TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY, AND THEY HAD TO WAIT FOR THREE vehicles before making it across the highway. Although the man had disappeared into the trees beyond the parking area, Pax kept straining at the leash. It was nearly impossible for Sister Agatha to keep him from tearing off after the fleeing suspect. His training as a police dog was taking over now.
“I’ll catch the guy. Give me Pax, and we’ll track him,” Sister Jo said.
Every joint in Sister Agatha’s body was screaming with pain. Some people’s bodies, like Sister Jo’s and Sister Bernarda’s, were made for running. Hers, afflicted by arthritis, clearly was not. Sister Agatha turned the leash over to Sister Jo, who sprinted off with the eager dog.
Sister Bernarda, aware that Sister Agatha was having trouble, hung back a second. “Are you okay, Sister?”
“I’m fine. Go help Sister Jo.”
Sister Agatha approached the Antichrysler from the front, instantly picking up the distinct scent of aerosol paint. As she came around to the driver’s side, she saw the new spray-painted message on the already scratched door. It read JESUS SLAVES.
Having seen more than one crude local sign reading PRIVIT DRIVE, she wondered whether this tagger had a spelling problem or had been trying to send some kind of antireligious message.
Three minutes later Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo returned, breathing hard. Sister Bernarda now had Pax on a tight leash, and she was trying to curb the dog’s excitement. There was nothing Pax enjoyed more than a chase.
“We tried, but the guy had a head start, and not even Sister Jo and Pax could catch up,” Sister Bernarda said. “He had a vehicle one street over, and all we saw was a glimpse of white through the trees as he tore off.”
Sister Jo stared at the Antichrysler. “You think he meant ‘Jesus saves,’ or was this some kind of political comment by a Catholic hater?”
“From what’s been happening lately, I’m not at all sure,” Sister Agatha answered.
“At least he covered up part of that other threat,” Sister Bernarda added with a sigh.
As she finished speaking, Mike came rushing up. “You got tagged,” he said, looking at the Antichrysler. “I have to deal with this all the time at school. The important thing is to get rid of the message immediately. Once they see they’re wasting paint and very few will ever see their message, they move on. I have just the product to take off that spray paint, too. But I better warn you—it may take some of the finish along with it.”
“What finish?” Sister Bernarda said wryly. “This car’s paint has been finished for years.”
“You’re right about that.” Mike gave her a grim smile. “Let me help you, and we’ll get things back to the way they were. Park next to the building while I go get the cleaner and a roll of paper towels.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “Thanks, Mike. We’ll take all the help we can get.”
Mike looked at the paint, then glanced at Sister Agatha. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We were just trying to figure that out ourselves,” Sister Agatha said.
It took them almost an hour to remove the painted threat. By the time they returned home, it was past collation. All three of them went directly to the kitchen, knowing Sister Clothilde would have set something aside for them.
They weren’t disappointed. Sister Clothilde was waiting as they walked into the refectory, their dining room. Pax shot past them, heading to his full dog dish in the next room. Seconds later they could hear him crunching his kibble.
Meanwhile, Sister Clothilde silently brought out a tray with three bowls filled to the brim with hot corn chowder. Two slices of thick homemade bread were beside each.
Sister Clothilde, in her eighties, had taken a vow of silence a lifetime ago and had never broken it. Yet despite it—or maybe because of it—she always seemed attuned to the others’ needs. When she’d learned of the Good News Meal Program, she’d stepped in, planning all their menus and preparing the food herself.
Sister Agatha helped her place the food on the refectory table and, after saying grace, began to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.
She’d barely had a few teaspoons of Sister Clothilde’s special soup when Sister Eugenia suddenly came through the refectory door, a stern look on her face.
“You left this morning without stopping by the infirmary to pick up your pills. I won’t have it, Sister Agatha. Just look at your hands.”
Sister Agatha didn’t have to look to know her joints were badly swollen. “It’s just the spring weather, Your Charity,” Sister Agatha said, taking the pills from her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You can’t ignore the doctor’s orders. Once things progress past a certain point, it all becomes harder to manage.”
She nodded and quickly swallowed the pills.
“After you’ve eaten, please go see Reverend Mother. She’d like to speak to you.” Then, in a much softer tone, she added, “Your Charity, while you’re with her, try to convince her to take something to help her sleep. She hasn’t had much rest since, well, you know.”
