Gilman, Dorothy - A Nun in the Closet Read online

"Like what?" asked Brill, amused.

  Her eyes had begun to sparkle. "I haven't given it much thought yet but with so much scope-It's not only the house, you know, there are the furnishings, some of them valuable, I'm sure. However"-she brushed this aside impatiently-"the only thing I can do for them-right now-is organize a little trip into town tomorrow, like a party, and give the children a cultural experience."

  "You'll frighten them," said Brill flatly.

  "Not if you help persuade them and their parents. Sister Hyacinthe and I can bake cookies this afternoon and you and I can take them over this evening after they've come in from the fields. You'd help me talk to them, wouldn't you?"

  "Of course," said Brill, watching her with a smile.

  "We'll make sugar cookies," she said, turning to Sister Hyacinthe.

  "We certainly have enough sugar," said Sister Hyacinthe.

  "We'll make them now," said Sister John, and led the way into the kitchen. "Have you seen any cookie sheets, Sister Hyacinthe?"

  "Yes," said Sister Hyacinthe, "but I don't care to go in the pantry and walk on all the sugar spilled on the floor."

  "I didn't spill any," Sister John said, joining her at the door to the pantry. "You must have, Sister Hyacinthe."

  "No, I didn't. I carried three jars to the basement yesterday but I didn't spill any. I went into the pantry last night to get slippery elm bark and there wasn't any sugar on the floor, and I've not been in the pantry today at all."

  "Nor have I," said Sister John, frowning at the grains scattered across the dark floor. "It's slippery to walk on, and of course it attracts ants."

  "Who'd want to steal powdered sugar?" asked Brill. He knelt down, stabbed it with a damp finger and carried the finger to his lips. "Ech," he said, making a face. "Aaah." He spat it out in distaste. "That's not sugar."

  "Not sugar!" echoed Sister John. "It has to be sugar, We're going to make cookies with it. Unless of course something else spilled." She glanced up and down the shelves in search of something else but found nothing remotely resembling sugar.

  "Let's be scientific about this," urged Brill. "Get me a spoon and show me where you think this came from."

  "One of those last three jars on the top shelf," said Sister John, reaching up to grasp one. "This," she said, handing it to him. "We moved the others to the preserve closet."

  He carried the jar to the kitchen table and took the spoon that Sister Hyacinthe offered him. Opening the container he scooped out a spoonful, studied it, sniffed it, then carried a few grains to his lips and tasted it. "Same stuff," he said, "and definitely not sugar. Has a weird aftertaste."

  "Oh dear, the cookies," sighed Sister John.

  "I wonder what it is," Brill said speculatively. "I can't think what it could be unless it's-but it couldn't be, it would be too wild. Crazy."

  "What would be crazy?"

  "Dope," he said bluntly. "It could, of course, be some kind of fancy rat poison but I wouldn't be at all surprised if this isn't some kind of drug."

  "Drug?"

  "I've got a friend who could run a test on it. Very discreetly, you understand. Good Lord, you could spend the rest of your lives in jail if this is what I think it is."

  Sister John looked incredulous and then shocked. Sister Hyacinthe, on the other hand, brightened. "How Alfie's going to hate having missed this," she said. "His dearest dream come true."

  "Yes, but what could Mr. Moretti have been thinking of," protested Sister John. "And how are we to bake our cookies?"

  "More to the point," said Brill, "is who's been in your kitchen and found the damn stuff, spilling it in the meantime."

  Sister John stared at him in astonishment. "Oh dear."

  "Oh dear what?"

  "Sheriff McGee was in the house. Right here in the kitchen, actually, but surely a sheriff, no matter how disagreeable-"

  "Think. Anyone else?"

  "There was the power and light man but he didn't came into the house at all, did he, Sister Hyacinthe?"

  Sister Hyacinthe shook her head. "He just came to the back door, said he could see the problem without coming inside but he wanted me to know the Marines had landed-that's how he put it-and then he asked who could have cut the wire. I said we didn't know."

  "Could one of your ghosts have sneaked in during the haunting last night?"

  Sister John shook her head. "The doors were locked, and as you can see the pantry window's still boarded over."

  "But Sheriff McGee did come in?"

