The Shadow of Your Smile (16 page)

With less patience, he listened again. “Yeah. Everything she had on looked new. Even the shoes, those crazy ones that are like stilts. They looked as though she was wearing them for the first time. Honey, I . . .”

She continued to talk, but then he interrupted. “Honey, that’s just what I’m going to do. Her suit and coat and blouse and shoes all have Escada labels. Okay, fine. Yes, I know their flagship store in New
York is on Fifth Avenue. I’m heading there now with her description, and a description of the suit she was wearing.”

Barry closed his cell phone, took a last gulp of coffee, and looked at his partner. “My God, that woman can talk,” he said. “But she did tell me one useful thing. It’s pronounced ‘Ess-
cah
-dah,’ not ‘
Ess
-cah-dah.’ ”

30
 

On Thursday afternoon, Monsignor Joseph Kelly and Monsignor David Fell completed interviewing two more witnesses in the beatification hearings concerning Sister Catherine Mary Kurner. After the Notary had left they sat together in Kelly’s office, discussing the process.

They agreed that the witnesses they had just interviewed had all given compelling stories about their encounters with Sister Catherine. One of them, Eleanor Niven, had been a volunteer in the hospital in Philadelphia founded by Sister Catherine. She had said that at that time Sister Catherine was obviously ill and rumored to be dying.

“She had the most beautiful face and serene manner,” Niven recalled. “When she entered the room the atmosphere changed. We all knew we were in the presence of a very special person.” Eleanor Niven had gone on to testify that she had accompanied Catherine as she made the rounds visiting the patients.

“There was an eight-year-old girl who had had heart surgery and was in very grave condition. The mother, a young widow, was sitting by the bed crying. Sister Catherine embraced her and said, ‘Remember, Christ heard the cry of a father whose son was dying. He is going to hear
your
cry as well.’ Then Sister Catherine knelt by the bed and prayed. By the next morning the child had begun to turn the corner, and within a few weeks she was able to go home.”

“It’s a story I knew,” Monsignor Kelly said to Fell. “When I was
a young priest, I visited that hospital. I never met that child, but I can certainly understand when these witnesses keep testifying to their awareness of Sister’s presence. She had an aura about her. And certainly when she picked up a sick child and cradled it in her arms, it was magical the way the most fretful little one quieted down and accepted the treatment it had been fighting.”

“Our star witness yesterday was pretty interesting, wasn’t she?” Monsignor Fell asked.

“Dr. Farrell? You bet she was. She certainly is pivotal in this process. Emily O’Keefe, Michael’s mother, not only had faith that he would live, but also virtually stopped taking him to doctors.”

“Dr. Farrell mentioned her colleague, Dr. Ryan Jenner,” Fell continued. “I looked him up. He’s made quite a reputation for himself as a neurosurgeon. Dr. Farrell volunteered that on the basis of all the MRIs and CAT scans, Jenner told her that Michael O’Keefe was terminal and should have died. It would be interesting to ask him to testify to that as another qualified witness. I’d really like to question him.”

Monsignor Kelly nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. It would be one more highly respected medical observation to further the cause.”

Then for a long minute, both men were silent, each knowing the thought process of the other. “I am still so frustrated that we can’t learn the circumstances around the fact that Catherine had given birth,” Fell said.

“I know,” Kelly agreed. “We knew she was only seventeen when she entered the convent. It must have happened shortly before that, which would explain why her Mother Superior sent her to Ireland a few months after she became a novice. It suggests that she only realized she was pregnant
after
she joined the community.

“And no one would have known about it, if that hospital aide who tended to her when she was dying hadn’t noticed Catherine had had
a caesarean. And if the aide hadn’t sold the story to one of the gossip rags all these years later when the beatification process began. We never would have found one of the doctors who took care of her in her last illness, the one who verified the story when we questioned him. The fact that he couldn’t in good conscience issue a denial to the press threw gasoline on the flames for the sensationalists, of course . . .” Monsignor Kelly sighed.

Monsignor Fell replied, “We can’t ignore the fact that we have no information as to her state of mind about the pregnancy. Was the liaison consensual? The early pictures we have show that she was an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. It would not be surprising if she had admirers. Did she give birth to a live child, and if so what became of it? Did she ever talk to anyone about it? These are the questions I have to ask.”

Monsignor Fell realized he was asking these questions without expecting an answer. “It is my job to make sure that miracles are really miracles, and that only people of extraordinary virtue, not extraordinary beauty may someday be listed on the Calendar of Saints,” he said.

Monsignor Kelly nodded and did not choose to mention that ever since yesterday’s meeting with Dr. Monica Farrell his memories of Sister Catherine kept playing through his mind. Maybe it’s because I saw the pain in that lovely young doctor’s face when she talked about breaking the news to the O’Keefes that Michael was terminal.

She had that same look that I remember seeing on Sister Catherine when she shared the heartbreak of parents whose children were dangerously ill.