Sister Agatha nodded, noting Sister Eugenia’s reluctance to speak of the crime that had been committed practically at their front door. They were all having a difficult time handling what had happened. Yet she alone bore the extra burden of knowing it was partially her fault. This might not have happened if she’d taken time to listen to Jane.
Guilt drove her to find answers now. The only way she had to balance out her failure was to find justice. God would help her. Although she’d failed Him, He wouldn’t fail her. Love redeemed all who offered Him a contrite heart.
Once they’d finished eating, Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo offered to clean up. “We’ll handle things here while you go talk to Reverend Mother,” Sister Bernarda said.
“Thank you, Sisters,” Sister Agatha said and hurried out.
Sister Agatha found Reverend Mother outside on one of the benches. After an unusually harsh, wet winter, they all looked forward to recreation, when they could spend time outside in the fresh air.
Despite the fading light of day, Sister Agatha could see that Reverend Mother was exhausted, and her heart went out to her. “Mother, I just spoke with Sister Eugenia. She’s very worried about you.”
Reverend Mother held up a hand. “I know. She’s been wanting me to take those sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. But I tried them before, and they make me too groggy to pay attention to our prayers at Matins. My job is to serve the Lord, and I can’t do that if I’m all doped up.”
“Lack of sleep isn’t good either, Mother,” Sister Agatha countered quietly. “You need sleep in order to serve.”
“The problem is that I’ve had too many things on my mind. The Archbishop called again. The reporters have played up the threat to the nuns and are speculating that the death of Mrs. Sanchez is only the beginning and more violence will follow. The Archbishop is worried about the reputations of the monastery and St. Augustine Church. Apparently, he’s been getting calls from some of the parishioners who want the diocese to hire parking lot security for local churches.”
“Mother, people are just scared,” Sister Agatha said softly. “With gang violence on the rise and big-city crime just to the south, all it takes is one dramatic incident to give fear a foothold. Once this killer’s caught, we’ll have peace again.”
“At least we still have the Good News meal deliveries to serve the community and bring the comfort of God’s word to them. For that, we can thank Sister Jo and her spirit of giving,” Reverend Mother said, then stood.
Together, they walked across the grounds and back to the recreation room. “Providence brought her here to us, I’m sure of it.” Reverend Mother added.
“From the looks of it, Providence definitely has a sense of humor,” Sister Agatha added, coming to a stop in the doorway.
Sister Jo shuffled past them, two mop heads tied to her shoes. Smiling, she moved quickly to the end of the room, stepped to her left, then pushed off the wall with one hand and spun around on the polished wooden floor.
“What on earth is she doing?” Reverend Mother asked.
“Skating?” Sister Agatha offered.
Sister Bernarda, standing against the wall just inside the room, laughed. “She’s buffing up our floor.”
“But why?” Reverend Mother asked.
“Sister Jo got sandwiched today between the meal deliveries and the soccer match and wasn’t able to take care of the floors. When she tried to sneak in a little work tonight, Sister Eugenia reminded her that, at this monastery, work is prohibited during recreation. That’s when Sister Jo decided to get creative,” Sister Bernarda answered.
Sister Jo slid to a stop by the table, picked up a can of wax, and sprayed the bottom of the mops. Then she strode off again, a grin on her face. “Wheee. Just like the old duck pond in December.”
Reverend Mother laughed. “And here I thought nothing could make me laugh out loud today.”
As the bell for Compline sounded, they abruptly stopped speaking. Sister Jo slid to a stop, grabbing the doorjamb to keep from falling. As she reached down to untie the mop heads, the others began to file out of the room, heading for chapel.
Joining her fellow sisters, Sister Agatha knelt and gazed at the altar. “Lord, help me find answers. I failed you once. Please don’t let me do that again,” she prayed silently from the bottom of her heart.
Soon she began chanting the Divine Office, her voice indistinguishable from those of her sisters.
The next morning, after Terce, Sister Agatha went to the parlor. Sister de Lourdes was already there at the desk.
“I’m glad you’re here, Sister Agatha,” she said. “A few minutes ago I received a call from Louis Sanchez. He asked that you stop by as soon as you can. He said he needed to talk.”
“Thanks, Sister de Lourdes,” she said. “Sister Bernarda, Pax, and I will head into town shortly in the station wagon. I’ll see him then. We’ll make sure to be back before you need to set out to deliver the meals.”
“It’s not necessary,” Sister de Lourdes said. “A few ladies from St. Augustine’s will be making our meal deliveries today. Sister Jo will also be free to spell me here once she gets the Good News meals packed and ready for pickup.”
