True Believers (35 page)
Authors: Jane Haddam
There were funeral arrangements to be made for Sister Harriet Garrity. It wouldn't be a quick funeral, or even necessarily a local one, but Sister Scholastica felt as if life would make a bit more sense if she could get the details straightened out, and so that was what she was trying to do. The first requirement had been to notify Harriet's order, which was called the Daughters of the Immaculate Conceptionâa name, Scholastica thought, that had probably made Harriet's teeth grate. It was strange to think of the things they had all taken for granted in 1962: the First Fridays and First Saturdays devotions; the brown scapulars and Miraculous Medals; the intentions made in the hopes of gaining indulgences for the suffering souls in Purgatory. Scholastica still remembered the kinds of indulgences there wereâpartial and plenary. A plenary indulgence got the soul out of Purgatory immediately. A partial indulgence got some of the years of suffering taken off that soul's sentence, and the years were long. There were partial indulgences that took off hundreds of years, and yet, since they were only partial, there must still be years left. Once, when she was eleven, Scholastica had found herself kneeling in the middle of the cathedral in Rochester, thinking that there would never be an end to it. No matter what the nuns said, Purgatory was forever, and if you got stuck there you would suffer only a little less than if you got stuck in hell, and you would never get out. For a moment, the room had seemed to dissolve, and she had thought herself surrounded by souls in agony, crying out to God for the cool relief of water. Then she had snapped back into the present, and there had been Judy Sullivan, sitting
in the pew right in front of her, wearing a blue angora sweater over her parochial-school uniform skirt. The colors clashed, but Scholastica had wanted that sweater even so.
in the pew right in front of her, wearing a blue angora sweater over her parochial-school uniform skirt. The colors clashed, but Scholastica had wanted that sweater even so.
The nun from Sister Harriet's order had been more gracious than Scholastica had expected her to be. Maybe, being used to Harriet, Scholastica had expected an argument, just as a matter of principle.
“We'll send somebody up, of course,” Sister Hilary Etchen had said. “Although I must admit I don't know who it will be. We only have four of us now in the motherhouse, and two of us are over seventy. You don't have that problem, do you, at Divine Grace?”
“We're short on vocations,” Scholastica had said. “Everybody is.”
“Yes, everybody is. But last year you had eight. And the average age of your Sisters is under fifty. Sometimes I think we should have kept the habit, just for its drawing power. Do you take girls right out of high school?”
“Sometimes. A lot of the time now we prefer to take them out of college.”
“And they come?”
“Well,” Scholastica had said, “some of them do, although not as many as used to when they all came as soon as they left parochial school. But it's mostly from the Catholic colleges, anyway, and from the conservative ones at that. We don't get a lot of candidates from the public universities.”
“No,” Sister Hilary had said, “I don't suppose you do. It makes me wonder, sometimes, if I had my head screwed on right, when I voted in favor of the changes we made in this order. I used to think that people would want to be part of us more if we were authentic, if we didn't traffic in ceremony and formality. But it seems the opposite is the case.”
“I think adolescent girls like to play dress-up,” Scholastica had said.
“We'll find somebody to come up. Sister Joanne Fuselli is serving in a parish in Wilmington, maybe she can get away. And we'll inform the relatives, of course. Harriet had quite a few relatives. It's hard to believe, isn't it? Sisters get murdered sometimes, on the street, in muggings, but something like this ⦠. Do you have a place to put the body if, you know, if it takes us some time to get this organized?”
“The body is at the medical examiner's. There has to be an autopsy. It won't even be released for a couple of days.”
“Oh. That's fine, then. I can manage something in a couple of days. Thank you so much for calling. We managed to get the news to her brother before it hit the newscasts. That was worth everything.”
“Yes,” Sister Scholastica had said. Then she had put the phone down and stared out her window, and fifteen minutes later she was
still
staring out her window. Reality had lost its edges, once again.
still
staring out her window. Reality had lost its edges, once again.
She got out from behind her desk and went into the hall. The office women were all at work, which meant that it was either before or after the noon rosary. She made it a point to attend the rosary every day, if only to set a good example for the other Sisters. The laywomen were always so grateful when their rosary was joined by the Sisters. Sister Scholastica went down the hall and stopped in Sister Thomasetta's doorway.