  "Yes, I found him standing near the door to the pantry."

  "The pantry again," said Brill.

  "He looked very happy. Not at all disagreeable, which, considering how angry he'd been several moments earlier, was a very pleasant surprise."

  "The pantry made Mr. Ianicelli happy, too," pointed out Brill. Seeing Sister John struck silent by this, and suddenly thoughtful, he said, "Look, how much money have you? Frankly I suggest you buy about fifty pounds of sugar in one hell of a hurry."

  "We don't need fifty pounds for cookies," said Sister Hyacinthe.

  Sister John, however, understood him. "You're thinking we should replace this-this mystery ingredient-right away? It's that serious?"

  Brill nodded. "It scares me, frankly. It would scare you, too, if you knew what I'm thinking. I don't have Alfie's kind of mind, which is positively Machiavellian, but in New York State the laws are rugged for possession of drugs, and Sheriff McGee doesn't like you."

  "Doesn't understand us," Sister John corrected gently.

  "Then hide the stuff until we can find out what it is and what to do with it. McGee must have taken some of it away with him, and it boggles the mind what that can mean. He'll probably have it tested tonight or tomorrow, and as long as it's here in your pantry-"

  Sister John nodded. "Your point is made."

  "Good. Sister Hyacinthe and I will drive out for some sugar now. She'll never manage fifty pounds of it alone so I'll go with her, and while we're gone I suggest you lock all the doors and hide the stuff somewhere in the cellar. Don't tell either of us where you hide it, either. I'll keep several tablespoons of it for analysis."

  Sister John nodded.

  "And don't be alarmed if we're gone awhile. We may have to spread our purchases between two towns."

  "To conceal what we're up to," Sister Hyacinthe said, nodding with enthusiasm. "It's all right, Sister John, isn't it."

  "Of course," said Sister John, sighing. "But such a nuisance."

  When they had gone, with Sister Hyacinthe driving-she didn't envy Brill the experience-Sister John bundled up the last three jars and carried them downstairs to join the others in the preserve closet. Placing them on the shelf, she surveyed the collection dubiously, then sat down on an up-ended pickle barrel to think where to conceal ten five-pound jars of trouble. She felt a little jaded, for it did seem as if one thing after another had been happening, but this in no way dimmed her faith: she knew that God would presently reveal His purpose in sending them here. "We have, after all, been here only four days," she told Him aloud, "and I'm in no way discouraged by this puzzle but if you could send a little more enlightenment-direct my attention in the proper direction-I'd certainly appreciate it. As you know, we've been living very simply at St. Tabitha's and we lack worldly experience."

  The problem for the moment remained where to hide the containers. She rose and walked into the storage room, where they had found the water turn-off, and began lifting holland covers. A cedar chest she discarded as too obvious; an old piano attracted her briefly but the idea of anything illicit or poisonous remaining in the house began to feel increasingly distasteful to her. The money in the well was obviously theirs, but although she did not care to follow this to its logical conclusion she could not feel that this mysterious substance belonged to them, too.

  The money in the well . . . If no one had peered into the well during all those years then obviously the well could prove an equally successful place for concealing ten large glass jars. Somewhere sh
e remembered seeing a pile of burlap bags and found them under the cellar stairs. She placed five jars in one bag, five in another, secured them with rope and disobeying Brill's stern injunction to remain in the house she carried them out, one by one, to the garden. Before lowering them down the well she strolled casually about the yard, just to make sure that Alice was not behind a tree or Mr. Ianicelli lurking behind the barn, and then knotted them to the chain, lowered it and inserted a stick once more in the wheel to keep the two bundles above water level. Following this she found herself somewhat tired and breathless, and repaired to the front steps to rest. She was still there when Mr. Armisbruck's van returned. Brill was driving this time and Sister Hyacinthe looking mutinous.

  As Brill climbed out of the van she heard him say, "But you're not supposed to blow your horn at every car on Main Street. In the first place you're not supposed to drive that fast in town, and in the second place-"

  "But I would have hit them if they hadn't gotten out of my way," protested Sister Hyacinthe. "And how could they know I was coming if I didn't blow the horn?"

  He faced her, hands on his hips. "How old are you, Sister Hyacinthe?"

