Bad Samaritan (19 page)

Sister Agatha, her hand on Pax's head, watched the woman rush away at a jog. “You can't trust any deal you make with the devil, Pax.”

T
HE NEXT MORNING SISTER AGATHA LEFT THE MONAS
tery early. Seeing packing boxes everywhere saddened her terribly, and she was glad for a reason to leave. Our Lady of Hope felt more like an abandoned building these days than the home they'd loved.

Her first stop was at Paul Mathis Landscaping, which opened at 7:00
A.M.
One of Paul's drivers had given her his schedule, and it seemed he was a busy man this time of year. Rather than have him wait for her somewhere, she decided to catch up to him. Sister Agatha managed to miss him at the wholesale nursery but finally found him at the community center.

As she approached him, Paul was adjusting emitters on a drip system that supplied a newly added xeriscaped section of the grounds.

Sister Agatha told him why she'd come. “Whatever you tell me will stay in confidence,” she assured him. “I'm simply after
some background information.” She looked back at Pax, who'd been put on stay beneath a Navajo willow in the shade. He watched but didn't move.

“I knew to expect you. Dusty and I spoke last night,” Paul said as he continued working. “Generally, I don't care what goes on with my clients. In fact, I don't
want
to know,” he added emphatically. “Thing is, folks sometimes forget I'm there. That's why, every once in a while, I end up seeing or overhearing stuff that's supposed to be private.”

His words made her think of Scout. The forgotten people who were generally ignored by the majority sometimes had the most information to share—if they would.

“I worked on their property every Saturday morning,” Paul continued, “and it seems like every time I was there, Victoria and Robert were having a fight. Sometimes Mrs. Garcia would start throwing stuff at Mr. Garcia. Then there would be a slap, like he was hitting her, and she'd start crying, or their fight would just get louder. A few times Mr. Russo showed up to calm them both down.”

“Who called him, do you know?”

“Men don't call for help, and the housekeeper knew better than to interfere. I think it was probably Mrs. Garcia.”

Sister Agatha nodded. It made sense.

Paul moved toward the next plant, then checked the drip rate from the emitter. Lowering his voice, he continued. “Mr. Russo had a thing for Mrs. Garcia, too. One time I heard him tell her to get a divorce, that he'd take care of her. She thanked him, sounding really surprised, but told him that she could defend herself if it ever got too ugly.” He pulled off the emitter, let the water run for a few seconds, then attached a new, smaller one he'd taken from his jacket pocket.

“She was willing to put up with it, Sister Agatha, so who
knows? A part of her might have enjoyed it. I've given up trying to figure people out.”

Al Russo's personal interest in Victoria raised a lot of questions, but she decided not to pursue it directly. Paul was at ease, and she wanted to keep him that way.

“You said you were there once a week. In the past month or so, how often has Mr. Russo been there?” she asked as he pulled some weeds from around the next plant they approached.

“The last three times I was there, Mr. Russo showed up right after the fight got started. Once he'd show up, the arguing would stop—every time.”

“Afterward, would he stick around for long?”

“Sometimes he would, depending on if Mr. Garcia left or stayed at the house, and how upset RJ was. I saw Mr. Russo take the little boy outside for batting practice on the lawn lots of times. All that yelling and screaming was obviously doing a number on the kid. Interestingly enough, I never saw RJ play with his dad. Maybe that's why the boy's so crazy about Mr. Russo and Mr. Herrera.”

“Mike Herrera?” she asked.

“Yeah. From what I've seen, RJ seems to prefer Mr. Russo, but he still liked playing catch with Herrera.”

“So Mike would come over to see RJ from time to time?”

“Yeah, but that was mostly back in the spring. He'd come to take Mrs. Garcia out for practice. Then afterward, when the boy came home from school, the two would play catch.”

“Wait—practice? What were Mike and Victoria practicing—country-western dancing, golf, tennis?”

“Naw. He was teaching Mrs. Garcia how to shoot.”

“Really?” she asked, totally surprised by the news. “I'd heard that Victoria hated firearms and wouldn't even allow one in the house.”

