Bad Samaritan (22 page)

As Leon had mentioned, several of the photos showed Robert carrying a large manila envelope tucked under one arm. In a few others, he had the envelope in his hand. Upon closer inspection, they were able to determine that there was no writing or label on it.

“When was the last photo of Garcia taken?” she asked.

He turned around in his desk chair to the computer, brought up his file, then checked the thumbnail images of his shots. Within a few seconds, he looked over. “Eight forty-seven. It was getting dark—notice the lighting? My camera was using the flash by then.”

“In that last shot, does he still have the envelope?”

“Sure does, under his arm,” he said, enlarging it and then pointing. “He's also holding something in a napkin. A hot dog, I think.”

“Thanks, Chuck,” she said. “I think I know someone who might be able to tell us what was in that envelope, and I intend to pay him a visit first thing tomorrow.”

“Where are you off to now?” Chuck asked, walking her out to the motorcycle.

“Home,” she answered, motioning for Pax to jump into the cockpit of the sidecar. “It's been a very long day.”

Enjoying the coolness of the desert evening temperatures, which could go from three digits to the fifties by midnight, she opted to take the long way home. Turning on a side street that joined the highway, she drove slowly, taking in the view. The moon was just coming up, and the entire valley was bathed in its glow.

As she approached the newly remodeled Purple Sage Motel, a couple was coming out of one of the rooms. Sister Agatha smiled, remembering her old college days, being head over heels in love, and the pleasure she'd always found in her lover's arms. When she'd taken her vows, one of her regrets had been knowing that no one would ever hold her like that again. She slowed as the couple kissed under the glow of a parking lot light. Taking in that romantic moment, Sister Agatha sighed.

Apparently hearing the motorcycle, the woman ended the kiss and turned to look toward the street.

Sister Agatha waved, then suddenly realized who it was—and, more importantly, who it wasn't.

Gloria Green stood rock still, a horrified expression on her face. “Wait!” she yelled an instant later.

Her heart sinking, and wishing she could be almost anywhere else in the world at the moment, Sister Agatha turned the Harley and cruised back slowly toward the sheriff's wife. Sister Agatha looked at the man, who was climbing into a dark blue pickup with the local high school's parking lot sticker on the bumper. She didn't recognize him. Her heart suddenly went out to Tom, and she wondered if he already knew. Of all the secrets she wished she'd never uncovered, this would top the list for a very long time.

As the man drove away, Sister Agatha pulled up beside Gloria, who was now standing beside her car.

“You and I need to talk, Sister Agatha. Not everything's the way it seems on the surface.”

“You're
not
having an affair?” she managed in a croak, hoping against hope.

“Oh yes, that part's true. Follow me if you want to know the rest of the story.”

“All right,” Sister Agatha said, wishing she could take a pass. Instinct assured her that what she'd learn tonight would only serve to strengthen the case against Tom.

Sister Agatha followed Gloria back through town, driving toward the south and west until they arrived at a small adobe casita adjacent to the ditch bank. Even in the moonlight, she could see that someone with a green thumb had spent a lot of time working in the garden.

“This is my sister Jill's place, but she's on vacation,” Gloria said, meeting Sister Agatha at the front door. “No one will bother us here.”

Moments later they sat in the small kitchen. Gloria, her hand shaking slightly, poured herself a glass of wine and offered Sister Agatha one, but the nun declined.

“You saw me with Coach Brady, Sister Agatha, and you know what was going on. My question is, what will you do now?”

“I honestly don't know, Gloria. My head's still reeling. Why on earth would you do something like this—particularly now?”

“Tom and I are over. I told you that two days ago. I'm only staying at the house because of what's happened. I was actually planning on moving in here with Jill on the fifth.”

“What could be so wrong with your marriage that it drove you into another man's arms?” Sister Agatha asked, still in shock.

“Things kept getting worse and worse between us. I tried to
fix it, I really did, but sometimes you just have to end the unhappiness and let go.”

“Don't either of you care anymore?” Sister Agatha asked, trying to make sense out of what seemed incomprehensible.

“I still care about Tom, but I want more from a marriage than Tom's capable of giving me. Tom's career is
always
number one, and at best the kids and I come in second.” She shook her head slowly. “Kyle's my future. I matter more to him than anything else. I'll never have to fight for stolen minutes of his time.”

Sister Agatha stared at Gloria. “But you have two sons . . . Think of your family and what this could do to them,” she managed, then continued. “You need to find what brought you and Tom together in the first place, the love, the caring. It may have been brushed aside for other concerns over the years, but it's still there. All you have to do is reconnect and make it strong again.”

“You're wrong about that. Tom's married to his job, Sister Agatha. I can't change that fact. The boys are the only reason we've stayed together as long as we have.”

“Gloria, Tom
does
love you. I've seen it on his face time and time again. How can you not know that?”

“Tom puts his heart in his work, and there's very little left over for us at the end of the day. Nothing's going to change that.”

Sister Agatha, needing comfort, reached for the rosary attached to her cincture. “When was the last time you tried talking to Tom about the way you feel?”

“That's part of the problem. Tom and I don't talk. We haven't for a long time, and ever since he started his campaign, we barely even see him. Kyle needs and wants a family. The job's not his passion—I am. He loves the boys, too, and they adore him.”

“How long have you been seeing Coach Brady?”

“You mean how long have I been having an affair?” Seeing
Sister Agatha nod, she continued. “We'd meet often for coffee and to talk, but things didn't get serious until school ended. It wasn't planned, Sister Agatha, it just happened. Of course, by now I expected to be here at Jill's with the kids, at least until we found a place of our own.” She stared vacantly at her wine. “Tom and I are currently living under the same roof for appearance's sake only. I
will
be leaving him as soon as possible.”