  She thought a moment. "Thirty-four."

  "Well, you make me feel middle-aged, that's what's so infuriating. I've never seen such driving in my life."

  Sister John rose and went forward to intervene. "Did you find sugar?"

  He nodded. "Forty-five pounds, although if we'd had an accident-a very strong possibility, you know-that's a hell of a lot of powdered sugar to spill over the thruway, let alone explain."

  "I prayed for you," Sister John told him reassuringly. "Shall we get to work now?"

  Brill went off to telephone his mysterious friend who might, with persuasion, test the mysterious substance that had occupied their pantry, and Sister Hyacinthe and Sister John went to work filling identical glass jars with genuine sugar. When the pantry had been restored to respectability it was lunchtime and they decided to bring Sister Ursula downstairs.

  "Because," explained Sister John, "it will do him a great deal of good to get out of his room, and if the stairs don't tire him too much he might want to watch us bake cookies."

  "Why?" asked Sister Hyacinthe skeptically.

  "It's wholesome," pointed out Sister John. "It may recall his childhood to him."

  Sister Ursula agreed with alacrity that he would like to lunch downstairs, and leaning on the two of them he presently arrived in the kitchen and sat down to catch his breath. He looked white, and it was obvious that he badly needed a shave, but as Sister Hyacinthe remarked, from the back he looked just like a nun. His disposition, which had improved at a change of scene, suffered a setback when he confronted rose hip soup, sliced cheese and bread, but after a few disgruntled remarks about tree bark one day and roses the next he ate with appetite. He even remained in the kitchen for the cookie-making, and was the first to sample a cookie from the first of the four dozen they baked. After this he went upstairs carrying with him an ancient book from the living room, entitled Life Among the Cannibals. It was, said Sister Hyacinthe darkly, just one more symptom of his obsession over meat.

  At half-past six Naomi's motorcycle roared up the drive with a hooded passenger clinging to her waist. The passenger dismounted, Naomi waved and roared off again, leaving a small, round-faced bespectacled young man peering at them from their bottom step. "Good evening," he said blinking. "I'm Marvin Coombs."

  Marvin, it seemed, worked in a suburban pharmaceutical company and Naomi had driven down the thruway to pick him up at the gates. He was a chemist. He was also nervous and declined a cup of tea, saying that he would first prefer to find out whether he was visiting a house full of rat poison or full of dope. In the kitchen he removed his green-hooded windbreaker and unwound a khaki pack from his back and placed it on the table. "Are you really nuns," he asked solemnly, with a quick, sidelong glance at them, "or are you in disguise for my visit?"

  Sister Hyacinthe and Sister John looked at each other in astonishment.

  "You'd probably better not answer," he said nodding. "Much wiser not to, although if you don't mind a suggestion-"

  "Yes?" said Sister John.

  A little embarrassed he said, "I honestly think you've overdone it a little. Long skirts, the veil-nobody wears that stuff any more, you know. Excuse me if I've offended you but where's the sample I'm to test?"

  Concealing her amusement, Sister John brought him the white powder in a saucer. He rolled it between his fingers, sniffed it and nodded. "I think it's flake all right-snow, coke-but I'll run a few tests and make sure."

  After this mystifying remark he busied himself with bottles and test tubes, and the kitchen became quiet except for the sound of a fly buzzing in the window and the occasional click of Marvin's glass tubes as they touched. Before he had finished they could hear Alfie's voice approaching, and Sister Hyacinthe turned eagerly to the door, waiting to share in his reaction at missing the day's intrigues.

  When he arrived, running up the steps and inadvertently slamming the screen door in Brill's face, his response was just what Sister Hyacinthe had expected: a blend of awe, horror and excitement. "What have you found?" he asked breathlessly. "What a day and I wasn't here!"

  Marvin Coombs glanced up, found Brill's eyes and spoke to them. "Close the door," he said. "Lock it, too."

  "That bad?" asked Alfie.

  When the door was closed and locked Marvin gestured toward his test tubes. "It's cocaine," he said. "Very pure strain. The amount I've just tested-a spoonful-would cost fifty dollars on the retail market. I don't," he said earnestly, "want to know how much more you have. I'm corruptible, I'm an underpaid chemist with very expensive hobbies."

