SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) (8 page)

I went back to the Hilton, showered and hit the breakfast buffet. Then I called the main Boston phone number for the Sisters of St. Jerome, the order to which Ronnie had belonged. I wanted to learn as much as I could about her recent life. I found out that Sister Veronica had for a time worked in the school that also housed what remained of the shrinking order. I made an appointment to see the Mother Superior, Sister Barbara, at 4 P.M. This made two cases in a row for me hunting a possible serial killer with religious motives. In fact, the last one ended with my name almost being added to a killer’s list. Maybe I was being punished for liking
The DaVinci Code
and
Angels and Demons
.

I spent the next several hours at the main branch of the Worcester library, reading every newspaper article I could find on Sister Veronica and Ave Maria. I had to get a temporary library card, good for two weeks, to use the system’s computer room, where I went on line to check for additional coverage. There was, of course, a rash of stories about the murder and subsequent investigation. None of them mentioned the possibility of a serial killer, but I knew that would soon change. There were several recent photos of Ronnie, at various local functions and, of course, school activities. I may have been seeing her through rose-colored glasses, but she still looked lovely to me, despite her conservative dress and hair style. Old memories stirred and I quickly pushed them back into the vault. I was now looking at a woman and a nun, after all.

I grabbed a burger at a Shake Shack and then went to my hotel and checked out.

CHAPTER 13 - MOTHER SUPERIOR

The Sisters of St. Jerome headquarters, if you could call it that, was located in a triple-decker house on Stellman Road, in the Forest Hills section of Roslindale, six miles southwest of downtown Boston. From Worcester it took me about an hour, mostly on I-90, the Mass Pike. There was a sign on the well-manicured front lawn that identified it as Casserleigh House. When I pulled up, a small group of kids, of every skin shade, speaking Spanish, were just heading up the stairs. I followed them in. They all peeled off noisily to a classroom, where I could see a woman cleaning a blackboard. She turned and said something to the kids, who immediately quieted. I was reminded of my own no-nonsense Catholic school upbringing. Not a bad thing, I now realized.

There was a sign pointing toward an administrative office, where a very pretty young woman wearing an expensive-looking blue and yellow jogging outfit was working on a computer. She looked up and gave me a dazzling smile. I tried to out-dazzle her while I told her who I was there to see. She picked up a phone, punched a number and said, “There is a Mr. Rhode here for you, Sister Barbara. He says he has an appointment” She listened for a moment, then hung up and looked at me. “She’ll be right over. Please have a seat.”

“Excuse me, but I have to ask. Are you a nun?”

I suppose I should have said ‘sister,’ but it would have sounded weird.

She laughed. It was a nice, throaty, laugh.

“I’m a volunteer here at Casserleigh. Two days a week. I’m a junior at Wellesley.”

“I believe Wellesley is known as one of the Seven Sisters. Maybe you qualify after all. I saw some kids go into a classroom. I know I’m a little rusty on modern Catholicism, but since when did the Church start Sunday School? Isn’t that taking ecumenism a bit far?””

“You are rusty, Mr. Rhode. The Catholic Church has long offered Sunday School classes, although not as widely as Protestant sects. But strictly speaking, what you saw is not Sunday School. We offer English-language classes after mass. Most of the children only hear their native language at home. Mrs. Herrera has the Hispanic kids. I get the French-speakers next week.”

“I’m relieved. You don’t look much like a Sunday School teacher, either.”

She looked me up and down.

“Does your line of bull work on women everywhere, or just inside a convent?”

She was still smiling when she said it.

“Isn’t this where you point out that I’m old enough to be your father?’

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the desk. As a trained detective, I noticed that she did not appear to be wearing a bra.

“I might have, but you don’t look anything like my father. Are you coming on to me?”

A Wellesley girl, she could handle just about anything. Or anyone. I had to laugh.

“Maybe. But I’m not serious. I’m kind of spoken for. I just want to be able to say I did it in a convent. I may never be in one again.”

“I never met a private eye before. Spoken for, or otherwise. I’m crushed.”