“So,” she said. “Where are we? Or aren't you getting much done today, either?”
“I'd be getting more done if the police didn't call every twenty minutes to ask silly questions. Where did Sister Harriet sleep. What did Sister Harriet have for breakfast. As if I were supposed to know. You remember what Harriet was like. She wouldn't eat with us. She wouldn't stay with us. Sometimes I think she would have been happier if we'd disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“It was a difference in political agendas,” Scholastica said, coming inside. “Except I never think of myself as having a political agenda. Have the police really been calling every twenty minutes?”
“That Detective Mansfield, yes. I've been imagining him sitting in his office somewhere, obsessing about Sister Harriet and her murder. But the thing is, there are better people to ask about the things he wants to know than me. Why should he ask me, just because I'm the one who happens to be answering the phone this morning?”
“You can send him down to me, if you'd like to.”
“What I'd like is for Sister Peter Rose to get the day off so that she can talk to him. I'm sorry, Sister. I don't mean to sound so irritated. I suppose I've had a bad day, with one thing and another, all day.”
“We all have.” Scholastica paced around the room. Sister Thomasetta was a woman of the old school in more ways than one. She had a framed picture of Our Lady of Fatima on her desk, and another of her niece and nephew, dressed to the death for Christmas. “So,” Scholastica said. “What else has been happening around here? Did Mary get the things she needed for the soup kitchen?”
“They sent somebody else. Mary went to take that young man from across the street around to do some things. You know the one. He's always sort of swishing around. He got a couple of ribs broken in the riot.”
“Chickie George.”
“That's it. Anyway, then she had to study. I have no idea how that girl does it. She's been Dean's List at St. Joe's for the past three years, did you know that? Peter Rose told me. And the soup kitchen and the Sodality and praying the Office every day. And that boyfriend of hers treats her like cornflakes. Someday she's going to wise up and walk out on him, and then he'll be sorry.”
“I guess. Is that it? Have we really managed to go through a day where nothing happened?”
“Pretty much,” Thomasetta said. “Oh, I managed to go through those records you sent me. Only once, mind you, I've been doing payroll. But I looked through them. You're right. They're a mess.”
“I thought so. Father Healy is a nice man, but he's hopeless when it comes to things like this. And you know if the archdiocese catches the discrepancy, we'll all be in trouble whether it was our responsibility or not. The Cardinal Archbishop isn't the world's easiest person. Do you think you can fix it?”
“Give me a day or two, yes. It's just sloppiness. It isn't even unusual sloppiness. Maybe you ought to go over to the house and have something to eat.”
“Maybe I should,” Scholastica said. “Don't you wonder how they did it? Whoever killed Sister Harriet. How they got her to eat the arsenic. You'd think she would have known that the person hated her.”
“Harriet? Harriet had the emotional intelligence of a sea slug.”
Scholastica wanted to laugh, but she caught herself at the last minute. Then she left Sister Thomasetta's office and went
down the hall again, but in the other direction. When she got to the end, she opened the fire door and stepped into the cold. She looked up at the big brick building that was St. Anselm's Schoolâand that had been, for almost a hundred years nowâand decided that she just couldn't face playing principal at the moment. She was being very unfair to Sister Peter Rose, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. Maybe she
wasn't
cut out to be a nun, at least not a nun of the kind that Reverend Mother General was. By now, Reverend Mother General would have solved the crime and provided Gregor Demarkian with incontrovertible and fully admissible evidence of the same.
down the hall again, but in the other direction. When she got to the end, she opened the fire door and stepped into the cold. She looked up at the big brick building that was St. Anselm's Schoolâand that had been, for almost a hundred years nowâand decided that she just couldn't face playing principal at the moment. She was being very unfair to Sister Peter Rose, she knew, but she couldn't help herself. Maybe she
wasn't
cut out to be a nun, at least not a nun of the kind that Reverend Mother General was. By now, Reverend Mother General would have solved the crime and provided Gregor Demarkian with incontrovertible and fully admissible evidence of the same.
