False Witness (18 page)

Studying the results moments later, she noted that Garza was a dark-haired, handsome man. He looked the part of the quintessential con artist. Although it was impossible for her to make a positive ID from the photo, there
were
similarities between Gutierrez and Garza, particularly the scarred face that bore evidence of a harsh life. To be fair, however, Garza also bore some resemblance to Ralph, particularly around his eyes, but the similarity between those two ended there.

Sister Agatha leaned back in her chair and looked up, hearing a thunderstorm brewing outside. With all but one of the blinds completely lowered and only one of the room lights on, it was now darker in the library than outside. As a strong gust of wind blew across the desk, rattling the window blinds, Sister Agatha dove forward to catch the papers before they ended up on the floor. After securing everything, she ran to close the window, then lowered the last blind before returning to the desk.

Except for the intermittent rumbling of thunder, the school was eerily silent. Then, inexplicably, she heard a door click shut, followed by shuffling footsteps inside the library. Pax’s hackles rose and he began to growl—a low, menacing sound that left her covered with goosebumps.

Gathering her courage, Sister Agatha peered across the large room toward the main door. “Who’s there?” she called out, but there was no answer. Then the remaining light went off, plunging the library into darkness.

T
HE ONLY LIGHT INSIDE THE LIBRARY NOW WAS WHAT
managed to filter in from around the edges of the blinds. It made for a muted, dim glow that barely revealed the location of the tall bookshelves.

“I think you should know that I have a very large dog with me—one who’s attack-trained. What you’re doing is not only foolish—it’s suicidal.”

Pax growling intensified, sparked by the tone in her voice. For a moment, silence stretched out. Opposing wills clashed, then she heard the library door opening and, seconds later, footsteps running down the hall.

“Easy, boy,” Sister Agatha said as Pax began to bark. “It was probably just a kid.” Sister Agatha sent Pax over to the door to stand guard, then reached for her cell phone and called Tom. “I think he’s gone now, but you might want to come check things out.”

“Stay in the library. I’ll call the school number and warn the office staff. Expect me or a deputy in a few minutes.”

Sister Agatha looked in the desk for a flashlight, but there wasn’t one. Moving slowly, she worked her way across the library to the light switch, near where Pax was sitting at “stay.” She could see his white outline even in the subdued light.

Suddenly Pax gave off a sharp bark and stood, his attention on the closed door. Following his gaze, Sister Agatha saw the trickle of smoke coming in from beneath the door leading into the hall. A heartbeat later, the fire alarm sounded and the strobe light attached to the alarm began to blink to alert the hearing impaired.

Sister Agatha flipped on the light switch and looked around the library to verify nobody else was in sight. After making sure the door wasn’t hot and she wouldn’t create a bigger problem by opening it, she took Pax and hurried out.

As she emerged from the library, she discovered a smoldering trash can in the hall about four feet from the closest wall. The fire, mostly paper ignited with a match or cigarette, was already starting to burn out, judging from the absence of flames and dwindling smoke. Spotting a tripped fire alarm on the closest wall, she reached up and closed the lever. The shrill sound stopped at once.

Sister Agatha looked beyond the smoldering four-foot-high container, searching for the closest exit. There was a student restroom opposite the trash can, but she didn’t know if it had an exit, except possibly through a window. This time of day, with no students on campus, it was probably locked anyway.

She was walking past the restroom when a hand suddenly snaked out and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her into the gap between wall and partially opened door. Pax, a half step
ahead of her, whirled around, but got entangled in the leash. With her body blocking the entrance, he couldn’t get at the person holding her in an iron grip.

“Don’t let the dog get past you, and keep him quiet, or you and he are both dead,” a deep, obviously disguised, voice warned. “I’ve got a gun,” he added, shoving the barrel in front of her nose.

“Pax, quiet!”

Pax continued struggling, but he stopped barking.

“What do you want?” Sister Agatha demanded, trying to find a way to slam the steel door shut on her assailant. He must have been blocking the door with his foot, since it didn’t budge when she managed to grab the handle and push.

“Don’t mess with me, Sister. I make a bad enemy,” he said in a sharp whisper. “Go back to the monastery and stick to praying.”

