The Christmas Night Murder (11 page)

We stood and started back uphill toward the chapel and the mother house. The bare branches were no longer covered with Christmas snow; they had been blown clear or perhaps yesterday's milder temperatures together with the sun had melted the thin white layer. Except perhaps in a black-and-white photograph, there is nothing quite so starkly sad-looking as a bare branch. In May they would come alive again with the fresh, bright green of spring, but today there was no hint of the better days to come.

“There was a son who got into trouble,” Joseph said.

“Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why Julia wanted to get out of that house completely.”

“Yes, I suppose that's possible. One always hopes a novice will come to us for better reasons.”

“She was troubled. Maybe she thought St. Stephen's could help her out of her trouble.”

“I wish we had,” Joseph said. “I really wish we had.”

The street was wide, curved, and lined with custom-built houses that shared the image of luxury and nothing else. No two that I could see were in any way similar in design. There were houses of redwood, of brick, and of stone, one story and two story, contemporary, traditional, and Mediterranean. They were spaced far apart, and from what I could see, had deep lots, many with swimming pools, some with tennis courts. Walter Farragut had traded in a hundred-year-old antique for a modern architect's dream.

I had stopped short of the Farraguts' house number. Looking down the block, I now saw that Jack had arrived first, turned around in the cul-de-sac, and parked on the other side, near the far end of the street. He was walking toward me.

We kissed as we met and I turned around as we kept walking.

“Sounds like you're having a rough day.”

“Terrible. The nuns are all in shock. Even Joseph isn't faring well.” I explained the presumed connection between my visit with Mrs. Farragut and the murder of Sister Mary Teresa.

“How did you introduce yourself to Mrs. Farragut?” Jack asked.

“I said I used to be a teacher at St. Stephen's College.”

“And what were you looking into?”

“I was trying to find out what had happened to Hudson and I wanted to know about Julia. Mrs. Farragut is a tough cookie. She didn't let anything slip.”

“She told you about the brother.”

“I don't think the brother was a family secret. The next-door neighbors to the Farraguts talked to me about him. I
think he was Julia's secret. Maybe she was ashamed of his behavior and thought a convent wouldn't want her if they knew about him.”

“OK, bottom line—why would Walter Farragut go up to St. Stephen's last night and murder Sister Mary Teresa after his mother calls to say she's been talking to you?”

“Because he knows where Hudson is and Mary Teresa knew something that could put me onto Walter.”

“Like what?”

“Jack, I know it's possible that Hudson made a second phone call from the rest stop, but we can't overlook the fact that a man called him at the church in Buffalo that he was visiting and said something very threatening. How did that man know Hudson would be there?”

“You got me.”

“Someone told him and the only someone I can think of was Sister Mary Teresa.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because he made her believe he was her friend and Julia's friend. Or that he was Hudson's friend and wanted to surprise him when he came east for the first time in seven years. Every nun at St. Stephen's knew when Hudson was arriving. There are gifts for him under the tree. I'll bet they all knew he was spending a few days in Buffalo first. They probably even know the name of the church or the name of the priest he was visiting.”

“You're telling me that someone has been in contact with Sister Mary Teresa for seven years, waiting to get his hands on Father McCormick.”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“And you think Julia's father may be the person.”

“I think Julia's grandmother may be the person.”

“Right.” He threw an arm around my shoulders. “No one would think twice about a woman calling the convent.”

“And no one would recognize her voice.”

“OK, let's see where it gets you.”

We turned and walked back to my car.

“It's the second house down on this side,” he said. “I'll stay here. I think you'll do better alone. Two people at the door can be very intimidating and they'll make me as a cop in two seconds.”

“Gee, I thought you were the most uncop cop I'd ever met when I met you.”

“That's because you were blinded by the force of my overwhelming personality.”

“It was your smile,” I said, evoking one as I spoke.

“See you soon.” We kissed again and I went down the block to find the Farragut house.

“It's Sunday and my husband is resting.”

She was tall with long hair streaked with the color of sand. She was wearing a green velvet jumpsuit with a paler green silk blouse, and to me she looked like every man's second wife, thirties, well shaped, glamorous even on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. And scented. Not like her mother-in-law, who was delicate; this woman reeked of something cloyingly sweet that threatened to make me sneeze.

“It's very important, Mrs. Farragut. I've come down from St. Stephen's convent. A nun who was a friend of Julia Farragut was found dead this morning.”

She did something with her mouth as though to say she was tired of the whole thing. Then she said, “I didn't see anything about it in the paper.”

“She was found after the papers went to press. I'd just like to talk to him for a minute.”

