AFTER LEAVING SISTER BERNARDA AND THE ANTICHRYSler at the monastery, Sister Agatha and Pax took the Harley to meet Chuck at the Chronicle.
Taking a seat at one of the cluttered desks, Sister Agatha studied the photos Chuck had taken. He’d printed out a complete set for her. One photo captured her attention almost immediately. It showed Victoria speaking to a statuesque blonde in her late fifties, and it was easy to see from their hardened expressions that the two were not friends.
“Who’s this woman with Victoria?” she asked, pointing to the blonde.
“That’s Deputy Judy White. Actually, former deputy. She retired a few years ago.”
“I’m guessing she was a friend of Robert’s, not Victoria’s. Is that right?”
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is that she and Robert worked in the evidence room together back in the days when they were both with the department.”
“I’m still looking for a motive for Robert’s murder, and her background brings up some interesting possibilities. Do you know where I can find her?”
“Sure. She owns Judy’s Place, east of the casino turnoff. I hear she’s practically always there.”
“I remember hearing about that place. Judy’s supposedly has the best sandwiches this side of Albuquerque’s Central Avenue,” Sister Agatha said.
“You should eat there sometime. Her reputation’s well deserved.”
Sister Agatha thought back to the time when she’d known all the best cafés around—and the ones to avoid. Her life had been so different when she’d been just plain Mary Lambert Naughton. She pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it had formed. As Sister Agatha, she’d found a peace beyond measure . . . but a part of her still missed the little adventures that had defined her back then.
“I did a piece on Judy White when she opened her café. Her mother owned a small restaurant in Los Lunas during the sixties, and that’s how they made ends meet when Judy was growing up. The restaurant business was always in Judy’s blood, so when she retired, she borrowed against her 401(k) and got things rolling. If the crowded parking lot is any indication, she’s prospering right now.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “Success usually follows passion and a dream—particularly when those two things are helped along by tons of hard work.”
“Then I must be on the right track. I love this paper,” he answered with a smile as he looked around.
“You’ve found your calling, Chuck.”
“Speaking of calling, Sister, what’s really going on at the monastery?”
She sighed softly. “This past year’s been difficult. It’s getting increasingly hard to justify the upkeep the old place needs. Now that our income has slipped since our business clients have taken their work overseas, the situation is getting even tougher.” She swallowed, determined to keep her voice steady. “It’s not cost-effective to run a monastery as large as ours for the benefit of just ten nuns. It makes far more sense to relocate the sisters elsewhere.”
“So, that’s it? You’re leaving?”
“Unless a miracle happens and we get a big job, we’ll be closing our doors. The winery next door wants to expand and made us a very generous offer for the monastery and the property around it. The funds from the sale, if it goes through, would be given to the monastery outside Denver that has offered us a home.”
“Do you think you might be transferred up north before the sheriff is cleared?” Chuck asked, as if reading her mind.
“There’s a chance that’ll happen, but I’m praying that I’ll be able to finish the job I’ve started.”
Chuck looked down at Pax. “He’ll be making the move, too, I hope?”
“Yes, Pax is part of our family,” she said, standing. “I better get going. I want to give myself plenty of time to talk to Judy, and if she’s busy, I intend to wait. Something tells me that she could turn out to be a big help to me,” she said, remembering the disdain on Victoria’s face.
As she and Pax headed for the Harley, she looked down at the big dog and smiled at him. “You may not be allowed inside the restaurant, boy, but we’ll find a shady place where you can wait.”
Pax looked at her, unperturbed. For dogs there was no “later” or “tomorrow.” There was simply now. There was a lesson in that for her, too. She had to stop worrying about the future. As the Lord had said, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
Sister Agatha arrived at the café just west of the main highway junction, a short time later. By then, some serious storm clouds had rolled in from the west, and the wind was picking up, another sign that rain wouldn’t be far behind.
