Merry Sister Mary and the One and Only Killer

5: Sister Mary Breaks a Priceless Vase

Michael was the perfect gentleman. Where one might have laughed due to the sheer absurdity of my stories, he remained composed and sensitive. I told him about my D. Thomas, and my time in the Chicago nunnery, and how they kicked me out and shipped me to New Orleans. Of course he chuckled a bit, but he remained focused and interested, a trait rarely found in today's youth.

I learned a few things about Michael and the Stanton family too. He was thirty years old and single. He loved swimming, tennis and badminton, a real sportsman. He certainly had the arms to prove it. His mother used to live at Stanton Manor until a year ago when she left to live in their vacation home in Chicago. Apparently Mrs. Denise Stanton was greatly disliked in town and the pressure of such disrepute had left her severely scarred and in need of relief. The town called her the Stanton Witch for the many mysterious deaths and disappearances that happened in or around the family estate. This was to be her first time in Louisiana since then; an event that had the whole town buzzing with gossip.

"Why does the town hate your mother?" I asked trotting alongside Michael and his bike.

"They think she killed her husband," said Michael. "He fell off a ferry boat and drowned when I was sixteen. Mother says he was drunk and tripped over the railing. He was well respected and did a lot for this small place. He was running for reelection as state representative and the ferry boat was his contribution to this community to get voter approval. It was a terrible loss when he passed away. There is no denying my mother and father had marriage issues. They argued a lot. Never publicly though otherwise it might have seriously affected his reputation."

"And do you believe your mother? That she is innocent."

"I have to," said Michael. "She is my mother. I have to trust her."

"Family is no basis for reasoning." I puffed up my cheeks and exhaled. "Never was close to my mother."

"Are you saying you believe the rumors?"

"No," I said, whacking Mrs. Stanton's umbrella against a patch of weeds. "I'm saying people are not always what you expect. Even people we love and trust hide secrets. And where rumors are concerned, the truth, though sometimes obvious, is often times overlooked."

"Wise words, Sister Mary, but I know my mother. She is no murderer."

"Don't confuse wisdom with insanity, boy," I said chuckling. "If I had a shred of wisdom, I wouldn't be here now would I."

"You must give yourself some credit," said Michael. "You might be a saint in disguise."

"Hmm. Merry Sister Mary, the saint of trouble makers and rule breakers. I admit, it does have a ring to it."

The conversation abruptly ended when we reached the front gates. A young girl sat on the trunk of the red convertible. A lit cigarette slid out of her mouth followed by a plume of smoke. The girl wore bell-bottom jeans and a light green blouse. Her shoulder-length hair was the same shade as Michael's, brown with speckled highlights.

"There you are," yelled the young girl mockingly. "Mother is here."

"Unfortunately so," mumbled Michael.

"She is looking for you. God, she is mad at you. Forgetting to pick her up from the station." The young girl slapped her knee in laughter.

"Shit," cursed Michael.

"Best give her a moment to calm down. She was throwing stuff earlier." The girl blew smoke high in the air.

"I thought they took away your lighter," said Michael as he and I neared the vehicle.

"Hush. I do it to spite mother. Always trying to take away my smokes." The young girl took one more puff from her cigarette before flicking it into the grass. "So, who is this?" she gestured to me. "Is mother dying? In need of the last rights? Please say she is."