about if we finish our
shopping and meet for a cup of coffee? You could come to my office
at Sally’s Place. It’s more private there.”

“I’m all for having a cup of coffee,” I
said. But not on your turf. I’m not that crazy. “I usually have a
quick shot of caffeine around this time of day. But I have another
idea. Why don’t we meet at The Paperback Café, instead? Do you know
where that is?”

Sister Rose nodded. “I’ll see you there in
half an hour.”

I called after her, “Don’t be late.” Of
course, I didn’t say it very loud. I just wanted to have the last
word with her. For once in my life.

The Café was quiet when I got there. Of
course, Sister Rose had gotten there ahead of me, and was already
sipping a cup of steaming coffee.

Rats. I really wanted to get there first. I
know, that’s childish.

I hoped our little coffee klatch wouldn’t
take too long. I had perishable groceries in my car. But I was
curious about what Sister Rose had to say to me.

Once I had my own cup of half decaf/half
regular coffee, I settled myself in the booth opposite her. So far,
she hadn’t even acknowledged my presence. I realized I could luck
out. If she didn’t talk at all, I’d be back at the apartment in no
time.

“Carol,” she finally said, “what I’m going
to tell you isn’t an apology. It’s more of an explanation. You can
take it any way you want to.”

Sister Rose took a deep breath. Then she
asked, “How old do you think I am?”

Huh? Now this was really weird. The next
thing, we’d be promising to send each other birthday cards.

I took a good look at her. I mean, I looked
at her. When I was in high school, I always assumed all our
teachers were old. Really old. At least, well, forty. Fifty, even.
But if Sister Rose had been forty then, that’d make her – I did
some quick math, not my strong suit – close to eighty today.

The woman sitting opposite me was nowhere
near that age. In fact, she looked remarkably like someone…someone
my age. And never mind exactly what that age is.

“I’m only four years older than you, Carol,”
Sister Rose said.

“Surprised?”

Surprised? I was in shock.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “That means when I
was in high school…”

“I was still only four years older than
you.”

She spread her hands wide in front of her.
“Don’t you see, Carol? I was a young girl, too, just like all of
you. Mount Saint Francis was my very first teaching assignment. I
was scared to death. But determined to be the very best English
teacher I could possibly be. And I wanted everyone to respect me,
so I forced all my students to toe the line. There was no fooling
around in my class.

“I admit I overdid it in the discipline
area. I did tone it down as I got more used to teaching. But your
class was my first one. I didn’t want any of you to suspect how
young I was. And how insecure.”

Wow. This was pretty amazing. I couldn’t
wait to tell Nancy about this.

“OK,” I said slowly. “I get the fact that
you were young and scared back then. But that doesn’t excuse the
fact that you’re still coming down on me just like you used to do
in high school.”

I wasn’t letting her off the hook that
easily.

“Old habits die hard, Carol,” said Sister
Rose. “A little nun humor there.”

Humph.

“I always wanted the best for you. But you
aggravated me so much. You had tremendous potential and I felt I
needed to push you hard to force you to live up to it. I guess
seeing you again pushed me back into that same mode. Every now and
then, at Sally’s Place, I tend to do the same thing when I see a
young woman about to make a huge life mistake. The difference there
is, when I start to get like that, the women don’t let me get away
with it.”

“Maybe you’re losing your touch,” I
said.

Oops. My bad.

“Sorry, Sister. I still have a smart
mouth.”

To my amazement, Sister Rose laughed out
loud. I don’t think I’d ever heard her laugh before. And then I
started to laugh. We made quite a picture, two middle-aged women
laughing like teenagers.

“One other thing I want to get straight with
you, Carol,” my coffee companion said. “Please, just call me Rose.
Not Sister Rose. Especially if you’re at Sally’s Place or the
thrift shop. We try to downplay the religious connection. It
intimidates some of the clients. My life now is all about helping
women and children who are going through the toughest time in their
lives. Some of the stories I’ve heard make me want to cry.”

I nodded encouragingly. This could be the
start of my domestic violence article.

“Not that I can share any of them with you
or anyone else, Carol. I sometimes feel the burden of
confidentiality is more than I can bear. But the Good Lord always
keeps me going.”