“Come on in.”

I walked into a marble foyer with enough mirrors to keep all of St. Stephen's away forever. Just seeing strips of myself wherever I turned made me uncomfortable.

“Stay here,” she said. “I'll see if he'll come.”

I didn't stay exactly “here,” but I remained in the foyer. There was a curved stairway off to my right and doors at the rear of the foyer, probably to closets and a bathroom. The marble floor was so shiny it could almost have been another mirror. And high above me was a skylight bringing the light of day into the windowless room.

“What is it you want?”

I looked around to see the presumed Walter Farragut. He was medium height, silvering hair, wearing a silk-and-velvet smoking jacket in shades of green and black, making me wonder whether he and his wife coordinated their daily wardrobes.

“My name is Christine Bennett. I was a nun at St. Stephen's and a teacher in the college. This morning Sister Mary Teresa was found dead outside the chapel.”

“Who is Sister Mary Teresa?”

“She was a friend and mentor of Julia. She was at Julia's funeral.”

“Come with me.” He turned back and called, “We're fine, Karen,” then led the way into a sitting room that had a view of the backyard, although I'm sure he didn't think of it that way. “I don't know any Mary Teresa. I knew a Sister Clare Angela, who was the superior when my daughter was there. She's dead now, I understand.”

“Yes, she is. Mary Teresa was a friend of hers and a friend of Julia's. She loved Julia very much.”

“So did I. Exactly what do you want from me?”

“I'm looking for Father Hudson McCormick.”

“Well, you won't find him here. He left his Jeep in front of my old house in Riverview and took off. How should I know where he is?”

“Because his disappearance is connected to what happened to your daughter seven years ago and to what happened to Sister Mary Teresa today.”

“Are you the woman who talked to my mother yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“How did you find me? She didn't give you my address.”

“I just knew where to look,” I said.

He didn't like that. He was a man who was used to controlling situations he was part of and he didn't like someone finding out information that he hadn't disseminated. He answered only those questions that he chose to and changed the subject when it pleased him. “Well, you found me. If I knew where that bad priest was, I'd give him a piece of my mind. But I don't know and I resent your assumption that I do.”

“Mr. Farragut, why did Julia keep her brother's existence a secret?”

“Who says she did?”

“Nuns that she was friendly with.”

“She was a sick girl. Sometimes she had a hard time telling fact from fantasy.”

“Why did you send her to St. Stephen's? Why didn't you keep her at home under the care of a psychiatrist?”

“We did what we thought was best for her.” The rancor was gone from his voice now. He sounded resigned, a father who had lost his child.

“Did you know she was suicidal?”

“She wasn't suicidal. Julia had a strong desire to live. Even after her mother…passed on, she wanted to make a life for herself. Something happened that day, I don't know what, I'll never know what, and her life came to an end.”

“Hudson was gone by then,” I said. “He spent that Christmas in the southwest.”

“I didn't say he was there or that he had anything directly to do with what happened. Maybe what happened was in her mind. We'll never know.”

“If you talk to me about it, Mr. Farragut, maybe we can find some answers. Something was bothering her and she implicated Hudson McCormick, maybe to save herself. I want to clear Father McCormick's name almost as much as I want to find him alive.”

“I'm sure he's alive and I'm equally sure he was involved with my daughter in exactly the way she described. May we now put an end to this conversation?”

But I didn't want it to end. “I think she may have killed herself because she was so dreadfully sorry for what she said about him.”

“That's what you think. You have a right to your opinion. I have a right to my own.”

“What's yours?” I asked.

“Her mother's death destroyed her. She was a fragile child, unready for the world. I'm sure that's why she chose to be cloistered. When her mother died, she blamed herself, which was nonsense, but you can't always get through to someone in the state she was in. She felt that if she'd been home with us, my wife would have survived. The truth is, my wife had lost it long before the day she took her life. She wasn't a well woman.”

“Were you at home when Julia died?”

“I was out with friends. It was Christmas Night and I'd been invited. My mother was home with her. This is really
very difficult for me to talk about, and all your assumptions are false. You find that missing priest, you'll find the person responsible for my daughter's death.”

“We'll still have to find Sister Mary Teresa's killer,” I reminded him.

“Why not the priest? He knew the truth about my daughter's problems. Maybe he suspected this nun knew it, too, if she was close to Julia. Once she's out of the way, he's in the clear.”

“You're right about one thing. I think Father McCormick does know the truth. But I think it's a truth you're trying to cover up.”

