REVEREND MOTHER LISTENED TO SISTER AGATHA’S REPORT, absently rubbing the simple wedding band that identified her as a Bride of Christ. “To what extent has our safety been compromised?”
“I don’t think we’re in any greater danger than before, Mother,” she answered carefully. “We were already threatened once. This is a repeat of the same.”
Reverend Mother nodded, lost in thought. “I have new orders for all our externs. Whenever possible I’d like you to travel in pairs when you leave our grounds. And, Sister Agatha, I’d prefer you stop using the motorcycle altogether. It makes you too vulnerable. From now on, use the station wagon unless, of course, you have no other choice.”
“Mother, the problem is that the wagon costs a lot more to run and maintain. The gasoline alone…well, that car burns up fuel like a jumbo jet.”
“God will provide for us, whatever our needs,” she said firmly.
Realizing that Reverend Mother’s mind was made up, Sister Agatha nodded. “All right, Mother.”
Sister Agatha left Mother’s office and headed directly to the parlor. Sister Jo was there behind the desk, hanging up the phone. “I’m glad you’re here, Sister Agatha. That was the principal at St. Charles. He found someone more qualified to cover the class I was supposed to teach earlier today, but he needs me now to supervise their girls’ after-school soccer match. Their coach has had to leave on an emergency. Could you give me a ride? I have to be there in about thirty minutes. Oh, and I guess I’ll also need someone to take over parlor duty for me,” she added as an afterthought.
“Let me go find Sister Bernarda,” Sister Agatha said.
Sister Bernarda was in the chapel. Sister Agatha signaled her silently, and they stepped out into the hall. Sister Agatha then told her about Reverend Mother’s new orders and Sister Jo’s assignment.
“I was scheduled to pick up a shipment of sacramental wine from the winery this afternoon,” Sister Bernarda said. “I need the station wagon for that, so why don’t you both ride with me?”
Sister Agatha nodded. As part owners of the winery next door, the monastery nuns had accepted the job of delivering sacramental wine to the area parishes.
Not long afterward, they set out, Sister Bernarda behind the wheel of the Antichrysler. Sister de Lourdes had remained behind to take Sister Jo’s place as portress.
“We’ll pick up the cases of sacramental wine from Luz del Cielo first, then head over to St. Charles,” Sister Agatha told Sister Jo.
“That’s fine.”
Luz del Cielo Vineyard and Winery was a large estate with a long, winding driveway. As they drove up to the main structure, an old Spanish-style villa with a red tile roof, Sister Agatha saw crews working the vineyard.
The Antichrysler backfired loudly, and Eric Barclay looked up from the vine he’d been grooming. Waving, he hurried over to meet them.
“Just four cases today, Sisters,” he said, then signaled one of his men to help load the back of the wagon.
Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo stayed with the Antichrysler, supervising, while Sister Agatha stood a few feet away with Eric.
“How are things going at the monastery?” he asked her in a low voice. “I’ve been worried about all of you. I see you haven’t had time to even get rid of the threat that’s scratched on your car door.” He pointed to the message, which they hadn’t thought to cover. “It was all over last night’s TV news.”
“We’re all being extra careful, and the sheriff’s keeping an eye on us, too.”
“Aren’t you afraid to be out and about?”
She shook her head. “We’ll face this just as we have all the other challenges that have come our way—by relying on God,” Sister Agatha told him firmly. It was the best answer she could give. “But there’s something I’d like to ask. A little after noon today, someone here on the vineyard side threw a box over the wall. There was a very disturbing message inside it. Any idea who might have done that?”
“A deputy has already asked me about it. The problem is that I’ve had to hire extra laborers recently to get the vines ready for the growing season. There are several new workers here. I’ve asked around, but I haven’t got anything to report.”
“If any of your men show a particular interest in our monastery, I’d like to know right away, and so would the sheriff.”
“No problem, but you’ve got me curious now. What was inside the box? The deputy didn’t say.”
“Keep it to yourself?”
“Of course.”
Sister Agatha told him, and he whistled low. Pax’s ears suddenly pricked forward and he looked at Eric strangely.
Eric smiled. “Sorry, Pax.” He glanced back at Sister Agatha, then added, “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. I won’t forget the debt my daughter and I owe you. You’re the reason this vineyard is still doing business.”
“You don’t owe us anything. You made us your business partners, and that’s more than we ever expected. We’re very grateful, but we would appreciate any help you can give us with this other matter.”