“You’ve got the hardest job, Sister de Lourdes,” Sister Agatha said, sympathizing with her. “You have to keep running back and forth between the parlor and the scriptorium, and you also have to make sure the meal pickups go as planned.”
“I’ve devised a system that helps me spend more time greeting visitors and answering the phone. Sister Clothilde does most of the cooking for Good News. Sister Jo packs up the meals. Sister Maria Victoria, Sister Eugenia, Sister Ignatius, and Sister Gertrude get the computer hardware orders for NexCen filled and boxed for pickup. By the time the package express man comes, which is usually late in the afternoon, everything’s done.”
“How has Sister Maria Victoria been working out?”
“She’s great answering the monastery’s mail. Words just flow for her,” Sister de Lourdes said.
“I’m glad. She really had a tough time as seamstress and cellarer. Keeping the books for the monastery was definitely not what she was meant to do.”
“From disaster to success,” Sister de Lourdes said with a smile.
Just then Sister Bernarda and Pax came into the parlor. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for long, Sister Agatha. I was helping Sister Eugenia go through the infirmary’s provisions. She’s made a list of medications we need to pick up for her at the pharmacy.”
“We’ll make that pharmacy stop after we visit Louis Sanchez,” Sister Agatha said as they walked out to the Antichrysler, Pax following closely. “He’s asked to speak to me.”
“Would you like me to go inside with you, or would you prefer to handle this alone?”
Sister Agatha considered it. “I’d like to talk to him one-on-one,” she said at last, “but come inside with me. If there’s anyone else there, lead them away so Louis and I can speak freely. If no one else is about, excuse yourself and say you’ve got to take Pax for a walk.”
She nodded, understanding. “You want me there to divide their forces, if necessary.”
Sister Agatha smiled. You could take the woman out of the marines, but you could never get the marines out of the woman.
They arrived a short time later and found Louis outside, talking to Christy White.
“I’ll distract the woman,” Sister Bernarda said.
“Wait a sec. I have a better idea,” Sister Agatha said quickly. “While I keep them busy, you walk around with Pax and keep an eye out for any eavesdropping neighbor. The day she called me, Jane was worried that someone was listening in on her conversation. She was at home at the time, so maybe it was somebody she knew. There are no fences around, so it would have been easy enough to sneak up and eavesdrop if her window was open.”
“Got it. Anything else?” Sister Bernarda asked.
“Yes. Keep watch for a bike with knobby tires. We know the killer had one.”
“You’ve got it,” Sister Bernarda answered with a nod.
They walked over to meet Louis moments later. While Sister Agatha remained with them, Sister Bernarda excused herself and walked off with Pax.
“We’re very glad you’re here, Sister Agatha,” Louis said. “Christy’s grandson delivers newspapers in our neighborhood, and he’s got some information we think you should hear directly from him.”
The tone of his voice alerted her. “If he has information, the sheriff needs—”
“That’s just it, Sister. Billy won’t talk to the sheriff,” Christy said. “He’s a good boy, but he’s got a record. Nothing major, mind you. It’s just that he’s spent time in juvenile hall and he doesn’t trust the deputies.”
“But Christy pressured him and he’s agreed to talk to you, Sister Agatha,” Louis said.
“All right, but be aware that the sheriff will need to be told about anything that’s connected to the case,” she said. It was possible that Billy’s information was tied to whatever Jane had wanted to talk to her about. Maybe everything would fall into place at last. “Where’s he now?” she added.
“In my house,” Louis said. “Christy’s been cooking for both of us.”
Sister Agatha followed them into the kitchen. The scent of freshly fried dough made her mouth water. On the metal table directly in front of her was a teenaged boy wolfing down a huge Navajo taco: a big piece of puffy fry bread topped with pinto beans, lettuce, salsa, tomatoes, and lots of shredded cheese.
“Hi,” Sister Agatha said, introducing herself.
He wiped his mouth. “I’m only talking to you, Sister, because Grandma bribed me. Nobody cooks like she does,” he added with a grin.
“I’m glad that you agreed to talk to me, but if you have information that the sheriff should have—”
“I’ve got nothing the law can use,” he said, interrupting her. “I barely saw the guy who stole Mr. Sanchez’s bike. You know I throw papers—deliver newspapers—right?”
She nodded. “Go on, Billy.”
