The Prodigal Nun (21 page)

Sister Agatha kept a firm hand on Pax, who was straining at the leash, growling. Then, hearing a click behind her, she turned her head quickly and saw Chuck taking a photo with his cell phone.

Gloria Martinez stood up and glared at Sister Agatha. “Go ahead, let your dog attack. I’ll sue, and it’ll cost you plenty.”

“I have no intention of turning the dog loose,” Sister Agatha said, forcing Pax to sit quietly with a snap of the leash. “We forgive our enemies. It’s what Our Lord asked us to do and one of the best ways we have to honor Him in our daily lives.”

“I’m not so sainted, and I’ve got the sheriff on speed dial. Get away from Sister’s car,” Chuck ordered. “And you’re on private property. If you don’t leave right now,
I’ll
press charges.”

Sister Agatha placed a hand on Chuck’s arm, holding him back, then looked back at Gloria.
“You
know the truth, Gloria. I didn’t send your husband to jail—his own actions did. There was more than enough evidence to convict him, even without my testimony.”

Sister Agatha saw the raw pain that flashed in Gloria’s
eyes and gentled her tone as she continued. “You’re hurting inside, and you want to strike out. I understand that. You’re human. But you’re only going to make things worse for Del and yourself this way. The last thing either of you needs is more bad publicity.”

Gloria took a step back, tears running down her face, then ran to a sedan parked just down the street.

As Gloria’s car sped away, Sister Agatha breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. That could have turned very nasty.”

Chuck studied the flat tires. “At least she didn’t damage the tires. The valve cores are still here on the ground, and all I have to do is screw them back in with the same kind of valve cap tool she used. I can get you rolling in fifteen minutes. I’ve got a small compressor in my car’s emergency kit.”

As he walked over to his car, Sister Agatha kept her hand on Pax’s head. It wasn’t for the dog’s benefit as much as her own. Pax was calm now, but she wasn’t. Petting the dog always soothed her and helped get her thinking back on track.

Chuck returned, parked his vehicle next to hers, screwed the cores back in with a special valve cap, then hooked up the compressor to a dashboard outlet. “I’m running the photo of Gloria Martinez letting the air out of your tire right next to her letter,” he said, inflating the Antichrysler’s tires.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Sister, that’s balanced news, and that’s what I do as a reporter. No way I’m not running it.”

She knew from his tone that she wouldn’t dissuade him, so she didn’t press the issue.

After the tires had been inflated, Sister Agatha slipped behind the wheel. “Thanks for your help, Chuck. Next time I’m in town I’ll bring you some of Sister Clothilde’s cookies,” she promised.

“No way I’m turning that down!” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Sister Agatha knew exactly what she had to do next. She had to go talk to Tom. Bracing herself, she called ahead to let him know she was coming.

Tom saw her arrive, and after one look at her, his expression changed and turned dour. He knew her visit wouldn’t bring him news he’d welcome.

“My office, right?” he asked in a taut voice as she came up to him.

“I think you’ll prefer it that way. Will it create any more problems with you-know-who?” She cocked her head toward the area where Fritz Albrecht had his desk.

“He’s not around at the moment,” Tom answered. “By the way, I spoke to the mayor a while ago. I told him that I was using you as an informant, and unless he wanted me to start paying you like we usually do with snitches, he shouldn’t complain.”

“Imagine, me, a snitch. How’d he take that?” Sister Agatha tried to suppress a grin.

“I don’t know. He hung up on me.” Tom led the way down the hall, then invited her in. “Let me guess,” he said, taking a seat behind his desk. “You’ve done something I’m going to regret even more than dissing the mayor?”

“You may not like what I did,” she admitted, “but you need to know what I found out.” As she’d hoped, her words immediately caught his attention.

Tom sat up a little straighter and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Go on.”

She told him what she’d learned, then waited, sensing that he was more intrigued than angry now.

“It shouldn’t surprise me that you didn’t let this go,” he said
at last, then expelled his breath in a hiss. “McKay has a high-profile alibi for the time of the murder, Sister. He was playing a round of golf that morning, and in addition to the others in the foursome, the clubhouse staff was also able to verify his presence. McKay bought a three-hundred-dollar driver right before tee time.”

