Sammy Keyes and the Sisters of Mercy (16 page)

Marissa turned off to play video games at the mall, and Dot decided she had to go straight home, so I just rested on the curb outside St. Mary’s for a few minutes before going inside.

St. Mary’s is a big church. A really big church. If you count the parish hall and the priest’s quarters, it takes up a whole square block. The church has a tower that goes up about six stories, and on the very tippy-top, looking like it’s trying to snag the clouds, is a big brass cross.

And sitting on the curb looking up, I see a big purple and white banner flapping against the tower that reads
HAVE MERCY
! Then the KSMY Roving Reporter Newsvan comes whipping past me and I can see Zelda Quinn scribbling like crazy on a notepad.

If you’ve ever been to Santa Martina and turned on the news, you know who Zelda Quinn is. She’s the only newscaster on the planet with a skunk-do. It’s puffy and black—all except for this white streak that goes from above her right eye clear over the top of her head and down the back of her neck.

So when I saw the skunk-do streaking down Church Street, I knew that Zelda Quinn had been to St. Mary’s to get the scoop on the Sisters of Mercy. And when I turned
up the church walkway, instead of the usual list of Mass times, the marquee read:

Taped to the front door of the church are posters of the Sisters of Mercy singing and dancing, in their habits and in costumes, and on a table right inside the church is a stack of fliers like the ones Dot, Marissa, and I plastered all over the neighborhood.

So between the banner flapping on the tower, the marquee, the posters, and the fliers, there’s no way you could be anywhere near St. Mary’s and not know something big was going on.

And I was just wondering how I could get my hands on a ticket when I hear music blasting out of the church. I’m not talking organ music, or even piano. I’m talking drums and electric guitar—
loud
music.

I go through the foyer and there’s Sister Bernice up at the altar with two giant speakers and the biggest boom box I’ve ever seen, saying, “Check! Check!” into a microphone.

Sister Abigail is on the far end of the church and she waves at Bernice to shut off the music. “Boost the lows, cut the mids, and roll off a bit of the high end. And try angling
the speakers out some. The slap-back’s awful back here!”

Bernice plays with the boom box and speakers for a minute and then calls, “Ready?”

Abigail nods and up comes the music again. She moves from one end of the church to the other, then up close and far away. After a minute Bernice starts singing into one mike and Clarice goes back and forth between two other mikes, singing a harmony part, and
wow
—they were good!

When they were all done with their sound check, Bernice waves to me and calls, “Sammy, angel! Am I glad to see you!” She hurries down the aisle and says, “Are you handy with an iron?”

Before I can answer, she whisks me down a hall to a room at the back of the church, and there, hanging from cabinet knobs and closet doors are costumes. Bright,
wild
costumes.

And as I’m standing there with my mouth gaping open, trying to picture the Sisters of Mercy rocking out in feathers and sequins and purple satin, Bernice grabs the skirt of a gown and says, “Most of these are all right, but some of them need a touch-up.” One side of her mouth tries to smile, but the other just stays put. “At most parishes the other Sisters help us out, but here—well, God’s given us a real challenge. Would you mind, lamb?”

Just then Father Mayhew walks in, looking a little flustered. He smiles and says, “Samantha! Oh, good. Will you be helping the Sisters out?”

I say, “Sure,” even though the last time I tried ironing
something it was for my mother, and as far I know, some of Lady Lana’s blouse is still on her iron.

But I set up and get to work. At first I’m pretty slow. Instead of steam, the water’s coming out in little puddles, and all I’m doing is making the clothes look wet and blotchy. But after a couple of skirts I start to get the hang of it, and pretty soon I’m slapping that iron around like I’ve been doing it all my life.

While I’m working I’m not thinking about
fabric
. I’m thinking about the game. And the more thinking I do about the game, the faster I iron, and pretty soon I’m in my own little cloud of steam, not noticing I’ve got company.

I don’t know how long she’d been watching me, but when I looked up and saw Josephine standing in the doorway I about branded the ceiling.

“I figured they’d shanghaied you into doing their dirty work,” she says. Then she thumps her cane on the floor. “Sister Mary Margaret’s come down with the flu. We really need you over at the kitchen … if you don’t
mind
.”

Now I’m not about to argue with her—not with the way her cane’s starting to wobble and all. I just unplug the iron and follow her over to the soup kitchen.

Right after we get there, Brother Phil blows in all out of breath. And while his stomach’s pumping in and out like a giant bellows, he plasters his hair back in place and says, “I walked in on him going through my room at the seminary! Can you believe that?”

Sister Josephine whips around and says, “Mayhew? You caught Father Mayhew going through your room?”

Phil says, “The Holy Highness himself. I walked in on
him tearing apart my closet. Can he just do that? Isn’t there a law or something?”

Sister Josephine thinks about this a minute, then scowls and says, “Probably not. The seminary
is
church property.” She looks at him sideways, “Well? Did he find anything?”

“I tell you, I didn’t take it! Any of it!”

Sister Josephine just shrugs like, If you say so…

Phil turns pink as a petunia. “What—what are you saying?”

Just then someone rattles the door really loud. Sister Josephine and Brother Phil keep right on staring each other down, but I look up at the clock and see that we’re late. So while Phil and Josephine are busy spitting insults at each other, I go over to the refrigerator and pull food and drinks out until all that’s left is the lightbulb. Then I set everything up and prop open the door, and when I look back across the room, Phil is going off in a huff out one door, and Josephine’s going off in a huff out another.

