Chapter 16
The nun looked like an extra from a movie set in wartime Poland.
Even before arthritis crooked her spine, she couldn’t have claimed more than five feet in height.
All other personal details—weight, figure, hair color—were hidden by the old-style black-and-white bandeau squaring off across her forehead and the veil and habit draping her body.
Trailing the ancient nun was a younger woman with mousy brown hair cut in no discernible style. Her face, though pallid and creased, was devoid of makeup. Her outfit of white blouse, gray skirt, ankle socks, and flats was as bland as attire can be and still qualify as clothing.
My spine suddenly straightened. Muscle memory resulting from years of admonishment concerning my posture. Noting a squaring of Slidell’s shoulders, I wondered if he’d also been the victim of parochial schooling.
“It’s the devil’s work.” The croaky proclamation was accompanied by the raising of one knobby, blue-veined hand.
Taken aback, I said nothing. Ditto Slidell.
The nun worked the familiar pattern on her forehead, sternum, and shoulders. Then she crossed her arms and shot her hands up under her sleeves.
Nun pose. The phrase floated back, forgotten for years.
As a kid I’d often pondered the secrets of those billowy recesses. I knew the sleeves served as temporary repositories for tissues, used and unused. But what else? An extra missal? A spare battery? A loaded Glock 19?
“I apologize,” the younger woman said, proffering a hand. “I’m Sister Mona Bierhals.”
“Temperance Brennan.”
We shook. The woman’s grip made me think of tapioca.
“Sister Adelbert has been quite unnerved since spotting that abomination in the tree.”
“I understand,” I said, before Skinny could open his mouth. “I’m sure the experience is upsetting for her.”
I suspected both nuns remained in the park solely because the first responder cops had ordered them to.
“Gimme more kibble,” Sister Adelbert demanded loud enough to be heard in Atlanta.
“Don’t let the squirrels get too close,” Mona warned, while producing a cellophane bag labeled Backyard Buffet for Wildlife. “I’ll join you shortly.”
The elderly nun took the feed and hobbled off.
“I’m not sure Sister Adelbert fully grasps the significance of what she’s seen,” Mona said.
“I understand,” I said again.
“Sister Adelbert took her holy vows when she was only nineteen years old. She’s now eighty-four. As you might guess from the woefully outdated habit she favors, the woman is quite set in her, well, habits.”
“Cordelia is her favorite park?”
“By far. I bring her here often.”
Sudden thought.
“On one of your outings, might you have crossed paths with the person who nailed the remains to the tree?”
“If so, I didn’t notice. I’m too busy keeping an eye on my charge.” Nodding toward the octogenarian nun now tossing kibble in a circle around her feet.
“Might she have noticed?”
Mona shrugged. “It’s possible. Sister Adelbert’s hearing is shot, but her vision seems fine.”
“May I ask her a few questions?”
“Of course. But I’ll warn you. Have a getaway plan. Once the old gal starts talking, it’s hard to escape.”
Mona beckoned to her companion.
Emptying the last remnants of corn and nuts onto the ground, the elderly nun shuffled over to join us.
I shot Slidell a “let me handle this” look, then greeted Adelbert and commented on one of the squirrels.
“That fat guy looks like the leader of the pack.”
“She’s a pesky one,” Adelbert said in a voice much larger than expected for such a small person. “Actually, that little bugger yonder is alpha.”
Adelbert indicated a smallish squirrel off to one side of the group. Seeing four sets of eyes pointed its way, the animal froze, bushy tail twitching like a night worker overdosed on caffeine.
“Did you know there are two hundred and eighty species of squirrels in the world?” Adelbert asked, rheumy eyes shifting between Slidell and me.
“I did not,” I said.
“Ground squirrels, tree squirrels, flying squirrels. Did you know that chipmunks, prairie dogs, and groundhogs are also squirrels?”
“I wasn’t aware of that, either.”
“The eastern gray is the most common variety around here. That’s what these fellas are.”
A bit more squirrel talk, then I managed to maneuver to the topic that had brought us to the park.
“I understand it was you who noticed the remains nailed to the tree.”
“Damn straight.”
I looked at Mona, surprised. She shrugged.
“Detective Slidell”—I tipped my head toward said detective—“is trying to catch the person responsible for these grisly displays.”
The nun looked at Skinny and me expectantly, perhaps curious about my use of the plural.
“I’m wondering,” I continued. “Might you have gotten a look at the person responsible?”
“Of course I did. I may be old, but I’m not blind.”
“How’d you know you was eyeballing the bastar—the person that nailed the thing up?” Slidell interjected far too sharply.
“He was walking away from the tree with a rope ladder slung over one shoulder and a leather bag hanging from the other. I told all this to one of the cops over there.”
“Can you describe the man?” I asked.
“You a detective, too?” Adelbert eyed me with suspicion.
“No, sister.”
“Figures. Because that’s one big assumption you’re making, young lady.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You thinking right off that the culprit is male.”
“Am I wrong?” I asked, embarrassed because she was right.
