The Corporal Works of Murder: A Sister Mary Helen Mystery

The Corporal Works of Murder: A Sister Mary Helen Mystery

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by Carol Anne O'Marie

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Poor Inspector Gallagher -- his premonition was right. Sister Mary Helen is once more in the middle of a homicide case. Not that she wants to be. No one would envy the poor nun, who finds herself holding a dying young woman -- shot to death in the street almost directly outside the Refuge for homeless women where Mary Helen volunteers. And even while she grieves

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Poor Inspector Gallagher -- his premonition was right. Sister Mary Helen is once more in the middle of a homicide case. Not that she wants to be. No one would envy the poor nun, who finds herself holding a dying young woman -- shot to death in the street almost directly outside the Refuge for homeless women where Mary Helen volunteers. And even while she grieves over the loss of life, Mary Helen spots something odd about the victim. Although she is wearing near-rags, her skin is unblemished and healthy-looking. Her perfect teeth are white and unstained. She doesn't look like a woman whose life has been spent in poverty, in the streets.

Mary Helen's feeling is borne out when she discovers that the dead woman was a Vice Department officer trying to find the people responsible for a neighborhood prostitute ring. And in spite of her own conscience warning her, the old nun feels that since the murder happened in front of HER refuge, it is her duty to find the officer's killer. She justifies this by telling herself that her connections with the women who use the Refuge put her in a unique position to get some inside information about what is going on in their neighborhood. After all, isn't one of the Refuge's very own women, Geraldine, the aunt of Junior Johnson? And isn't Junior just about the most powerful and knowledgeable man in the 'hood? So Sister Mary Helen plunges in, determined to find Sarah Spencer's killer. Her "invasion" of the case enrages Inspector Gallagher, but if she is to succeed, his further fury will be well worth Mary Helen's triumph.

The police officers assigned to the crimes that turn out to be "hers" might make a case that someone Mary Helen's age is running a serious risk when she deals with criminals and their world. But the delightful old nun has the weapons of her logical mind, and her determination. And just maybe Someone whom she serves is rooting for her. In any case, she is able to work out of perilous situations, come up with commonsense answers, and gather a huge circle of loving fans as she meddles in murder.

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Editorial Reviews

Kirkus Reviews
Sister Mary Helen is getting on in years, but in addition to ministering daily to homeless women at a church-run refuge, she's still the premier sleuth in residence at San Francisco's Mount Saint Francis College. Her latest case falls literally into her lap when undercover police officer Sarah Spencer is shot just outside the refuge building, uttering only a single word as she dies in Mary Helen's arms. Inspector Dennis Gallagher is furious, as always, when he finds Mary Helen on the scene, but his partner Kate Murphy, now Bassetti, greets her warmly-no surprise, considering the help the police will need cleaning up the neighborhood. Another undercover cop is ensconced in the New You Tattoo Parlor trying to track down rumors of a well-protected local prostitution ring. And prostitutes aren't the refuge's only problem. One of its daily visitors is Geraldine, a working-girl alumna worried sick about the disappearance of her nephew, tough guy Junior Johnson. She enlists Mary Helen's help, and eventually they find him, another gunshot victim-and not the last, until Mary Helen, working with Kate and helped by a single clue, uncovers the killer. The largely predictable adventure, though mostly for fans of the series (Requiem at the Refuge, 2000, etc.), is enlivened by interesting local color and softened by a mellowed Sister Mary Helen.

