“Why do you ask? Guilty conscience?”
“You know anyone with a Catholic upbringing who doesn’t have one?”
I got a smile and another finger wagging, but her fire-engine red nails sort of vitiated the tsk-tsk effect. “When we’re busy, one or two of the sisters sometimes come out to help.”
“Is there any way you can round up some of those sisters that might have been working in here last week?”
“You mean now?” she asked and then shook her head. “This isn’t a good time. The sisters are at Vespers. What you need to do is make an appointment with the prioress to talk with them.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s almost always here. This is a cloistered monastery. That means the nuns pretty much stay put behind these walls.”
“So, can I talk with her?”
“You’d be interrupting her. She’s working.”
“Working?”
“Don’t sound surprised. Nuns don’t like to be distracted from their work.”
“Making the pumpkin bread?”
Dottie laughed. “That’s more of a sideline. Their full-time work is praying.”
“They pray full-time?”
My incredulity got me a Jersey girl retort. “I find it hard enough to do it part-time. What about you?”
“You have a point.”
“It’s almost twenty-four/seven for the nuns,” she said. “They live a life of enclosure so that they can dedicate themselves completely to prayer. You’d think if you withdrew from the world you wouldn’t give two hoots about it, but they spend all their time praying for it.”
“They’ve taken on a big job.”
“You’re telling me. I don’t let anything get in the way of me and my eight hours, but the nuns even give up their sleep for prayer. They take turns getting up during the night to do their adoration and keep vigil with Jesus.”
“I am sure he appreciates their company.”
Dottie regarded me suspiciously, but I must have passed muster because she chose not to upbraid me.
I asked, “How many nuns are there here?”
“Fewer and fewer,” she said. “Nowadays there are around twenty, and most of them are as old as the hills. There certainly aren’t enough for all the praying that’s needed.”
I remembered a line I had once heard: “Too many sneezers, and not enough
“You can say that again.”
I started thinking aloud. “I need to find out if anyone worked in the last week and waited on a woman that bought some pumpkin bread, as well as two pairs of bootees, one pink and the other blue. I suspect this woman was pregnant, but it’s possible she wasn’t showing.”
“Some women are like that, but not me. My three pregnancies I was out to here”-Dottie gestured to a spot beyond where her fingers could reach-“and that was after only a few months. I always looked like I was carrying a litter.”
Dottie provided me with a Sharpie, a stapler, and running commentary while I wrote up the details on my wanted poster and attached my card. When I finished up, I took an appreciative sniff of the air.
“That pumpkin bread smells great.”
“It tastes better than it smells,” Dottie said. “Usually it’s all sold out by noon.”
“I’ll take a loaf then.”
“You’ll want some of the hand-dipped chocolates as well,” she said, reaching for a box and not giving me any choice in the matter. “There’s never any left over. Today’s your lucky day.”
“You sure you don’t work on commission?”
“Bring the chocolates home to your wife and see if I’m not telling it like it is.”
“I’m not married.”
Deadpan she said, “With all your charm?”
She bagged up the chocolates. “A box of chocolates can make a woman forgive a lot of flaws. If you want to catch a mouse, you need the cheese.”
“I’m a cop, not an exterminator.”
“These chocolates are so good some woman will even put up with your bad jokes.”
“Thanks for your help and the million calories.”
“The nuns made them. How can it be bad for you?”
I gathered up my goodies. The bag she handed me was surprisingly heavy. By the feel of it, the nuns must have put the Great Pumpkin into my loaf of pumpkin bread. We said our good-byes, but I stopped short of walking out the door. My subconscious was still mulling over why Rose’s mother had come to this spot. Sinners look to repent in different ways. Maybe the pregnant woman hadn’t known where to turn other than God. She might have been so ashamed of her condition that she had considered the need for penance in a big way. I wondered if she had come to the monastery to ask how to go about becoming a nun.
“Is it possible that our mystery woman could have talked to one of the nuns before she came into the gift shop?”
Dottie shrugged her shoulders. “Why not? The nuns might be cloistered, but they’re not invisible.”
“Let’s say she came to the monastery and asked how to become a nun here. Would she have to talk to anyone in particular?”
“I suppose the prioress. That would be the Reverend Mother Frances.”
“And you’re sure she’s too busy to talk to me now?”
“If you’re here about an investigation, I would be more comfortable getting you an appointment with her tomorrow. If you’re here about your own spiritual issues, I am sure she will see you now.”
“Late afternoon tomorrow would work best for me.”
Dottie promised to call me in the morning to confirm the time. I thanked her for all her help, but again I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave. Something was still nagging at me.
“The reverend mother’s name is Frances?”
I said it as if the name was familiar to me, even though I was pretty sure I didn’t know a single person in the world named Frances.
“You might have read about her,” Dottie said, looking rather pleased.
“What? Was she awarded Mother Superior of the Year?”
“No, the reverend mother experienced a miracle.”
“How can I top that?”
“You can’t.”
CHAPTER 11:
For dinner I had the pumpkin bread and most of the chocolates. Both were as tasty as Dottie had promised. I told myself it was a balanced diet, and that I was getting my fruit and vegetables in the pumpkin bread. As it turned out, it was a good night. These days my definition of a good night is when I don’t burn. In the morning my alarm sounded and I got out of bed actually feeling refreshed. That was lucky for me, because today was my day for going back to high school.
I drove to the coast, making my way to a peninsula known collectively as Palos Verdes, which the locals refer to as PV. Although PV doesn’t have the reputation of Beverly Hills, the beach community is every bit as affluent.
