Peter Pierce is married? Eve wondered, suddenly very interested in this associate of Kelly Middlesworth. Perhaps this murder didn’t have anything to do with the writings of Sister Maria but rather something as pedestrian as a jealous wife, she thought. She typed the name Lauren Taylor-Pierce into her search engine and found a bio that noted that Lauren Taylor-Pierce, like Peter Pierce and Kelly Middlesworth, was also a professor in Austin, in the Department of Anthropology.
It also appeared to Eve as if the married scholars had written several articles together about indigenous North American cultures and their religious traditions. There were some journal citations about Indian tribes in Mexico, the Aztecs and Toltecs, and the role of the Catholic missionaries who came with the Spanish conquistadores into that country, and a few articles about the New Mexico Pueblo Revolt in 1680 and the consequences for the Catholic missionaries during that event.
Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce had written several articles about the Jumano Indians, finding a connection between them and the other Pueblo Indians in central New Mexico and western Texas. She had, in fact, written her thesis about this tribe and the theories concerning what had happened to them, searching out reasons as to why they were no longer in existence. She was cited as an expert in the Jumano culture, while her husband was noted as a religion scholar in the field of Catholicism and the Pueblo Indians.
Eve scrolled through the articles and books attributed to them both, even finding one that included the name of Kelly Middlesworth as one of the contributors, providing a clear connection between the murder victim and these two professional associates. Eve read through a couple of the articles, finding most of them too academic for her, before finally ending her research. She closed the laptop, and as she was taking in all the information she had just uncovered, she suddenly thought about the first case she’d worked on with her father. It had to do with the murder of a Hollywood director, and Eve remembered how quickly everyone had jumped to the conclusion that his mistress, Megan Flint, had been the one who killed him. It was assumed that she had been angry with her lover because he had not been honest with her about his plans to divorce his wife, causing her to snap and consequently kill him in some kind of jealous rage.
“Love can make a person do all kinds of crazy things,” she remembered one of the police officers saying after Megan’s arrest. “Especially when there’s another woman still posing in the family picture.”
She had never really thought that Megan would have murdered Charles Cheston, but she did eventually consider the possibility after Megan confessed to bouts of rage over the fact that her lover had not filed for divorce as he had promised. Even though Eve had never experienced that kind of jealousy or passion in a relationship, she had learned that angry lovers often made serious suspects in murder cases.
Eve picked up the fragment of blue material once again and wondered if the writings of the Blue Nun were used as a cover-up for the real motive for murder. Perhaps Dr. Pierce, Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce, had also heard about the grand discovery and decided this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of her husband’s beautiful young associate. She could make sure that the spotlight was shining on the theft as the motive and perhaps even her husband as a suspect, moving the investigation away from her and her jealousy.
“So, what do you think? Was it the jealous wife who killed her?” Eve asked her cat, still lounging on the bed.
Daisy raised her head and then quickly stretched and returned to sleep.
Look at me! I never used to give a thought to the depravity of humans, Eve mused, realizing that as a nun she kept her focus on the goodness of humanity, the divine spark in each soul. However, as a partner to her father, a private detective, she was starting to notice and even expect to see a different side of people, and it was not the most favorable side, she thought.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she announced and picked up her cell phone. She searched the Internet and found the phone numbers for the University of Texas, including the contact information for the anthropology department. She punched in the number, waited a few seconds, trying to decide exactly what she would say if she did get through to the professor, and then hit the call button.
A recorded greeting came through on the second ring, explaining how to reach various people who worked in the department, listing their names and extensions. When she heard the number for Dr. Lauren Taylor, she punched it in and waited, glancing over at the clock and wondering what an anthropology professor might be doing on a Thursday morning.
As the phone rang, Eve considered what kind of message she might leave, deciding not to give away any information about what had happened at the monastery.
“Dr. Taylor’s office.” It was a real person answering. A woman was on the other end of the line.
Eve swallowed hard. She wasn’t expecting to speak to anyone and suddenly began to regret the decision to make the call.
“Dr. Pierce?” she said after an awkward pause. “Dr. Lauren Taylor-Pierce?” she added, making sure she had dialed the right number.
“Dr. Taylor isn’t in,” came the reply.
Eve sighed, relieved not to be talking to the professor. She paused.
“Hello,” the voice said. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Eve realized she had hesitated a bit too long. “Is she teaching this morning?”
“No, Dr. Taylor doesn’t have a class on Thursdays,” came the reply.
Eve waited, trying to decide what to say or what question to ask.
“Are you a student of hers? You have questions about the midterm?”
“No,” Eve answered. “No, I’m not a student. I’m a colleague; well, more of an old friend, actually, an acquaintance really.” Eve was stumbling.
“Oh, okay.”
Eve cleared her throat.
“Are you a reporter?”
“Um, I do some of that,” Eve replied, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, hating to hear herself tell such a complete lie.
“Are you calling about the recent findings?”
“The recent findings?” Eve repeated.
“Yeah, the writings from the nun in Spain.”
“Sister Maria de Jesus de Agreda?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” the young woman responded.
“Has there been something new discovered?” Eve asked, wondering how many people actually knew about these supposedly secret pages.
“Oh, yeah,” came the reply. “Dr. Taylor went to New Mexico to find out about it, some convent near Santa Fe. You from the Journal?”
“The Journal?”
“Yeah, she said someone from the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religions might be calling. That’s why I’m in her office, taking her calls. She didn’t want to miss any.”
“Oh, okay,” Eve replied. “Um, no, I’m not from the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religions. I’m from the Journal of Native American Anthropology,” she added, making up the name of a magazine. “We’ve spoken before.”
There was a pause.
“I hadn’t heard of that one,” came the response.
“Right, well . . .” Eve was backpedaling. “We’re a small journal focusing on . . .” She stopped.
“Native American anthropology.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Uh-huh.”
“When did Dr. Pierce leave for New Mexico?” Eve asked, changing the subject.
“Dr. Taylor left this morning,” the young assistant answered, emphasizing the professor’s maiden name. “And I wouldn’t call her that if you want an interview,” she added.
“Pierce?” Eve asked.
“Yep. If you knew her, you’d know she doesn’t want his name connected to hers. It’s been awhile since she did that.”
“Oh?”
“You know, I’m at the computer and I’m searching for the Journal of Native American Anthropology, and there’s not one coming up.” The tone of her voice hinted at suspicion.
“Yes, well, that’s because we’re very new, haven’t even put up the website yet. But we’re working on that, and we’ll show up on Google’s list very soon. Just tell Dr. Pierce, I mean Dr. Taylor, that I’ll be calling again to set up an appointment for an interview when she gets back.”
“You want me to tell her your name?”
Eve thought for a second. “Daisy,” she answered, looking over at her pet. “Daisy Cat.” And she hung up, glad to be done with that call.