Murder Makes a Pilgrimage (15 page)

Their silence was becoming strained, at least for Sister Mary Helen. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Heidi. Whom had Lisa left the bedroom with on Friday afternoon? What had they done last night? When had Lisa left the room and why? Last and probably least important, why had
Heidi brought an old snapshot with her on the trip? Mary Helen searched for a question or a remark to break the unnatural quiet. Before she could think of one, Eileen came to the rescue.

“Well, look at that!” Eileen exclaimed, pointing into a shopwindow crowded with souvenirs. A garish replica of the cathedral made into a barometer was dead center.

A little inane but a start!

Heidi stared at the trinket with little enthusiasm. The tiny barometer, set where the cathedral door should be, forecast rain. “And it works,” Eileen said brightly.

Heidi gave a wan smile and studied an array of postcards on a wire stand just inside the shop’s closed door. “I promised my cousin Doreen I’d write,” she said, nodding toward the display. “Maybe I should buy one.”

“The shop opens again at sixteen hundred.” Eileen indicated the hours posted on the door.

Mary Helen watched Heidi count the time on her fingers. “Four o’clock,” she said triumphantly.

“Is that Doreen’s picture I noticed in your room?” Mary Helen asked, not wanting to let slip a perfect opening.

Heidi frowned. “What picture?”

She was either genuinely puzzled or the best actress Mary Helen had seen in a long time.

“In the drawer of the armoire. I just happened to notice a snapshot,” she hurried on, hoping not to sound as if she had been intentionally snooping. “I picked up some of Lisa’s things while you were in the bathroom.”

“That picture!” Heidi’s hazel eyes lit up in a rush of understanding. “That’s not mine. That’s Lisa’s.”

It was Mary Helen’s turn to be puzzled.

“Lisa always carries that picture with her. It was taken years ago when we were still best friends,” Heidi explained. “When Lisa was at her ugliest, at least that’s what she
says—said.” Heidi’s face blanched as she corrected herself. “Before she got thin and glamorous. The only thing she didn’t change was her crooked tooth. She would have, but her mom couldn’t afford it.

“She said it reminded her of what she was like and what she never wanted to be again.” Heidi gave a hollow little laugh. “She kinda liked to rub it in, you know?”

Mary Helen was afraid that she did know. At least she could well imagine Lisa’s being quite impervious to other people’s feelings. During their short acquaintance Lisa had appeared shallow and callous, flirting as she had with the men in the group and leaving Heidi alone on the first afternoon.

“By the time we walk down to the Convent of St. Francis, look around and walk back, all these shops will surely be open,” Mary Helen said. Her mind rattled around for a way to introduce the topic of Lisa’s whereabouts on the afternoon in question. She need not have bothered.

“Speaking of Lisa, God rest her,” Eileen began in a no-nonsense tone of voice, “whom did you say she left the room with yesterday afternoon?”

Heidi blinked repeatedly. Either she’s having difficulty remembering or she has something in her eye, Mary Helen thought impatiently.

“When I was in the shower, you mean?”

Eileen nodded.

“Why do you want to know?”

Great, Mary Helen thought, watching Heidi’s mouth form a pout. Fine time for her to turn into a prima donna.

“We want to know”—Mary Helen was glad Eileen included her—“so that we can get a handle on Lisa’s movements prior to her death.”

Astonished, Sister Mary Helen stared at Eileen. Good night, nurse! What is she reading? She sounds like something right out of a police procedural.

Heidi’s eyes lit up again. “Like real detectives,” she said obviously thrilled with the concept.

Eileen, avoiding Mary Helen’s eyes, gave a businesslike nod. “Just like them,” she said in the thickest brogue Mary Helen had heard in a long while.

“It was Neil Fong,” Heidi blurted out.

I should have bet money, Mary Helen thought. It made perfect sense. Dr. Fong came to the nuns’ bedroom door by mistake with his silly Polaroid snapshot, then went in search of Lisa. When he did find her, they went for a walk, perhaps, stopped for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, which was, of course, why Rita Fong was cold and distant toward him at dinner.

As the trio neared the end of the street and the imposing monument of St. Francis, a group of Japanese tourists swarmed over the plaza in front of the convent. At some silent signal, they clustered around a small woman holding up a red flag.