“When were you planning on telling Tom about Coach Brady?”

“I wasn't. There's no point to it,” she said. “He has his life, and I have mine. Our marriage . . . has been over for a long time.” Her voice broke, but she swallowed quickly and continued more steadily. “I've made my peace with that.”

Something in Gloria's voice caught her attention. “You're still in love with Tom.”

Gloria's eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head. “No. What we had died, and we can't bring it back. It's too late.” She took an unsteady breath. “Kyle not only loves me, he's my best friend. I need him just as he needs me.”

“It's not too late for you to reconnect with Tom. Your heart's still his. I hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. Gloria, think of your boys. They need their father.”

“I
am
thinking of them. They need more than a part-time dad. And I want a husband who
wants
to be there for us, not one who needs to be tricked into taking time off. Ending our marriage is the best thing for everyone. Tom, too, needs a different kind of wife, someone who'll understand his dedication to his profession because she's the same way about her career. A police officer, or someone more like you.”

Sister Agatha shook her head. “You couldn't be more wrong. Tom needs your dedication to family to balance his own life. He confronts the lowest levels of depravity every day. It's your love
and that of the boys that helps him retain his own humanity. He may not always show love in the way you think he should, but he's showing it in the way that makes sense to him.” Sister Agatha leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and held Gloria's gaze. “He was a deputy when you got married. You've known all along what drives him. If you want more from Tom, you have to confront those needs head-on—not by walking away.”

Gloria took an unsteady breath. “It's too late now. He'll never understand why I turned to Kyle.”

“Tom will take you back—if you ask him,” Sister Agatha said without hesitation. “He loves you, just as you do him.” Maybe she was still a romantic, but she wanted nothing to do with the modern thinking that so easily discarded what could be mended without so much as a backward glance. “Listen to your heart, Gloria. Shut up and listen like you've never listened before. Love is a gift, but it has strings attached. To hold on to it, you have to forgive the failings of another as well as your own.”

“Maybe Tom and I do deserve another chance . . .”

Sister Agatha smiled. “Go talk to him. I'll be praying for both of you. God is always on the side of love. He is Love.”

Like hope, love was an intrinsic part of mankind's spirit. It was woven in the very fabric of each human being. In that light, even a frail, damaged heart could find healing.

As Sister Agatha drove back to the monastery, she found herself looking forward to the calm simplicity of the life she'd chosen . . . that had chosen her.

After Morning Prayers, Sister Agatha went outside to the cloistered side of the garden and sat in the shadow of the statue of the Blessed Mother. She needed a few moments to gather her thoughts before setting out today.

Mornings were always peaceful at Our Lady of Hope. Though she'd miss these special moments here in their desert monastery, faith in her Lord assured her that there would be many other special moments waiting at their new home.

Reverend Mother, who'd gone to place flowers on the sisters' graves, came out the graveyard gate and joined Sister Agatha.

“This new world . . . so few vocations . . . so much is changing,” Reverend Mother said, sitting beside her on the bench.

“
He
remains the same,” Sister Agatha said, for her own benefit as well as Mother's.

Mother gave her a grateful smile. “And that's a comfort.”

Reverend Mother stood, and so did Sister Agatha. Together they walked back up the pathway toward the cloister door.

“Tell the sheriff that we're all praying he'll have the answers he needs at his fingertips soon,” Mother said, going into the cloister.

As Reverend Mother disappeared into the building, a new sense of determination filled Sister Agatha. Today she'd force Tom to tell her what he was holding back. She'd get answers even if she had to threaten to walk away from the case.

Sister Agatha continued to the monastery's parking area. Before she'd even whistled for Pax, the dog raced up.

“Let's go, boy.”

When she arrived at the Greens' home, Gloria's car was nowhere to be seen. With a heavy heart, Sister Agatha walked to the front door and knocked.

Tom opened it, a set of keys in his hand, then looked up and down the street. “Did you see Gloria around?”

“No, why?”

He pursed his lips. “She left angry and forgot her house keys.”

“What happened?” she asked, stepping into the living room.

He shrugged. “Don't worry about it now. It'll work itself out.”

She gave him a hard look. “Not everything does, Tom, unless you try—really hard.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“You figure it out,” she snapped, then, sitting on the couch, shifted to face him. “I'm through playing games with you, Tom. You haven't been open with me since day one. You're my friend, and that's what has kept me working day and night to help you out. Now it's time for you to start trusting me—with everything. Time is critical. The only way we're going to make progress is if we work together.” She paused and added, “No matter how capable you are, you won't be able to get out of this alone, and pride's going to be a lousy companion in jail.”

He looked surprised but said nothing.

Sister Agatha waited, letting him mull it over.

“You're right, I've been holding back—but what I've been hiding doesn't have anything to do with Robert's murder.”

She saw the way his gaze strayed to the photo of Gloria and the boys on one of the end tables. “You're protecting your family, aren't you?
That's
what this is about.”

He nodded slowly. “They mean everything to me, though I guess I haven't shown it much lately, at least in the ways that count most to them. I was so busy with the job, and the election,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I've made lots of mistakes, and so has Gloria, but I think we could have worked it out if others hadn't been so quick to take advantage of the situation.”

He paused and stood by the side of the window, looking outside. “Damage control—that's all I'm trying to do now. It's too late for anything else.”

“Are you saying that Gloria's tied to the murder somehow?” She paused as a new thought formed in her mind. “The envelope
that Robert was carrying . . . the one you neglected to tell me about. What was in it?”

“Sit back. It's a long story, and not a pretty one.”

“Go on,” she said.

“You're probably not aware of this, spending so much of your time at the monastery, but the political race between Robert and me was getting nastier by the day. The polls were saying that we were running neck to neck, and the pressure was on. Then an enemy of Robert's surfaced—one determined to bring him down.”