As she pulled into the parking space nearest one of the two side entrances, Sister Agatha could see that most of the round, bistro-sized tables inside were occupied—not bad for a late lunch. The tall blonde she’d seen in the photo peered out at her from behind the front counter, apparently having heard the distinctive-sounding Harley engine.
Sister Agatha was climbing off the bike when Judy White came out onto the sidewalk.
“Sister Agatha and Pax! I’ve heard all about you two, and your flashy motorcycle! I’m Judy, but you must know that by now. I had a feeling you’d be stopping by after I saw you staking out the graveside service.”
Sister Agatha’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t think I was being obvious.”
“Hey, I was with the sheriff’s department for more years than I care to count,” Judy said, chuckling. “After a while, you learn to notice even the little things most people just let slide by.” She waved toward the rear of the building. “Why don’t we go around the back, and I’ll let you and Pax into my office. We’re in for a gullywasher soon, and you don’t want your canine friend to get soaked. Besides, it’s time for my lunch. Would you like a sandwich—on the house?”
Remembering her earlier wistfulness, Sister Agatha silently gave thanks for the unexpected blessing. “A sandwich sounds great. Thanks!”
Judy led the way through a rear storeroom and into the small but carefully laid-out office. File cabinets and a sturdy oak desk fit perfectly within the floor space, and a round window granted a magnificent view of the mountains to the east. Reaching into a tiny refrigerator installed below the right side of the desk, she brought out two bottles of cola and handed Sister Agatha one.
“Would you like to see our menu? We have over two dozen specialty sandwiches.”
“I’ve heard, but no menu is necessary. Just bring me one of your favorites. I’m sure it’ll end up being one of mine, too.”
Judy returned a few moments later with a plate containing the biggest and thickest sandwich Sister Agatha had ever seen.
“This is our number one customer favorite. It’s shredded premium sirloin, sharp cheddar, fresh Hatch green chile, and grilled mushrooms on sourdough.” She placed the plate on the desk in front of Sister Agatha.
“We’re going to split this, right?” Sister Agatha asked, trying to squelch the sin of gluttony that had suddenly reared its ugly head.
“No, that one’s just for you. I’ve got another sandwich being prepared for me, and some beef slices for the dog, too.” Judy stepped out of the room, then returned a moment later with her own platter and something for Pax on a bread plate.
“Thank you very much—from both of us,” Sister Agatha said. After saying grace silently, she took a bite of her sandwich. It was unbelievably good, moist, savory, and perfectly spiced with just the right level of chile heat. Judging by this sandwich alone, the café’s reputation was well deserved. No heaven would be complete without a sandwich like this on its buffet table.
“Now tell me what I can do for you, Sister,” Judy said, taking a large bite of her own sandwich—a steaming hot, freshly grilled, olive-oil-brushed panini sandwich filled with what looked like ham, mushrooms, and red bell peppers. “I have a feeling that you noticed that Victoria and I don’t get along.”
“I did,” she admitted.
“I’m closer to Robert’s age than she is, and there was a time when she thought there was something going on between him and me. Of course, he may have led her to believe that on purpose, to make her jealous. He liked playing mind games with people. There was never anything between us, though. I can’t stand control freaks.”
“I’m trying to get a better feel for who he was, and who his enemies might have been. Can you tell me more about Robert?”
“I worked with him for about eight months, but he and I never really got along. He had to micromanage everything and everyone around him. At the time, he didn’t outrank me, and I had more years in the department, so I didn’t have to take orders from him.”
She paused and took a few more bites. “That man used to call his wife six or seven times a shift to check up on her. From the bits and pieces I’d overhear, I think he believed Victoria was having an affair. He had to know where she was every minute and who she was with, even after the baby was born. Over the years, I heard that his control issues got even worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“There were rumors that he started slapping Victoria around, but I never noticed any marks on her, so who knows? As for Robert, I hadn’t seen him for a long time—since we last worked together, to be exact. He certainly never stopped by here, at least when I was behind the counter.”
“Do you know if Robert had enemies in the department?” Sister Agatha asked.
