Murder Superior(3)

She was also feeling a little queasy. There was something about that joke about the fugu that she hadn’t liked, something about the way the man had said it, as if he meant it—but she had to be exaggerating, or exhausted, or something. Overreacting, most likely. Her best friend had been murdered a few years ago, and by someone she would never have expected. It preyed on her mind sometimes. She would have felt better if she’d been in Maryville. It had been Reverend Mother General’s idea to send her down here with her postulants to “help set up.” What Reverend Mother General really wanted her to do was spy. Scholastica wasn’t sure who she was supposed to spy on, or for what Reverend Mother was never that direct unless she was talking to Cardinal Archbishops.

When Fortnum & Mason glazed fruit, they did it right. They glazed entire pears and flawless apricots. Scholastica checked out the apricots, shook her head, and put the box on the nearest clear shelf space she could find. Then she looked across the pantry at Linda Bartolucci. Linda Bartolucci was a postulant, complete with black dress and little short veil. She was supposed to be unloading a large crate full of pâté de foie gras from France. Instead, she was sitting on the crate, reading something. Linda Bartolucci was always reading something. If she’d stayed in the world, she would have turned into one of those thick-ankled women who buried themselves in romance novels on the bus.

Stayed in the world. Where had that phrase come from? How long ago was Vatican II?

Scholastica wiped her hands on the sides of her habit skirt and said, “Linda, for heaven’s sake, at least pretend to get some work done.”

“Work?” Linda looked confused. Then she flushed. “Oh. Sister. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Scholastica told her, “just unload. We’ve got Mass at seven thirty.”

“I know. I just—I found this, you see. It’s a schedule.”

“Schedule?”

“For the convention. You know. Somebody was talking about it at dinner last night—I don’t remember who. But they’re putting a schedule together and they’re going to have it printed up and it’s going to be just like a real convention.”

“But they haven’t printed it up,” Scholastica pointed out “That’s not until next week.”

“Well this isn’t printed. It’s typed and this is a photocopy anyway. I mean, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it? The schedule?”

“I suppose not.” Actually, although Scholastica had heard about the printed schedule, she hadn’t given it much thought, because thinking about it made her uncomfortable. It was odd the way that worked. Scholastica had joined the Order just far enough back to have gone through formation under the old dispensation—long habits, long silences and all. She remembered the days when a meeting, no matter how large, would have had to depend on daily announcements in refectory for a schedule. It made her very nervous to think that the Order was now modern enough to go to the expense of getting schedules printed in advance. And yet, there were dozens of more substantive changes, even a handful of drastic reversals, that didn’t bother her at all. Big clunky shoes replaced by these cute little tie things from Hush Puppies. A little Office exchanged for a revamped Divine Office that was chanted in English instead of Latin. Sisters who carried money and wandered around by themselves without supervision or companions. Sister Alice Marie said the only thing she couldn’t get used to in the changes in the Order since Vatican II was the withdrawal of the rule that every Sister had to take at least one spoonful of every food served at every meal, personal taste notwithstanding. Sister Alice Marie loathed macaroni and cheese. Under the new rules, she didn’t have to eat it. She ate it anyway, because she couldn’t make herself stop.

Linda was holding out the photocopied schedule. Scholastica took it and looked down the long list of items meant to span more than a week. Opening reception, Friday, May 16. “Spirituality and the African Cultural Tradition,” a seminar, given by Sister Francis Mary, Mistress of Novices, St. Mary’s Provincial House, Nairobi, Monday, May 19. Picnic, Wednesday, May 21. Scholastica handed the schedule back.

“Too much to do,” she said, “and I won’t get to do much of it anyway, because I’ll be too busy chasing your lot around this campus. Will you please get back to the pate? If you make me unload it, I won’t let you eat it.”

“Virginia Richards said that stuff was made out of goose livers,” Linda said. “I don’t want to eat it.”