Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 101, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 610 & 611, March 1993

Having already agreed to help Mr. Rush, there was nothing Kim could do, but she was profoundly unwilling to talk to grieving parents about a son they had not seen in years and to whom she had spoken only once, in somewhat odd circumstances. Mr. Rush’s car stood at the curb where the Volkswagen had always been, but the contrast could not have been greater. Long and grey with tinted glass, it seemed to require several spaces. Marvin, Mr. Rush’s chunky driver, opened the door and Kim got in, and with Mr. Rush at seemingly the opposite end of the sofa, they drove off in comfort to the Laytons.

On the way, Mr. Rush told her a few more things about the Lay-tons, but nothing could have prepared her adequately for the next several hours. Kim had somehow gotten the impression that the Laytons would be Mr. Rush’s age, which was foolish when she considered that the son had been closer to her age, but Mrs. Layton was a shock. She was beautiful, her auburn hair worn shoulder length, her face as smooth as a girl’s, and the black and silver housecoat, floor length, billowed about her, heightening the effect she made as she crossed the room to them. Kim felt dowdy in her sensible suit, white blouse, and veil, and it didn’t help to remind herself that her costume befitted her vocation. Melissa Layton tipped her cheek for Mr. Rush’s kiss and extended a much braceleted arm to Kim.

“Sister.” Both hands enclosed Kim’s and her violet eyes scanned Kim’s face. “Ben assured us that you would come.”

Geoffrey Layton rose from his chair, nodded to Rush, and gave a little bow to Kim, but his eyes were fastened on her veil.

“Come,” Mrs. Layton said. She had not released Kim’s hand and led her to a settee where they could sit side by side. “Tell me of your meeting with Michael.” And suddenly the beauty was wrenched into sorrow and the woman began to sob helplessly. Now Kim held her hand. Mrs. Layton’s tears made Kim feel a good deal more comfortable in this vast room with its period furniture, large framed pictures, and magnificent view.

Mrs. Layton emerged from her bout of grief even more beautiful than before, teardrops glistening in her eyes, but composed. Mr. Layton and Mr. Rush stood in front of the seated women while Kim told her story.

“How long had he been following you around?”

“For several days.”

“That you know of,” Mrs. Layton said.

“Yes. I spoke of it with the other sisters. At first it was just a nuisance, but then it became disturbing. We decided that I should talk to him. On Wednesday morning...”

“Wednesday,” Mrs. Layton repeated, and her expression suggested she was trying to remember what she had been doing at the time this young woman beside her had actually spoken to her long-lost son.

“He said he knew I was a nun.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Layton.

“I do not wear my veil when I go to Northwestern.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“Could he have seen you with it on?”

“I suppose.”

“But what did he say?” Mrs. Layton asked. Kim was aware that another woman had come into the room, her hair and coloring the same as Mrs. Layton’s, though without the dramatic beauty. Mrs. Layton turned to see what Kim was looking at. “Janet, come here. This is Sister Kimberly who talked with your brother Michael.”

The daughter halved the distance between them, but as Kim talked on, answering questions that became more and more impossible, about the Layton son, Janet came closer. The parents wanted to know what he looked like, how he acted, did she think he was suffering from amnesia, on and on, and from time to time when Kim glanced at Janet she got a look of sympathy. Finally the younger woman stepped past Mr. Rush.

“Thank you so much for telling us about your meeting with Michael.” Comparing the two women, Kim could now see that, youthful as Mrs. Layton looked, she looked clearly older than her daughter, who made no effort to be attractive.

The Laytons now turned to Mr. Rush to insist that he bring suit against the editorialist who had slandered their son. Janet led Kim away.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Oh good.”

“You realize that all this is to put off the evil day. We have not seen Michael’s body. It is a question whether we will. As a family. I certainly intend to.”

There was both strength and genuineness in Janet Layton, and Kim could see, when they were sitting on stools in the kitchen sipping coffee, that with the least of efforts Janet could rival her mother in beauty. If she didn’t, it was because she felt no desire to conceal her mourning.

“You’re a nun?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to be a nun once. I suppose most girls think of it.”

“Very briefly.”

“What’s it like?”

“Come visit us. We have a house on Walton Street.”

“Near the Newberry?”

“Just blocks away. Do you go there?”

She nodded. “What is so weird is that I also use the Northwestern library. What if I had gone there Wednesday?”

“I hope I made it clear that your brother seemed perfectly all right to me. But then I thought he was the policeman he said he was and that changed everything. He looked the part.”