Murder Makes a Pilgrimage Read Online Free Page A

had arrived with a steaming platter of buffalo wings, and Anne, with a few of the other young nuns, had seen to the liquid refreshments.
    “
Vaya con Dios
. Go with God.” Tall, slim Cecilia raised her glass in a toast.
    If we’re going with Pepe, God had better not be too far away, Mary Helen thought, raising her own glass in return.
    “And have a treat on us.” Looking over her rimless glasses, Cecilia handed Eileen an envelope with a slight bulge.
    Mary Helen was genuinely touched and was about to say so when Sister Therese (who insisted her name be pronounced “trays”) burst into the room.
    “Your carriage awaits without,” she announced to one and all.
    “Without a what?” old Sister Donata, her perpetual straight woman, asked.
    “Without these two.” She pointed to Eileen and Mary Helen.
    In the ripple of polite laughter and predictable groans that followed, Mary Helen and Eileen headed toward the front door. Their suitcases were already in the parlor, awaiting the arrival of the driver who would take them to the San Francisco Airport. It turned out to be Señor Fraga himself.
    “Good afternoon, Seesters,” he greeted them. “You are ready, I see.
Muy bien!
” After snatching up the two suitcases, he carried them to the car, opened the trunk, and put them in. With a flourish he flung open the door to the backseat and held it.
    As if it were a chauffeured limo, Mary Helen thought, except, of course, Señor Fraga drove a Toyota, not a limousine.
    “You two can’t leave without a good-bye hug.” Young Sister Anne followed them down the hall.
    Inwardly Mary Helen groaned. Why a hug? Why not just a nice, cheerful good-bye with maybe a peck on the cheek? Not that she was against hugs per se, but she’d been noticing of late that it was always the thin young nuns like Anne who were the huggers. When you formed a few rolls in the wrong places, you became a little more circumspect.
    None of this seemed to bother Sister Eileen, who was squeezing Anne and looking pleased to do so.
    “I brought you each a little gift.” Anne reached into her apron pocket.
    “You shouldn’t have,” Eileen protested as Anne handed each a small travel diary. A thin pencil was attached to its back cover.
    “Thank you, Anne.” Sister Mary Helen was moved by the young nun’s thoughtfulness, although she had no intention of using the diary. When she traveled, she was usually too tired at the end of the day to write anything at all. Furthermore,she knew that when she returned home, she’d be entirely too busy to reread it.
    “This is such a very special trip”—Anne beamed—“that I thought you might want to capture some of your most exciting moments.”
    Mary Helen felt a little chagrined. Anne was right. This was a special trip. She should try to jot down something about it, although she rather doubted that a semireligious pilgrimage to a little-known shrine in an out-of-the-way corner of Spain would hold too many exciting moments. She dropped the thin diary into her pocketbook and gave Anne a quick goodbye hug.
    “Don’t forget these!” Therese’s nasal voice echoed down the convent hallway and out onto the porch. In each hand she held a fold-up umbrella. “We wanted to get you a little something you could use on your trip, and I thought of these,” she declared proudly, thrusting an umbrella at each of them.
    Mary Helen frowned. “Spain is sunny!” she blurted out unthinkingly.
    At first Therese looked hurt, and Mary Helen felt like an ingrate. She was just about to apologize when Therese recovered with a sniff. “We’ll see!” she said smugly. “We will just see!”
    Shoving the second unwanted gift into her carryon bag, Mary Helen stepped into the waiting car.
    Wordlessly Señor Fraga zipped along the 280 Freeway toward the San Francisco Airport, just ahead of the evening commuter traffic. Mary Helen’s eyes burned, yet she was afraid to close them lest she drop off to sleep. The bump of the tires along