Straight away I knew something was up. She wasn’t making sense from the get-go, and things got even more bizarre once she started talking.

“Homo sum humani a me nihil alienum puto,” was what she said. Not “Hello,” or “Good afternoon,” or “Oh, Ms. Delmar, I really need your help!” What kind of a fine how-do-you-do is that?

“Beg your pardon?” I asked, accepting her small outstretched hand and answering her limp offering with a firm shake. “My Greek’s a little rusty.”

“It’s not Greek, it’s Latin,” she smiled. “It means ‘I am a human being; nothing human is strange to me.’ I was just remarking to myself about your… unique choice of office space.”

“Ah, yes, La Tour Eiffel. Horrifying, isn’t it? That’s why I took the space. It’s the only place in Paris where you can’t see the damn thing.”

I grinned and sat back in my chair, steepling my fingers while observing her. She glanced around my room as if taking inventory of the dusty stacks of papers, tiny window papered over with brown grocery bags, and the shabby, mismatched furniture that cluttered the tiny space. As far as detective agencies go, mine wasn’t much to look at, but at least there was evidence of my work in progress, and it was pretty clear I worked alone, judging from the single desk. A woman could feel safe and secure talking to one of her own, or at least that was the idea behind the setup. Bring in the big boys after this little girl sorted out the mess for ‘em.

The bird finally deigned to perch upon the wooden chair in front of the desk. She looked both befuddled and haunted, as if she wasn’t sure how to proceed in a place like this - dirty, secular, beyond the confines of her comfortable cloister.

“So, sister, what brings you to Delmar Investigations? Lost your sacristy wine? Misplaced your Bible?” I lit up a cigarette and blew a smoke ring her way. She winced, just like I knew she would.

“Please, Ms. Delmar, this is a very serious matter. I can’t imagine joking at a time like this.”

“A time like what, sister?”

“The name’s Sister Mary Gloria, but since I’m not yet officially a member of the sisterhood, you may require my given name of Edna Folderol. I’m a novitiate with the Carmelite order at Notre Dame.”

“Edna, eh? Well, Edna, what’s the big mystery? Lost lamb like you could get eaten up by us wolves pretty quick. Out with it already.”

“It’s Father O’Malley. He’s… why, he’s dead!”

At this, the nun burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably into my desktop.

“And just how did you come to discover this, Edna?”

“I was the one that found him,” she finally managed, still sniffling and snuffling. “He had asked me to meet him for matins - that’s morning prayers - at 4 AM, and when I reached the church it was still dark and empty. I went ‘round to his chambers, and when I knocked there was no answer. I thought he must have slept through his alarm, so I opened the door to wake him, and there he was, face down on the floor with a knife in his back!”

Before she could commence with the wailing once more, I interjected, “You entered the man’s chambers? Did you touch anything?”

“Oh no! I saw all the blood and the knife and I screamed. Mother Superior found me there, hysterical, and took me away to the infirmary. I think she must have given me a sedative, because I blacked out, and when I came to I told her I would be in my chambers, praying for Father O’Malley’s soul. Instead I came straight here. Oh, Ms. Delmar, isn’t it awful?”

“How did you know about Delmar Investigations? I’m hardly the first detective in the phone book.” I jotted a quick note on the pad on my desk. This story was getting fishier by the minute, and I don’t mean halibut.

“Why, no, but all of us know you’re the best female detective in town. We love to read your write-ups in the paper.” She blushed and looked down at the floor. Was this woman pulling my leg or just buttering me up?

“Sure, but I’m also the ONLY female detective in town. No wonder it still makes headlines,” I huffed. The boys hated that I was always swiping work out from under them, especially when it paid in dividends, as most of my casework did. Heiresses murdered, double indemnities faked, housewives’ fancy jewels stolen… I’d seen it all. Not to mention the more sordid affairs, complete with gigolos, gangsters and burlesque stars. But what on earth did a murdered minister have to do with any of this domestic violence, my stock in trade?

“I know it’s not your typical case, Ms. Delmar,” Edna broke in, as if reading my mind, “But I know Father O’Malley was murdered, and I’m worried about my safety. Will you help me find his killer?” Her pleading eyes and trembling lower lip were silent communiqués I knew well. But were they the look of a truthful novitiate or the fraudulent facsimile of a cold-blooded killer?

“You nuns take a vow of poverty, don’t you? Exactly how do you intend to pay my fee?”

At this Sister Mary Gloria leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, Ms. Delmar, I’m sure Mother Superior will be happy to pay you for your services. She commands quite a full ledger, as she’s the order’s Parisian attaché to Rome. Unlimited spending, courtesy of the Pope.” She sat back again with a confident smile.

“I see. And what if, god forbid, your Mother Superior is somehow involved in this sordid slaying?”

Sister Mary Gloria’s face went white, and she began to shake her head violently. “Oh no! Mother Superior could never… I mean… it’s just impossible! Oh, Ms. Delmar, how could you imply such an awful thing?”

“Stranger things have happened, Ms. Folderol. I am merely speculating aloud. Would you mind if I spoke with your Mother Superior about the matter before making up my mind?”

The little nun seemed taken aback at this suggestion, and opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again. She rocked back and forth in the chair, as if trying to decide whether or not to reveal any further secrets about her order’s order - or lack thereof. I smoked the remainder of my cigarette and calmly stubbed it into the glass ashtray to my left before she appeared to make up her frantic mind.

“Well, you see… the Carmelite order… we do things a bit differently than the rest of the Holy Roman Empire, and I wouldn’t want Mother Superior to get into trouble over this. She might lose her position over such a scandal.”

“And you might step in to take her place?” I asked, trying to fit the pieces together.

“Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just… the Pope allows us certain leeway, but I fear his leniency may be compromised if he hears of any outside probing.”

I gave her a hard look. Her wide-eyes conveyed innocence, and it was hard to imagine a bride of Christ – or even this bride-to-be – telling anything but the truth. Yet stranger things have happened, including this odd nun walking into my office and asking me to solve a clergyman’s murder.

“I’m not sure I follow you, Ms. Folderol, but I’ll take the case on one condition. I must have complete access to both the priory and the church itself, along with full cooperation of the sisterhood concerning my investigation.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Delmar. When can you begin?”

“Consider my timecard punched,” I replied. “Go tell your sisters that I’ll be in to speak with them each in turn this afternoon, and take note of any that have a strong or strange reaction, will you?”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Delmar. Anything to help you solve this dreadful murder!” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, just like a lost widow. Was there more to her relationship with the dead priest than she let on? I scribbled another note on my pad as she got to her feet and crossed to the exit.

“Thank you, Ms. Delmar, and bless you.”

I sat back in my chair once more, wondering how on earth as it is in heaven I was going to drag the mystery of this murderer’s identity from a bunch of women who’d sworn a vow of silence.

Next Chapter: index