Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 03 - The Recorder's Way (6 page)

“W
ithout catching pneumonia,” Helen said as if in harmony to his mood change.

Keeping his eyes on
Carpenter Road’s two-lane traffic, Max touched the subject of his unborn child again, as if sucking on a sore tooth. “Helen, you could be right. After the baby is born, I could ask for a blood test … and parental rights of visitation. I’ll never sign over adoption rights. My son, or maybe a beautiful daughter might live in Ann Arbor, go to school at the university.”

Max
stopped the car at a four-way stop, put on his emergency flashers, leaned over the wheel and wept for his lost dream of marriage. He hated women, all of them. He would never touch another woman for as long as he lived. That scared him. He looked over at Helen, who seemed confused by his changing emotions. He was not a homosexual, was he – all those army buddies? Helen recited the Lord’s Prayer out loud.

Max allowed
God’s will to regain preeminence in his life. He asked for forgiveness for his transgressions as he forgave Anita-Maybell. He turned off the flashers and put the car in gear. He was not a homosexual, bless them all, and would eventually, no doubt, mate with a woman. ‘Please God,’ he prayed, silently. ‘Don’t let me be such a fool again. When I fall in love, I’ll propose marriage and wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. I never want to be used by another woman.”

“
The Lord’s rules make life more manageable,” Helen said.

Max
agreed. God’s verdant landscape, a patchwork of color, stretched out before him, restoring hope into the recesses of his soul. “I’m not going to move.”

The rolling hills around
Adrian welcomed their progress toward their destination. Max voiced a prayer of “Thank you, God, for the peace residing again in my soul.”

“Amen,
” Helen chorused.

♦
♦
♦
♦
♦

Helen wondered if she should confide in Max
as freely as he had with her,before they reached Adrian. “I should tell you the dream I had last night.”

“Was I in it?” Max seemed relaxed
, comfortable with her.

“I don’t think so. I was at a church service for children. Little boys in suits and girls in white flowered caps received, I think, their first communion. It was a little confusing, the way dreams always are. The children walked down the aisle in pairs, boy-and-girl couples. I think someone told me, or I was supposed to know, they were promising to marry each other when they grew up.”

Max seemed to have trouble keeping his attention on the road. “They do that in India, don’t they?”

“
Ahh, but these children were American.”

“Were you one of the children, Helen?”

“No.” Helen remembered one of the little dream girls had let her wear her white flowered hat. Helen turned her head towards the passenger window so Max couldn’t see her reddening face. “I’m not very mature for a woman of twenty-five.”

“You’re fine, Helen.” Max patted her shoulder. “Maybe the dream was about missing your childhood with your new brother.”

Helen forced a bright smile for Max. She knew better. The dream was her wish for a husband, some one like Dad, Andrew. Someone guaranteed to marry her. She regarded Max, the giant next to her. Would he ever think of her as the mother of his children; especially now that another woman was going to give birth to his first child. Helen intended to fight for all of Max’s rights in regard to the child, who she might some day share in mothering. Max’s child. Of course, she would want her own children, too. Maybe with Max. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need to scour the land to find a husband. Surely the Lord would provide a man close at hand, like Max.

♦
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♦

At the convent, Helen
rang an old-fashioned library bell on the desk blocking access to the convents’ central stairwell.

“Anybody here?”
Max hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but the marble corridors down each side hall from the stairs echoed with his deep tones. He turned back to ring the bell but his elbow knocked a vase of white lilacs to the floor, smashing the vase, spreading water and crushed flowers for yards.

He
len apologized to a lady who peeked her head around an office door. “Do you know where we might find Sally Bianco?”

“S
he hasn’t returned.” The woman moved toward them, calling back over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of these people, Sister Alice. Could you clean up out here?” She extended her hand to Max and then Helen. “I’m Mother Superior, or you can call me: Sister James Marine.”

Max settled on “Sister.” He didn’t feel comfortable calling anyone Mother. Not because of the death of his own parents, but because the word was more of a swear word in the army. “Could I examine Mrs.
Bianco’s room?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“Do we look like a policemen?” Helen asked.

Max smiled his best attempt at Cary Grant’s famous grin. “
Mrs. Bianco didn’t tell you she uses our detective agency?”

“Uses?”

Max wiped the dead actor’s grin off his face.

He
len opened her purse to present her detective license. “Sally Bianco left a message about a case and said we would see her in Ann Arbor on Monday.”

“
We haven’t;” Max said. “When did you last speak to herl?”

“I expected her at
four on Sunday.” Sister J.M. crossed her arms. “What day did she leave her message?”

Max reached for his notepad and pen. “Sunday, a little after
one o’clock, why?”

“Right before they drove to
Waterloo.”

Max looked up from his note taking. “They?
Waterloo?”

Sister
J.M. seemed upset by his questions. She directed them back to her sparsely decorated office. “Sister Antoinette, you may leave the filing for later.”

“Yes, Mother
Superior.” The ancient nun quietly closed the door behind her.

Sister
J.M. noticed and got up to re-open the door.

“
Could I do that for you, Sister?” Max supposed there must be a rule about being in a room with a man. The square room’s ceiling was twice as high above them as the width of the room. He would need a ladder to touch the copper tiles.

“Mrs.
Bianco offered to give Marilyn Helms and her dog an outing in Waterloo.” Sister J.M. touched her throat above the securely buttoned blouse. “I should call the police.”

“
Don’t you think so?” Helen said.