Scholastica went in the side door of the church, looked around at the people praying in the pews, and then went around the back to the stairs that led to the basement. She checked the boxes that had been set out for the food drive, and the other boxes, left against the wall in piles on the floor, that held the rosaries and the scapulars for the First Holy Communion classes. Then she reminded herself that somebody else had already seen to all this, and that none of it was her job at all. She was just looking for a way to waste time that would not make her feel guilty. She felt guilty every time she thought of the way she had behaved at the sight of Sister Harriet's body.
She came back up to the first floor and went out the front door of the church. She looked across at St. Stephen's and wondered what they were doing in there. There was more activity than there usually was in the middle of the day in the middle of the week. She looked up the street in the direction of Roy Phipps's place, but that was calm enough, too, this morning. Maybe they were tired of picketing. It always surprised her that nobody had ever done any damage to Roy Phipps or his church. You would think, given the nonsense he pulled, that violence would be inevitable.
Scholastica started to turn back to the church, but as she did she saw a woman coming up the street, and because the woman was familiar, she stopped. A second later, she realized who it was: that Edith Lawton person, the professional atheist, who lived with her husband in one of the single-family town houses on the block. Scholastica didn't want to know what one of those town houses cost, or how you could afford one on the money you made by being a professional atheistâbut
then, Edith Lawton was supposed to be married. At the moment, she looked oddly mismatched, as if she were the living embodiment of one of those Picasso paintings from the 1920s. The parts of her didn't go together. She was dressed like a teenager, in jeans and a down jacket, and she was almost thin enough to pull it off, but her face was the face of a fifty-year-old woman. In the harsh light of the intermittent sun, it looked even older.
then, Edith Lawton was supposed to be married. At the moment, she looked oddly mismatched, as if she were the living embodiment of one of those Picasso paintings from the 1920s. The parts of her didn't go together. She was dressed like a teenager, in jeans and a down jacket, and she was almost thin enough to pull it off, but her face was the face of a fifty-year-old woman. In the harsh light of the intermittent sun, it looked even older.
“Mrs. Lawton,” Sister Scholastica said.
“Hello, Sister.”
“What are you doing this morning? You look ready to go skiing.”
Edith Lawton stopped, and hesitated, and looked at the church. “I was going to go to Mass. That's all right, isn't it, even if I'm not Catholic.”
“It's more than all right. We encourage it.”
“Even if I've never been a Catholic?”
“Even if you've never been a Catholic. I thought you didn't believe in God.”
“I don't. God is just a fairy tale, like Santa Claus. People only believe in him because they're afraid of dying. Do you mean I can't go to Mass if I don't believe in God?”
“No,” Scholastica said wryly. “We
especially
encourage you to go to Mass if you don't believe in God.”
especially
encourage you to go to Mass if you don't believe in God.”
“Religion is a terrible thing,” Edith Lawton said piously. “Look at all the harm it causes. Look at what happened to those poor boys and right here in this very church. Don't you think it's a shame, that those boys were hurt and then the faithful gave their donations just so that they could be used to pay the lawyers? The Church has a lot to apologize for.” Then she turned her back and hurried down the walk into the church.
Scholastica watched her go with some amusement. Then she folded her hands under her scapularâto get them warm; in the old days they walked with their hands like this all the time, to keep them out of sightâand crossed the street to St. Stephen's.
There was going to be a big prayer service over there for the victims of the riot, and she had volunteered the Sisters to help out with the details.
She wondered if Edith Lawton would have a vision at the Consecration and want to become a nun. She could just see
the program on EWTN, with Edith in a postulant's habit, telling the story of her conversion.
the program on EWTN, with Edith in a postulant's habit, telling the story of her conversion.
The road was empty of traffic, so she crossed the street. If she went on like this much longer, she was going to give herself a serious case of the giggles, at a time when she had no right to laugh at all.
