one poster after another proclaimed. The relentless message was relieved only by variations, like the blue-and-white concoction that declared
THE MOTHER OF GOD IS THE MOTHER OF US ALL,
Sister Scholastics saw Gregor staring at the posters and whispered in his ear, “They were made by the elementary-school children in all the parish schools run by this Order in Philadelphia and on the Main line. The deal was there was going to be a contest, and the winners were going to get their posters put up here during the convention, except nobody wanted to disappoint any of the children and besides the teaching Sisters were all worried about self-esteem—”
“In my day we didn’t have self-esteem,” Reverend Mother General said from Gregory other side. “We had self-respect. And no more of it than what we had earned.”
Sister Scholastica went on ahead, opened a door covered with a picture of Mary holding a child wearing a gold crown, and said, “Oh, Aggie, there you are. And Mother Andrew Loretta. Do you know—”
“Mr. Yakimoto will be here in just a minute,” Mother Andrew Loretta sang out
Gregor got a little ahead of Reverend Mother General and went into the kitchen. It was much as he had expected, the picture of church basement kitchens everywhere, in spite of the fact that this was not the basement of a church. It was a little more elaborate than it might have been, but just as spare, with long plastic-topped counters and laminated shelves, mismatched as to color and material, as if whoever had put them in had consciously decided not to take trouble with what nobody in the public was ever supposed to see. Gregor noticed a tall door at the back with a heavy metal handle and asked the nun whose face was familiar from last night’s news broadcasts, “Is that the freezer?”
Sister Agnes Bernadette nodded.
Gregor went over to the freezer and peered inside. It was a standard commercial walk-in freezer, the kind of thing small-town hamburger joints put in as a matter of routine. The air inside was frigid. There were a pile of large boxes on the floor in one corner with Japanese characters written across them in red and black. Gregor nodded perfunctorily in their direction and then stepped back out of the cold. He closed the freezer door and turned to look at the people who were waiting for him.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? I take it you’re Sister Agnes Bernadette.”
Sister Agnes Bernadette was near tears. Gregor had the feeling that Sister Agnes Bernadette had been near tears since she’d been arrested, and maybe before. Sister Agnes Bernadette was the kind of woman who was often near tears. “Oh, Mr. Demarkian,” she sniffled. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you changed your mind—”
“Don’t be glad yet,” Gregor told her. “I haven’t done anything. I just want to get a few things straight. Is that all right?”
“Of course it’s all right,” Reverend Mother General said.
“Let’s start with how you and Sister Joan Esther ended up here putting chicken liver pâté into ice sculptures. Was Sister Joan Esther assigned to help you? Was it known in advance that she’d been doing this job? Was this an organized thing?”
“Oh, no.” Sister Agnes Bernadette shook her head. “I was supposed to do it all on my own—the pâté, that is, and the ice sculptures. I mean, the ice sculptures were already done. I did those last week when I had a spare minute from the other cooking, which wasn’t easy to find, you know. And then yesterday morning I was supposed to come down here and make chicken liver pâté in the food processor and use the ice cream scoop to fill the heads, but when I did one of my statues was broken—”
“Broken?” Gregor asked.
“With the head and the feet knocked off,” Mother Andrew Loretta said. “Mr. Yakimoto—oh, good, here comes Mr. Yakimoto now.”
Mr. Yakimoto was a small Oriental man with wild eyes. He had been angry on Sunday and he seemed to be angry still. He took up a position near Mother Andrew Loretta that suggested that he’d just as soon take off for Borneo, or go into a fit that would leave more than a statue in pieces on the ground. The door to the corridor opened behind him. Gregor and Reverend Mother General looked up at the same time, just catching Mother Mary Bellarmine as she slipped in behind Mr. Yakimoto. Reverend Mother General started to say something sharp, but Gregor stopped her.
“It’s just as well Mother Mary Bellarmine is here,” he said. “We can get to phase two without having to wait for her to come. Now. For phase one. Let me go over this carefully. Sister Agnes Bernadette, you came down here to work on the chicken liver pâté when?”