Free Green Thumb by Ralph McInerny Page A

the archivist had been rendered mute. For all that, he seemed to have enjoyed it. Roger now remembered that he had deputized Francie to entertain Greg and she had been at his side most of the evening, chattering pleasantly and relieving him of the need to stutter.
    â€œShe visited the archives the following week. I had told her how prominent a student her mother was.”
    â€œSo you did talk to her?”
    â€œYes.” Greg was half indignant, as if he forgot he had a speech impediment.
    â€œSo you had already dug up half this material months ago?”
    â€œOh, she wasn’t interested in her mother’s accomplishments. She asked to see anything I had on her father.”
    â€œJack O’Kelly? So he was a student here as well.”
    â€œBefore his future wife arrived on campus. He was in the class of 1970.”
    â€œAnd did you find anything?”
    â€œDozens of poems. Mostly sonnets. They were all written to someone named Laura.”
    â€œPetrarchan sonnets?”
    Greg smiled. “They were either translations or close imitations. I don’t think his daughter believed me. She wanted me to identify Laura.”
    â€œEasily enough done.”
    â€œNot when she is thought to be a student.”
    â€œBut that would have been before coeducation.”
    â€œI checked all the Lauras at St. Mary’s during the years O’Kelly was a student at Notre Dame and gave them to Francie.”
    â€œTo what end?”
    Roger did not approve of Greg encouraging Francie in her misunderstanding. It seemed obvious that her father had taken over the poetry and the dedicatee of Petrarch’s sonnets.
    â€œOh, she was satisfied enough. There was a Minneapolis Laura Kennedy who is a longtime friend of the family. She never married, and Francie clearly thought she had been heartbroken when O’Kelly’s interest waned and condemned her to a single life.”
    â€œYou must ask her if she has found anything to verify this romantic theory.”
    â€œI was hoping you would, Roger.”

15
    â€œWhat were you and Mort arguing about the other night?” Crown asked Toolin.
    â€œLast night?”
    â€œAfter we left. I was almost ready for bed when I realized I had not taken my drink with me when I left Mort’s suite, for a nightcap. So I tiptoed back there in my pajamas and was about to knock when I heard the two of you going at it.”
    â€œIt was nothing serious.”
    â€œIt sounded serious.”
    â€œWe were both half smashed. We both said things we wouldn’t have said otherwise.”
    â€œAbout Maureen?”
    â€œYou really had your ear pressed to the door, didn’t you?”
    â€œIt wasn’t necessary. Anyway, I decided it was none of my business and went to bed. I needed another drink like I needed a hole in the head.”
    Ever since the discovery of Mort’s body, Toolin had been thinking of the fact that the last time he had seen his old roommate they had quarreled. Toolin had not liked the way Sadler spoke of the O’Kelly marriage. Dr. O’Kelly meant nothing to Toolin—he had graduated before they had arrived on campus—but Toolin’s sense of gallantry had been sharpened by alcohol and he had risen to the lady’s defense.
    â€œThe fact is, Mort, you loved her. I remember how you used to follow her around. It’s because she gave you the bum’s rush that all the other stuff followed.”
    â€œWhat other stuff?”
    â€œYour big campaign to return Notre Dame to an all-male student body. It was just sour grapes, Mort, and it’s ridiculous to keep it up. You’re a happily married man, she’s a happily married woman…”
    â€œThere, my dear fellow, I beg to differ with you.” Sadler was apt to slip into his imitation of one of their old professors, Tom Stritch, when he got drunk. But he waggled his brows in an un-Stritchian way.
    â€œWhat do you