OK. Forget the article for now. But maybe,
if I met Sister Rose at Sally’s Place, she’d be more willing to
talk. If only to give me some background information on the
magnitude of the problem.

“I don’t think I can call you ‘Rose,’
Sister. I bet Nancy and Claire and Mary Alice would say the same
thing. You remember all of them, right?”

“Mary Alice Mahoney. Now, she was a lovely
girl. Very quiet and studious.”

“You mean, not at all like me?” I asked.

Sister Rose laughed. “You don’t think I’m
going to respond to that, do you, Carol?”

I shook my head.

“Mary Alice married Brian Costello while he
was in medical school, and they had two sons. Then, Brian died
tragically, in a car accident.”

Should I go any further? Was Sister Rose the
one person I could talk to who would absolutely keep my confidence
about Mary Alice and Jack Cartwright? That was a pretty outrageous
idea. I hadn’t seen the woman in years. And I certainly never
thought we’d be trading secrets.

But apparently, because of her role as
Director of Sally’s Place, she was the keeper of many women’s
secrets. And took that commitment very seriously.

Hmm. Hadn’t she just told me something about
herself that was pretty personal.

I looked at my watch. The Paperback Café
would be closing in about 20 minutes. In fact, the servers were
already refilling the salt and pepper shakers and setting up for
tomorrow’s breakfast.

What the hell. I mean, what the heck.

I went for it.

“Sister.” I paused. “I mean, Rose. I’d like
to share something with you, too. In fact, you may be the only one
I can tell. It’s about Mary Alice. And my husband Jim and me. Oh, I
forgot, you don’t even know I’m married. Well, he’s a great guy,
and I have two terrific kids….”

Sister Rose looked at me like I was stupid.
It was a familiar look.

“Carol, maybe some other time you can fill
me in on your own life. But now, what do you want to tell me about
Mary Alice?”

She took my hands and squeezed them. Much
too tightly. Ouch.

“I could tell that you had something
bothering you. That’s why I decided to tell you my secret. So you’d
feel comfortable sharing with me.”

“You surprise me,” I said. “But then, you
usually did. How did you figure out I had something on my
mind?”

“Years of working with families in crisis
have taught me to read faces fairly well,” Sister Rose said. “And I
believe there are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is
all part of The Plan. How else do you explain our paths crossing
after all these years?”

I could have answered, “Because I like to
shop for bargains,” but this time, I didn’t shoot my mouth off.

“Mary Alice may be in serious trouble,” I
said. “And I found out something today that could make it even
worse for her.”

I poured out the whole sad tale, as
succinctly as I could, starting with the house sale, finding Jack,
Mary Alice’s presence at the house that night, and, finally, the
old newspaper article. By the time I was finished, I was on the
verge of tears. No surprise, right?

“What should I do, Sister? Should I talk to
Mary Alice? Maybe try to find out what happened to Jack on my own?
You don’t think I should go to the police, do you?”

“I’m glad you talked to me about this,
Carol. But you must understand that everything you’ve said about
Mary Alice’s involvement is purely speculation on your part. And
you don’t even know that a crime was committed. You’re jumping to
conclusions. Something I seem to remember you did quite a lot when
you were younger.” Sister Rose smiled to take the sting out of her
words.

“Please know that you can trust me to keep
this completely confidential. And you can talk to me any time you
feel the need for a sounding board. I hope that, after all these
years, you and I can become friends.

“I’m sure Mary Alice is innocent of any
wrong-doing. But do not, I repeat, do not, start investigating
Jack’s death on your own. You’ll only stir up trouble. Let the
police do their job, and hopefully the whole thing will blow over.
Mary Alice may never know who Jack really was. That may be for the
best.”

I knew she was right, of course. I should
mind my own business.

But I also knew that if the police suspected
Mary Alice of a crime, there was no way I wouldn’t get
involved.

Sister Rose and I parted in front of The
Paperback Café. She actually gave me a quick peck on the cheek.
Boy, talk about surprising me.

I was halfway back to the apartment before
it dawned on me that we hadn’t even talked about the show
house.

Chapter
23