“About the year 1214 St. Francis of Assisi came to Compostela on a pilgrimage and was inspired to build a convent here for his friars.” The red flag lady began first in flawless English, then switched into Japanese.

This is going to be a lengthy tour, Mary Helen thought, searching the area for a quiet spot, someplace to sit and talk. With a scrape and a creak, the wooden doors of La Perla Café unfolded. Perfect!

“How about something hot to drink?” she suggested.

The proprietor stood in the open entrance, scanning the sky. Mary Helen followed his gaze. Rain clouds piled up into an ominous mound. Any moment now it would pour. She hurried the other two toward a small round table.

“Ah, señoras.” The proprietor greeted them warmly and called over their order to a countergirl.
“Tapas?”
he inquired hospitably.

Heidi looked blank. Eileen leafed through her pocket dictionary while the man waited patiently. Finally she shrugged and said, “Why not?”

“I hope we don’t discover ‘why not?,’ ” Mary Helen said, watching the proprietor hurry away to help the countergirl.

Within moments, he reappeared with three steaming cups of
cafe con leche
, as well as a plate full of thick, cold squares of Spanish omelet topped with asparagus and tomato slices.

“Where was your faith?” Eileen asked, smiling at the man and scooping up a square.

When he left, Sister Mary Helen hunched forward. “If we plan to be detectives, we are going to have to act like detectives,” she pronounced in her firmest voice.

“How do you mean?”

Was Heidi frightened? Mary Helen softened her tone. “I mean that we must not let any detail slip by us. Everything you remember is important, Heidi. In fact, your memories are essential.”

Heidi’s bottom lip began to quiver.

Eileen shot Mary Helen a warning glance. “What Sister means”—she patted Heidi’s chubby hand—“is that we’ll help you try to remember as many details as possible. You just relax and do the best that you can. We will start by asking you some questions.”

“I’ll try.” Heidi’s voice was tentative.

The gentle ripple of rain against the cafe windows provided a soothing background for their whispered conversation.

“Did Lisa say anything when she returned yesterday afternoon?” Mary Helen began.

Heidi looked blank.

“From her walk with Dr. Fong?” Eileen prodded.

Heidi brightened. “Only that he was a drag. She did say
that she was sorry she left me alone. I was really mad when she got back to the room, and I told her so, too. It was my trip, you know.”

Mary Helen did know. Heidi had mentioned it several times.

“I guess I was screaming because she told me to be quiet.” A dark cloud of anger passed across Heidi’s plain face. “But I wouldn’t be quiet. I’m real sick of Lisa telling me stuff like she knows everything. You know what I mean?”

Mary Helen nodded, studying Heidi. “Carries anger as the flint bears fire.” Strangely Shakespeare’s words jumped into her mind.

“Anyhow, when I finally got so mad I stopped screaming and started to cry, Lisa said that she was sorry.”

“What else did Lisa say?”

“Nothing. We just hugged and made up, like we always do.”

Mary Helen figured as much. Obviously Lisa had had Heidi down to a system, although she doubted that Lisa had realized how deep and genuine her friend’s anger really was. The pattern was probably set while they were still toddlers and continued until . . . It was difficult to think of Lisa as dead. It was harder still, dead or not, to think well of her.

“At dinner it certainly seemed as if you two had buried the hatchet,” Eileen said cheerfully.

Mary Helen grimaced. Not into each other, I hope. She tried to shake the image of Lisa’s open skull, blood snaking across the raspberry lamé.

“Tell us about last night, Heidi, everything that you can remember.” Eileen encouraged the young woman, loath to drop her line of questioning.

Much to Mary Helen’s chagrin, Heidi did just that. She regaled the nuns with everything that happened during the entire evening. She chronicled every morsel they ate, every
drink they drank, and every witty thing, however insignificant, that Pepe said.

When Heidi finished, Sister Mary Helen knew few more pertinent facts than when the girl had begun: The Bowmans were the first to leave the public room. The Fongs left next, with Rita very angry. That was probably the loud arguing in the hallway. Before long the DeAngelos followed. Pepe and María José had quarreled, with Pepe returning to dance the evening away. She had not known about the midnight walk around the university, although she suspected that Pepe and the two girls were the three o’clock gigglers.