“You’ve got it, Sister.”
Once the cases of wine were loaded and the paperwork signed, the sisters were on their way. The drive to St. Charles School took less than fifteen minutes. As they neared the grounds, they saw kids in uniform warming up on the soccer field.
“We’ll drop you off, deliver the wine, then come back and pick you up, Sister Jo. If the match isn’t over, we’ll wait,” Sister Bernarda said.
“Thanks,” Sister Jo responded. After giving Pax a quick hug, she climbed out of the station wagon and jogged toward the grass field.
As they headed out of town, Sister Agatha studied her aching hands. Her joints were swollen today and hurt like crazy. “I won’t be of much use to you unloading the wine, so when we get to San Rafael, do you mind if I go talk to the workers? They’ve got a crew plastering the wall.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll concentrate on the delivery,” Sister Bernarda answered.
San Rafael Church was an old New Mexican-style church with two small white bell towers, only one of them finished. The church, formerly in a rural area, had been absorbed into the urban sprawl on the northern outskirts of Albuquerque.
It was only a bit past four, but the crew was already calling it a day, cleaning their tools and policing the work area. Sister Agatha wandered over casually, and before long she spotted Juanita. The young woman was an enjarradora—a specialist in the art of enjarrando, the craft of plastering with adobe. Juanita had been one of the experts who’d worked on the wall that encircled the monastery.
“Sister Agatha,” she greeted. “I heard the news about the murder. I hope the sisters are getting through that okay. It’s got to be hard on them.”
“Do folks think that visiting our monastery is too dangerous now?” Sister Agatha asked.
She nodded. “A lady got robbed and killed there. It doesn’t get worse than that. I keep saying that there’s no proof the monastery is dangerous. For all we know, Mrs. Sanchez cut off the wrong guy in traffic on the way to church, so he followed and shot her. But most people don’t care about the reason. All they know is that someone was killed there, and the killer’s still at large.”
Sister Agatha waited while Juanita took a long drink of water from a small bottle she’d attached to her tool belt.
“Have you heard any other theories about Jane Sanchez’s murder?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Not me, no. But Dolly Wheeler could probably give you an earful of them. Do you know her?”
Sister Agatha thought about it and then finally shook her head. “The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“She and Evelyn, Jane’s daughter, were tight at one time—maybe still are. If anyone knows some serious behind-the-scenes type of stuff, like who might have had it in for Jane, it’ll be Dolly.”
Sister Agatha and Pax rejoined Sister Bernarda moments later. “Do you know Dolly Wheeler?”
“Sure.” Sister Bernarda said as they climbed back into the Antichrysler. “She works at St. Charles. She’s Mrs. Harper’s, the new principal’s, administrative assistant.”
Sister Agatha pictured the office staff one by one, but Dolly Wheeler’s face remained a mystery. “When we get to school, I’m going to the office. I’d like to meet Dolly and ask her a few questions.”
“Good luck with that. Dolly’s an irritating woman.”
“You’ve dealt with her before?”
“Yes, during last year’s Fall Festival I helped her run the school’s booth at the fair,” Sister Bernarda said. “She’s the kind who complains about everything.”
Sister Agatha said a prayer, asking to find a way to approach Dolly, one that would enable her to get her cooperation.
They arrived at the school about a half hour later, slowed by commuter traffic heading out of the metropolitan area, and parked in a space beside the big trash bins across from the soccer field. From there, they could see Sister Jo striding back and forth down the sideline, coaching the girls and shouting encouragement.
“She’s a natural leader,” Sister Agatha said, climbing out of the passenger’s side. She then opened the back door to let Pax out and quickly attached his leash.
“The kids are crazy about her,” Sister Bernarda said, smiling as they walked along the sidewalk toward the main entrance. A few feet from the door, she stopped. “I think you’ll have a better chance with Dolly if I stay out here and watch the game.”
“Sister Jo can use some help,” Sister Agatha said, remembering that they’d agreed to keep an extra pair of eyes on the new addition to Our Lady of Hope.
Sister Agatha went on to the office, Pax at heel beside her. Someone she knew was in the workroom across from the office, running off copies.
“Hi, Mary. Do you know if Dolly Wheeler is still on campus?”
The young woman made a face. “Please, Sister,” she whispered. “Don’t say her name. I’m not wearing my crucifix, and that woman’s half vampire. She’s always out for blood.”