31
 

On the way back to Renée Carter’s apartment on Central Park West, Kristina Johnson called her best friend, Kerianne Kennan, with whom she shared a tiny apartment in Greenwich Village. Kerianne, a student at the Fashion Institute of Technology, answered her cell phone on the first ring.

“Keri, this is Kris.”

“I can tell by your voice that something’s wrong. What’s the matter?” Keri demanded.

“Everything,” Kristina wailed. “The baby I’m minding is in intensive care and the mother isn’t around. You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on.” Twenty minutes later, when the taxi stopped on the corner of Ninety-sixth Street and Central Park West, Kristina had the comforting assurance that Kerianne was rushing to be with her and would stay for the rest of the day.

“I just know Renée Carter will start screaming at me that I didn’t take good care of Sally,” Kristina had explained tearfully. “Maybe if you’re there she won’t go too crazy. And if she doesn’t come back by this evening, I’m going to leave a note for her, and take off. I can’t work for that miserable woman anymore.”

Kristina got out of the cab, went into the lobby, and took the elevator to the apartment. As she opened the door, the dog’s frenzied barking reminded her that it had not been out for a walk since last
night. Oh God, she thought as she ran to get its leash. She did not take the time to look through the apartment, but it was obvious that everything was exactly as she had left it, and Ms. Carter had not come home.

Downstairs again, as the Lab strained to pull her along, she called to the desk clerk, “Jimmy, when my friend Kerianne gets here, tell her I’ll be right back, okay?”

Fifteen minutes later, when she returned to the building, she was relieved to see Keri waiting for her in the lobby. But before they went to the elevator she stopped again at the desk. “Jimmy, did Ms. Carter come in while I was walking the dog?”

“No, Kristina,” the young clerk answered. “Haven’t seen her all morning.”

“Or all day yesterday,” Kristina murmured to Keri as they went up in the elevator. “The first thing I want to do is make a pot of coffee. Otherwise I’ll fall asleep standing up.”

Inside the apartment she headed straight for the kitchen. “Take a look around,” she told Kerianne. “Because once she gets here, we’re on our way.”

A few minutes later, Kerianne joined her in the kitchen. “This is a gorgeous apartment,” she commented. “My grandfather was in the antique business and trust me, there are some pretty nice pieces of furniture here. Ms. Carter must have money and lots of it.”

“She’s an event planner,” Kristina said. “She must have some really big event going on now, if she doesn’t show up here, or answer her cell phone. Think about it. She has a baby who was in the hospital a week ago and is back in now. I’m definitely going to quit this job, but I worry what will happen to Sally.” She sighed heavily as she took out two coffee cups and set them on the counter.

“What about Sally’s father?”

“Who knows? I’ve been here for a solid week and I haven’t seen
any sign of
him
. I guess he’s another winner as a parent. The coffee’s ready. Let’s have it at the bar.”

The elaborate built-in bar was in the den. They had just begun to settle on the chairs at the counter when the intercom sounded. Kristina jumped up. “That must be Jimmy tipping me off that Ms. Carter is on the way up.”

But when she answered, the desk clerk had a different message. “There are two detectives here inquiring about your boss. They asked me who was in the apartment. I told them you and your friend and they said they wanted to talk to you.”

“Detectives?” Kristina exclaimed. “Jimmy, is Ms. Carter in trouble?”

“How would I know?”

Kristina locked the dog in the den, and when the bell rang, she opened the door to find the men standing in the vestibule. They held up their badges for her to see.

“I am Detective Tucker,” the shorter man introduced himself. “And, this is Detective Flynn. May we come in?”

“Of course,” Kristina said nervously. “Did something happen to Ms. Carter? Was she in an accident?”

“Why do you ask?” Tucker inquired as he stepped into the apartment.

“Because she hasn’t come home since night before last, and she doesn’t answer her cell phone, and Sally, her baby, is so sick I had to take her to the hospital this morning.”

“Is there a picture of Ms. Carter around?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll get one.” As a shocked Kerianne stood, coffee cup in hand, Kristina went down the hall to Renée Carter’s bedroom. A table by the window had framed pictures of Renée at a variety of black-tie events. Kristina grabbed several of them and rushed back to the living room.

When she handed them to Tucker, she saw the grim look he gave
his partner. “She’s dead, isn’t she?” Kristina gasped, “and I’ve been saying such mean things about her.”

“Why don’t we sit down and you tell me all about her,” Tucker suggested. “We understand she has a baby. You say the baby is in the hospital?”

“Yes. I brought her there this morning. She’s really sick. That’s why I was so mad at Ms. Carter. I didn’t know what to do, so I waited too long to bring Sally to the emergency room.” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“What about the baby’s father? Did you try to contact him?”

“I don’t know who he is. When Ms. Carter left she was all dressed up, so I figured she was going to one of her parties. But looking back, I think she may have been meeting him. When she waved good-bye to Sally, she yelled something like, ‘Keep your fingers crossed, baby. Your old man is finally coughing up the money.’ ”

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