I knew I shouldn't have said it, that I was betraying my very unobjective point of view, but sometimes a person says something spontaneously when he's angry that he wouldn't allow himself to say when he's under control. Mr. Farragut wasn't one of those people. He said nothing and I was ushered out very quickly and found myself walking down to the curb.

Jack was standing beside my car and he came over as the door closed behind me. “You got to talk to him.”

“Yes, but it didn't amount to much. He admitted his mother had called about my visit, and for a minute I thought he might open up. He came close to being emotional when he talked about Julia, but he caught himself. Then he blamed everything on Hudson.”

“So what do you think? He our man?”

“I don't know. He certainly isn't holding Hudson in his house, not with his wife living there.”

“He wouldn't keep him there anyway. What's she like?”

“Young, gorgeous, expensively dressed. So is he. Do you have a silk-and-velvet smoking jacket tucked away anywhere?”

“Not lately. That turn you on?”

“Not today.”

He pushed my hair off my forehead. “You know, it's so much fun to meet up here, we should think about living together.”

“I've been thinking about it a lot.”

“Me, too. Soon, huh?”

“Very soon.”

“Where to now?”

“I think I want to water some plants.”

We had a cup of coffee in a pretty place that had a view of the river and then we went our separate ways. I felt pangs of longing as I drove away. Tomorrow Jack would go back to work at the Sixty-fifth Precinct in Brooklyn and it looked as though I would still be here. I was still without answers for Hudson's disappearance, and now the very convent had been invaded.

I thought about what Walter Farragut had said, that Hudson had killed Mary Teresa because he suspected she might know the truth that involved his guilt. Then why hadn't Hudson done it seven years ago? No, I had stirred something up yesterday and someone had decided to silence the poor woman. The question was, was it Walter Farragut?

Over coffee Jack and I talked obliquely about what troubled me: Walter Farragut and his daughter, Julia. I didn't want to think about it, couldn't bring myself to confront it. But it was right there and I couldn't get rid of it.

There was a car in the long driveway next to the Belvederes' house. I parked on the street and walked up to the front door. Marilyn Belvedere answered.

“I heard what happened,” she said. “Come in. Were you at the convent when that poor nun was murdered?”

“I've been staying there since Friday. The handyman found her body this morning, lying outside the chapel. I think she'd gone there to pray for Father McCormick.” It was probably at least partly true.

“They said on the news it was someone looking for the poor box.”

“I don't believe that. Mrs. Belvedere, I need your help. Isn't it time to water the Corcorans' plants?”

She looked undecided for a moment, then said, “I'll get the keys.”

She took her coat out of the closet and went somewhere for the keys. When she came back, we went the long way to the house, out the front door, along the street, and up the Corcorans' walk.

“In the summer I go out the side door and cut across, but with all the snow, it's easier this way,” she explained. “And you're not wearing boots, are you?”

Neither was she. It took two keys to open the door.

“Did the Farraguts have two locks?”

“No. The Corcorans are a lot more security conscious. Personally, I think they overdo it. You get the occasional burglar out here, but it's really pretty safe. Come to the kitchen with me. I have to fill the watering can.”

I followed her through a hall to the back of the house. The kitchen looked completely remodeled, with handsome wood cabinets that might look Victorian to someone living a hundred years later, and plenty of windows facing the back.

“The original kitchen was very small. Housewives didn't do much cooking in a house this size a hundred years ago. They let the servants do that. The Corcorans pushed the kitchen out a little to get room for the island.” She turned the water on and filled two cans, one of copper, one of stainless steel. “I'll do the ones here on the window shelves. Would you mind doing the ones in the breakfast room?”

“Not at all.” I walked from the kitchen to a charming room with a round wooden table and heavy armchairs. A rubber tree and a large Norfolk Island pine were near the large window. Although light came through it, thin blinds covered it completely. I guessed the Corcorans didn't want people peeping in at them, or at their empty breakfast room. There were some other large, treelike plants that I watered, too, one with a beautiful, variegated leaf. Before returning to the kitchen, I admired the china cabinet and its display of hand-painted plates.

“Beautiful plants,” I said as I went back to the kitchen.

“They are. Gail has more than a green thumb. Let's fill up and do the living room and dining room.”

We carried our cans to the dining room first. As we were leaving the kitchen the phone rang.

“Don't worry about that. The machine'll answer.”

It did. “Gail? This is Sunny. Just wanted to let you know that Miranda had a little girl Thursday night, seven-two, with little wisps of dark hair, an absolute beauty. So she'll get her tax deduction, but she'll miss first baby of the year. Call you when you get home.”

