Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

Added to this information, which Richard either already knew or would know, was the fact that Sylvia had rented a suite at the Elysian Hotel for a month, and had instructed Maud Howe, her secretary, maid, confidante, and girl Friday, to pack her things and return to the Coast. Nonetheless, although Sylvia hoped to live on Walton Street, she would continue to retain her suite at the Elysian. There seemed little doubt that the strangling had taken place in her hotel suite.

“Was there a struggle?”

Richard shook his head. “The room wasn’t torn up. But she did not die easily, by the look of the bed.”

Emtee Dempsey had an appetite for details on such matters that Kim did not share, so she adjourned to the kitchen to be with Joyce. Fat chance.

“Bring Richard a beer,” Emtee Dempsey said as Kim was leaving the room.

“He’s already had a beer,” Kim said, but she was looking at her brother. Richard knew that it was unwise for Moriaritys to drink. He should also know that the old nun was plying him with Heinekens in order to get more information out of him.

When Kim returned, Emtee Dempsey was summing up.

“Her publicist was here in Chicago, her secretary was here, others who knew her were here. Yet no one reported her missing? No one was surprised that she did not return?”

“No one reported her missing,” Richard said. “It wasn’t that long a time.”

“All night?” But the old nun dropped her eyes. “Perhaps in her circle that would not have been considered long.”

When Richard left, she looked at Kim. “You know what you must do now.”

Kim looked at Emtee Dempsey, who was already preparing to begin her day’s stint on her medieval history, a fresh sheet of paper before her, a giant fountain pen in her chubby hand.

“What do I know I must do?”

Blue eyes appeared over the gold-rimmed spectacles. “Go have a talk with Maud Howe, of course.”

3

Maud Howe was in her mid-twenties, a strawberry blonde with a face that seemed freshly scrubbed, pale blue eyes that looked right at Kim, and cheeks that dimpled when she smiled. Which she did when Kim told Maud that she was a nun.

“Funny.”

“I’m quite serious. Sylvia Corrigan attended our college. She visited us the day this terrible thing happened. She asked if she could stay...”

Maud held up her hand. “I know all that. You’re really a nun?” She shook her head. “So why did Sylvia have to buy that elaborate get-up? You dress like anyone else.”

Meaning Maud wasn’t much of a dresser herself. She was wearing light-blue corduroy slacks, loafers, a heavy knit blouse. How an outdoor girl like her had ended up with the job she had was not obvious.

“Sylvia played a tennis pro in Love Match and I coached her. She kept me on. It has been a very lively few years.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“I’m supposed to ask you why you didn’t report Sylvia missing.”

“Supposed to ask?”

Kim explained about Emtee Dempsey. Maud nodded. “Oh sure, she’s the one Sylvia told me about. I assumed there was a house full of you dressed like her.”

“The story in which Sylvia was supposed to play a nun is set at the time of the French Revolution. She would have had to wear a traditional habit.”

“Well, she got it.”

“Where?”

“Hanson’s. They specialize in supplying wardrobes for theatrical productions. Sylvia figured they’d have religious habits, and she was right.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You mean, the time, all that? You too?”

Maud sighed and then gave Kim what by now was a practiced account of events.

“I was scheduled to fly back to the Coast today. If Sylvia hadn’t been discovered, I’d be gone. I suppose they would have insisted I return.”

“They?”

“The police.” She made a face.

“I suppose you’ve had to tell them this again and again.”

“And everybody else.”

“Like who?”

“All her friends who are in Chicago wanted to know.” And she ticked off names they had already heard from Raoul St.-Loup. Of course Maud’s list included St.-Loup as well. “To answer your first question, the reason I didn’t report her missing was because I knew she meant to spend the night with you on Walton Street after her performance as Antigone. That’s why she was sending me back to California. ‘Nuns don’t have secretaries.’ ” Maud gave a passable imitation of Sylvia.

“So what did you do?”

“You’d think I’d take a bath and go to bed with a good book, wouldn’t you? I don’t have that many chances just to relax. First I packed most of my things. Then I went down to hear Brian sing.”

“Was Sylvia in her suite then?”

“Yes. I offered to accompany her to Walton Street, but she was determined to be on her own. I left first.”

“Maud, who do you think did it?”

“I know who did it!”

“You do!”

“Nick Faustino.” She gulped for air. “Don’t ask me how he got in here. I can’t imagine that Sylvia would let him in, but he has the guts of a burglar anyway. He hung around her until she finally got rid of him, almost physically, and then he brought that absurd lawsuit.”

“It isn’t true?”