Merry Sister Mary and the One and Only Killer

The bus screeched to a halt, jolting Sister Mary awake from her peaceful nap. Blinking, she surveyed her surroundings, a frown creasing her brow.

“Lord in heaven, where the devil am I? Are we in New Orleans yet?” she muttered, straightening her coif.

She peered out the window. A bustling dock scene unfolded before her, teeming with people, the industrial air thick with the roar of barges and the distant murmur of a thousand voices. The mighty Mississippi, brown and murky, whirled past the pier.

Her heart sank. "Oh, hell no," she grumbled. "Those sisters said this was a bus trip. I ain't getting on any boat."

Just then, the bus assistant's voice boomed, "Everyone off the bus! File down to the dock and take a spot near the ramp!" Panic set in. As passengers jostled past her, Mary frantically searched her seat. Her umbrella, Mr. D. Thomas, was gone. "Where is my D. Thomas?" she pleaded to the emptying bus. "Where is my umbrella?"

Her eyes scanned the bus, then out the window. A yellow flash of gold twinkled in the sunlight. There! A woman in a black dress, fumbling through the crowd, with her umbrella tucked under her arm. A red convertible pulled up beside the woman.

“Stop! Wait! You have my umbrella!” Mary hollered, leaping off the bus and pushing through the crowd. But it was too late. The convertible sped away. The ferry, without her, began its slow journey across the river. Mary stood dumbfounded, her luggage gone, her umbrella stolen, and herself stranded. "God damn it!" she cursed, kicking a rock.