“Isn't that nice,” Mrs. Belvedere said. “Miranda went to high school with Julia Farragut.”

“I guess everybody knows each other here.”

“Pretty much.”

I watered a crown of thorns and moved on to a group of African violets. “I understand old Mrs. Farragut was home with Julia the night she killed herself.”

“I think that's so. I think she called the ambulance.”

“Was Walter Farragut home?”

She stopped watering. “He was out. He came home later, after the police arrived.”

“Where was Foster?”

“I don't think anyone ever knew where Foster was. Probably out getting himself in trouble.” Her voice was tinged with unkindness.

“Then the grandmother was alone with Julia that night.”

“I think so. I think she said she went to look in on her, see if she wanted anything, and found her.”

We went back for more water. As we entered the kitchen I heard the sound of a piece of machinery turning on. I looked at her.

“Must be the furnace. Gail leaves it at fifty-five or so so the pipes won't freeze.”

We refilled and went to the living room. It was an enormous room with a beautiful fireplace. The walls were papered with a tiny floral design that was echoed in the covering on the sofa and two easy chairs. Antique lamps were everywhere, a magnificent collection. I could see the one at the window that I had noticed from outside last evening. Here the shades were down only three quarters of the way, perhaps to allow the plants to soak up the sun. We watered in silence. When we were finished, I paused to admire a tapestry hanging on the wall. Just beneath it was the thermostat.
The temperature in the living room read fifty-eight degrees.

“Works fast,” I said, meaning the furnace.

“It may have been another zone that went on. The house has several zones. Do you want to go upstairs now?”

“Please.”

“We don't need the cans. Gail moves all the plants downstairs when she's away to spare me the trouble. I really shouldn't be doing this.”

“I appreciate your help.”

There were a lot of bedrooms upstairs, all of them larger than anything in the house I lived in. We looked in on the Corcorans' master bedroom suite with its small adjoining sitting room and full bath, then the children's rooms, which had been decorated with the kinds of colors and furniture and games that I had seen only in magazines in waiting rooms.

“When Gail found out about the suicide, she decided not to use that room for the family. I really can't blame her.”

“I understand.”

“So it's a guest room now.” She opened a door and stood there, not entering.

I went inside. It was a lovely room, larger than the rooms for the Corcorans' children, certainly a room for a favorite child. It was in the corner of the house with windows on two sides. Shades were drawn now, but pulling one aside, I could see the Belvedere house through the trees and behind the one on the other wall the large backyard. It was a much simpler, more natural backyard than the one behind Walter Farragut's new house. Here a swing set stood near a small slide, trees grew, and the edge of a patio was visible. I couldn't see very far to the left because the kitchen extension blocked my view, and what looked like a wooden fire escape also intervened.

A double bed was made up with a colorful quilt and decorative pillows, or perhaps it was a queen dwarfed by the size of the room. A rocking chair had a cushion covered in the same tones as the quilt, and a hooked rug in the center of the room left the old wide floorboards bare, a good touch. There was a dresser with a mirror over it, another wonderful antique lamp on the night table, and a watercolor
of a fall scene on one wall. Altogether a very nice room to spend a night in, or to grow up in.

“Do you know where she hanged herself?” I asked.

Mrs. Belvedere had not entered the room. She stood at the doorway as though an invisible barrier kept her from crossing the threshold. “I think the closet,” she said uneasily. “I think there was something in there, a bar or something. The ceiling is quite high—maybe it was a shelf.” She was plainly nervous.

I opened the closet door and looked inside.

“They changed it,” Mrs. Belvedere said. “Gail likes her closets customized.”

“They did a beautiful job.” There was everything in there you could want, slanted shelves to hold shoes, rods at various heights to accommodate clothes of different lengths, shelves for sweaters, even built-in drawers. Obviously Gail Corcoran used this closet to store her out-of-season wardrobe because it looked like an upscale cruise-wear department.

I backed out and closed the door. “Do you know where the grandmother's room was?”

There was a bang from somewhere in the house and Marilyn Belvedere jumped. “A shutter's loose again,” she said. “May we please go?”

“Sure.”

“It wasn't a room,” she said, answering my question. “She had a separate apartment on the first floor with her own kitchen and even her own living room with a fireplace. It's on the other side of the house. I never saw it, but Serena told me about it. She said it was how they all managed to get along with each other so well.”

Then it was true that she could have been in the house and heard nothing. “Do you know which room was Foster's?”

“One of the ones the children have, I'm not sure which. You saw them both. Have you seen enough now?” She was distressed, anxious to leave.

“Yes, I think so.” I took one more look around the room and followed her downstairs.