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

It was difficult in chapel, during compline, to fight distraction. Emtee Dempsey recited the psalms with obvious relish. She loved reciting the office. Did she really know who had killed those two people? How could she? Kim knew as much as, maybe more than, the old nun did. And, like Maud Howe, who certainly knew more than both of them, Kim was satisfied that the police had the killer in custody. If not Faustino, who?

She shook her head, trying not to feel annoyance at Emtee Dempsey. The old nun was showboating, as Katherine had said.

But later, in bed, staring wide awake at the ceiling, Kim went over everything she knew about the two murders.

Sylvia Corrigan had left the house on Walton Street, gone to Hanson’s and purchased two religious habits, gone to the hotel, presumably to prepare for her evening performance as Antigone, and been surprised in bed with Nick Faustino by Maud. Faustino fled, the two women had a fight, and Maud had gone to the club where Brian Casey was performing. The singer had gone to the Elysian Hotel between shows to pick up Maud’s things, found Sylvia dead in a Carmelite habit. Obviously not believing Maud’s story, he had removed the body from the room and placed it where attention would turn on Nick Faustino. In the event, the body had been discovered by hotel personnel and removed to the morgue where Sister Mary Teresa had identified the body as that of her former student.

“Why was the body sent to the morgue? Why did you have to identify it? The hotel must have known whose body it was.” It was the following morning, and Kim had managed to hold back such questions until they had returned from Mass and were having breakfast.

“Indeed they did.”

“You sound very sure.”

“Tell her, Sister Joyce.”

“When you went downtown with Maud, Sister sent me on an errand.”

“Two errands,” the old nun corrected.

But the one had depended on the other. Joyce had talked with Mouhman Charles, the bell captain who had noticed the exit of Nick Faustino at a quarter after eight. The old nun had been certain that such an observant man would have more to tell.

“He remembered Maud leaving before eight, he recognized Brian Casey when he showed up about nine. And he said he told the manager the dead woman was Sylvia Corrigan. He was ignored.”

Emtee Dempsey smiled. Her smile dimmed when Kim congratulated her on corroborating Richard’s theory. “Ah. You remember what I told Katherine?”

“Even worse, Katherine will remember.”

“Mr. Charles answered what for me was the great unasked question.”

“And what is that?”

“What happened to the second habit?”

Kim made a face. The second habit? But of course, they had been told that Sylvia bought two at Hanson’s. She had been wearing one when she was found dead on the mezzanine of the Elysian Hotel. “It is probably in Sylvia’s room at the hotel.”

The old nun shook her head. “No. Sister Joyce and Mr. Charles ascertained that it wasn’t.”

“You’d better ask Richard. They probably took it away.”

Emtee Dempsey ignored this. “It explained the most curious observation Mouhman Charles made that evening. A nun in full habit left the hotel after Maud and later Faustino left but before Brian was seen leaving.”

“After Maud?”

The old nun smiled. “Of course one would think that. Maud’s quarrel with Sylvia might have ended in violence and she left the hotel disguised as a Carmelite. One might then expect to find the unaccounted-for second habit in Brian Casey’s dressing room.”

Kim looked at Joyce. “You checked?”

“No. When I phoned and told Sister what I had learned at the hotel, she sent me on the second errand.”

“Where.”

“To the Blackstone Theater.”

“Why?”

“I found a Carmelite habit stuffed in a bag in the bottom drawer of Larry Hoague’s dressing table.”

“Larry Hoague!”

Joyce said, “Mouhman recognized him when he came to the hotel that night, but he never saw him leave.”

Kim remembered Father Estrella’s mention of Hoague, the former lover and former actor too, who had at one time served as Sylvia’s agent, the one who had urged Sylvia to give several performances in the production of Antigone he was directing. The doorbell rang and Kim’s head was spinning with these new revelations when she went to answer it. She did not recognize the man to whom she opened the door. No taller than herself, fine-boned, diminutive, dramatic, his look of anticipation faded as he looked at Kim.

“I’m dreadfully sorry. I thought this was a...” He stopped. “I am looking for Mary Teresa Dempsey.”

“Come in.”

“Then I have come to the right place? I was sure I had.”

“Whom should I say is calling?”

“Hoague. Lawrence Hoague.”

7

“Ah, Mr. Hoague, I’m so delighted to see you,” Emtee Dempsey said, thumping into the hall. She shook the actor’s hand and led him into the living room.