Bennis Hannaford had never been one of those people who could tell herself that God arranged all things for the best. If she lost her bank card, she didn't think it was because God was protecting her from a trip to the theater, since a trip would have ended in an accident. If she couldn't sleep one night, she didn't think God was trying to make her so exhausted that she wouldn't have the energy to worry when something came along to worry about. Part of that was the simple fact that Bennis had a hard time believing in God, but more of it had to do with the fact that she was a pessimist. Bennis Hannaford did not think things worked out for the best. In fact, if she believed in any occult power at all, it was the one that was working overtime to make sure things worked out for the worst. That was why, when she found the capital-punishment essay up on Edith Lawton's website, she didn't gloat about its being there. The only reason it was going to be up on the web was that Edith had found it impossible to publish. Web publication was just as bad, as far as Bennis was concerned. Millions of people would be able to read the thing, and, what was worse, it was tucked in among all of Edith's other obsessions, like the priest pedophilia scandal and the endless blather about the Catholic Church and abortion. Bennis couldn't understand why so many secular writers presented the Catholic Church's stand on abortion as if they'd just uncovered a well-hidden scandal under a very large rock. It was like people who were shockedâjust shockedâto realize that cigarettes caused lung cancer. The only people who didn't know those things by now had to be brain-dead.
She was, she thought, having a nicotine fit, except that these days she didn't actually feel like smoking, only like killing someone. Edith Lawton would have been a good choice, but
she wasn't available on Cavanaugh Street in the early afternoon, and probably never would be. Bennis tried to imagine what Father Tibor would make of Edith Lawton. He'd read some of her workâthat's what happened when you pointed Father Tibor to a websiteâbut all he'd been willing to say of her was that she “lacked seriousness.”
she wasn't available on Cavanaugh Street in the early afternoon, and probably never would be. Bennis tried to imagine what Father Tibor would make of Edith Lawton. He'd read some of her workâthat's what happened when you pointed Father Tibor to a websiteâbut all he'd been willing to say of her was that she “lacked seriousness.”
I am avoiding the issue, Bennis told herself, and then she let herself out the front door of the small apartment building. On just the other side of the street, Donna Moradanyan was standing near the top of a tall ladder, putting red and white crepe paper across the front of the facade of Lida Arkmanian's house. The crepe-paper strands were curled on each other, so that they made a kind of barber-pole effect, except sideways. Lida was standing at the bottom of the ladder, in her three-quarter-length chinchilla coat, fussing.
“She is going to fall off,” Lida was saying, as Bennis came up. “She is going to break her neck. That is what is going to happen here.”
“I'm going to put the light cord through the window,” Donna Moradanyan called down. “Then you can plug it in when you get back inside. Or this evening. When it gets dark. You know what I mean.”
“Please be careful,” Lida Arkmanian said.
“She cannot be careful,” Hannah Krekorian said. “If she's careful, she won't get anything done. She has to be brave.”
“I don't understand why she doesn't just hire somebody to put that stuff up,” Sheila Kashinian said. “I mean, for God's sake, Russ is a lawyer. He must make a mint.”
“Don't say âfor God's sake,'” Lida Arkmanian said. “You know what Father Tibor said last Sunday in church. We all take the Lord's name in vain far too much around here.”
“I don't see why anybody should bother me about taking the Lord's name in vain,” Sheila Kashinian said. “I'm not the one who swears every time I lose the lottery. And what about the lottery? Isn't that supposed to be against Christian principles?”
“Only if you're a Protestant,” Hannah Krekorian said.
Bennis went around the other side of the ladder. “You okay?” she called up.
“I'm fine,” Donna said. “I shouldn't have used crepe paper for this. It gets ruined in the weather. But then I have to worry
about the lights, and crepe paper works with the lights. What's with you? Aren't you working again today?”
about the lights, and crepe paper works with the lights. What's with you? Aren't you working again today?”
“I was looking for Gregor,” Bennis said. “He doesn't seem to be around anywhere.”
“He left the neighborhood a couple of hours ago. I assumed he was off to talk to the police about the murders. Can you look around down there and see if there's a red satin heart with a tab on the end of it? I'm missing one.”
Bennis went to the pile of materials lying in a heap at the bottom of the ladder and started to look through them. Most of what was there was paper, bits and pieces that looked as if they had been wrongly cut and then discarded, but not exactly thrown away. The heart was very small. Bennis nearly missed it. She picked it up and stood back.
“Do you want me to climb up there and give it to you?”
“No. I'll be right down. You ought to do something with yourself. You're driving yourself and everybody else crazy.”