I wound up running the whole show by myself, and actually, it was easy. No one tried to steal extra food, and the one thing I was kind of worried about—Mr. Tattoo coming through—never happened. I just passed out food until all the people were gone, then I popped the leftovers back in the refrigerator, punched the knob lock, and closed the door.

On the way home, I stopped by Hudson’s. I went up on the porch and could see him through the living room window, watching TV. He waves me inside and who’s he checking out on the TV? The Sisters of Mercy, rockin’ and rollin’ at St. Mary’s altar.

And it’s kind of strange, seeing them on television. It’s almost like watching some crazy rock video instead of the news. Then the camera turns away from the altar and focuses on Santa Martina’s very own Skunk Reporter.

Zelda shouts over the music, “It promises to be some show, and for a good cause. Performances are at 7:00
P.M
. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday at St. Mary’s Church.” She smiles and says, “Zelda Quinn, KSMY News.”

Hudson shuts off the TV. “Aren’t those nuns dynamic? St. Mary’s has needed something like this for years.” He tugs one of his bushy eyebrows and says, “Well, I’m convinced. I’m going.” Then he winks at me and says, “And I’m taking your grandmother with me, whether she wants to go or not.”

I’m busy picturing Grams at the show with her chin down to her chest and her hands over her ears, when Hudson says, “What’s troubling you?”

I blink at him. “Um, I was just thinking that maybe Grams wouldn’t be the best company at the show because …”

He shakes his head and says, “Out with it. Your aura’s dim, and if I know you, it’s got to be something big to have you this down.”

“My
aura
? What are you talking about?”

He frowns. “Your energy glow. It’s almost completely gone. Now, out with it, Sammy.”

So I sigh and sit down. And once I start, I can’t seem to stop. I tell him about the softball tournament and my mitt and Heather, and how empty I feel inside. And then I tell him about Father Mayhew and his cross, and how upset
I’d been that he’d accused me, but that now I understand a lot better why he did it.

Hudson nods, but he looks very serious and he doesn’t say a word.

Finally, I ask, “Hudson?”

“Hmm.”

“What are you thinking?”

He eyes me and says, “That you’re the lucky one.”

“Lucky? Me?”

He nods again. “At least you know whom to distrust. Not knowing your enemy makes you jump at the sight of your own shadow. It makes for a very unnerving existence.”

Well, if there was one thing I
hadn’t
thought of myself as being, it was lucky. But I sat there imagining not having a clue who had taken my mitt, and he was right—that would be worse.

“Father Mayhew has no idea who stole his cross?”

“Well, he used to think it was me, and I used to think it was Holly, but now I think he thinks it’s Brother Phil.”

Hudson puts up a hand. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a bit, Sammy! Obviously you’re above reproach, but who is Holly, and why did you think she took it?”

So I wound up telling him all about Holly coming through the soup kitchen and how we followed her to the riverbank and found out about her cardboard house and all of that. And the more I tell him about Holly, the higher his eyebrows creep up, and when I’m all done, he lets out a long, low whistle and says, “That’s some story!” Then he nods. “Asking Meg and Vera was a stroke of genius. Obviously, they’re a godsend for her, but she’ll also be good for
the two of them. As much as I enjoy Rommel, dogs do not a family make.”

I think about Holly being part of the Pup Parlor family and laugh. “As long as they don’t start doing her hair!”

He laughs, too, then smooths down an eyebrow and says, “So how’d Holly do at school today? That had to be quite an adjustment for her.”

Now, to tell you the truth, I’d forgotten all about Holly after my mitt got stolen. I’d spent all my time thinking about Heather and the game and how mad I was at myself. So all of a sudden I felt terrible. I mean, it isn’t easy being in school even when you have friends. Starting seventh grade when you
don’t
has got to be like walking through the mall in your underwear.

I put my hand in front of my mouth. “Oh, no! I should’ve waited for her after school!”

Hudson studies me. “Why don’t you go over and see her now? I’ll call your grandmother and tell her where you are.”

“Well … um … maybe
I
should call Grams.”

His eyebrows creep toward each other like albino caterpillars. “She
does
know about all this, doesn’t she?”

I give him a guilty grin. “Not exactly …”

He shakes his head. “She needs to know what’s going on with you. Otherwise she worries.”

“She worries either way. I just think she worries less
not
knowing.”

Hudson’s caterpillars are practically smooching. “She needs to know, Sammy. It’s all over now, so you don’t mind if I tell her, do you?”

I shrug, “Go ahead, I guess. Just tell her not to tell anyone else. I don’t want people to get all nosy and then have Meg and Vera decide she can’t stay with them anymore. Holly’d just run away again.”

Hudson nods, and while I’m strapping on my backpack, he gives me a little smile. “It’s coming back already.”

“What’s coming back?”

“Your aura. It’s already brighter.”

I laugh and say, “Oh, my
aura
,” and wave good-bye.

And as I’m walking to the Pup Parlor, I tell myself that Hudson’s right about me being lucky. At least I know which one of the glasses on my table has poison in it. Poor Father Mayhew has to go thirsty because it could be in any one of the glasses on his.

Or maybe, just maybe, there’s a little poison in all of them.