The Prodigal Nun (27 page)

It was then she heard Sister Bernarda’s gasp.

“What is it?” she asked her fellow extern quickly, her gaze on the soil.

“I was praying…needing assurance, you know, not asking. But I didn’t expect…” Sister Bernarda stopped talking and pointed.

The sun was filtering through the leaves of the giant cottonwood as it usually did this time of day. On the ground before the massive tree, they could both see the outline of a giant angel. Sister Agatha could almost make out flowing locks of hair around an oval face, and near the waist, light and shadow melded together to form what appeared to be a sword.

“That’s your sign, the one you didn’t dare ask for but received anyway,” Sister Agatha whispered. “You’re—we’re—being protected.”

Sister Bernarda crossed herself.

Following their gazes, Chuck, with a sharp intake of breath, brought his camera up. Suddenly a gust of wind rustled the distant
leaves, and the image disappeared. “Rats! That sure looked like an angel, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did,” Sister Bernarda responded in a whisper.

“Wish I’d have been quicker with the camera,” Chuck replied. He aimed it at the rose, which was still in its peat pot. “Your mark’s looking over here. We better make it look good.”

Sister Agatha got busy helping Sister Bernarda mix sand and potting soil in a big washbasin. As Holman began speaking to McKay, she heard him clearly.

“You’ve put me in a tough situation, McKay,” Holman said. “Sheriff Green thinks you had something to do with Jane Sanchez’s murder and has been pressuring me to poke holes in your story about being on the golf course that day. So you and I are cutting a new deal. I’ll protect your alibi and make sure my aides keep their mouths shut. You stop demanding money to keep quiet about my accident. You’ve got more to lose than me, McKay, so I’d take the deal if I were you.”

McKay didn’t answer, so Holman continued. “You’re already being investigated, McKay, and neither one of us wants to get arrested. And just so you know, Deputy Bennett’s been on my tail, too. He’s contacted me at least twice, pushing to find out if I bribed you not to give me a Breathalyzer test that afternoon. He’s still pissed that you took over the accident scene. If he finds the passenger who was in the car that night and she swears you never gave me a field sobriety test, you’re screwed. Bottom line—you’ve got at least two people gunning for you, and they’re motivated, trust me.”

When McKay still didn’t say a word, Sister Agatha looked up at Sister Bernarda. “Reach for that trowel and sneak a look at McKay and Holman. I want to know what McKay’s doing.”

While Sister Agatha kept her back to the men, Sister Bernarda walked over to the wheelbarrow they were using to haul the tools and materials and reached for the hand trowel. As
she turned around to head back, she glanced off to the side surreptitiously, not turning her head.

“McKay’s not doing much of anything. From what I’m seeing he’s just looking around. He glanced over at the deputy across the street, the one assigned to protect us, and is now looking around the grounds. If you want to take a quick look for yourself, go right ahead.”

As Sister Agatha pretended to brush off her habit, she spotted a piece of amber taillight on the parking lot gravel just behind her, outside the garden ring. Undoubtedly it had been left there from the time last year when the fugitive had crashed through their gate in a stolen car.

As she picked it up, she looked to the side, glancing at McKay. She was sure that something about Holman’s attitude or demeanor must have given him away. McKay smelled a setup.

Holman continued to press. “Bennett was there the day I had the accident. When you pulled rank on him and took over, I’m sure he smelled a rat. If nothing else, he must have put things together when you failed to show up for court and they had to drop all charges. I think he’s looking for payback.”

“You talk too much,” McKay said at last.

“You told me not to worry about Mrs. Sanchez seeing us in the car and taking that photo of me handing you that wad of bills. Now I know why. You killed her, then tried to frame Bennett—the most believable suspect. He was investigating
you
, and that was your way of getting him off your back. Wake up, McKay. Bennett
knows
and is out for blood.”

“Bennett and I are buds. Gerry’d never turn me in for some bogus charges. We go way back. What have you been smoking, Holman?”

