The Corporal Works of Murder (7 page)

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Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie

BOOK: The Corporal Works of Murder
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“Oh, dear.” Kate leaned back against the pillow. She knew all about jumping to conclusions.
“I just beat you home,” Jack said. “It was hard to leave the Detail. We kept hashing and rehashing Sarah's murder. Although none of us knew her very well, we all liked her. It's a helluva thing to happen to a young kid. We should have protected her better.”
Kate noticed the sadness in Jack's eyes and was ashamed of her own outburst. It was tough to lose a fellow officer, but especially someone in your own Detail. “I'm sorry, pal,” she said, but Jack didn't seem to want to go there.
“Anything new come up in the case?” he asked.
“No. Like you, we were just hanging around trying to figure out what we know. Or more like it, what we don't know about her assignment.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she was dressed like a bag lady—a crazy one at that. Wouldn't an undercover Vice cop be more likely to pose as a prostitute?”
Jack shrugged. “If you know that and I know that, pimps and madams sure as hell know it, too. Maybe that's the point—to throw them a curve.”
“Maybe,” Kate admitted. “But the thing just doesn't smell right.”
“In what way?”
“Undercover cops usually blend in or, at least, they don't stand out. A woman with flaming hair? Like I say, it just doesn't smell right.” She twisted a strand of her own auburn hair around her finger. “And we didn't find any brass near the scene. Unless the tech team picked it up without Denny or me being aware of it, it wasn't there. You have to admit that's pretty slick for your average perp.”
“What's your point, hon?”
“I'm not sure. Something just doesn't smell right.”
“You're a woman of few words,” Jack said. “You just keep repeating them.”
“Very funny!” Kate couldn't suppress a yawn.
“Tomorrow, talk to Donaldson,” Jack suggested. “He'll probably be able to answer all your questions—at least about Sarah's undercover assignment. You're the homicide detective, but remember you have the whole department behind you. We'll figure it out.”
Kate closed her eyes. Let's hope so, she thought. She felt the mattress move and the warmth of Jack's body beside her. It was good to be home. “How did John get to your mother's and how did we get invited to dinner?” she asked.
“Poor Ma has been bombarding Saint Michael with prayers for you all day.”
“Saint Michael?”
“Patron saint of policemen.”
Although Kate did not open her eyes, she raised her eyebrows.
“Sorry, police persons. Anyway, when she finally got me on the phone and found out that you were alive and well—I think it might be wise not to tell her that you caught the call—she offered to pick up John from Sheila's and make us a special dinner.”
Kate's stomach rumbled. “Do you know what we're having?
“Ravioli, I think. She was going to North Beach to get them.”
“I didn't realize I meant that much to her,” Kate quipped, feeling Jack's arm around her. “I nearly panicked when I came home and didn't find you or John downstairs. I thought something happened.”
“You're getting as bad as my mother,” he said, gently kissing her temple. “I'm sure John is having a great time eating all the cookies his heart desires. And I'm right here beside you.”
“What time do we have to be there? Kate asked.
“In about an hour.”
She felt Jack's breath brush her ear. “That's plenty of time,” she said as his hand tenderly touched her waist and ran down over her hip.
“It doesn't really matter if we're a few minutes late,” Jack said, his lips reaching for hers. “There's no way you can really spoil ravioli.”
Kate and Jack had just started up the terrazzo steps of Loretta Bassetti's home in the Sunset District when the front door swung open. Mama Bassetti, wearing her company apron, loomed in the doorway. Little John's smiling face peeked out from behind her.
“I was just starting to worry about you,” Mama Bassetti said, lifting her cheek to her son for their ritual kiss. “Was there traffic in the park or did you two get lost?”
As if he hadn't heard, Jack pecked at his mother, then swooped up his son in an enormous bear hug. Mama Bassetti's sharp brown eyes pinned Kate.
“I'm sorry we're late,” Kate said, wishing they had remembered to bring fresh flowers or at least a bottle of wine. What had they been thinking? Her face flushed when she remembered.
“I hope we didn't spoil anything,” Kate said sheepishly.
“Come in, come in out of the cold.” Her mother-in-law seemed satisfied with the apology. “Here, let me take your coat. No, on second thought, Jackie,” she called toward her son who was already horseplaying on the living room rug with John, “you take the coats, like a gentleman should. It's a good example for your son.” She wagged her head. “Although God knows your papa, may he rest in peace, and I tried our best to give you a good example, for all it got us.”
“I am a perfect gentleman, Ma. In fact, I am a gentleman for
all occasions,” Jack joked, winking at Kate. It continually astounded her that his mother's nagging never seemed to faze him.
He gave a waist-deep bow and put on his best Jeeves accent. “As a matter of fact, Madame, not only will I take Kate's coat and hang it up, but I will make you, beloved mother, and you, adored wife, both an old-fashioned. Will you assist me, John, old fellow?”
“Not too many bitters,” his mother called, watching the two disappear into the kitchen. She didn't speak until she heard the clink of glasses and ice.
“Kate.” She put her thick hand on her daughter-in-law's arm. “Sit down, I want to talk to you while we're alone.”
Kate stiffened. What was wrong?
Loretta's eyes widened and for moment she looked apprehensive, a look Kate scarcely recognized on her. Something was definitely wrong.
“All day long, after my neighbor told me a policewoman was killed, I was worried to death about you.”
“If I had known …” Kate started, but her mother-in-law cut her off.