“Well, I was in my pickup, throwing the afternoon edition, when I noticed someone walking around the side of Louis’s garage. My first thought was that it was the PNM guy, reading the meter, but when I turned the corner, I saw the PNM guy in his truck. The man I’d seen before was heading in the opposite direction on a red bike. Thing is, I didn’t really think much about it until Grandma told me that someone had stolen Mr. Sanchez’s bike.”
“Did you get a good look at the man?”
“No, I barely glanced at him,” Billy said, then took another huge mouthful. “I was busy trying to fold the next paper and slip on a rubber band without wrecking my truck. I was running behind that day.”
“You’re sure it was a man, not a woman?” she pressed, knowing that people often saw far more than they realized.
“It was a guy,” he said without hesitation. “Guys walk differently than women.”
“What color was his hair?” Sister Agatha asked him.
“Brown—I think. He was wearing a dark blue baseball cap, so I don’t know for sure.”
“Was he tall?”
“Kinda. He was a lot taller than Mr. Sanchez, and not so…stubby.”
So that made him over five foot eight, Sister Agatha concluded silently. “You didn’t actually see him steal the bike?”
“No, and for all I know it was his own and he’d parked it around the corner. All I can tell you for sure is that he rode away on a red bike. That’s why I told Grandma.”
Sister Agatha nodded. “Would you recognize the man if you saw him again?”
“I never saw his face because the baseball cap shaded his eyes. And, oh, he was wearing sunglasses. Forgot about that until now.”
“What kind of clothes was he wearing?”
“Jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up.”
“What color was the shirt?” Sister Agatha pressed. “Was it a service uniform?”
“I remember tan, or maybe cream colored, but that’s all I can tell you. I really wasn’t paying much attention. I just wanted to finish my route so I could go play Street Cred.”
“Come again?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Street Cred, on my computer. It’s a hot new game.”
Billy finished his meal, sopping up the chile sauce by using a piece of fry bread like a scoop. Jamming it into his mouth, he stood. “I’ve gotta go. I didn’t make it to school this morning because I’m on two-day suspension. I’m grounded, too, so I can’t go cruising in my truck unless it’s to throw papers. I just came over to Grandma’s’ cause I knew she wouldn’t rat me out, but I’ve got to get back before my dad calls to check up on me.”
“Have you noticed any other strangers hanging around the area besides the one who may have stolen the bike?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope, but you can pass along the information I gave you if it makes any difference.”
“The sheriff will have to know, Billy. He’s trying to catch a killer. Go tell him yourself. It’ll give you some credibility, too, especially with Sheriff Green.”
He stood there a moment, looking at her, then glanced at his grandmother. Christy nodded.
“Okay,” Billy said. “I’ll make the call when I get home. If he sends a deputy by, the whole neighborhood will wonder what trouble I’ve gotten into now, right?” He grinned, then walked to the door and let himself out.
The phone rang, and Louis went to answer it in the living room. Alone with Christy, Sister Agatha smiled at her. “Thanks for convincing him to talk to me.”
“I figured it would help you—and me. You’re probably wondering if maybe I had something to do with Jane’s murder. People like to gossip, and I know I’m a hot topic right now.”
Louis returned to the room before Sister Agatha could answer. “I hope Billy was able to help you, Sister,” he said. “People are spreading a lot of nonsense about Christy and me.”
“Neither one of us has ever done anything to deserve that kind of trash talk,” Christy added.
Sister Agatha looked at Louis, then at Christy. Her instincts told her that they weren’t holding out on her, but there were still too many unanswered questions. “Gossip won’t convict anyone,” Sister Agatha said. “Evidence will. If you want to help, give me a list of Jane’s enemies.”
“She bugged people sometimes, but not so badly they would kill—” Louis stopped in midsentence as the phone began to ring again, then excused himself.
“Do you agree with that?” Sister Agatha asked Christy.
Christy considered it for a long moment. “This street has no shortage of personality conflicts, particularly when the neighborhood association meets. Tempers always run short, and sniping’s rampant. Jane wasn’t particularly singled out, though—no more than anyone else with an opinion.”
“Who argued with Jane the most?”
“Me,” she answered without skipping a beat. “That doesn’t mean I killed her. I also argue with my daughter and my grand-kid, and they’re both still walking around.”
Sister Agatha smiled, but questions were racing through her head. “Besides you, then.”
She thought it over. “At the meetings, no one in particular.”
“Outside those times, then,” Sister Agatha pressed.
Christy considered it for a few seconds. “Louis never argued with Jane—which just made it worse for him. The only other people besides me who come to mind right away are her daughter and son-in-law. Jane and Evelyn had huge fights.”
