Skinless

Chapter 3

"Martha and Harry are dead?" Sister Agnes asked. She was a large woman who greeted me with an even larger smile. That smile had disappeared, and her eyes began to fill with moisture.

"I'm afraid so," I said, "We believe It happened sometime Thursday and I'm trying to put together a timeline of their last few days."

"I should have called when they didn't show on Saturday," Sister Agnes said, "I just figured Martha's arthritis was acting up. Still, I should have called." I pulled back on my investigative instincts when she saw a tear run down the sister's cheek. It was never easy when the deceased were good people.

"There was nothing you could have done," I said as compassionate as possible.

"They were only a few months away from their 50th," Sister Agnes said, covering her eyes. "How many people stay together that long this day and age?" Few, I thought. My marriage only lasted three years.

"I so sorry for your loss," I said, trying to think of something more profound to say. I should have been more prepared for the tears.

"It is the world's loss," Sister Agnes said, looking up at the ceiling and nodding, "another question for my maker when I meet my end." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at me anew. "Sorry, you have a job to do. How can I help?"

"I understand that the Adam's would take some of...your clients...home with them," I said, stuttering to find a not-so-rude replacement for the first words that came to mind. I didn't want to insult a charitable woman.

"Homeless is the term," Sister Agnes said, "and yes, Martha had a soft heart, and Harry would do anything to see her smile." She smiled thinking about them. "It was always a short visit. A hot shower, washed clothes, and a home cooked meal. Martha always had a knack for picking out the ones who needed someone to care, if only for a day."

"Is it possible they brought someone home with them Thursday?"

"I know they worked that morning, though I didn't always know when they took someone home," Sister Agnes said, then turned her head to the kitchen and called out, "Sam." A lanky man wearing an apron appeared. The apron looked as if it had taken the brunt of a food fight.

"Hello," Sam greeted me while wiping his hands with the rag he was carrying.

"This is Detective Crosby," Sister Agnes said, then her voice mellowed dramatically, "Martha and Harry passed on Thursday, and she's looking into it."

"Martha and Harry?" Sam asked, taken by surprise. Sister Agnes nodded slowly. "Good people," Sam added, shaking his head sadly.

"The detective wants to know if they took anyone home last Thursday,"

"Yeah, that new guy, you know, with the scraggly gray beard," Sam said, stroking an imaginary beard that ended about halfway down his chest. Agnes shook her head. "He's a royal. I think he went by Wally or something like that. Came from up north, Green Bay area."

"A royal?" I asked. Sister Agnes smiled.

"Some of the people here are little eccentric. They speak of themselves in the third person, and use 'we' instead of 'I,' " Sister Agnes said. "Sam calls them royals."

"I'm not the only one," Sam protested.

"How would I find this Wally?" I asked quickly, not wanting to get into a political discussion about homeless definitions.

"Haven't seen him in a few days. Maybe he's moved on," Sam said.

"Where?"

"Could be going south for the winter," Sister Agnes said, "Vagabond with a vacation agenda. It happens a lot this time of year." She looked at Sam, then waved her finger around her right breast, "was he the guy wearing the green bomber jacket with the black 'G' on the front."

"That's him," Sam said excitedly.

"Polite enough," Sister Agnes added. "I wouldn't expect him of any problems. Probably late fifties," Sam nodded in agreement. "It's hard to tell; living outside has a tendency to age the face. He looked like a lifer, kept his possessions close and stayed wrapped up even in here. Always ready to move."

"What's a lifer?"

"Someone who's satisfied with homelessness, no desire to work or change their life," Sister Agnes said.

"Sounds sad," I said.

"To them, it's not. They relish being alone, its people they find uncomfortable," Sister Agnes said. "If you come by tomorrow morning, I can ask some of the others about Wally, or whatever his name is, and we'll see if he's still around. Maybe, he'll be hungry and show up on his own."

"If you come by early enough, you can help," Sam said, his smile challenging me to say no.

"What time do you start serving?"

"Seven," Sister Agnes said, "and you don't need to help. Martha and Harry have more than earned our assistance."