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St. Martin's Press
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Sister Mary Helen Mysteries , #10
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The Corporal Works of Murder
Sunday, June 3Feast of PentecostThe early-morning knock on her bedroom door startled Sister Mary Helen out of a deep sleep. “What is it?” she called, fighting down the dread that immediately began gripping her stomach.“Telephone,” Sister Anne whispered hoarsely. “It’s Sister Eileen.”“What’s wrong?” Mary Helen quickly slipped on her robe and slippers. In her experience, anything good rarely came in an early-morning or a late-night telephone call. She hoped this call from her old friend was an exception to the rule.“Nothing’s wrong. I think she just wants to talk,” Anne said reassuringly.“At this hour?” Mary Helen grumbled. Putting on her bifocals, she checked her bedside clock. Good night, nurse! It was six o’clock in the morning! What could be so important?“Hello,” Mary Helen said.“Hello, yourself, old dear,” Sister Eileen called cheerfully.At the sound of her good friend’s voice, any grumpiness Mary Helen felt melted away. As it turned out, all that was wrong with Eileen was a little loneliness and a big desire to chat.No wonder, Mary Helen thought. Eileen had been in Ireland for over a year caring for her sister Molly, who was slowly dying of cancer. It was a very difficult task that she was doing remarkably well.During that same time, Sister Mary Helen had been with Sister Anne, one of the young nuns, ministering to homeless women at the Refuge, a daytime drop-in shelter in downtown San Francisco. After more than fifty plus years in education, it was all new to her. Much to everyone’s surprise, including her own, she loved the work, proving that some old dogs can learn new tricks.Although Eileen and she spoke and wrote frequently, there was still a lot to catch up on. The time slipped away. “If we talk much longer, it’ll be cheaper to fly over,” Mary Helen said finally.Reluctantly Eileen agreed. “Regardless of cost, I feel a hundred percent better,” she said before she hung up. Mary Helen did, too.Running a little late, Mary Helen hurried across the campus of Mount St. Francis College, where she lived, toward the chapel. The thick fog made her face tingle and her nose drip. The sides of the college hill were so banked in that, if she didn’t know better, she’d think the city below had disappeared.Sister Mary Helen slipped into her pew just as Father Adams, wearing bright red vestments, entered the sanctuary to begin the liturgy for Pentecost. Mary Helen loved Pentecost Sunday. She never tired of hearing the Scriptural account of the first Pentecost with the disciples of Jesus cowering in the upper room, afraid that they, too, would suffer His fate.Suddenly, a driving wind had filled the room and tongues of fire rested above each of them as the Holy Spirit infused them with courage and wisdom, commanding them to go forth and teach all nations. It must have been something to see, Mary Helen thought, imagining the group bursting from the room, all speaking at once. Amazingly, when they spoke, everyone, regardless of the language, was able to understand.That’s hard to do even when everyone speaks the same language, Mary Helen thought as Father Adams continued on with the Mass.When it was over, Mary Helen joined the other nuns for breakfast in the Sisters’ dining room. Sister Therese, who liked her name pronounced “trays,” had the floor. “Since the Holy Spirit came in tongues of fire,” she announced with a silly grin, “I suggest we have a barbecue for supper.”Sister Mary Helen noticed Sister Patricia’s gazing out the dining room window. She knew exactly what the college president must have been thinking. The whole hill was shrouded in a thick June fog. The foggiest month in San Francisco and Therese wants to have a barbecue! She could imagine what the kitchen crew would have to say when they were told. Fortunately, most of them spoke only Spanish.For a moment Mary Helen thought of all those tourists who must be downtown shivering in short sleeves. No amount of vacation write-ups about the city’s strange microclimates ever seemed to convince them that San Francisco in the summer is cold. She thought, too, of the women who dropped into the Refuge during the week for warmth and comfort. She wondered how “the refugees,” as they were affectionately called, were faring today. No doubt they were wearing everything they owned.“You think it’s quite the weather for a barbecue?” Sister Ursula asked tactfully. Apparently the question fell on Therese’s deaf ear.“Since red is the order of the day,” Therese announced, “we can have red meat done on red coals, red wine, and tomatoes!” She looked so pleased that no one, not even old Donata, who usually could be counted on to call a spade a spade, had the heart to dampen her spirit.The day passed quietly. Mary Helen even had time for a short nap and a long read of her latest Marcia Muller mystery. “A murder mystery is the normal recreation of the noble mind,” some sage had once said. Mary Helen believed it, although she still covered her paperback whodunits with an ornate prayer book cover. No sense scandalizing the ignoble.At supper time, Sister Mary Helen stood shivering with the other Sisters near the large black barbecue grill. She tried her best to look pleasant, but between the fog and the smoke, it was difficult.“This is nuts!” old Donata complained loudly as Therese, undeterred by smoking coals, flipped over the tritips. “I’m taking mine inside,” Donata grumbled. “The rest of you can freeze to death if you don’t have any better sense.”Mary Helen noticed several faces brighten at Donata’s suggestion. She was so preoccupied with her frozen fingers that she didn’t hear Sister Anne sidle up to her.“Are you all set for tomorrow?” Anne asked through chattering teeth.“Child’s play after this.” Mary Helen closed her eyes against a billow of black smoke. “Why do you ask?”“I just remembered that I have a dentist appointment in the morning at ten,” Anne said. “I’m wondering if you’ll be all right alone at the Refuge. Ruth Davis is the volunteer. It’s just a check-up. I won’t be long.”“All right alone?” Mary Helen felt a sharp jab of annoyance. “First of all, I’ll hardly be alone. Secondly, why wouldn’t I be all right?” she asked, feeling sure that Anne was harking back to last year when Mary Helen had discovered the battered body of a young prostitute at the side door of the Refuge. It had been unnerving, surely, but how often does a thing like that happen?She marveled at how much more at home she was with the refugees now than she had been then. She was even beginning to understand their special language—“street talk,” as they called it. Crazily she imagined a little flame hovering above her head ready to impart courage and wisdom and the gift of a street-talking tongue.“Of course I’ll be all right. What could possibly go wrong?” she asked crisply, and then wished she hadn’t. She didn’t like the wary look that flickered for a moment in Anne’s big hazel eyes.Copyright © 2006 by Sister Carol Anne O’Marie.

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Meet the Author

Sister Carol Anne O'Marie has been a Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet for the past 48 years. She ministers to homeless women at a daytime drop-in center in downtown Oakland, California, which she cofounded in 1990. The Corporal Works of Murder is her tenth Sister Mary Helen mystery.

SISTER CAROL ANNE O'MARIE (1933-2009) was a Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet for the fifty years. She ministered to homeless women at a daytime drop-in center in downtown Oakland, California, which she co-founded in 1990. She wrote eleven novels featuring Sister Mary Helen.

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