“The New York Sentinel.” Sister Kenna brightened. “That’s a new tack, isn’t it? Maybe they don’t think those murders had anything to do with the center. Wouldn’t that be a relief?”
“No,” Ida said.
Sister Kenna shot Ida a remorseful look.
Gregor Demarkian and Hector Sheed had finished talking to whoever it was they were talking to. Augie watched them detach themselves from the crowd that had gathered around them and begin to work their way to the back of the hall. The crowd drifted in their direction, but not for long. Everybody wanted to be close to the action, to know what was going on—but not too close. Getting too close could be a jinx. The police could pin anything on you if they wanted to. Augie was surprised at how much of the ordinary attitudes of this neighborhood she had taken for her own. She wouldn’t have thought that way about the police when she first came here.
“I hate to be callous,” she said, “but I don’t really care what they’re doing as long as they’re not being a threat to Michael.”
“I don’t think they were ever a threat to Michael,” Ida said. “I think that was just our paranoia.”
“Somebody’s a threat to somebody,” Sister Kenna said. “I’m glad Robbie Yagger didn’t die, in spite of all the trouble he’s caused us. I don’t think I could have stood to have somebody else die around here—I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Augie said.
“Is Robbie Yagger doing well?” Ida asked. “I was on duty in Family Planning when all that happened. Later somebody told me that Michael had committed another miracle, and done something nobody had ever done before. Doesn’t Michael always?”
“Robbie’s doing all right,” Augie told her. “Michael’s saying he should be sitting up and talking in a couple of days. There’s something going on now about making sure he stays absolutely still because there might still be some strychnine in his body.”
“I’ll have to tell Julie Enderson about that.” Ida touched the red smear on her cheek. “She was all worked up about it. I’m going down to the cafeteria right now. Maybe I’ll run into her.”
“Are you taking a break?” Augie asked.
Sister Kenna nudged Augie in the ribs. “Look. They’re coming right this way. I think they’re going to stop and talk to us.”
“Why shouldn’t they stop and talk to us?” Augie demanded. “We can talk to them any time we want to. Or at least we can talk to Mr. Demarkian. That’s why he’s here.”
“Oh, Augie,” Sister Kenna said.
Hector Sheed and Gregor Demarkian were only a couple of yards away. Augie hated to admit it, but she knew what Sister Kenna was getting at. This morning, she had felt as if she could command Gregor Demarkian’s attention any time she wanted it. Now she didn’t. Robbie Yagger’s near-death had caused a psychological shift Rosalie van Straadt’s murder hadn’t. That probably means they’re close to knowing the answer, Augie thought. And then she shivered.
“If I wasn’t a nun, I’d think Hector Sheed was cute,” Sister Mary Grace said.
Augie hated waiting for things to happen to her. She stepped around the side of the nurses’ station counter and said, “Mr. Demarkian? Mr. Sheed? Can I speak to you for a moment?”
The two men came to a stop when there were less than six inches left between them and Augie. Augie backed up a little. She had been trained in the days when nuns had been careful to keep a safe space between themselves and seculars at all times. She didn’t like to get too close.
She also didn’t know what she wanted to say. “Mr. Demarkian,” she tried, ignoring Hector Sheed completely. “We’ve heard—that is, there’s a rumor going around—there’s some talk that you might have the answer. That the police might be close to an arrest.”
There was, of course, no such rumor. Augie was telling a lie. She didn’t care.
Hector Sheed was looking impatient. “The police are close to losing their tempers,” he said pointedly.
Gregor Demarkian ignored him. “I think it’s a little soon to talk about arrests,” he explained to Sister Augustine. “Right now, I need a word with Dr. Pride.”
Augie tensed. “With Michael? But you can’t have a word with Michael. It’s Friday night.”
Gregor Demarkian’s eyebrows rose up his forehead. Augie flushed.
“It’s Friday night,” she repeated. “We’re inundated. We’re always drowning in emergencies on Friday night.”