As sirens pierced the evening air, she felt the pressure of his grip ease. Seizing the moment, she jerked away and the bathroom door slammed shut.

Sister Agatha instantly reached down to uncoil the leash from Pax’s neck and body, but the effort was complicated by his pawing at the door.

“No, stay!” she ordered. The dog’s loyalty and sense of duty were admirable and commendable, but neither of them had a chance against a gunman. She leaned against the door, hoping her weight would keep the man from opening the door again once he realized he was trapped.

A heartbeat later, Tom came around the hall corner, running in their direction. Seeing Pax barking frantically and scratching at the door, he drew his weapon.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a man with a gun inside the restroom. He grabbed me by the arm and threatened me. He might still be there—he didn’t come out this way.”

“Stand back and keep a firm hold on Pax.”

Tom waited until she was flat against the wall, closer to the library. He then yanked open the door, keeping his body clear, but taking a quick glance inside.

“Crap. There’s a door on the other side. He went out onto the grounds.” Tom ran into the restroom, disappearing as the door closed behind him.

Sister Agatha kept a firm grip on Pax, who wanted to follow. He was wired and angry, and wanted nothing more than the chance to turn their assailant into hamburger.

“You’re a
monastery
dog, Pax. Stop that.”

A few minutes later Tom came down the hall, short of breath. “I circled the building, but saw no one except for the office staff and the custodian. They’d all gone to the staff parking area,” he said. “My deputies are checking the neighborhood and school grounds now.”

Minutes later, the fire chief, a dark-haired, portly man, joined them, carrying a large fire extinguisher.

“Hey, Tom, Sister. I smelled the smoke all the way from the main door.” He spotted the trash can immediately, and went to look inside. “Doggone, kids. Either of you two see who did it?”

“Sister Agatha got a glimpse of the perp—an adult. But it was more than just a prank, Bob. I’ll be taking it from here. I’ll need to save the contents of the trash can as evidence and dust the area for prints. If we need your expertise on the fire itself I’ll give you a call.”

“It’s all yours, Tom,” he said with a wave of his hand.

As the fireman left, Sister Agatha looked at Tom. “I don’t
think you’ll find prints. Remember the note? This was probably the same guy.”

“I’ll check anyway. Maybe we can get a print from the bathroom door. Was the guy who grabbed you wearing gloves?”

“I’m not sure. All I saw clearly was the barrel of his gun. But you might also want to check the light switch inside the library, and the door handles leading in and out,” Sister Agatha said, quickly recounting the scary moments in the library.

“Which brings me to my next question. What were you doing here that generated all this attention?”

She told him what she’d found out about Jimmy Garza, pointing out the potential risk to Angie Sanchez if Garza was really back in the area. “But all I’ve got is coincidence, supposition, and a lot of guesswork. My next stop’s Luz del Cielo. We still don’t know who has been hanging around the vineyard and watching the monastery. If Garza found out that I’ve been trying to find Angie for her uncle, he might be the one staking us out. If so, maybe Eric has seen the guy up close and can give me a lead, or at least a description of his vehicle.”

“Good thinking. Let me know what you find out.”

Sister Agatha drove down the road to the vineyard, then entered the property through the open gates. Eric was seldom home these days, it seemed.

Sister Agatha parked, then heard her name being called from across one of the fields. Eric was waving at her from beside what appeared to be a pseudo golf cart. Sister Agatha walked down the pathway between the vines and went to meet him. Pax maneuvered through the vines instead of going around and reached Eric first.

“You two didn’t have to come over. I was just waving so
you’d see me and wait,” he said. “But since you’re here, take a ride with me. I’d like to show you something very special!” He motioned for her to step up onto the cart. Sister Agatha sat beside him on the front bench while Pax made himself comfortable in the back.

Several minutes later they arrived at the now-gentle slopes of a long, narrow mesa that had been sculpted over time for farming. They climbed off the cart and Eric proudly showed Sister Agatha the sturdy vines growing there.