“I was standing just a few feet away one time when I heard them talking about sight picture, trigger control, and line of fire—what else could it have been? There had been talk of break-ins in the area, too, around that time, and I remember Mrs. Garcia saying that she needed to be able to protect RJ if they had an intruder. Mr. Garcia was doing a lot of business travel back then.”

“What kind of weapon did she have, rifle or pistol?”

“I never saw it, so you'd have to ask them.”

Sister Agatha thanked Paul, then returned to where she'd left Pax and the cycle. “Every time I think I've got a handle on this case, Pax, something I knew nothing about comes up. I'm beginning to think we've just begun to scratch the surface.”

Responding to her frustrated tone, Pax looked at her soulfully. Sister Agatha bent down to give him a hug.

Then, Sister Agatha and Pax started over to Tom Green's home. She had more questions for him—and this time she wouldn't accept his evasions.

Throughout the ride, she thought of everything she'd recently learned about Victoria, including the news that she'd taken firearms lessons. Victoria certainly had a motive for killing Robert, and, to top it off, she didn't seem to have an alibi for the time of death. The woman, right now, was at the top of her list of suspects.

There was also Monty Allen. The security firm was his livelihood, and he now had unlimited control. He had also obviously been interested in the position of sheriff, or he wouldn't have been running as the write-in candidate.

Mike Herrera, too, was in a position to have seen Robert Garcia's true nature. Had he acted to protect Victoria . . . or maybe RJ? The same could apply to Al Russo, especially factoring in his fondness for the boy. On the other hand, Al's career
had been tied to Robert's success, so it wasn't likely he would have murdered his meal ticket.

When she pulled into Sheriff Green's driveway, Sister Agatha saw Gloria already outside.

“That motorcycle's sure distinctive,” Gloria said, coming up to greet Sister Agatha. “I heard it coming all the way down the lane.” She headed to her car and slipped inside. “I'm on my way out for a bit, but Tom's in the kitchen. Go on in.”

Sister Agatha stopped beside Gloria's driver's side door. “How are you two doing? A crisis like this could break any marriage, Gloria. Don't make any hasty decisions. You two need each other more than ever now.”

Gloria shook her head. “You're wrong, Sister. Everything has a beginning, a middle, and an end. When the dust settles, we'll go our separate ways. We each deserve a new start.”

“It doesn't have to be like that. Have you tried—”

Gloria held up one hand. “Stop. I don't want to hear about this anymore. Just help Tom clear his name so we can both go on with our lives.”

“I'm working on it, but I could sure use some help. Tell me, how well did you know Robert?”

“Not very. We never socialized with him and his wife. I'd never admit this to anyone else, but there was bad blood between him and Tom. Robert had to leave the sheriff's department under less than ideal circumstances, and though Tom's never discussed it with me I think he had a big part to play in that.”

“He won't give me any details either,” Sister Agatha said. Tom wouldn't violate the department's confidentiality, but to clear him she'd need every bit of information she could get.

Tom came out before Gloria could reply. “If you two are going to chitchat, come inside. It isn't a good idea to stay out here in the open.”

Seeing the sheriff, Pax stood up and immediately began straining at the leash to get Tom's attention.

Smiling, Tom came over to pet him, then glanced at Gloria. “Going shopping again?”

Sister Agatha couldn't help but notice the dark edge of sarcasm in his voice.

Gloria didn't look directly at him. “I'll be gone for a few hours,” she said, then pulled out of the driveway.

Tom watched Gloria drive down the street, then turned and gestured for Sister Agatha to follow him into the house. “Let's talk.”

Sitting on Tom's comfortable leather couch, Sister Agatha filled him in on what she'd learned about Victoria, including news that Victoria had learned how to shoot. “What caliber weapon was used to kill Robert?”

“A nine millimeter, but that's a very common caliber,” he said. “You might follow things up by asking Millie to check and see if Victoria purchased a handgun recently. You may get lucky, but if it wasn't a licensed dealer purchase, it's very possible there won't be any record of it. Gun show purchases aren't registered, and neither are private sales.”

“All right,” Sister Agatha said, making a mental note of that. “Now I need you to tell me all about you and Robert. You can start with why he left the department. I need specifics, Tom.”

Tom hesitated.

“It wasn't just to go into business, was it?”

