Tales of the City 02 - More Tales of the City

course.”
    “They are totally hysterical, Mouse. You’d think the town was teeming with Episcopal cannibals. I tried to explain that the press was blowing it all out of proportion, but they won’t even listen to me. They want me on the next flight back to Cleveland.”
    “Are you going?”
    She shook her head, smiling. “Sit down, Mouse. I need a hug.”
    He abandoned the walker and dropped to the sofa. They held on to each other for a long time.
    “How’s my girl?” asked Michael.
    “All right.”
    “It’ll get better. I promise.”
    “I shouldn’t gripe, I guess. I’ve got it easy compared to Burke. He’s been with the police all morning, trying to remember stuff.”
    “Naming names?”
    Mary Ann nodded. “He’s come up with fourteen so far, including three members of the cathedral choir, two surgeons at St. Sebastian’s, and even a couple of businessmen.”
    “His memory must be completely back, then?”
    “Just about. He regained most of it the night we found the … that night. Though he still can’t remember how he ended up in Golden Gate Park. My guess is they drugged him after they realized he had amnesia.”
    “It seems funny that they wouldn’t have been a little more thorough about getting rid of him.”
    “Not really. For one thing, they weren’t really committing a crime. That part’s driving the police crazy right now. The doctors can be nailed on some sort of ethical-practices violation, of course, but the law isn’t very clear about the rest of it. Those body parts were just medical garbage, really. There’s no law against eating garbage.”
    Michael frowned. “Is that actually what they were doing?”
    She nodded. “Apparently, they sort of … tasted it. It was supposed to be symbolic or something. One step beyond transubstantiation. Burke says they did it at the very moment the people below were eating the bread and the wine. The transplant man’s job was to see that the stuff was delivered to the catwalk at each of the designated masses.”
    “What’s gonna happen to that guy, anyway?”
    “Who knows? Burke says he’ll probably make a fortune. He’s already hired a literary agent.”
    “You’re kidding!”
    “Nope. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” She shivered a little, turning away. “I just want it to be over with as soon as possible.”
    Michael looked at her a moment, hesitating. “Do you mind if I ask you one more thing?”
    “Sure. Go ahead.”
    “What was all this red rose business? Was that just the rose window—the Rose Incarnate they chanted about?”
    Mary Ann smiled faintly. “That’s what I thought at first. Or that it had something to do with the flower shop at St. Sebastian’s. It turned out to be neither. It was a tattoo.”
    “A tattoo?”
    She nodded. “The night Burke lost his memory was the first night the cult trusted him enough to let him join them on the catwalk. The thing he hadn’t counted on was that they expected him to participate in the ceremony. He knew they were High Church, of course—”
    Michael chuckled, interrupting her. “You can’t get much higher than that,” he said.
    She managed a laugh. “Anyway, he didn’t really know what was going to happen until they started chanting and Tyrone opened the Styrofoam cooler and pulled out an arm.”
    “Arrggh!”
    “I know,” winced Mary Ann. “Who wouldn’t try to block that one out?”
    “My God! Then the red rose was …”
    Mary Ann nodded. “Tattooed on the arm.”
    “Did Burke … I mean, did he …?”
    Mary Ann shrugged. “I guess he must’ve tried, poor baby.”

The Anagram
    W ELL?” SAID MRS. MADRIGAL, SMILING.
    “Well what?” asked Mona.
    “How did your date go?”
    “None of your business. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
    The landlady arched an eyebrow mischievously and looked down at the tray of dope she was cleaning. “It was that good, was it?”
    Mona flushed. “You’re avoiding the subject.”
    “Which is?”
    “The anagram. The anagram .”
    “Ah.”
    Mrs. Madrigal looked up. “Goodness gracious! Does love make you testy?”
    “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Do I have to guess, then?”
    Mrs. Madrigal craned her neck to examine the piece of paper in her daughter’s hands. “We have a list, do we? What fun! I feel like Rumpelstiltskin.”
    Mona groaned and slumped down onto the sofa next to her. “You are truly perverse!”
    Mrs. Madrigal directed her attention to the dope