“You’re just going to kiss me off, is that it? Well, don’t expect any more payoffs. You’re on your own, and if you go
down, don’t think you can take me with you. I’ve got more clout around here than you realize.”

McKay laughed. “With who, that lightweight Mayor Garcia? I’m shaking in my boots.”

Continuing to play it cool, McKay walked away, joining the other reporters who’d finally turned up to hear Holman’s promised speech.

It was time for plan B. Taking the small piece of amber tail-light she’d found, Sister Agatha placed it in her pocket and slipped away. She needed to talk to Tom as quickly as possible.

While everyone’s attention was focused on Dwight Holman, who was now making his speech, Sister Agatha found Pax and, with the dog at heel but unleashed, headed to McKay’s truck. McKay, off duty despite the uniform, had driven his personal vehicle.

After looking around to verify she and Pax were alone, Sister Agatha pulled down the tailgate and climbed into the pickup. Pax remained at stay on the ground.

With the amber glass still cupped in the hollow of her palm, she began examining the bed of the truck, hoping that some traces of the bicycle’s red paint had rubbed off on McKay’s new finish. A link like that would go a long way to establishing McKay’s involvement in the Sanchez murder. Suddenly she heard soft footsteps behind her, and Pax growled softly.

“What are you doing?” came the deep male voice.

Sister Agatha knew it was McKay without having to turn around. Her heart began beating overtime. Holman had bluffed and gotten nowhere. Maybe there was no substitute for a little courage and the truth.

“Whoever killed Jane rode up on a red bike,” Sister Agatha said. “It was stolen the day before from her husband, Louis
Sanchez. A neighbor saw a man in a hooded sweatshirt riding it away. That bike has been recovered and is in the evidence room. I decided to look for telltale scratches that could have been made when you transported the bicycle that morning.”

He burst out laughing. “Knock yourself out, Sister.”

“The killer knew a lot about evidence and didn’t leave much behind. He’s human, though, and humans make mistakes.”

“Are you saying
I’m
the killer?” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge.

Pax growled softly again. In response McKay placed his hand on the dog’s head, calming him, and smiled at Sister Agatha. “Love this dog,” he added pleasantly.

“Look at it another way, Sergeant. I’m just trying to eliminate you from the list of possible suspects.”

He laughed loudly. “Sister, you’re something else! You’ve already made up your mind that I’m the killer, haven’t you? Well, you go right ahead and snoop all you want. But I should tell you I was playing golf over at the pueblo’s course Sunday for about three hours during the time of the murder, I believe.”

“Las Palomas,” she said with a nod, then continued to search. “Funny thing. I’ve been talking to people here and there and discovered that you left as your foursome was teeing off at the third hole, and you didn’t return until the sixteenth hole. That leaves a big gap in your alibi.”

His eyes darkened. “Satisfied now that no paint rubbed off onto my truck?” he asked after a beat.

“No paint smudges, but I think I’ve just spotted the link I was looking for. The stolen bike was missing a piece off the reflector, and they couldn’t find it in that trash bin anywhere. I guess the reflector broke when you tossed the bike into the back of this pickup. You were undoubtedly in a rush to get back to the golf course before they finished the round. A partial alibi is better than none.”

She crawled over the hard surface of the bed, the metal ridges digging painfully into her knees. Then she put her hand into the left corner, the spot closest to the driver’s door, and pretended to retrieve the small piece of taillight she’d palmed earlier.

Sister Agatha held it out and showed it to him. “Interesting, don’t you think? I wonder if this’ll fit into the broken spot on the reflector.”

He sat on the tailgate, blocking her exit. “Give me what you’ve found,” he said, holding out his hand and keeping his voice soft for Pax’s benefit. “You and I both know that there’s no way that could be part of the bicycle’s reflector. I used a power washer and hosed this truck down completely last Sunday afternoon.”

Sister Agatha saw the rage in his eyes. He didn’t really want the small piece of worthless plastic. He wanted her to be afraid. Every one of his threats to the externs had been designed to generate fear and uncertainty.

