The Missing Madonna Read Free Page A

“What did I agree to?” she asked, feeling a little foolish, not to mention apprehensive.
    Eileen sat on the adjoining bed. “Just as I suspected. You haven’t the foggiest clue what they were asking you.”
    “Good night, nurse! Eileen! Get on with it. What did I agree to do?”
    “To pronounce the benediction at tomorrow’s opening breakfast meeting, Mary Helen. From what I gathered, it is rather like a solemn high grace before meals.”
    Groaning, Mary Helen climbed into bed. From the street below she heard taxis honking and car tires squealing. Streaks of light angled in between the slits where the heavy draperies failed to meet the window-frame. They moved along the ceiling of the darkened room, making grotesque shadows slide down the wall.
    “Can’t you sleep?” Eileen whispered from the next bed.
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m thinking about what I’m going to say at the breakfast tomorrow, of course.”
    “Have you any ideas?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You’ll think of something, old dear. You always do.” Eileen grunted consolingly and turned over.
    Mary Helen stared at the shadow-etched ceiling. She didn’t have the heart to tell Eileen that, at the moment, the only grace she could think of was one she had learned from a mischievous third-grader.
    “Rub-a-dub-dub. Thanks for the grub. Yeah, God” was the way it went. Somehow, she didn’t think that it would do.

Wednesday, May 2
Feast of St. Athanasius, Bishop
    The luncheon speaker, a stately-looking woman, paused to entertain questions. How in the name of all that’s good and holy do you
entertain
a question, Mary Helen wondered, glancing down at the convention program. Answer, maybe; ignore, possibly. But entertain?
    Running her finger down the program schedule, she checked her watch. The session should be over in about ten minutes, unless some long-winded participant commandeered one of the four floor microphones. From the restless stirrings of the five hundred conventioneers seated at round tables, it didn’t seem likely. The OWLs had sat long enough. She could feel a stretch in the air.
    Right after lunch there was to be a minisession for new members. The rest of them were free to sightsee, shop, or nap. All around her Mary Helen could hear the pop of lipstick tubes and the click of powder compacts. Obviously, most of the OWLs were not going to rest.
    Before they had left their bedroom this morning, Eileen and she had agreed to meet after lunch in front of the waterfall in the hotel lobby. It was a good thing, too, because they hadn’t seen each other since.
    As soon as the group was dismissed, Mary Helen followed the arrows marked LOBBY , planted herself firmly in front of the waterfall, and searched the milling crowd for her friend. Quickly, she spotted Eileen elbowing herway across the crowded lobby, with Lucy Lyons and Erma Duran trailing in her wake.
    Erma hung behind the other two, and even from this distance, Mary Helen thought the woman looked distressed. What’s wrong, she wondered, watching Erma stop at the main desk. She couldn’t remember ever having seen her upset before. Erma said something to the man in a morning coat behind the desk.
    The gentleman smiled brightly, checked the slots behind him, then shook his head. The thick mane of gray hair bounced from side to side, making him look, Mary Helen thought, for all the world like a friendly lion. He picked up the phone receiver, spoke briefly, then shook his head again.
    Erma clutched her cloth purse to her chest. For a moment her shoulders drooped, but only for a moment. Running her hand over her gray-streaked hair, she pushed a stray curl behind her ear. She straightened up, smiled at the gentleman, then bent forward to pat his hand. She wouldn’t want him to feel bad. As he gaped, she turned and bustled across the crowded foyer.
    “Congratulations on the remarkably erudite blessing you gave this morning,” Eileen said before Mary Helen could wonder what that