Judy stared down at her plate, lost in thought. “Only one name comes to mind—Deputy Tony Gannon. When some items supposed to be in the evidence room turned up missing, Robert blamed Tony. Tony insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done the initial paperwork. He blamed Robert for failing to enter the data into the system and not properly shelving the items. Robert argued that he’d never received anything from Gannon, nor had he handled the evidence container. They went back and forth like that for a long time.”
“What was missing?”
“A couple of handguns taken during a drug bust.”
“What do you think happened to the pistols?” Sister Agatha asked, noting the sudden rattle of heavy raindrops on the metal roof.
“They probably got misplaced,” she said with a shrug. “My gut instinct is that Robert dropped the ball on that. Whenever Robert argued with his wife—an almost weekly event—he’d be stomping around and fuming for the rest of the shift. If Gannon turned in the handguns on one of those days, it’s possible that Robert never even processed the paperwork.”
“What happened to Deputy Gannon?” Sister Agatha asked quickly, excited to have found a possible suspect in addition to having had a terrific lunch.
“Nothing was ever proven, so both officers had a letter placed in their files. Eventually, both Robert and Tony left the department for greener pastures. You already know about Robert. Tony was poached by the Austin Police Department for half again the pay as well as a housing allowance.”
Sister Agatha’s spirits plummeted. For a moment she’d thought she’d found a viable lead, but now it appeared she’d reached another dead end. “What about Robert’s security firm? Do you know anything about his business?”
“No, not really. I’ve never been much interested in rent-a-cops. For that, you’ll have to talk to his partner, Monty Allen.”
Finished with lunch, Judy went to open the window, which pivoted in the middle, an interesting design feature. The rain had stopped now, leaving a cool, fresh breeze in its wake. “I love the scents that always follow a good storm,” she said, inhaling deeply.
“It’s a rare enough treat here in New Mexico,” Sister Agatha said. “Now that the rain’s let up, I better be on my way. Thanks very much for that wonderful lunch.”
“You’re welcome, Sister Agatha. Come by anytime.”
Soon Sister Agatha was on her way north, toward home, with Pax in the sidecar. To avoid the deep puddles that now filled the low spots, she kept the Harley closer to the centerline. The absence of a curb and storm drains made New Mexico roads like this one a mixed bag of hazards during seasonal thunderstorms.
Twenty feet beyond the graveled shoulder was a concrete-lined flood control canal, essential across the metro area during summer downpours. This twenty-foot-wide portion of the system was currently filled to the brim with muddy water and plant debris carried down from the higher ground to the east.
Looking ahead through her water-splattered helmet visor, she saw a hunched, soaked figure walking north along the roadside adjacent to the canal. Something about him looked familiar. As she drew closer she realized that it was Scout.
He must have heard the roar of the Harley above the rush of water, because he turned to look. The second he saw her, Scout took off at a jog.
“Wait,” Sister Agatha yelled, then realized that with the helmet muffling her voice, the roar of the cycle’s engine, and the sound of water in the ditch, there was virtually no chance of him hearing her.
Before she could decide what to do next, she heard the blare of a car horn behind her. In a heartbeat, a pickup whipped around her, spraying water everywhere. Blinded for a few seconds by the sudden deluge, she backed off the throttle and tapped the brakes, worried she’d drift out of her lane or lose control altogether. The mud-splattered white truck cut in front of her and swerved to the right, onto the shoulder.
Fifty yards ahead, Scout was running for his life. Glancing back over his shoulder, he veered out onto the concrete slope of the raging canal, desperate to avoid the oncoming vehicle.
“Lord, help!” Sister Agatha prayed, helpless to intervene.
As the pickup brushed by him, Scout slipped and fell into the churning stream of water. Swept downstream, he groped in vain for anything to hang on to, but the rushing water carried him relentlessly along, his head barely visible.
For a second the pickup skidded, and she thought it would go into the water as well. Then the driver regained full control and swerved back onto the highway.