“Well, I was going to do something with Gregor, but then he disappeared. You're not going to be able to reach over to the other side of the building from where you're standing.”
“I know.”
Donna let the crepe paper fall from the last place it had been taped. It hung down the front of the building like a ponytail. Then she came down the ladder and rubbed her hands against her slacks.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the heart. “I'm going to move the ladder. You should move yourself. When is your brother coming in?”
“It depends on which brother you're talking about. Christopher will be here at the end of the week.”
“Are the other two coming? I thought they weren't coming.”
“Teddy's already here. He's in a hotel somewhere holding press conferences. Or he would be, if this whole thing hadn't been overshadowed by the problems at St. Anselm's. What do you think Hannah would say? Maybe that the murders happened so that they would chase Anne Marie off the front pages and save my privacy.”
“What about Bobby?”
“God only knows,” Bennis said.
Donna took the heart and went back to the ladder. Then
she performed what seemed to Bennis to be an unnecessarily complicated series of tugs and bumps to get the ladder to move down the front of the building and rest somewhere near the middle.
she performed what seemed to Bennis to be an unnecessarily complicated series of tugs and bumps to get the ladder to move down the front of the building and rest somewhere near the middle.
“Do something,” she said. “Why don't you write a column about being harassed by what's-her-name. I'll bet you anything you can get it published somewhere good.
The Atlantic Monthly
.
Harper's
. That ought to make you feel better.”
The Atlantic Monthly
.
Harper's
. That ought to make you feel better.”
“Don't you ever wonder where people like that get their money?” Bennis asked. “I mean, I was born with money, and I still had to work before I started to get seriously published. And I know she's married, but stillâ”
“Maybe her husband makes a mint.”
“It's like other people know where to find money and I don't,” Bennis said. “It's like some secret nobody ever let me in on. Not that I need money now, of course, but when I was first starting out and nobody would take my stuff, I couldn't have lived in a town house in a major city and bought my bags at Coach. And her hair clips, too. Did I tell you she buys her hair clips at Coach?”
“She's got a husband.”
“She's got a husband who does something with computers. He can't be making that much money. Oh, I don't know. She probably has it from her family, or her husband's got it from his. Except I know everybody with family money in Philadelphia and on the Main Line, and I've never heard of them.”
Donna unearthed something that looked like Christmas lights, except the bulbs were all either white or red. She wound the strand around her arm and started up the ladder again.
“Go do something,” she said again. “Go buy food for when Christopher gets here, unless he's staying at Lida's, then go buy him something else. Go buy Gregor a Valentine's Day card. You're making us all nuts. You're worse like this than you were when you first quit smoking.”
“When I first quit smoking, I threw an end table through my living-room window.”
“I know. Trust me, it was less annoying. Go down to the Ohanians and volunteer for the Armenia Relief Committee. Just
do
something.”
do
something.”
“Right,” Bennis said, but all she did was to step back a little and watch Donna on the ladder, stringing lights through
crepe paper. The things that went through her head at times like thisâthat she wished somebody would rent the top-floor apartment in the building she shared with Gregor and old George Tekemanian; that she wished she had remembered to buy chocolate at the little store she liked near Independence Hallâwere sane enough, but didn't have to do with anything. Donna would probably find them ⦠annoying. She watched as Donna taped the strand of lights to the brick and then taped crepe paper over it, to hide the wires. Then she nodded a little to Lida and Hannah and Sheila and went down the block toward the Ararat and the church and Ohanian's Middle Eastern Foods. Lida's coat was the most spectacular, but all three of them had fur. Bennis couldn't imagine herself wearing something like that in public.
crepe paper. The things that went through her head at times like thisâthat she wished somebody would rent the top-floor apartment in the building she shared with Gregor and old George Tekemanian; that she wished she had remembered to buy chocolate at the little store she liked near Independence Hallâwere sane enough, but didn't have to do with anything. Donna would probably find them ⦠annoying. She watched as Donna taped the strand of lights to the brick and then taped crepe paper over it, to hide the wires. Then she nodded a little to Lida and Hannah and Sheila and went down the block toward the Ararat and the church and Ohanian's Middle Eastern Foods. Lida's coat was the most spectacular, but all three of them had fur. Bennis couldn't imagine herself wearing something like that in public.