“You can’t see these fields from the monastery, except maybe from the roof, but these vines are my pride and joy. They’re descendants of the original Mission grapes that the Franciscans brought over with them in the 1600s. I found them at an old vineyard farther south, but they never produced more than a few bunches of grapes no matter how I babied them.

“Then, shortly after my wife passed away, I had a dream where she told me to come take another look. When I came, I saw that the vines were really thriving. Before long, they became my best producers.”

“They’re small grapes,” Sister Agatha commented.

“Only table grapes are big. I stress our vines so that the fruit will have a more concentrated flavor. I also snip off many of the bunches, so that the ones we
do
pick are of the highest quality. I’ve now developed a special, deep-colored, long-lasting red wine by mixing these with Tempranillo grapes. I call it San Miguel Rojo, after the archangel, the warrior. I’ll need his fighting spirit if I want Luz del Cielo to make it. So far St. Michael’s been on our side. Our wine has won every competition around.”

“That’s great.”

“My wife’s medical bills forced me to sell the vineyard, but
I’m now in the process of finding backers so I can buy Luz del Cielo back.”

Watching Eric, Sister Agatha realized that the heavy weight of mourning had been lifted off his shoulders. The vines he’d so loved had called him back to life.

“I’ve entered San Miguel Rojo in a major national competition this year. Luz del Cielo Vineyards has been quiet for too long. If it wins, maybe John Gutierrez will change his mind about selling to the developers and give me a chance to buy him out.”

They drove back to the main house and Eric invited her inside. Once in the kitchen, he poured two mugs of coffee, then placed one before her without asking. “Help yourself to sugar, if you like. I also have cream in the fridge.”

“No cream, thanks. Sugar’s all I need,” she said, then waited for him to continue.

“When I sold him Luz del Cielo, John Gutierrez agreed to give me first refusal rights if he ever decided to sell the place. He assured me that he’d set the price at market value—no more. Then a month ago he suddenly changed the terms and put the land up for sale.”

“You mean he raised the price?”

“Considerably,” Eric answered. “Yesterday he told me he’s received an offer that’s ten percent above mine. I can’t match that.” He paused, his voice unsteady now. “I
never
would have sold this winery to Gutierrez if I’d known he wouldn’t honor his word. I should have insisted he put it all down in writing. But at the time I really needed the money—not more lawyer fees. I thought our word was sufficient.”

“In this day and age, if it isn’t in the contract….”

“I know that now. Honor all too often takes a backseat to profits.”

“I don’t have any pull with John,” Sister Agatha said in a heavy voice. “But I’ll talk to him for you anyway and see what I can do. Believe me, the monastery doesn’t want to see a developer stacking up houses beside our walls, either.”

“I appreciate your help. I still believe he should honor his word.”

“So do I,” Sister Agatha said. “Have you tried to work something out with him—like maybe tacking on a percentage of the winery profits in addition to the sale price?” she suggested.

He nodded. “I tried several things, even sending him a sample bottle of our newly developed wine.”

“Does it look like the sale to the developer will go through?”

“From what I’ve heard, yes,” he said. “I spoke to his assistant a little while ago and Ralph said it was all in the hands of the attorneys—a matter of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. Once the paperwork’s ready, John intends to sign.”

Sister Agatha considered the news. Since she still hadn’t found Terri, the monastery probably wouldn’t get the allotment of land he’d initially offered them, either. The news was as bad as it could get. “I better talk to Reverend Mother. This will have serious repercussions on our monastery. But before I go, I need to ask if you’ve seen anyone hanging around near our common wall. We’ve spotted a man watching us two or three times now, but when we approach, he disappears.”

“No, I haven’t seen anyone, but I haven’t been outside much lately. Manipulating the fermentation process is the key to making wine, and that takes careful monitoring. I’ve been spending most of my time in the winery.”

“Okay then. Thanks. Pax and I better be on our way. Take care of yourself, Eric.”

Sister Agatha arrived at the monastery as the bell for Vespers
rang. She’d missed most of the liturgical hours and, more than anything else, she felt the very real need to reaffirm the spiritual connection that made her His. Sister Agatha entered the chapel as the choir nuns filed into the cloistered section and took a seat in their respective stalls.