Before Sister Agatha could answer, a tall, muscular woman with short black hair appeared at the door. The name tag on her crisp white shirt identified her as Dolly Wheeler. “You must be Pax,” she said, ignoring Sister Agatha completely and crouching down to pet the dog.
Pax leaned into her without hesitation, letting himself be hugged. Dolly reached into her purse and brought out a small cookie wrapped in clear plastic, then glanced at Sister Agatha. “It’s not dog food, Sister, but do you mind? One tiny vanilla wafer won’t hurt him.”
“Actually, that’s one of his favorites. His trainer would often use them as a reward,” Sister Agatha said with a smile.
Sister Agatha stared at the woman everyone had warned her would be difficult. She was now happily scratching the dog between the ears. Sister Agatha smiled. Pax had been the answer to her prayer. He’d helped her do what no one else could have—get them off to a good start.
“He’s a wonderful monastery pet,” Sister Agatha said.
“Animals can be a great comfort during times of stress,” Dolly said.
“Things have been rough,” Sister Agatha admitted. “Jane Sanchez’s murder hit us very hard.”
Dolly continued to pet Pax. “It’s a nasty business.”
“Did you know Jane?” Sister Agatha asked.
Dolly nodded and looked up, meeting her gaze. “I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I don’t believe in mincing words. Jane was an unbelievable pain in the neck.”
Sister Agatha wasn’t sure how to respond, so she decided not to say anything at all.
Dolly’s gaze remained on Sister Agatha, and she suddenly laughed. “I see you probably heard the same thing said about me. At least I mind my own business. Jane wanted to tell everyone exactly how to run their lives—down to the smallest detail.”
“I can imagine that would be difficult to deal with,” Sister Agatha said, watching as Dolly continued to pet Pax.
“In my opinion, Jane’s lucky to have lived this long. Evelyn herself should have throttled her mother years ago. Jane was always finding ways to remind Evelyn that she was adopted, telling her how grateful she should have been that she and Louis sacrificed to give her a home. I think half the reason Evelyn married Gerald Bennett was she knew Jane couldn’t stand him.”
Sister Agatha nodded but remained silent. Sometimes it was far better not to speak, particularly when someone was on a roll.
Dolly lowered her voice. “The reason I’m telling you this, Sister, is because I figure you’re looking into the murder, and I bet you never saw that side of Jane.”
“I’ve heard that she pretty much ran things at home.”
Dolly snorted. “You’re being way too generous. Jane was a dictator, even to her husband. That’s why I think Christy White got into the picture. You know about her and Louis, right?”
Sister Agatha nodded. “They’re friends.”
“Friends? Hah!” Dolly answered. “But back to Jane. I don’t think this murder had anything to do with robbery. That’s just what we’re meant to believe. Jane made enemies every time she opened her mouth. I think someone had a bellyful, followed Jane, then killed her.” As the phone rang, she excused herself.
Sister Agatha looked around the office and realized that it was now five o’clock and most of the staff had left. Taking Pax, she went down the hall and saw Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo waiting for her by the side door. The janitor, Mike Cuevas, was there with them, keys in hand.
He gave Sister Agatha an impatient smile. “There you are, Sister Agatha. I have to lock these side doors once after-school activities are over.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mike,” she said and hurried out along with Pax.
Sister Jo was smiling broadly. “Sisters, I had so much fun today!”
“So you like coaching?” Sister Agatha asked, though the answer was obvious.
Sister Jo nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Most of all I enjoy the kids.” She waved at some students who were walking by on the sidewalk.
Sister Jo was one of the most contented people Sister Agatha had ever met. Sister Jo, in fact, considered being happy part of her duty to God. He didn’t like long faces, she’d said once.
“I had to move the car and park across the street because the trash people were coming by,” Sister Bernarda said. “We’ll have to cross the highway, so stay sharp. People are always in a rush to get home.”
Sister Agatha followed her, though Sister Bernarda’s pace was brisk and it was difficult to keep up. As they stepped around the corner of the building, Sister Bernarda stopped abruptly and pointed ahead.
“Hey, you! Get away from our car!” she yelled out.
The tall figure in a hooded sweatshirt across the road was waving something in his hand. A heartbeat later Sister Agatha saw new, large, crudely painted letters on the Antichrysler. “He spray-painted our car!”
By then the man had broken into a run.