Trial By Fury

The room was actually a sitting room in the old-fashioned-parlor sense of the word. The furnishings consisted of two dainty, ladylike chairs, a loveseat, and a couch-all of it suitably uncomfortable. A matched set of end tables and a coffee table completed the room's furnishings.

The only light came from an old hanging glass fixture that hung down in the middle of the room. Every flat surface was supplied with identical boxes of industrial strength tissue. Evidently, tears, lots of them, were not unexpected phenomena in St. Agnes' visiting rooms.

Having met Sister Marie Regina O'Dea, I could understand the need for tears, especially if the other nuns turned out to be anything like their stiff-backed leader.

I tried both chairs and the loveseat before I settled uneasily on the couch. It seemed to me the couch had been purposely designed to be unsuitable for human male anatomy. Despite the couch's discomfort, however, I nodded off briefly before the door opened again.

I sat up with a start. At first, in the dim light, I thought Sister Marie Regina had returned. Instead, a woman who looked very much like the headmistress ushered Bambi Barker into the room.

The sister held out her hand to me. Her grip was cool and firm. "I'm Sister Eunice," she said. "And this is Miss Barker."

From the moment I saw her, I could almost understand Tex Barker's desire to lock his daughter in a convent. Maybe even a bank vault. She was a voluptuous little twit. My mother would have called her a floozy. Even in the ill-fitting plaid schoolgirl uniform she wore, her well-built figure showed through plain as day. Her long blonde hair was cut short around her face in the latest heavy-metal style, and she wore plenty of makeup. I was a little surprised the nuns let her get away with that.

Bambi Barker had evidently been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose was shiny, and enough mascara had run down her face to make two long, ink black rivulets.

Sister Eunice motioned Bambi Barker onto one of the dainty chairs and seated herself primly on the other.

"Excuse me, Sister," I said, "but I'd like to speak to Miss Barker alone."

"That's not possible," Sister Eunice replied firmly, folding her hands in her lap and settling in. "As senior proctor, I am required to be in attendance when any of my girls speak to an unaccompanied male."

"But, Sister…" I objected.

"Now see here, Detective Beaumont." She smiled evenly, showing a set of dentures. She straightened her skirt carefully. "I was instructed not to interfere, but this is the only way you'll be able to talk to her."

She turned to Bambi, reached out, and patted the girl's knee reassuringly. "It's all right, Bambi. I'll stay here with you. All you need to do is tell this man the truth."

Keeping her head ducked into her shoulders, Bambi Barker peered up at me, her full lips gathered in a sullen pout. It was difficult to know where to begin. I hadn't anticipated asking intimate questions of a randy teenager in the presence of a straitlaced, aging nun.

"Did they tell you why I wanted to talk to you, Miss Barker?" I asked.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes averted.

"You've heard about Coach Ridley, haven't you?"

Her head jerked up as if someone had pulled a string. "What about him?"

"He's dead," I answered. "He died sometime Saturday morning."

For a moment her eyes widened in horror, then she shook her head, her blonde mane shifting from side to side. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, Bambi. I'm not kidding. He's dead. I'm here investigating his murder."

With no warning, Bambi Barker slipped soundlessly from the chair to the floor like a marionette with severed strings. Sister Eunice reached out and succeeded in breaking her fall.

"Oh, no," Bambi sobbed over and over as Sister Eunice caught her and rocked her against a flat, unyielding breast. "It can't be."

I slipped to the floor as well, lifting Bambi's chin so I could look into the shocked blue depths of her eyes. "What can't be, Bambi?" I asked. "Tell me."

She twisted away from my hand and once again buried her face against Sister Eunice. "Oh, Daddy," I heard her sob. "How could you!"

How could he indeed?

CHAPTER 14

Sister Eunice spent the next half hour on her knees on the floor of that visiting room, pasting the pieces of Bambi Barker back together and forever putting an end to my lean/mean stereotyping of Catholic nuns. Sister Eunice may have been every bit as angular as Sister Marie Regina, but she was anything but heartless. She held Bambi close, rocking her gently like a baby and murmuring small words of comfort in her ear.

There was nothing for me to do but sit and wait for the storm of emotion to blow over. Sister Eunice must have gotten tired of my just hanging around, because finally she ordered me out of the room, sending me on a mission to bring back a glass of water. When I returned, Sister Eunice had engineered Bambi back onto a chair.

"Here now," she urged soothingly, taking the glass from my hand and holding it to Bambi's lips. "Try some of this."

Bambi took a small sip, choked, and pushed the glass away. "I'm all right."

"Are you sure?" Sister Eunice asked.

"I'm sure," Bambi mumbled.

It was time to start, but I approached Bambi warily. "I have to ask you some questions, Miss Barker."

She nodded numbly, without looking up. "So ask."

"Do you know anything about what happened to Darwin Ridley?"

Bambi Barker raised her head then and looked at me. "It was just a game," she said.

"A game?" I asked, not comprehending. "What do you mean, a game?"

"A game, a contest."

I felt really lost. "I don't understand what you're talking about. What was a contest?"

She shot a quick glance in the direction of Sister Eunice, who sat with her hands clasped in her lap, nodding encouragingly. "Don't pay any attention to me, Bambi," Sister Eunice said. "You go right ahead and tell the man what he needs to know."

Bambi took a deep breath and looked back at me. "Each year the cheerleaders have a contest to see…" She paused and looked at Sister Eunice again.

"To see what?" I urged impatiently.

"To see who can get one of the teachers in bed. It's, you know, a tradition."

My jaw must have dropped about three feet. At first I didn't think I'd heard her right. But I had. A tradition! The last time I had heard the word tradition, Bob Payson was telling me about the basketball team and Girl Scout cookies. So while the boys were worrying about nice little civilized traditions of the tea and crumpet variety, the cheerleaders were busy balling their favorite teacher. Jesus!

My mother once told me that girls are born knowing what it takes boys fifteen years to figure out. About then I figured fifteen years wasn't nearly long enough.

"The same teacher?" I asked, finding my voice. "Or a different one each year?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes the same. Usually not."

"Somebody keeps track from year to year?"

She nodded. "It's in one of the lockers in the girls' dressing room. Written on the ceiling. But it was just a game. Nothing like this ever…" She broke off and was quiet.

"Now let me get this straight. Each year somebody on the cheerleading squad seduces one of the teachers, and then you write his name down on a list?"

She nodded.

"Was there a prize for this game?"

"At the begi

"Proof? What do you mean, proof?"

"I mean, like you couldn't just say you did it, you know? You had to have proof. A picture, a tape, or something."

Fifteen years? Hell, forty-three years wasn't enough. I glanced at Sister Eunice. She continued sitting with her hands serenely clasped, her eyes never leaving Bambi's face. Maybe living in a convent with high school kids had taught Sister Eunice a whole lot more about the world than I had given her credit for.