“Where does the high-profile part come in?”

“One of the golfers in the foursome was State Senator Holman.”

She sucked in her breath. Another promising lead had just gone up in smoke.

“If you insist on investigating McKay, make darned sure he doesn’t catch you snooping around, Sister Agatha. He’s currently seeing an anger management counselor—a requirement after a nasty incident. Michael might come across as overly polite and calm these days, but that’s only because he wants the counseling sessions to end. Believe me, you never want to see the other side of him. We’re also looking into a departmental issue that concerns him, but that’s something I absolutely can’t discuss further.”

Sister Agatha was about to speak when Tom’s phone rang. He listened for a bit, then said, “I’m going to put you on the speakerphone, Chuck.”

“I wanted you to know that a private citizen visiting the
Chronicle
’s office had her car vandalized by Mrs. Gloria Martinez. She said it was payback from Del Martinez, her husband. I’m calling because I wondered if Martinez’s parole officer should be notified about this.”

“Who was the citizen?” Tom’s gaze fastened on Sister Agatha; he already suspected the answer.

“Is that necessary?” Chuck asked.

“Yes,” Tom said firmly.

“It was Sister Agatha from Our Lady of Hope, and the vehicle involved was the monastery station wagon.”

Tom glared at Sister Agatha, and the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to drop fifty degrees. “Okay. I’ll handle it from here. Thanks for letting me know, Chuck.” He switched off the speaker and took a deep, slow breath. “Want to tell me what that was all about, Sister?”

“It was no big deal,” Sister Agatha said. She quickly filled him in. “The woman’s in pain, Tom, and going a little crazy, that’s all.”

“I’ll have a deputy go talk to Del. His family situation shouldn’t spill over onto the nuns. He’s got to stop passing blame and learn to handle his own messes.”

As she stood up to go, he placed a hand on her arm. “Do yourself a favor and stay away from Sergeant McKay, Sister. Like I said, there’s a lot going on with him right now. Let me handle that myself.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Actually, I think that we’ve been going around this the wrong way. From now on I’m going to focus on finding out who the
other
man was, the guy who handed the deputy the envelope.”

“That could be just about anyone. How do you plan to narrow down the suspect list?”

“Judging solely from Sister Jo’s description, I think it’s the same man who’s been targeting me.”

“You didn’t have much of a description for me right after the incidents occurred, but now that you’re calmer, do you want to go through some mug shots?”

She nodded. “It may not help, but it can’t hurt, as they say. I have to go pick up Sister Jo at St. Charles. Okay if I bring her back here and we both look? She saw the two men on Calle de Elena.”

“Excellent idea.”

A half hour later, both nuns were seated at one of the desks in the station, leafing through books filled with photos. They examined every face carefully, but after a while, the sea of men became one giant blur.

Sister Jo gave Sister Agatha a look filled with desperation. “This is hopeless.”

Sister Agatha leaned back in her seat, feeling dejected. “I was hoping a face would jump out at us—that a part of our memory had retained something we weren’t even aware of. It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.”

Tom came in and knew at a glance that their efforts had been fruitless. “You’ve been trying hard to force it. Let it go for now.”

“Maybe the man we’re looking for doesn’t have a record—at least not yet,” Sister Jo said.

Sister Agatha glanced up at Tom quickly. “We could be looking in the wrong direction. Maybe we should be concentrating on a regular member of the community—one who has a lot to lose. What Sister Jo saw may have been a blackmail payoff, not a bribe.”

“The problem with that theory is that instead of narrowing down the field, it widens it to every white male in the county.”

“I know,” Sister Agatha answered softly.

They left the station a short time later. As they reached the station wagon, Sister Agatha looked at her watch. “If we go back right now, we’ll make Vespers. I need the quiet of the chapel and time to pray, so let’s head home.”

Sister Jo nodded and smiled. “Do you think Tzuriel will come see us again? Sister Ignatius has told me all about him.”

Sister Agatha gave her a surprised look. “Do you really believe in our angel?” she asked, curious to know how the newcomer perceived the story.