At Ohanian's she stopped and bought a copy of the
Inquirer.
She paged through the first section and checked the editorials and op-eds, but it was all right. There was nothing about Anne Marie today. She folded the paper up and put it in the nearest wastebasket. She wouldn't read any more of it today, or any other day. She couldn't make herself concentrate on the news. She thought about going to the Ararat and decided there was no point. She wasn't hungry, and the last thing she needed was more coffee. She thought about going to see Tibor and decided that she couldn't sit still for a tour of his fifteen latest websites, even if some of them would be funny and others would be scary as hell. Some people visited websites for research. Some people visited them because they were looking for a cause that would let them vent their rage. Tibor visited them out of curiosityânot about hate, but about human nature.
Inquirer.
She paged through the first section and checked the editorials and op-eds, but it was all right. There was nothing about Anne Marie today. She folded the paper up and put it in the nearest wastebasket. She wouldn't read any more of it today, or any other day. She couldn't make herself concentrate on the news. She thought about going to the Ararat and decided there was no point. She wasn't hungry, and the last thing she needed was more coffee. She thought about going to see Tibor and decided that she couldn't sit still for a tour of his fifteen latest websites, even if some of them would be funny and others would be scary as hell. Some people visited websites for research. Some people visited them because they were looking for a cause that would let them vent their rage. Tibor visited them out of curiosityânot about hate, but about human nature.
In the end, she went back to the wastebasket and retrieved the paper. Then she checked her bag and made sure she had both money and credit cards. Then she walked all the way to the corner past Ohanian's and looked up the cross street for a cab. There were cabs. There were always tons of cabs near Cavanaugh Street, because cabbies loved to pick up people who lived there. Generations of being told not to be stingy about tips had had its effect.
Bennis got in and asked to be taken to Gump's. She had no idea why she wanted to go there, since she never bought any jewelry but earrings, and she almost never bought those.
She settled in the cab's backseat and went back to reading the paper, looking now through the stories that bored her silly, the announcements of weddings and funerals, the two-paragraph squibs about Little League games and zoning-commission meetings on the Main Line. She looked over the television listings and realized that she had never heard of half the shows being listed. She looked over the book and movie reviews and realized that, although she had heard of most of what was mentioned, she wanted no part of any of it. She was about to fold the paper up and tuck it away in her bag, when she saw the picture of a man she thought she recognized. She stared at him for a moment and came up blank. She was sure she had met him, but not where, or why, or with whom, if it had been with anybody. She leaned over and read the caption under his picture. “Ian Holden,” it said, “senior partner at Brady, Marquis and Holden.” She looked for the story and found another two-paragraph squib, announcing some charitable committee he had been named to chair. She rubbed the side of her face compulsively.
Brady, Marquis and Holden was the law firm that handled the work for the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Gregor had mentioned that. She didn't remember his mentioning Ian Holden, or any other lawyer in particular. Besides, she was convinced that she'd actually
met
him, shaken his hand, seen him in the flesh. Something like that. She had no idea why.
met
him, shaken his hand, seen him in the flesh. Something like that. She had no idea why.
Outside the cab, the traffic was getting worse and worse. It was the middle of the day, and too many people wanted to be in the same place at once. Had Holden been an assistant district attorney, back when Anne Marie was tried? He looked too old for that, and he seemed too senior. She rubbed her eyes again.
She met people every day, in all kinds of situations. She met them at workshops and signings. She met them at cocktail parties given by the organizations she supported. She met them on the street, when they recognized her from
Vanity Fair or Good Morning America
. It was probably nothing, really. She was making too much of it, the way she made too much of everything lately, because it was either that or deal with reality.
Vanity Fair or Good Morning America
. It was probably nothing, really. She was making too much of it, the way she made too much of everything lately, because it was either that or deal with reality.
She folded the paper firmly into quarters and put it in the
pocket on the back of the front seat. Then she stretched out her legs and closed her eyes.
pocket on the back of the front seat. Then she stretched out her legs and closed her eyes.
If she was going to act like a ninny, she might as well get some rest while she was doing it.
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