“No. But the guy wasn’t huge. And he wasn’t a real snappy dresser.”
“What does that mean?”
“Keep in mind, I only caught a glimpse of him from a distance.”
“Yes, sister.”
“His shorts were tan and baggy. His shirt was blue and black. He hadn’t bothered to tuck it in.”
She paused, perhaps tsk-tsking inwardly at the flagrant affront to her dress code.
“Anything else?” I prodded.
“I remember his sneakers. They were such a bright lime green I thought my eyes might tear. And they had that black line on one side. Kind of like a long-tailed checkmark, I guess.”
“A swoosh? The Nike logo.”
“If you say so. It’s beyond me what people wear these days.”
“How old do you think this guy was?” Slidell spoke up again.
“Too old for such ridiculous footwear.”
“Not a kid?” he pressed.
“Definitely not a kid.”
“Did you notice anything else?”
“Like what?”
“Hair, skin, or eye color. Hair style? Height? Build?” Slidell’s eyes were boring into the tiny woman.
The old nun shook her head. “I just saw him that once, and I was too far away.”
“Did he get into a vehicle?”
“Seems so. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“What make?”
“I don’t know much about cars.”
“Can you describe it?” Slidell was, for Slidell, being very patient.
Sister Adelbert closed her eyes, going back in her mind to that day in the park. Opened them.
“It was small. And very dark blue. Maybe black.”
“Did you catch the tag?”
Adelbert looked at me.
“The license plate,” I clarified.
“No. One of those trucks was double-parked and blocking my view. But I wouldn’t have been able to read a license plate from that distance anyway.”
Slidell shifted his feet and cocked his chin. A signal that he was eager to move on.
“Thank you, sisters,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re most welcome,” Mona said.
“I’ll pray for you,” Sister Adelbert said.
And crossed herself.
While Slidell returned to headquarters to follow up on our interview, I spent a couple of hours sorting through long-ignored correspondence at the MCME, then headed to the Annex to appease my niece, whose multiple calls I’d missed because my phone was again in silent mode.
Maybe it was low blood sugar, having eaten nothing all day. Maybe it was knowing my cupboards were bare. Maybe it was my conscience pointing out that the situation was due to my hatred of shopping. Maybe it was the friggin’ heat. For some reason, my spirits had dropped into the cellar.
Coming through the back door, I called Ruthie’s name. Got no response.
I saw zero sign of Birdie. Even the cat seemed to be keeping his distance.
Parking my keys and phone on the counter, I crossed to the refrigerator. Not optimistic, I opened the door and stood a moment, enjoying the whoosh of cool air.
In my absence, a miracle had taken place.
The shelves and drawers were crammed with a variety of healthy foods. Broccoli. Romaine and iceberg lettuce. Campari tomatoes. Carrots. Apples. Grapes. A dozen yogurts in a dozen flavors.
Choosing apricot, I grabbed a spoon and sat down at the table.
A note lay centered on one of the place mats.
Got hungry. Called Instacart.
Got bored. Called Uber.
Meeting the UNCC group.
See ya!
Kids today are more resourceful than you ever were, my naggy conscience piped up again. You’d have binged on Coke and chips and waited for an adult to appear.
Teens have cell phones now, I defended my adolescent self. And takeout options up the wazoo.
I ate the yogurt, hoping protein would improve my outlook.
Idly gazing out the window, I spotted something odd.
Having lived in the Annex a very long time, I know all my neighbors and their vehicles. A black sedan was parked in the spot reserved for the Woos, an elderly couple who didn’t drive and had never owned a vehicle.
The CIA has nothing on the gossip network at Sharon Hall. Had the Woos purchased wheels, I’d have heard within days. They rarely had visitors. And no one ever parks in someone else’s slot.
I knew the car didn’t belong to the Woos. And I knew I’d never seen it before.
I scanned the vehicle, maybe a Honda. It was parked facing me, but sunlight glinting off the windshield masked its interior. I couldn’t tell if anyone was in the front or back seat.
Had the car been there when I’d arrived home?
Had it followed me?
Retrieving my phone from the counter, I mimed dialing, then talking. Pretending to disconnect, I began snapping pics of the Honda.
Then, slipping the mobile into a pocket, I faked exiting the kitchen, squatted, and duck-walked back to the window. Hunkered down out of sight, I observed the Honda. Maybe Honda. If it remained parked where it was, that meant I was paranoid. If it left, that meant what? I wasn’t sure.
I watched for maybe five minutes. Was about to call it quits when the driver started the engine, and the vehicle began rounding the circle drive toward my unit. Staying low, I raised my phone above my head and took more pictures.
When I was certain the Honda had passed my front window, I rose for a better view. Saw the car reach the bottom of the hill, turn right, and vanish.
Opening my laptop, I downloaded the pics so I could see them better.
The car was a four-door black Accord with a decal on the right side of the back window and a starburst pattern on each of the hubcaps.
I expanded and studied several shots, hoping for a fuller view of the license plate.