THE FOLLOWING MORNING, AFTER THE END OF THE Great Silence, Sister Agatha went directly to the parlor. With Sister de Lourdes already in Denver and Sister Jo, who’d only had a brief stay at Our Lady, transferred to a teaching order in Albuquerque, Sister Bernarda hadn’t had a break from her portress duties in days. She hadn’t even been able to go for private prayer in the chapel.
This morning Sister Agatha had agreed to take over for a half hour so Sister Bernarda could spend quiet time in adoration. It was in those moments that the soul affirmed its total dependence on God. Now, in the midst of all the troubles they were facing, times of contemplation in chapel had become a necessary lifeline.
The phone rang shortly after eight thirty, and Sister Agatha picked it up. She recognized the caller’s voice even before he identified himself.
“Sister Agatha, you and I need to talk. This is Frank Marquez.”
“Is something wrong?” she asked quickly.
“You tell me. We had an agreement. You were going to pass on whatever you uncovered, but even though you’ve been working the case for two days now, I haven’t heard a word. I hope you don’t expect me to believe that you’ve uncovered absolutely nothing.”
“If I’d found out something definite, I would have called you, Frank. All I’ve really got at this point is gut feelings based on rumors.”
“Rumors can sometimes lead to facts, and gut feelings to suspects. How about meeting me at the Java Shack, the coffee shop across from the station, at around ten thirty?”
She’d heard of the place, of course. It was supposed to sell some very upscale coffee. Young professionals and upper-class business owners flocked to it. It surprised her that Marquez had suggested the place. Almost all the officers she knew preferred coffee that didn’t require an entire hour’s wages.
“Don’t worry, I’m buying,” he said.
“I’ll be there,” she answered cheerfully.
Sister Agatha placed the phone down and had just started dusting the parlor’s desk when she heard the sounds of happy barking outside. Standing by the window, she saw Pax making the most of the cool morning temperatures. Two quails with their question-mark bonnets were walking along the top of the wall while Pax lunged and jumped, trying in vain to reach them. Animals and children . . . even the simplest things could renew their zest for life.
As her thoughts wandered, she thought of Robert’s son, RJ. Sister Agatha wondered how Robert’s death would affect the boy over time. Would he draw closer to his mother, or not? Now that Robert’s cruelty was no longer a part of their lives, would RJ and Victoria drift apart? Without a common threat, the need to band together was no longer there—at least not to the same extent—and the boy seemed primed to rebel already.
By the time Sister Bernarda came into the parlor, Sister Agatha had made up her mind to go speak to Victoria. Regardless of what Crystal, the housekeeper, had said, an abused wife always had a strong motive for wanting to ease her suffering—one way or the other.
“I’m ready to take over, Your Charity,” Sister Bernarda said. “Thanks for taking care of things here so I could have time in chapel.”
“Anytime, Sister—and I mean that.”
Sister Agatha and Pax left the monastery five minutes later. Unsure whether Victoria was still staying at her brother-in-law’s house, she passed by Victoria’s home first, since it was on her way.
Seeing a car there, Sister Agatha drove up the long driveway and parked. A few moments later she and Pax, on a short lead, passed through the turquoise blue gate leading into the walled courtyard, then walked up to the heavy carved door. Pax remained at heel, seated on the flagstone step as she rang the doorbell.
As she waited, Sister Agatha studied her surroundings. This wasn’t a particularly large house, but it was well appointed—a modern frame-and-stucco version of the classic Southwest adobe home. The private courtyard was filled with colorful desert shrubs and indigenous flowers that flourished in the dry climate. Carefully positioned sandstone boulders accented the enclosure. The effect was cool and soothing.
When there was no answer, Sister Agatha rang the bell again. A minute later, she heard running footsteps, and the door was opened.
“Sister Agatha, I’m surprised to see you!” Victoria said, still catching her breath. “I was expecting the parcel express man.”
Sister Agatha wasn’t sure how to respond. Did that mean that she wouldn’t have answered had she known?