“Over what?”
“Near as I can tell, they got into shouting matches over everything. I’d hear them from my kitchen window. Then again, to stop Jane from walking all over you, you had to get ugly from time to time.”
Louis returned and glanced at Christy, then at Sister Agatha. “Sister, you’re going to have to excuse us. One of the families in our parish lost everything in a house fire, and Father Mahoney asked me if I’d be willing to donate some of Jane’s clothing. I said yes, but then…well, it was harder than I’d thought. That was the main reason Christy came over. We aren’t even close to finished yet, but some volunteers are coming by in a half hour to pick up whatever we have ready.”
Sister Agatha stood, then noticed a familiar purse on the kitchen counter. “Did Jane have two purses exactly alike?” she asked Louis.
“No. A deputy brought that to me a couple of hours ago. The sheriff doesn’t need it anymore and thought I might because of the keys and ID stuff inside.”
“That was thoughtful,” she answered, then continued, after a pause, “I just had an idea. Would you do something for me? Look inside the purse and see if you can tell if anything’s missing.”
“The sheriff already asked me how much money I thought was stolen, and I told him. It was around a hundred dollars. Besides that, she had one credit card, but it was still there.”
“How about missing items that aren’t money related?”
Louis picked up the purse and began to set the contents out on the counter.
Seeing the prayer book, Sister Agatha suddenly knew what she wanted to ask next. “Didn’t Jane always carry a memo pad in her purse?”
“Yeah, she did,” Louis said, checking every pocket and pouch. “It was one of those brightly colored ones. She was always making notes to herself or leaving them for me. Just look at the fridge,” he said, waving. “I haven’t had the courage to take them down yet.”
“So that’s missing. Did she keep any other pads around the house?”
Louis scratched his head. “Excuse me for a moment.” He left the kitchen and went into the living room.
Sister Agatha heard a drawer open, then another. A moment later, she heard Louis walk into the hall, then the sound of another drawer opening. At long last, he returned to the kitchen. “That’s odd. She always left memo pads on her desk and on the bedroom dresser. There were several of them around in that same pink color. Now they’re all gone.”
“Maybe the deputies took them,” Christy offered. “Or the sheriff.”
“They would have given Louis a receipt,” Sister Agatha said. “I know that from my journalist days.”
“Are those pads important for some reason?” Louis asked her.
“You remember that Jane called last Friday and wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes, but I still have no idea what that was about,” Louis said.
“There’s something I didn’t mention before. When Jane called, she hung up almost immediately after telling me that she thought someone was listening in,” Sister Agatha answered, watching back and forth between the two for a reaction.
“Like me?” Louis asked in confusion. “I might have been in the next room, but I never eavesdrop on purpose.”
“Jane did,” Christy blurted out.
“Christy!” Louis exclaimed.
“Sorry to be so blunt, but you know she did, Louis. Jane was a snoop.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” he said, his voice soft and strained.
Sister Agatha wasn’t surprised about Jane. “She may have meant someone listening in through an open window, or maybe on the phone,” Sister Agatha reasoned. Looking over, she noticed that the phone was an older cordless model. Phones like that had a reputation for being vulnerable to bugs, or even neighbors on the same frequency.
“Do you think that’s the reason Jane was killed, and it wasn’t just a robbery?” Christy asked. “The sheriff should be told about this if he doesn’t know already.”
“He knows some of it, but I’ll speak to him and tell him the rest,” Sister Agatha said.
“You’re thinking that maybe Jane wrote something down on a memo pad and the killer took them all to make sure nobody else could find out…why she was killed?” Louis’s voice faded at the end.
“If that’s really what happened, Louis, you can trust Sheriff Green to get to the bottom of it,” Sister Agatha said. “In the meantime, if either of you thinks of anything, call him right away.”
Both nodded.
They were just leaving the kitchen when Sister Agatha heard the sound of metal clanking. That was instantly followed by Pax’s frantic barking.
Christy went to the window. “Somebody’s broken into my garage!”
Christy rushed out the back door, Louis and Sister Agatha at her heels. When they reached the garage, the right-hand door was half open. Sister Agatha saw Sister Bernarda inside, grasping Pax’s leash hard and trying to pull him back. The dog was totally focused on something in the far corner and refused to back away.
Sister Agatha hurried over to help and, as she drew near, heard a dry rattle—a sound she instantly recognized. A rattlesnake was curled in the corner, poised to strike.