“I know what I saw after Compline that night in chapel,” she said, nodding. “People these days are taught that it’s only real if you can feel it or touch it, but Our Lord taught us differently.”

Sister Agatha looked at her and nodded, lost in thought. Pondering Sister Jo’s words, they headed home to the monastery.

Though it was the middle of the night, Sister Agatha remained in chapel, deep in prayer. She wasn’t sure what to do next and desperately needed guidance.

As she looked up toward the altar, she saw the flicker of a shadow on the wall to her right. Trying, and hoping, to see the form of an angel, she stared at it hard, but nothing happened. It was only the play of light from the candles.

Frustration bit into her. Giving up, at least for tonight, she rose to her feet. She’d tried so hard to make things happen!

Her own words replayed themselves in her mind, and, horrified, she realized what she’d been trying to do. She had no power to
force
anything. What on earth had she been thinking? Servants obeyed, they didn’t issue orders or make demands, and she was a servant of God. As the knowledge of what she’d done cut through her weariness, she prayed for forgiveness.

Minutes passed, and slowly she began to see things from a new perspective. All this time she’d been trying to get answers through sheer willpower, just as she’d tried to make the play of light and shadow coalesce into angel form—but mysteries weren’t solved by following preconceived notions.

As she let go of her old opinions, a new idea formed at the back of her mind. Everything she’d learned so far indicated that the suspect was hiding in the community. If she was going to find him, that’s exactly where she’d have to look.

Thanking the Lord, she walked out of chapel noiselessly and went to her room. It was time to rest.

A
FTER MORNING PRAYERS, SISTER AGATHA SET OUT
with Sister Jo and Pax in the Antichrysler. Sister de Lourdes and Sister Bernarda would be helping get the lunch meals ready today. A parishioner from St. Augustine’s would come by to help them make the deliveries if the station wagon wasn’t back in time.

“You and I are going to do something completely different this morning. We’ll start by walking around the town hall and looking at the faces of people there—men, actually. Let’s see if we can find anyone of interest,” Sister Agatha said. “If we do, be careful to avoid looking surprised.”

“I get you. I’ll just smile at everyone. You think we’re dealing with political corruption of some kind?”

“People of influence usually have many secrets.”

Sister Jo nodded thoughtfully. “Like Peter Aragon, the
council member who lost some of his support when the church got the Good News Meal Program. But he’s not our man. I remember seeing his photo and the former program director’s in the St. Augustine Church bulletin.”

A half hour later, they were inside the two-story city hall, walking down corridors and glancing in doorways. Many people said a quick hello. Others offered to help them find whatever office they were looking for. After about twenty minutes, and two passes around the pink adobe territorial-style building, they walked back outside.

“I’m sorry, Sister Agatha, but
I
didn’t see anyone I recognized. All those people were strangers to me, but then again, I’m still new to the area.”

“Don’t feel bad. Most of them were strangers to me, too,” Sister Agatha admitted. “I have very few friends in high places—well, except for the Highest Place,” she said, pointing up.

As they sat together in one of the
bancos
on the front patio, Sister Agatha struggled not to let her discouragement show. She’d been so sure that they were on the right track.

Sister Jo reached down to pet Pax, her gaze wandering around aimlessly. “Now,
he
looks familiar, but I’ve never met him before—not that I remember, anyway,” she said.

Sister Agatha, immediately alert, glanced around. “Who are you talking about?”

Sister Jo pointed at a billboard across the street. It showed real estate developer and state senator Dwight Holman. The billboard was preelection, at least five months old, and was starting to peel around the edges, but the man’s face was clear.

“It’s possible you saw him at our monastery,” Sister Agatha said and reminded her of his visit. Then, after a beat, she added, “Let’s go to the
Chronicle.”

Sister Jo followed, smiling and nodding to everyone who passed them on the grounds and in the parking lot.

“You’re always so happy,” Sister Agatha said with a smile of her own.

“What’s not to be happy about? I’m doing the work I love, and today I even get to hang out with you and Pax.”

“You like hanging out with Pax and me?” Sister Agatha asked, surprised.

“Sure! Exciting things always happen around you two, Sister Agatha.”