Murder Superior(58)

“Not a one.” Mother Andrew Loretta took a deep breath. “It’s all very complicated, you see, Mr. Demarkian. Japan is not like the West.”

“I’ve noticed,” Gregor said.

Mother Andrew Loretta ignored him. “Japanese men—Japanese men who have been reared in Japan—don’t take orders from women. And I mean they simply don’t take them. In this country, my position is enough to guarantee my authority. In Japan it would not be. So, as far as I can figure out, Mr. Yakimoto had something of a temper tantrum this afternoon—”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure,” Mother Andrew Loretta said desperately. “I wasn’t there. He spoke to Sister Agnes Bernadette and caused some kind of terrible problem in the kitchen. Really, Agnes Bernadette was not clear and I didn’t have a lot of time and Agnes Bernadette being the way she is…” Mother Andrew Loretta hesitated. “You know, it might have been about the fugu. It was about someone tampering with something. I did understand that much. At the time I simply assumed… well, fugu chefs are so temperamental. It’s part of their… well, part of their job, in a way, I suppose. And there was this temper tantrum and Mr. Yakimoto took an ice hatchet or something to one of Agnes Bernadette’s statues and then he just disappeared, and he’s been gone ever since. I suppose because he’s been sulking.”

“That was this morning,” Gregor repeated.

“More or less,” Mother Andrew Loretta said. “I was at the nine thirty Mass, so I didn’t get back until late, you see. And then I had so much to do… but it could have been the fugu. It could have been. Maybe someone opened one of the boxes and Mr. Yakimoto is upset.”

“Maybe,” Gregor said.

“But if Sister Joan Esther died from fugu poisoning, it would have to have been deliberate,” Mother Andrew Loretta said. “Unless… oh, dear. You don’t think Agnes Bernadette could have used it for something, do you? I mean, that she might not have understood what the problems with it were and she’d run out of fish and then she used some—”

“Were the problems explained to her?” Gregor asked.

“I don’t know,” Mother Andrew Loretta said.

“Would she be likely to want fugu to put in chicken liver pâté?”

Mother Andrew Loretta blinked. “Chicken liver pate… that sounds terrible. Oh, I remember. That was what was in the ice sculptures. I had some. It wasn’t so bad. But there couldn’t have been fugu in the chicken liver pâté, Mr. Demarkian, because here I am. Still alive.”

“There couldn’t have been fugu in the general recipe of anything else,” Gregor said, “because here is everybody, still alive.”

“Except Joan Esther,” Mother Andrew Loretta said.

“Who didn’t have access to anything somebody else hadn’t eaten,” Gregor pointed out.

“Oh yes she did.” Mother Andrew Loretta shook her head. “She had access to that chicken liver pâté—if you bring it down to the chicken liver pâté that was in the ice sculpture on Mary Bellarmine’s table. Mary Bellarmine didn’t eat any. I was standing right next to her at the very next table and I could see that her cracker was empty. Mary Bellarmine being Mary Bellarmine, I’m surprised she didn’t announce to the room how much she hated… oh, dear.”

“Did Mother Mary Bellarmine hate chicken liver pâté?”

“I don’t know,” Mother Andrew Loretta said. “I was being uncharitable and I was speculating and I was… oh, dear. You can’t really think that, Mr. Demarkian. Not about any nun. Not even about Mother Mary Bellarmine.”

What Gregor was thinking about Mother Mary Bellarmine at the moment was that she was much too smart a woman to pull the sort of obvious stunt this seemed to be. Of course, he’d only met her for a moment. He could be very wrong. He had been very wrong at times in his life. Still, at the moment, he didn’t like the way this was setting up.

Neither did Mother Andrew Loretta. To say she was distressed was to euphonize. She looked sick.

“Mr. Demarkian,” she protested one more time, “I know how, to someone in your profession, this must look—”

At just that moment there was the sound of squealing breaks in the distance and the intermittent whoop that told Gregor some cop somewhere was operating his siren by hand.

“Excuse me,” Gregor said. “I think the cavalry has arrived. I’d like to talk to you later, if you wouldn’t mind.”