“Come in,” she said, waving her inside. “The dog, too.” She walked to the doorway leading to the den, then stopped and glanced back at Sister Agatha. “Since you’re here, how about giving me a hand in RJ’s room? My housekeeper’s running an errand, and I could sure use an extra pair of hands. I’m trying to hang up a poster I know RJ will just love. It’s a surprise for when he gets back from day camp.”
“I’d be happy to help.”
Sister Agatha followed her down the hall, and soon they entered what could only be described as a little boy’s dream room. From floor to ceiling, it was filled with everything baseball. There were posters of Major League players on every wall, autographed team photos, a full-sized cardboard cutout of an apparently famous player swinging a bat, and half a dozen pennants of the local minor league team, the Albuquerque Isotopes. There was even a huge teddy bear on the shelf, dressed up in a pin-striped baseball uniform and cap. A new-looking baseball glove sat beside it, along with an autographed ball inside a plastic case. In the opposite corner stood a wooden bat that had to have been at least as tall as Robert Jr. Beside that was a well-used plastic bat and ball, more suitable for a child just learning the fundamentals.
“I want to hang the poster just to the right of his bed. We got RJ’s favorite player, Mitch the Missile, to sign it for him.”
“We?”
“Al Russo helped. I think you’ve met him. Al figured that RJ needed a little boost right now.” Victoria handed her a big rolled-up poster, then reached onto the top of a large dresser for several push tacks.
“How’s this?” Sister Agatha said, unrolling the poster halfway and holding it up against the wall.
“Could you move it about six inches to your left and lower the right side about an inch?”
Sister Agatha made the adjustment, then eyeballed the top edge, trying to get it level.
“Close enough. Just hold it there so I can put two tacks into the top,” Victoria said, coming up from behind her.
“I imagine your son is taking his father’s death really hard right now,” Sister Agatha said, stepping to the side enough so Victoria could put the tacks in place.
“My son and I will get through this. It won’t be easy, but we’ll manage,” she answered.
Together, they unrolled the remaining portion of the poster, and Victoria placed four more tacks in place.
Victoria then stood back to survey their work. “That’ll do it for now. If RJ wants it elsewhere, it won’t take long to pull it free.” She glanced at Sister Agatha. “Thanks for the help, Sister. Now what can I do for you?”
“I came hoping for a chance to speak to you alone.”
“We’re not actually alone, but we won’t be overheard,” Victoria said. “My sister-in-law, Alyssa, kept us company last night. She’s staying in the guest bedroom. You don’t have to worry about our privacy, though. Alyssa took one of her pills, so she’ll be out till noon, at least.”
Victoria led the way back to the big, open front room and offered Sister Agatha a seat on a comfortable-looking sofa. “So what brings you here?”
Sister Agatha decided to get right to the point. “I’ve heard some disturbing stories about the way your husband treated you,” Sister Agatha said gently. “Including physical abuse,” she added.
“I loved Robert, Sister Agatha. Why else would I have stayed with him? He had a temper, ask anyone, but he was a great provider. I never lacked for anything, and, more importantly, neither did my son. Sure, Robert had his faults, and getting too rough with the people he loved was one of them—but he had a good side, too. He always made sure my son and I had the best of everything.” She stood, her eyes cold and focused. “I think you should leave now,” she said, walking to the front door and holding it open.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Sister Agatha said, seeing the woman’s hand shaking.
“Just go,” Victoria said, pointing down the walk.
Sister Agatha walked back to the motorcycle with Pax and reached for her helmet. “Seems I touched a nerve, boy,” she commented. “Or did it seem to you that she was just putting on an act? I’m not convinced her indignation was as sincere as she wanted us to believe.”
Pax looked at her and cocked his head, almost as if pondering the question.
Sister Agatha reached out and patted him on the head. “Never mind. Sidecar ride, get in!” He jumped in immediately and sat up so he could see around the cockpit’s small windshield.