“
Could you describe Marilyn?” Max was on point. “Was she attending the recovery retreat, too?”

“AA, means anonymous, you know.” Sister reached for the phone. “However, Marilyn was working out a community service penance … sentence, I mean.”

“From what charge?” Helen asked.

“I’m not sure.” Sister
J.M. seemed to be weighing her options to tell the whole truth, or only part. “Marilyn is addicted to prescription drugs.”

“How did she hook-up with
Sally Bianco?” Max flipped a page in his notebook.

“My fault, I’m afraid. Marilyn is very resentful. O
ne of her sources for the drugs died last year. Apparently, the doctor was involved in the death of patients at St. Anthony’s Hospital. No connection with our convent. I told Marilyn that Sally Bianco was a detective and might be interested in her story.”

“The doctor w
as writing her prescriptions?” Helen exchanged a glance with Max.

“Ma
rilyn said he was an addict too, but yes, I think either that or he paid for the drugs.”

Max felt his temper rise under his open collar. “You let an old woman take a drug addict for a drive to the woods?”

“You make it sound unconscionable.” Sister J.M. started to twist the end of a lacy handkerchief. “They were all recovering addicts of some kind. Mrs. Bianco was going to bring a video back for the staff to enjoy on Sunday tonight.”

Helen was letting her symp
athy for the nun’s predicament show by nodding.

Max
held out his hand. “If you give me Sally Bianco’s key, Sister Alice could show us the way?”

“Of course.” Sister
J.M. sniffed as she opened a small cabinet hanging on the wall behind her desk.

Helen saw fit to glare at
him while the nun’s back was turned.

S
ister James Marine handed him the key and called in Sister Alice, who must have been waiting in the hall. “Show Mr. Hunt and Miss Costello to Sally Bianco’s and Marilyn Helm’s rooms.”

Max
and Helen stepped into the hall.

“M
iss Costello,” Sister J.M. called. “I remember there were three doctors involved with the three dead patients.” She came around her desk and touched Max’s arm. “Promise me you will keep me informed.”

Max looked at her hand on his arm. He covered her small
hand with his free hand. “When we find either of them, we’ll let you know.”

“Bless you,” she said. “Bless you
both and those you love.”

Max felt touched to the quick. Who did he love now
Maybell, Anita, had tricked him? Only himself?

♦
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Mrs.
Bianco’s room at the convent was devoid of decoration. The modern ceiling nearly touched Max’s head, which was quite a contrast from the Mother Superior’s ancient office. Helen supposed all the rooms for visitors to the convent were identical: a telephone, but no television, computer or radio.

“Do you have a box to pack up
Sally’s and Marilyn’s belongings?” Max asked. Sister Alice nodded and scooted off. “I hope she comes up with boxes without consulting Mother Superior. I’m glad you’re here to deal with the fussy business.” Max pulled out each drawer in the dresser and dumped the contents onto the bed.

Helen found
Sally’s journal in the bedside table. Helen worried about all the women at the convent, who had made decisions never to give birth, none. Nuns would never caress their own babies; never see them grow into the parents’ image, never love a person who belonged, while growing up, entirely under their care. Helen prayed the Lord would see fit to grant her children of her own…all she could provide for. The responsibility for their souls seemed light compared to the wealth of comfort and love her children and husband would endow. “Please God,” she prayed aloud.

“For what?” Max asked.

“Not to be a nun.” Helen laughed.

“Never fear,” Max said in a sexy voice that unnerved Helen.

Without commenting on the mess he’d made, Sister Alice precisely folded Mrs. Bianco’s belongings and packed them neatly into Sally’s suitcase. Max filled a small box with the books, while Helen turned her attention back to Sally’s journal.

The last entry, first Sunday in May, read, “List more amends.”
With an exclamation point, twice as large as the lettering, were the words, “Write down each of the sixty!”

“I liked her dog.
” Sister Alice interrupted Helen’s speculations.

“Marilyn’s dog?
” Max asked. “What breed was he?”

“Beautiful and friendly, an Irish setter. Yellow.” Sister Alice
coughed. “Maybe he knew I’m Irish.”

“The dog knew?”
Max failed to hide his disdain.

Sister Alice lifted her prideful chin. “Rufus. That was his name.”
She left the room in a huff.

“I
understand these sexless schmoos are all a little off kilter.” Without sufficient reason, Max seemed to congratulate himself for being sexually active. Helen watched Max’s shoulders slump when his memory of Maybell shot him down. Sister Alice returned with another box. With renewed respect in his tone, Max said. “I like dogs better than people, don’t you?”

Sister Alice clapped her hands. “Oh yes! Don’t repeat that to Mother Superior.”

“Our little secret?” Helen said.

Max
picked up the suitcase and knocked a framed tile sitting on the bedside table to the tiled floor. He tried to place the broken pieces back together like a jigsaw puzzle. The motto on the broken tile,
“Grant that I may seek to comfort, rather than to be comforted; to understand rather than to be understood; to love rather than to be loved.”
“Can anyone keep that advice?” Max asked Sister Alice, who swept the pieces into a wastepaper basket.

“Just for today
is even more difficult.” Sister Alice smiled up at him.

Max
acted like a chagrined bear in a very delicate glass house. Helen and Sister Alice followed Max as he toted the suitcase and boxes down to the reception desk. Then, Sister Alice guided them through a series of connecting poorly-lit tunnels under the convent and church to the back windowless, basement bedrooms of the hired help.