“I was afraid that you were the policewoman, God rest her. Silly, I guess, but it could have been you, you know.” She patted Kate's hand. “Thanks be to God, it wasn't. Anyhow, after I talked to Jackie and found out that you were all right, my neighbor called again.”
You and your neighbor have little to do, Kate thought, but knew better than to say so.
“Her son who's on the force, too … that's why we talk a lot … he said that the woman who was killed was young and inexperienced. Then she dropped her bomb. Do you know what she told me?”
Kate shook her head.
“That she was in Jackie's Detail.”
Where is this going? Kate wondered.
“Jackie doesn't know this, but after I talked to my neighbor, I began to think about it. Stew, I guess. And before I knew what happened, I was hot.”
“Hot?” Kate couldn't remember ever hearing her use that word before.
“You know, mad,” Loretta said. “And with good reason, too. Why would any man, especially the man in charge, send a young, inexperienced girl undercover? Bad enough for an experienced man, but for a young girl?”
“Isn't that a little sexist, Loretta?” Kate said.
“Sexist, mexist!” Her red cheeks flushed. “It's poor judgment and poor leadership, if you ask me.” She paused. “I never did like that Donaldson kid very much. He was a little bit of a bully in the neighborhood. Although, I never could figure out why his mother named him Don … Don Donaldson? Poor woman, she did her best to keep him in line. I remember her well from the PTA. The father, God rest him, was no help. So, I did what any good citizen would do.”
Kate waited, hoping she hadn't guessed what her mother-in-law had done.
“I called Lieutenant Donaldson. Even if he is Jackie's boss. I was acting as a private citizen and a taxpayer.”
“Does Jack know?”
“This is not Jackie's business. Anyway, I told that Donaldson boy exactly what I thought about his sending a young girl on such a dangerous assignment. What was he thinking of, anyway?”
“What did Donaldson say?
Loretta Bassetti pushed a strand of gray hair off her forehead. “He wasn't exactly insulting, but I certainly did not like his attitude. His mother, and I just might tell her if I get the chance, would not have been proud of the way he talked to an older woman.”
Kate decided to let that lie. “Did you tell him that you were Jack's mother?”
“I didn't intend to when I called. In fact, at first I didn't give him my name, but he got so sassy that it just slipped out.”
“Did anything else slip out?”
“No. Only that my Jackie would not approve of anyone speaking to his mother in that tone. And that my good friend, the police commissioner, wouldn't either.”
“Do you know the police commissioner?”
“One of my neighbor's sisters used to live next door to the commissioner's cousin, and they were very close.”
“Hello, again, ladies.” Jack came in balancing a tray of drinks. Little John followed with crackers and Brie cheese on a glass plate. Mama Bassetti rose quickly to grab the knife that wobbled on its edge.
“What are you lovely ladies so deep in conversation about?” Jack's eyes twinkled.
He hasn't a clue
, Kate thought.
“Kate will tell you,” Mama Bassetti said, straightening her apron. “John, after you take a few crackers, put them down and come help Nonie with the ravioli.”
John didn't need to be invited twice. “Can I drop them in the boiling water?” he asked. Although to her knowledge none of the Bassetti children had ever been scalded, Kate was just as glad she didn't hear the answer.
“Tell me what, pal?” Jack was still smiling. “What's going on?”
Without meeting his eyes, Kate told him as quickly and as painlessly as possible.
“Stop that shouting, Jackie,” Mama Bassetti called from the kitchen, “right this minute. Do you want all the neighbors to hear you talking that way about your mother?”
With a sense of relief, Sister Mary Helen shut her bedroom door and listened to its solid click.
Please God
, she prayed earnestly,
don't let anyone knock to see how I'm doing or if I need anything.
Dinner had been a nightmare. By the time she had finished talking to Eileen and made her way to the dining room, most of the nuns were already there. When she walked in, the silence hit her like a hot wind. Apparently her outburst in the Sisters' Room had upset them all. For several anxious seconds, no one spoke.
“Are you still mad?” It was old Donata.
Someone groaned. “Really!” Therese sniffed, clearly incensed. “Have you no finesse?” she hissed.
Mary Helen smiled. She rather enjoyed Donata's flat-footed approach. At least you never had to guess what she was thinking. “I wasn't angry, Donata,” Mary Helen said, her voice filling the still room. “I was just frustrated. I'm sorry if my reaction upset everyone.”
Ursula rose from her chair. “We are the ones who should be sorry,” she said piously and glanced around, waiting while the low murmur of agreement spread through the group. Satisfied, she sat down, and quiet conversation gradually began to melt the tension.
Relieved, Mary Helen picked up her dinner tray. All at once her appetite returned. The spicy aroma of tonight's stew made her realize that she hadn't eaten much solid food all day. In fact, she felt hollow. Balancing a tray with a large helping of stew over rice, crisp sourdough bread and butter, and a tall glass of iced tea, she decided to come back later for dessert. The chocolate éclairs looked especially inviting.
Slowly Mary Helen made her way toward a vacant place at the end of a half-filled table where she could eat in peace. Crossing the room, she smiled benignly at a Sister who smiled at her. “How do?” she said to another. What was it Eileen always said? “A kind word never broke anyone's jaw.”
“Mary Helen, I saved you a place.” It was Sister Patricia, a college president.
“Thank you,” Mary Helen said, although tonight she'd much rather have sat alone. She was just placing her napkin in her lap when a familiar voice rose above the others.
“I'd like to say something.” It was Anne. She must have just come in. Had she been crying? Red-faced, her hazel eyes blazing, she stood tall and stiff, like Saint Joan of Arc at the stake.
All she needs is the fire
, Mary Helen thought.

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