Easing back onto the saddle, Sister Agatha considered the various impressions she’d gotten during her short visit while they were still fresh in her mind. Though she hadn’t been there long, one curious fact had come to the surface. Victoria had repeatedly referred to RJ as “my” son, not “our” son.
Although it might have simply been an act of independence, or defiance, Sister Agatha intended to look into that some more. She’d start by comparing how long Robert and Victoria had been married with RJ’s age. If Victoria had been carrying someone else’s child, that could certainly explain Robert’s resentment—though it still didn’t justify his abusive behavior.
She was just about to put on her helmet when Frank Marquez, now driving an unmarked sedan, pulled up beside her. “Interesting that I should run into you here, Sister.”
“I might have said the same thing if you hadn’t beaten me to the punch,” Sister Agatha said with a sheepish smile.
“You coming or going?”
“Just leaving,” she said.
“Then we’ll talk more about this later,” he said. “Right now I need to talk to Mrs. Garcia.”
Sister Agatha then put on her helmet and started the engine, watching as Frank climbed out of his car and walked through the courtyard gate. She would have loved to ask him what had brought him here . . . and maybe she would, later.
Driving slowly down the street, she noticed a woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt working in the yard of the house next door. On impulse, Sister Agatha decided to go talk to her. A snoopy neighbor could be worth his or her weight in gold.
As she drove up the adjacent circular driveway, the woman heard the Harley, waved, and walked over to greet her. “Sister Agatha, I presume?” she asked with a smile. She was tall and very thin, and her silver hair was styled in a simple pageboy. Sister Agatha guessed that she was in her midsixties.
“That’s me,” Sister Agatha answered, taking off her helmet so they could see each other face-to-face. “Have we met?”
“No. My nephew works in the mayor’s office, and he once described you to me. My name’s Kathy Duran.” She shook hands, then, cocking her head, invited Sister Agatha and Pax into the house. “Let’s get out of the heat for a bit. It’s time for my break. Gardening keeps my blood pressure down, but I have to take it in increments, especially this time of year.”
The conventional pitched-roof, ranch-style home was decorated in warm earth tones. The peeled log furniture appeared to be handmade, with carved Western images of cattle and rearing horses adding detail to the simple but functional style.
“Those are just for decoration,” she said, pointing to two large, antique-looking enamel coffeepots on the kitchen’s center island. “I don’t drink coffee or tea, but I have apple and orange juice if you’d care for something to drink.”
“Apple juice would be nice,” Sister Agatha said. She wasn’t particularly thirsty but had learned over the years that the simple act of sharing a refreshment with someone often worked wonders. People relaxed, and conversations flowed more freely.
“Now tell me what brought you here. I heard the motorcycle and saw you visiting with Victoria a while ago.” She stood at the kitchen island, a heavy wooden table fitted with drawers and cabinets. “I also noticed that you didn’t stay long. I imagine your visit didn’t go well, particularly since Alyssa’s there.”
“You’ve got me curious. Why would you say that?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Alyssa wouldn’t risk getting her husband angry by talking to you,” Kathy replied matter-of-factly.
“No one would have had to know,” Sister Agatha protested. Kathy smiled. “Ours is a small town. We all know each other’s business.”
Knowing the truth when she heard it, Sister Agatha nodded but said nothing.
“In that family, men run things, too,” Kathy said in a slow, thoughtful tone. “The women . . . well, they’re more like window dressing, if you ask me. Trophy wives. Although Alyssa and Victoria are different in a lot of ways, they have one thing in common. They live under their husband’s thumbs. I don’t waste time feeling sorry for them. When your toys are more important to you than your freedom . . .”
“Some women don’t mind taking a backseat to their husbands. It spares them the responsibility of making their own decisions—and relieves them of all accountability,” Sister Agatha said.
“Sister, both of those women are gluttons for punishment—especially Victoria. I’ve seen a few of her fights with Robert, and heard even more. One time she ran out the back door, crying like a baby. Robert grabbed her by the arm, twisted it behind her back, and practically threw her back inside the house. I called the sheriff’s department, of course.”
