Free The Good Friday Murder by Lee Harris Page A

the door, and she pulled it shut behind me.
    Father Olshansky was not young, but he wasn’t old enough to have been here in 1950. “I understand you’re looking for a parishioner,” he said, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.
    “Her name was Magda Wandowska,” I said, and gave him a little background.
    He didn’t seem familiar with the Talley murder, but he was pleased that I was working on behalf of the sons. “Let’s check the banns,” he said. “What year would that have been?”
    “I don’t really know,” I admitted. “But it must have been after April 1950.”
    “Good enough.” He went to his file, and I watched him move quickly through the cards.
    She must have married, I thought, wondering what I would do if Father Olshansky failed to find her name.
    “Well, here we are,” he said. “June of 1952. Magda Wandowska and Richard Zygowsky.”
    I was scribbling as he spoke. He spelled the name and I printed it carefully. “Wonderful,” I breathed.
    “Now let’s look at the current census and see if they’re still in the parish.” He tried another file but failed to find the name. “They may have moved, of course, but they would have come to us for baptism records and the like. Let’s see if they had any children while they still lived here.”
    It was plain he enjoyed detecting, and I was happy to have him enjoy himself.
    “Well, there we are, a boy, named after his father, born in 1954. That would make him about thirty-six now, wouldn’t you think?”
    “Yes, indeed. You deserve a medal, Father.”
    “But we haven’t found her yet, have we? Let’s see if Mrs. Zygowsky was a faithful member of the Legion of Mary.” He went on with his poking through records. “Aha. She certainly was. And moved away in 1965.”
    “Would you happen to know where?” At this point, I was holding my breath.
    “It looks as though Father Thomascevich wrote a letter to the new parish and forwarded the records. They moved to Queens.” He called off the address and I wrote it in my book.
    I put my book back in my bag and took out my wallet. “I’d like to leave a gift for the church, Father. Do you have a box for St. Anthony?” St. Anthony, if you’re not up on your saints, helps people to find things.
    “You’ll find it near the front door.”
    “Thank you very much.”
    “And thank you, Sister.”
    I had turned toward the door when I heard the word. “How did you know?” I asked, turning back.
    “Oh, the hair mostly. Looks chopped up, the way the nuns have it who wear a habit. Have you given up the habit or given up the convent?”
    “I left the convent,” I said, feeling just a little guilty for the first time.
    “I’m sorry. We lose so many of our best. Well, good luck in your search.”
    —
    I found a stationery store about a block from the church and bought one of those Hagstrom’s maps of Queens. Then I went into a phone booth and called information.
    The Zygowskys lived at the address the priest had given me. I dialed the number.
    “Hello?” It was sort of a pinched voice.
    “Mrs. Zygowsky?”
    “Yes?”
    “Magda Zygowsky?”
    “Who is this?”
    “My name is Christine Bennett, Mrs. Zygowsky. A few days ago I met James Talley.”
    “Omigod,” the voice said faintly. Then, “You saw James? How is he? How is Robert? Oh, my poor boys.”
    “James is fine, Mrs. Zygowsky. I haven’t seen Robert. I’d like to speak to you if I could. I’m looking into the murder of Mrs. Talley. I’m hoping to prove the twins didn’t do it.”
    “Oh, God bless you. This afternoon? Can you come today?”
    “How’s two o’clock?”
    “Yes, two. Let me see, the bakery is open.”
    More tea and cookies, I thought, wondering how many pounds the Talley murder would put on me. “You don’t have to feed me, Mrs. Zygowsky,” I said. “I just want to—”
    “Yes, yes, just come. Take the Long Island Expressway.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    —
    If you’ve never tried to find your way