“Then there was the note under the door,” Heidi added as an afterthought.

Eileen and Mary Helen bolted upright in their chairs. “What note?” they asked in unison.

Heidi frowned. “Only an old note for Lisa. Someone shoved it under our door.”

“Who was it from?”

“I don’t know.” Heidi’s slit-eyed glance was almost cunning. “She told me it was from an ‘admirer,’ but I don’t think it was.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause she wouldn’t let me see it and she acted kinda mad when she read it.”

“Mad?” Pumping Heidi was becoming as tedious as playing pickup sticks.

Heidi shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. She tore it up in little pieces and flushed it!”

“Did Lisa say anything about meeting someone early this morning?”

Heidi shook her head.

Dead end! Mary Helen felt deflated. No name. No note. No nothing! Surely the note was from the murderer. He or
she had planned a rendezvous with Lisa, a rendezvous that angered Lisa. Then why had she gone?

“You slept soundly the rest of the night?” With one of those half questions of hers, Eileen picked up the trail.

“Yeah.”

“You heard and saw nothing else?”

“Not until Pepe knocked on my door this morning. Lisa’s stuff was all over the place, and her bed was empty. I was half asleep myself when Pepe told me that she was . . .” Heidi’s eyes began to fill.

This was exactly what Mary Helen was hoping to avoid. “Let’s not forget your postcard for your cousin.” She grasped at a straw.

With much counting of pesetas, they settled their bill, and Mary Helen jotted down the amount in her travel diary to study later. She was curious to know just how much they had spent on
tapas
and coffee. With so many zeroes, it was difficult to tell.

Outside, the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the buildings and streets with a silver glistening. The impressive Convent of St. Francis forgotten, they began the walk back to the
hostal
, window-shopping as they went.

Sister Mary Helen scarcely saw the trinkets on display. Her mind whirled and spun, plucking at the details of their trip. Three short days ago Eileen and she were in San Francisco, their fellow
peregrinos
unknown. And less than a month ago, Santiago de Compostela and its Holy Year the farthest thing from their minds. And now?

She replayed all that Heidi had related. Surely the answer was there if she just knew where to look. And there was something else, another question she’d wanted to ask, but it hung at the edge of her mind just beyond her reach.

With a fistful of postcards, Heidi emerged from a small curio shop, Eileen right behind her. Mercifully she held only
a single card. She must have noticed the expression on Mary Helen’s face.

“We had better send the nuns one at least,” she said defensively.

“We’ll get home before it does,” Mary Helen answered.

“Thank God for small favors.” Eileen slipped the postcard into her purse.

By the time they reached their bedroom, Mary Helen was exhausted. The time change, her lack of sleep, and today’s tensions were catching up with her. After kicking off her shoes, she spread out on the high, canopied bed, feeling like a beached whale.

At the desk Eileen chewed the end of her pen and stared down at the postcard. “What can we say that isn’t a lie if they find out what happened and we didn’t tell them, yet doesn’t tell them what happened if they never find out?”

It took Mary Helen’s tired brain a few moments to untangle the syntax. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave,/When first we practice to deceive!” she said with her eyes closed.

“I know what.” Eileen ignored the allusion. “I will just say, ‘We are having a very interesting time,’ and I’ll underline
very
.”

Mary Helen’s eyes smarted. The room was quiet now that Eileen had written the postcard and climbed atop her own bed for a short rest. Mary Helen heard her steady, rhythmic breathing. The velvet window drapes billowed out in the breeze. Everything was so still. Mary Helen’s eyelids grew heavy, pulling her toward sleep.

With a start she remembered the question that had been eluding her. She tiptoed to the telephone and dialed Heidi’s room.

“Hello.” An eager Heidi picked it up on the first ring.

Ah, youth, Mary Helen thought sleepily. “Heidi, I was just wondering. On the plane, after the turbulence, when we
all were going off to sleep, I remember hearing Lisa go toward the back of the plane. I think someone went with her. Do you have any idea who?”

“Why do you want to know?” Heidi asked. She sounded almost belligerent.

“As we discussed before, it’s just the detective thing.” Mary Helen’s patience was strained.

After a momentary pause Heidi spoke. “The teacher. You know, Roger. He went back after her.”