Tom didn't answer.

“I can check on the dates—when he left the department and when his firm opened. My guess is that some time passed between those two events. I'm thinking you forced him to resign.”

“Robert didn't go into business right away,” Tom said, sidestepping her question.

“Time's ticking. Are you going to tell me why he left the department, or should I start asking other officers?”

He glared at her. “I can't discuss department business with you, Sister. Those matters are sealed for a reason.”

“Robert's dead. What purpose could it serve now to keep his background a secret?”

He took a deep breath and seemed to consider his options. “Robert Garcia and I had more than our share of problems. Some of those are public knowledge,” he said. “The only thing I can do is suggest that you talk to Leon Jones, Robert's neighbor on the east side. Leon's recently retired, so he's usually at home.”

Sister Agatha studied Tom's body language as he stared at a framed photo of him and Gloria that was hanging on the wall. Unconsciously or not, he was also fiddling with his wedding ring. Realizing that she was studying him, he dropped his hands and glanced away, his lips stretched in a thin, taut line.

“I've known you for a long time, Tom. You're holding out on me, and not just with departmental business. You
know
I'm on your side, and if there's one person you can trust, it's me. You said you'd talk to me—”

“I've told you all I can,” he said, then stood and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Just one more bit of advice. Detective Frank Marquez is a good man. He's tough but fair. If you get in over your head, call him. Frank'll find a way to help you.”

“He's got problems of his own right now,” Sister Agatha said, then told him about the incident with the mayor outside the coffee shop.

Tom laughed. “Don't worry about Frank. When the heat's on, he just gets stronger.”

“Tom, I want you to think hard about what you're doing. If what you're holding back is pertinent to the case, it'll surface sooner or later, and the damage may be even harder to control by
then,” Sister Agatha said, heading to the door. “Don't let whatever you're keeping secret blindside me—or Frank. We're going all out for you, and you're not helping—yourself or us.”

Leaving Tom's, Sister Agatha set out to go visit Leon Jones. As she glanced at Pax, she saw him enjoying the blast of cool air that swept around them on the bike. It was the perfect morning, with the sun shining in a cloudless sky. If things had been different, she would have enjoyed the ride as much as Pax.

As she turned down the street where Victoria lived, she saw someone pulling into the Garcia driveway. She backed off on the throttle to reduce the obvious sound of the Harley, then watched as she drove past. Mike Herrera emerged from a shiny luxury sedan and glanced in her direction. The red-and-white-painted Harley and sidecar, coupled with a nun in a black habit and a big white dog, wasn't exactly subtle.

Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, Sister Agatha turned around in the road and headed back. As she drove up, she saw that Mike had waited for her. He was leaning back against the driver's side door, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Hey, Sister, what's up?”

She took off her helmet and held it on her lap. “Hello, Mike. I'm glad you waited. I've been wanting to ask you a question. I understand that you taught Victoria how to shoot a pistol,” she said, hoping he'd confirm her guess on the type of weapon.

His face darkened, and he balled his hands into fists. With effort, he relaxed them again. “I
told
Victoria to watch what she said around the help. She's lucky no one's ever blackmailed her.”

“What has she done that would make her a target for extortion?”

“Victoria?” He suddenly burst out laughing. “You don't know her very well, or you wouldn't be asking.”

“You obviously do. So why don't you tell me?”

“People think Robert controlled Victoria, but that's not the way it really was. Victoria held the reins, and she loved pushing his buttons. She knew exactly how to set him off.”

“Interesting viewpoint. Tell me more.”

“She'd go shopping, max out all the credit cards, then ‘forget' to pay the bills on time. Then she'd make sure that Robert found out about it. Their credit rating was like a roller coaster, and that made Robert nuts. During the campaign rallies, she'd always stand in the background acting the part of the dutiful, faithful wife, smiling at everything he said, but Victoria knew how to get under his skin, and she liked making him crazy. The shooting lessons she had me give her are a good example of that. When Robert started traveling a lot, trying to expand his business out of state, she decided she wanted to learn to shoot a pistol. She
knew
Robert would eventually find out, and after that he'd never be able to raise a hand to her without wondering if he'd get shot later that night as he slept.”