“No, you’re not. But since you aren’t a nun, I can say you are one gorgeous young woman without worrying about being struck by lightning.”

“Thank you. Ah, here she is.”

I turned to see a tall, white-haired woman in her 70’s who looked like a Mother Superior from central casting. She gave me an appraising glance. I suspected she had heard some of our conversation.

“I’m Sister Barbara,” she said, putting out her hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Rhode. I see that Ann has you well in hand.”

“You can’t imagine.”

“Oh, yes I can. Why don’t we go into my office?”

As I turned to follow her, Ann whispered, “Busted, again.”

I followed the Mother Superior through a door to a small inner office and she waved me to a seat. She was wearing a long gray skirt and white blouse with sleeves and a gray cardigan. Sensible, sturdy black shoes.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Rhode?’

“As I mentioned on the phone, I’m looking into the murder of Sister Veronica in Worcester. I understand she once worked here.”

“You also mentioned that you were a private detective. Do you have some sort of identification?”

I took out my license and passed it over to her.

“New York,” she said, passing my I.D. back.

“That’s right.” 

“Are you working for her aunt?”

“No. I’m doing this on my own.”

“Why?”

“I knew her when she was Veronica Frost. I want to find out who killed her.”

“Why not leave it to the police?”

“It’s complicated.”

She smiled.

“You were involved romantically?”

Sister Barbara didn’t get to be a Mother Superior by being slow on the uptake.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“About a year.”

“When was this?”

“When I was in college.”

“Sister Veronica went to Rosemont, near Philadelphia.”

“Yes, I know. She was in high school when we met.” That got me a Mother Superior look. “We dated her senior year at Notre Dame Academy on Staten Island.”

She smiled again.

“Don’t look so defensive, Mr. Rhode. I’m not going to smack your hand with a ruler. High school seniors can be quite attractive. We knew that Sister Veronica had a life before finding her vocation. If anything, I believe it made her a better person and a better Sister of St. Jerome.”

“I think she was a pretty good person to start out with,” I said. “But it did surprise me to find out she took vows. I know she went to church and all, but she didn’t wear her Catholicism on her sleeve. I thought vocations came earlier in someone’s life.”

“God’s call can come at any time, Mr. Rhode. I was in my early 40’s.”

“I was just wondering if anything happened after I knew her that set her on the path to a religious order. It may have some bearing on her murder.”

Mother Superior ignored me.

“You said you were involved for only a year. What happened?”

“I went back to school. We corresponded. Then she and her family moved suddenly and I never saw or heard from her again.”

“Did you try to find her?”

“Yes. But they left no trail. And then, well ….”

“Life.”

“Yes.”

“And now, after all these years, you feel compelled to learn what happened?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The “why” again. I was beginning to wonder who the detective was.

“I said it was complicated. I’m not sure myself. I think we both thought we had a future together.”

“You were in love with her.”

“Yes.”

“And she with you?”

“She said so, to me, and in her diary.”

“Diary?”

I told her about Ronnie’s journal.

“Postulants are supposed to get rid of such things. Oh, never mind. We all break some rules. So, the police tracked you down through her journal. Sounds like they know what they are doing.”

“They had a special interest. I went to Holy Cross.”

“In Worcester.”

I nodded. She looked wary.

“And you are not still a suspect?”

“I had an alibi. The cops never thought I was a serious suspect anyway. They were hoping I’d know something. Holy Cross is no more than a coincidence. But I believe in serendipity. It’s almost as if Ronnie is drawing me back, as if she wants me to solve her murder. Does that sound silly to you?”

“No. Now I have a rather delicate question for you. You were wondering whether something happened to her after she left Staten Island. After she left you. Something that may have driven her to a religious life.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that she was driven.”

“I understand. But is it possible that you were the reason she changed her life?”

I had to admit that the thought had crossed my mind. I knew I wasn’t the reason her entire family left Staten Island. But, as Detective Huntley intimated, was it possible our affair had somehow soured Ronnie on human love? Our sex lives had been fulfilling. That much she even put in her diary. And we had fun out of bed. We talked about everything, except her family. We made plans. I believed her when she said she was faithful to me at college. But could I have missed something?