As the white truck accelerated away, Sister Agatha tried to read the license plate, but between the mud and the distance it was a futile effort. All she could tell from the color was that it was a New Mexico plate.
Focused solely on saving Scout now, she pressed the motorcycle for more speed. About a mile ahead, the canal intersected the main channel leading west to the river. If Scout got carried that far, he’d be swept against one of the big metal grates and drown. She had to get ahead of him somehow, then grab him as he went by.
People drowned in these ditches every year during flash floods. There was even a special fire department rescue unit that practiced ditch rescues, but they wouldn’t be able to get here in time to do any good. Knowing that, she gunned the engine and raced down the road, looking ahead as well as in the rearview mirror for any other vehicle that might be able to stop and help.
Speeding past Scout, she found a spot that would serve her purposes and pulled over to the shoulder of the road. Pax sat up immediately, but without even looking over at him, she gave him the command to stay. He couldn’t help her here.
Sister Agatha yanked off her helmet and dropped it on the ground as she hurried over to the concrete apron of the ditch. On her knees in six inches of water, she gazed upstream, trying to spot Scout’s bobbing head. That was when she saw a tree branch riding the waves along the edge. Without hesitation, Sister Agatha reached out as it passed by and grabbed the branch.
The stout tree limb was much bigger than it had looked and yanked her forward almost into the stream. She braced herself with her left arm, dug in with her feet, and somehow managed to keep hold of the branch without getting pulled into the raging waters. Using all the strength she had left in her arms, she lifted and pulled the cottonwood branch onto the concrete. Now she had something for Scout to grab—if he was still alert and conscious when he passed by.
Sister Agatha stood, trying to spot him among the debris, and saw that he was much closer than she’d expected, still trying desperately to swim to the edge of the canal. Waving to get his attention, she called out to him.
“Grab hold!” she yelled.
She got down on her knees, anchoring herself the best she could against the outer edge of the concrete, and swung the branch out over the water, trying to avoid touching the surface. Though it was heavy, she had to keep it clear of the water or it would be carried away, out of his reach and useless.
As Scout swept past, he reached up at the last moment and managed to grasp the branch. The sudden impact nearly yanked her off her feet. The swirling waters became a powerful adversary as she fought to pull him to safety.
Her joints ached from the stress, and as her skin was scraped raw, her grip on the branch started to slip. Groaning from the pain, she tightened her fingers and held on, praying for strength as the laws of physics took over. With her as the anchor, the man was swung out of the main stream of water and to the edge of the canal.
Scout reached the upper slope of the concrete seconds later, grabbed the same edge that anchored her feet, and pulled himself up out of the water, choking and gasping from the effort.
As he reached safety, Sister Agatha let go of the branch, at long last allowing it to be swept downstream.
“Are you all right?” she managed, trying to catch her breath.
He didn’t answer, but his pale gray eyes met her gaze and held it for a heartbeat.
Sister Agatha saw human recognition there, and for a second Scout almost smiled. Yet that brief, gentle emotion vanished almost as quickly as it had formed.
Scout reached behind his shoulders with bony, bleeding hands, searching in vain for his backpack, which had been lost in the current. When he realized it was gone, fear and confusion took control of him again. He scrambled to his knees, looking around in desperation.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now,” she said softly.
Like a trapped wild animal, he stared vacantly at her, then raced off, heading for the highway. Thankfully, no cars were coming, because Scout didn’t think to look. Seconds later, he leaped into the underbrush and disappeared into the bosque.
By the time she managed to stand, he’d disappeared from view. She returned to the Harley, where Pax was waiting for her, and called in the report to the police.
“It’s time for us to go home, boy,” she said, putting the cell phone away and giving Pax a hug. Sometimes, there was nothing more comforting than having your arms around a big dog like him.
As they headed back, she remembered the gratitude and relief she’d seen in Scout’s gaze for a few precious seconds and whispered a prayer of thanks. Instinct, and perhaps more—a stirring of certainty—assured her they’d meet again.