Sister Mary Helen is dismayed when, after the unexpected death of Sister Cecilia, the president of Mount St. Francis College, Sister Patricia is appointed the post. Sister Mary Helen is not in the new president's best graces and feels she surely will be asked to retire. But the chance to volunteer at a drop-in center for abused women and serve on the board quite revives Sister Mary Helen's flagging spirits -- until a young woman who frequents the center is murdered. Unexpectedly forced into retirement by the arrival of a new president at Mount St. Francis College, feisty octogenarian Sister Mary Helen decides to volunteer at a downtown San Francisco shelter for homeless women. Before she has time to adjust fully to her challenging new ministry, she discovers the lifeless body of a young prostitute and becomes entangled in a psychologically twisted game of cat and mouse with the culprit. Being no stranger to murder, Sister Mary Helen is determined to help her old friends, homicide detectives Kate Murphy and Dennis Gallagher, solve the brutal crime. Undertaking her own quiet investigation, she uncovers a startling motive, endangering the lives of all the nuns at Mount St. Francis in the process. Fans of the Father Dowling mysteries will also enjoy the exploits of the indefatigable Sister Mary Helen. Another first-rate installment in an unfailingly entertaining series. Margaret Flanagan Even though she was lucky enough to die on the Feast of the Assumption, Sister Cecilia, president of Mount St. Francis college, has left Sister Mary Helen in an awkward situation. Cecilia's successor, Sister Patricia, is no friend of the longtime sleuth (Death Takes Up a Collection, 1998, etc.), and Sister Mary Helen, anxiously awaiting news of her forced retirement, marks time by volunteering at a center for abused womenuntil one of her clients suffers the ultimate abuse. -- Copyright ©2000, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. Sister Carol Anne O'Marie has been a Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet for the past forty-six years. She ministers to homeless women at a drop-in center in downtown Oakland, California, which she co-founded i 190. The shelter is similar to the one that appears i Requiem at the Refuge , her ninth Sister Helen novel. REQUIEM AT THE REFUGE (Chapter One)Saturday, August 15 Feast of the Assumption of Mary When Sister Cecilia, president of Mount St. Francis College, missed morning Mass, Sister Therese was very concerned. Once Father Adams had left the altar, Therese, who preferred her name pronounced “trays,” turned to face the handful of nuns who still remained in the pews. “She never misses morning Mass,” Therese’s whisper reverberated through the chapel. “Especially on a Holy Day of Obligation.” “It’s not a Holy Day if it falls on Saturday or Monday,” old Sister Donata corrected. “They’re changing everything,” she lamented. “That is not my point,” Therese hissed. “My point is Cecilia must be sick.” “Why don’t you go to her room and check?” Sister Mary Helen asked sensibly. Not that she would want anyone checking on her, particularly if she’d overslept. “Let Anne go,” old Donata grumbled. “She has the youngest legs.” This, of course, was true. Sister Anne had just recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday. Therese would have none of it. “I will go,” she said with a sniff and rose from her pew. Beside her, Mary Helen heard her friend Sister Eileen sigh. “Poor Cecilia has every reason to be tired,” she whispered, “what with this business of getting ready to open school. If you ask me, it’s more work than being in school.” Eileen stopped short. Therese had reappeared, her face the color of codfish. “Dead! She’s dead!” Therese rasped, scarcely able to get her tongue around the words. Her bright sparrow eyes were riveted on Mary Helen. “Cecilia is dead!” Therese sputtered before her ragged sob tore through the shocked silence of the chapel. Sister Mary Helen felt her heart thumping. Please, Lord, not murder! She held her breath. In the distance, foghorns wailed, warning San Franciscans that they were in for another dripping summer day. “What happened?” Old Donata cupped her hand behind her good ear. Therese hiccuped in a valiant effort to control herself. “Cecilia is dead,” she repeated. “She must have died in her sleep.” Oddly relieved, Mary Helen hurried from the chapel to the nearest phone to call 911 while Eileen went for the priest. After a quick breakfast, the nuns, still in shock, divided into groups and shot into action. Fortunately, they still had two weeks before the opening of the fall semester. It would take at least one of those weeks to prepare a proper funeral for Cecilia. After all, this was the first time in the long history of Mount St. Francis College that an acting president had died in office. Before noon they had contacted Sister Cecilia’s relatives and friends, the college faculty and staff, the Superior General, the Archbishop, and any other dignitaries that they thought sh