  "What are they?" asked Sister Hyacinthe with interest.

  "Photography, skin diving and women," he said, blinking at her. "Not necessarily in that order. Now if it's all the same to you I'd like to get out of here."

  "But you haven't had dinner, have you?" asked Sister John.

  "No, ma'am, but I'd just as soon not stay here a minute longer than necessary. It makes me nervous. Can Naomi take me back now?"

  "I will," said Brill.

  "You're not half so pretty," pointed out Marvin.

  "But you were going to take the cookies to the farm with me," said Sister John, disappointed. "There they are, four dozen of them, and you promised."

  Alfie sighed. "Okay, then, I'll drive Marvin back. If you'll make sure nothing else happens while I'm away."

  "Perhaps you could bring back a razor," suggested Sister John. "I don't know whether you've noticed it but Sister Ursula badly needs a shave."

  At this remark Marvin Coombs looked appalled, dropped a pencil and peered at her through his glasses. "You're all men?" he said in a shocked voice, and rolling up his pack he backed out of the room in, a hurry.

  "He thinks we're in disguise," Sister John told a mystified Alfie.

  Alfie grinned. "I certainly wouldn't disillusion him for the world. I'll tell him you're members of the Mafia."

  "Mafia," mused Sister John when he had gone. "Didn't that used to be another name for the Cosa Nostra?"

  Brill nodded absently, his eyes on the saucer of cocaine in front of him.

  "When I went into orders they were saying the existence of the Cosa Nostra was a myth, like the bogyman."

  Brill heard her, glanced up and laughed. "You are behind the times, Sister John. Look, what do we do with this stuff that's left?"

  "Flush it down the toilet," Sister John said, rising and taking it from him, but as she left the room there was a puzzled frown tugging at her brows and her eyes were thoughtful.

  10

  With a sense of great triumph Sister John had captured eight people for her excursion into Gatesville the next day, and she arose in the morning radiant with the joy of success. It had not been easy. On her side had been ranged only Alice, the cookies and Brill, while against her stood a rigid tradition of many years and a, to her, irrational panic. She felt i
t could not have been harder to enlist guides to accompany her among the headhunters of the Amazon, but six children had been offered up to her, with two adults to guard them: a young woman named Melida, and a toothless old man of seventy-seven called Uncle Joe.

  "What about the cocaine?" asked Sister Hyacinthe as they faced each other at the breakfast table after prayers.

  "I've thought about it," Sister John said, nodding. "This is our fifth day here, and you know we're honor bound to return the van to Mr. Armisbruck by the end of next week. The cocaine's hidden. I don't see how we can do anything at all about it until Sister Ursula is off our hands. We'll simply have to work with him every day to get him operative again.

  "Operative?"

  "It's a word from Brill's book, they use it a great deal in Washington. Brill says we can bypass Sheriff McGee when the right moment comes and call in the state police, but we can scarcely do that until we're prepared to throw open the house for a search. Our hands are not clean," she reminded Sister Hyacinthe sternly. "Sister Ursula remains a mystery, although I pray about this every day, and then there's the money." She sighed. "I'm not sure I could explain that to the police, either. If you'd like to count more of it while I'm in town, Sister Hyacinthe-"

  "No thank you," Sister Hyacinthe said hastily.

  "We're too busy today but I really think that on Monday we must rent a safe-deposit box and put the money in it. Last night I-" She dropped her voice dramatically. "Last night I carried the already counted batch into the storage room and hid it in the old piano there."

  "Boysendorfer?"

  "No, Steinway. I want you to remember where it's hidden. The rest is still in the preserve closet but I moved it out of sight by dropping it into the old wooden pickle barrel in the corner."

  "Empty, I hope."

  "Well, not now but if you mean are there pickles inside, no, although I have to confess there's still a strong smell of brine."

  "Pickled money," said Sister Hyacinthe gaily. She was feeling surprisingly lighthearted because Sister John had not insisted on her joining the expedition: Naomi was going to drive the van. In turn Alfie had volunteered to take a few hours off from bean picking to protect Sister Hyacinthe, now that they were concealing not only Sister Ursula but fifty pounds of cocaine.