Free Murder Makes a Pilgrimage by Carol Anne O'Marie

students laughed and cavorted with one another. Children ran and played tag while their mothers gossiped. Older couples peacefully circled the plaza, passing bustling tourists laden with shopping bags. A policeman, his nightstick protruding from his yellow rain slicker, stopped to chat with a couple of men in berets. Amid them all a lone flutist stood beside his open case. A few sprightly notes floated up on the night air. Listening, Mary Helen felt a pang of sympathy for the boy’s mother, who had probably hoped for a Spanish James Galway.
    She leaned farther out the window. The ledge was wide enough to sit on, and she was tempted to try it, maybe even dangle her feet. Only the thought of slipping and landing in the plaza in her nightdress stopped her. Not that she would have any particular worry if that did happen. It was Eileen who would be left with some fancy explaining to do to Sister Cecilia and the other nuns, especially Therese. Mary Helen amused herself thinking about what decorous Therese would say about such a fall from propriety. She chuckled at her own pun and wished Eileen were awake.
    Outside, marbled clouds gathered around the apricotmoon, and Mary Helen smelled rain in the air. Poor Therese! Although she could drive you to drink without a cent in your pocket, she did try to be kind. Much as Mary Helen hated to admit it, they probably would need her umbrellas.
    A sudden volley of sharp, angry Spanish took her by surprise. Whoever it was had just stepped out the front door of the
hostal
and was directly below.
    She leaned out as far as she dared and caught a glimpse of a head and an ornate comb. As the figure stalked across the plaza, Mary Helen recognized María José. She squinted. Was that Pepe trailing her?
    As impervious to those around her as they were to her, María José gesticulated furiously, stopping now and again to turn on Pepe and stab at him with her finger. Pepe, gesturing every bit as wildly, continued to dog her until the two of them disappeared behind one corner of the cathedral.
    “What’s the matter?” Eileen’s groggy voice startled her.
    “Nothing. I just can’t sleep.”
    “Get into your bed, old dear. That might help.”
    “I was in bed,” Mary Helen began, exasperated, but it was too late. Eileen had drifted off again.
    Mary Helen sighed. Maybe that was good advice. Besides, if she stayed there in front of the open window, her feet were bound to get cold. Once that happened, she would never get to sleep.
    Back in the soft, roomy bed she pulled the covers up over her shoulders and tucked her toes into the end of her nightdress. Dance music seeped up through the floor. The band was playing a medley of “oldies but goodies.” Maybe the guests were winding down. From the sound the band certainly was.
    Resolutely she closed her eyes. But her mind refused to shut off and wandered downstairs. Were the other tour members still there or had some gone off to bed? By dessert Corahad looked exhausted. Were the Fongs enjoying themselves? Odd little man, Dr. Fong. Did he dance? She’d bet Rita did.
    And the DeAngelos. Was Bootsie still sitting, tight-lipped, ignoring her husband, or had they made up? She hoped so. Obviously María José and Pepe had not. Too bad!
    With Pepe gone from the
hostal
, who was with poor Heidi? I hope she’s still having fun. In fact, I hope they’re all having fun. Mary Helen shifted into a more comfortable position, her thoughts growing fuzzy.
    Oddly the only one she wasn’t concerned about was lovely Lisa Springer. Do or die, Lisa would have a good time. Mary Helen would bet money on it. More power to her, she thought dreamily, more power to her.
    An angry small girl, whose face was vaguely familiar, but whose name Mary Helen could not quite remember, grabbed both her ankles. Shocked, Mary Helen struggled with this strange girl who carried a load of wet wash in the wicker basket on top of her head.
    “Stop it this instant!” she shouted.
    The girl