“No,” I finally said. “It wasn’t me. We were happy. If something happened, it came later. As you pointed out, perhaps it was just a calling.”

Sister Barbara looked thoughtful.

“I believe you,” she said. “There is another possibility. Which also may be difficult for you to accept. It is not unusual for a woman who is conflicted about a vocation, and who has never known love with a man, to, how do I put this delicately? Well, for a man they would say he was sowing his wild oats. Trying out the merchandise, so to speak. Don’t look so startled, Mr. Rhode. Surely you realize that not every nun comes to us as a virgin. I myself was married before my husband passed away.”

“I don’t think I was a trial run, Sister. And I’m sure of it after reading her diary.”

“Are you a Catholic, Mr. Rhode? I know you went to Holy Cross, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“I was raised Catholic. Attended parochial schools.”

“And now?”

“I’ve fought in a couple of wars since then.”

“I’ve heard that there are no atheists in foxholes.”

“But plenty of agnostics come out of them.”

“Somehow I don’t think you are a hopeless case, Mr. Rhode. I think I will pray for you.”

“I’m counting on it.” 

“Are you married, Mr. Rhode? Or been?”

“No. But I guess you could say I’m in a serious relationship.”

I don’t know why I said that. But Sister Barbara was just someone that you could talk to.

“Does she know that you are investigating this?”

“Yes. In fact, she insisted I do it.”

“Sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She is. Now, if you don’t mind me getting in a few questions? Before I have to renew my license.”

Sister Barbara laughed.

“Of course.”

“Did Sister Veronica ever mention her parents, or her brother?”

“She told me that her mother was dead, and she hadn’t heard from her father in years. So sad. And until this moment I never knew she had a brother. I only knew about her aunt. Did he pass on, too?”

“I don’t know. He may have. I didn’t know about him either. He seems to have disappeared.”

“How very odd. She never mentioned him to you?”

“No.”

“If he’s alive, I’m sure he would want to know about his sister’s death.”

“Well, maybe I’ll be able to track him down. In the meantime, I’ve taken up too much of your time..”

I stood to leave, and so did she. 

“We all miss Sister Veronica,” she said. “Her death is a tragedy. We all felt a loss when she left. She was a mainstay here. Her relative youth and energy were hard to replace. There aren’t all that many of us left in our religious order. We can easily live on the top two floors of this building. We serve a culturally diverse community with a large number of new immigrants. Our English language and literacy classes for adults living in the neighborhood are on this floor. We currently have 48 students from 17 different countries. We also provide homework help and tutoring for local elementary school children. In the summer we run a camp for the kids and focus on reading, computers and art. We also provide rooms for meetings,  and our back yard hosts neighborhood gatherings, barbecues and the like.”

“It must be satisfying work.”

“It is. We do what we can, but we are spread thin. None of us are getting any younger. And like many other service organizations, we have had to curtail some of our activities as government funding has shrunk. And the diocese has its own problems. But, thank God, many people in the community have filled part of the void. I don’t know what we would do without students from local colleges like Ann. And, somehow, we get donations. We must be doing something worthwhile, because it’s not a wealthy area.”

I smiled. It was such an effortless pitch.

“I don’t suppose you’d turn down a donation from me, would you?”

“Catholic guilt is a gift that keeps on giving,” she said, matching my smile. “Just see Ann on your way out.”

Sister Barbara put out her hand.

“Good luck, Mr. Rhode. I hope you find who you are looking for.” She put her other hand over mine as well. “And what you are looking for.”

When I got to the outer office, Ann of Wellesley was just putting down the phone, presumably having just been alerted by Sister Barbara about my impending donation.

“I understand Mother Superior has worked her magic on you, Mr. Rhode.”

“You two make a great tag team.”

Fortunately, I still had much of the cash I’d brought on the trip. I gave her most of it. I could always hit an ATM machine later.