“You don’t scare me,” she said flatly. “My life is in God’s hands, not yours.”

“Who says we’re talking about
your
life? There’s a saying that a running man with a knife can slice a thousand throats in one night. You have no defenses here, except that dog, and I’ve already shown how I can take him out in the blink of an eye—or a little spark. If you value the lives of the nuns who live here, you’ll hand that over and keep your mouth shut. I make a
very
bad enemy, Sister Agatha. Believe that.”

This time Pax’s growl was much more pronounced, but McKay placed his hand on the dog and gave him the command to settle. Pax obeyed. McKay’s years of working with police dogs were paying off for him now.

“If you do
anything
to me now, the dog will attack you no matter how many commands you know.”

“I wouldn’t be that stupid. My move would come when you
least expected it—in a week, a month. Or maybe I’d strike out at one of the other nuns when she’s out alone making a meal delivery.”

Sister Agatha handed him the amber plastic. “You win this round.”

He offered her a hand and helped her down, a show of courtesy for the benefit of anyone watching from a distance. “Just remember that I’ll be keeping a real close watch on you and the other sisters. None of you are ever out of my reach.”

Sister Agatha looked off into the distance and added, “Did you get all that, Sheriff?”

McKay turned his head just as Sheriff Tom Green stepped out of the shadows. He’d come around from the far side of the monastery, hidden by the wall. Tom quickly moved between McKay and the driver’s door, effectively blocking his escape. Several other deputies also converged on them, including the one who’d stayed in plain sight across the road.

Sister Agatha kept a tight hold on Pax’s collar as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a digital recorder. It was still running. “Here you go, Sheriff,” she said, handing it to Tom.

“Your own words, along with all the evidence we already have against you, will be enough to make sure you serve hard time. You and Senator Holman are going down,” Tom told McKay.

Sister Agatha looked at McKay and smiled. “As it says in Job, He ‘catches the wise in their own craftiness, and disappoints the counsel of the wicked.’”

Reverend Mother and Sister Agatha sat outside on a
banco
, watching the team of nuns building the small well house. Sister Jo was at the top of her form, directing the construction of a solid structure that would serve them for many years. The framing
was almost complete around the sturdy foundation, and an insulated wooden floor was already in place around the pump. Some electrical work would come next—but outside help would be needed for that part.

“Did Chuck say anything else about seeing the angel?” Reverend Mother asked Sister Agatha as Sister Ignatius joined them.

Sister Agatha nodded. “He’s still trying to decide if it was just the power of suggestion and a trick of the light, Mother. Without a photo, I’m guessing he’ll remain a skeptic.”

“Tzuriel was sent to
us
, not to the world,” Sister Ignatius said, now as familiar with the incident as the rest of the sisters. “Our Lord must have asked Tzuriel to show himself to us so we wouldn’t be afraid. The rest of the world didn’t need to see him.”

“I just wish we all could have had a chance to say thank you directly,” Reverend Mother added with a wistful smile.

Sister Ignatius suddenly crossed herself and pointed ahead. “You were heard,” she whispered. “Do you see it, Mother?”

Sister Agatha searched the ground ahead, but she couldn’t see what Sister Ignatius was talking about.

Mother glanced at Sister Agatha, questions filling her eyes, but Sister Agatha shook her head, mystified.

“The leaf,” Sister Ignatius said in a whisper. “The
gold
leaf.”

Although they were surrounded by many varieties of green, all part of the new spring growth, there was one perfectly formed gold leaf on the ground directly in front of them. The breeze suddenly caught it, and as it lifted up off the ground, Reverend Mother and Sister Agatha saw that it was in the shape of an angel, wings and all.

Reverend Mother gasped, then whispered a heartfelt “Thank you.”

Before she’d even finished the words, the leaf floated upward into the trees and out of their sight.

“It wasn’t meant to stay here. God demands faith most of all,” Sister Ignatius whispered.

As the bells for Compline rang, a hush fell over all of them. With bowed heads, the Brides of Christ put down their tools and answered their Lord’s gentle summons.