The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(70)

I showed her my LAPD consultant’s badge. Out of date and essentially useless, except for making a first impression.

“Police? Oh, dear. We haven’t made any complaints.”

“I’m looking for Sister Emeline Beaumont.”

All traces of good cheer withered. “Why would the police be interested in me?”

“They’re not, Sister. It’s about Medina Okash and Contessa Walls.”

“How did you connect them to me?”

“Your funeral message to Ms. Walls.”

“Poor Connie—well, that was a while ago.”

“Do you have a sec?”

“Is it going to take long? I was about to go shopping for our residents. We’ve only got three, currently. Teenage girls about to be moms. We offer them support throughout the process. Voluntarily. I emphasize that because with all that’s going on, the church has gotten a pretty bad reputation. A lot of it unfortunately justified. So how much time do you think you’ll need?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“Then let’s have ourselves a nice sit outside under Gargantua—that big old monster. A botanist from the U. came and did dendrochronology. Gargantua was planted over three hundred years ago and has healthy roots.”

“Happy to make his acquaintance.”

Sister Emeline Beaumont laughed but the sound faded fast.



* * *



—

Once we’d settled beneath the sycamore, she placed her hands at her sides and her feet on the grass.

“So,” she said, “seeing as Connie’s departed, I’m assuming this is about Medina Okash.”

“As a matter of fact, it is. How did you—”

“We were all friends, once. What has Medina done?”

“That’s unclear.”

“It’s clear enough for the police to send a psychologist to track me down. Does it have to do with some sort of mental situation?”

“I’d answer that with a question but I don’t want to be a walking cliché.”

This time her laughter was durable. “You’re a high-spirited man, Dr. Delaware. For a psychologist—sorry, couldn’t resist. So is that it? Medina’s done something off?”

“Sister—”

“Emmy’s fine.”

“Emmy, I apologize but I can’t go into any details.”

“Fine, I get it, the secular confession booth,” she said. “But obviously something serious is going on. I mean, they’re not going to send a psychologist out on a jaywalker.”

“Medina committing a serious crime wouldn’t surprise you.”

“Wish it would,” said Emmy Beaumont. “You know what she did to Connie, right?”

“Knife attack.”

“Cut her open right here.” She drew a slashing diagonal line from the right-hand top of her face to her collarbone and beyond. “Just sliced open her face and kept cutting down her chest. Muscle and bone, so many stitches. Horrible. But…what I’m going to say might sound uncharitable—Connie had issues, as well. She’d hurt Medina. Not as seriously, punches and kicks, but several times when they got into it.”

“They had a volatile relationship.”

“To put it mildly. And I have to say mostly Connie was the instigator. Her mood swings could be terrifying.” Sighing. “Looking back she was probably bipolar. Drugs and alcohol couldn’t have helped. Not that I’m telling someone of your training anything.”

“How far back did the three of you go?”

“All the way back to our freshman year in high school,” said Emmy Beaumont. “Holy Cross Preparatory in Annapolis. Their nuns looked the part!”

Sudden smile but again, just as sudden decay.

I said, “Are you from Louisiana?”

“You can tell, huh? My dad was an admiral, I was born in New Orleans and lived there for a while when he was at the naval air base, then we moved when he began teaching at the academy. Medina came from up Seattle way, her mom was a hippie but her dad switched to born-again religious. Connie was a local girl, her folks put her in boarding school to squash her rebellious tendencies. We ended up as roommates and then we parted ways for college, then we met up again in New York after college and that’s where it happened.”

“You were there.”

Her eyes shut and opened. “Unfortunately I was. It took a long time to stop the nightmares.”

“Are you able to tell me about it?”

The fingers of both hands drummed the concrete bench. “They were rooming together downtown. I was going to Columbia and lived in Harlem so I wasn’t with them as often. The night it happened we had dinner in Chinatown. I wanted to go home but they insisted I come with them to a club, a place they’d been before. When I got there I knew it was a mistake. It was a lesbian bar.”

She turned and faced me. “I’m celibate now, but I wasn’t always. And I definitely wasn’t gay.”

“Medina and Connie were.”

“More like bi-curious. I guess I should’ve known. They were always together, sometimes they’d sleep in the same bed and giggle. But I never actually saw anything. Tell the truth I was pretty naive, assumed they had one of those girlie things. Later they roomed together but so what, they both worked downtown at art galleries. They’d studied art history in college and spent time overseas. In Switzerland.”