“What happened?”
“After about a half hour, a deputy finally came out, but nothing was done from what I could tell. The next day I was out watering the tomatoes when I saw Victoria in the backyard wearing shorts and one of those tank tops, sunning herself on a lounger. Even though there’s a fence between us, I could see the huge bruises on her arms and shoulders. Of course, when she went to town later, she covered all those up with a long-sleeved blouse.”
Sister Agatha shook her head slowly. “I can’t understand why she never tried to get help.”
“And create a scandal?” Kathy shook her head. “That’s not the way things work, not for the Garcia women, at least.”
“How did the family get their money, do you know?”
“I understand that JD and Robert’s grandfather made a bundle selling black market gasoline and ration coupons across the West during World War II. He then used that money to buy legitimate businesses. Since then, each generation has done better than the last.
“Prospering is a matter of pride to the Garcias. Their men don’t bother with the rules, and they compete against each other almost as hard as they do against outsiders. Take a look at JD and Robert. They both married beautiful women, though neither man is much to look at. I’m sure that deep down they know their wives married them for their money, and maybe that’s why they treat them like . . . crap,” Kathy said at last, then shrugged. “But that’s just my opinion.”
“Do you think it’s possible Victoria really loved Robert, despite the way he treated her?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose. I can tell you one thing for sure, though. She’s not acting like a grieving widow now.” Kathy paused and took a deep, shaky breath. “Believe me, I’d know those signs better than almost anyone else. When my husband of forty-five years died last year, I was devastated. I sat in his favorite chair in our living room and stared at the wall for hours. I prayed I’d die, too. It wasn’t until my daughter and her husband moved in with me for a while that I was able to climb out of that dark place and find a reason to go on.
“After the death of someone you truly care about, you’re never the same.” Kathy swallowed hard, then continued. “I don’t see any of that happening to Victoria. Instead, when I look at her, I see a young mother who finally has the backbone to stand up for herself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday afternoon I was out on my balcony, reading. The Garcias were out on Victoria’s back patio when Robert Jr. hurt himself on something and started crying. Victoria immediately tried to comfort the boy, but JD pulled her away from him, kind of rough, saying that she was going to turn the kid into a cry-baby. JD shook the boy and told him to go to his room and not come out until he could act like a man instead of a sissy girl. It took her a second or two to get herself together, but as soon as the boy went inside, Victoria turned on JD. She told him never to disrespect her in front of her son. JD laughed and told her to remember her place. She’d married a Garcia, but her son was the genuine article. He had standards to meet, and no man in his family was going to grow up whining like a woman.”
“How did she take that?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Victoria got in his face and, in a voice loud enough to be heard all the way down the street, told him no blanking Garcia would ever tell her what to do again. She said she had Robert’s life insurance and that was all she and her son needed now. They’d be taken care of without any more of the blanking Garcia money, so if he didn’t like the way she was raising RJ, he could get out and not bother coming back.”
Since the Garcias didn’t seem to do anything halfway, Sister Agatha was sure that the life insurance Victoria had mentioned was substantial. “Living next to them, did you get the impression that Robert Jr. and his dad were close?” Sister Agatha asked Kathy.
“That’s a tough one to answer,” Kathy said after a pause. “I think RJ was a little intimidated by his father, but he was proud of him, too. At least that’s the impression I got at the games.”
“What games?”
“You know, the church league. Robert plays—played—on the church’s softball team. I’d go to watch my son-in-law, who’s one heck of a second baseman, and I can tell you that RJ and Victoria would cheer louder than anyone else there whenever Robert got a hit.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “That part of their lives sounds normal, at least.”
Kathy glanced at her watch. “You’ll have to excuse me, Sister, I have to get ready to leave. I need to be at the community center in a half hour. I teach knitting classes two days a week.”
Noting the time and aware that she was supposed to meet Frank at the Java Shack soon, Sister Agatha thanked Kathy and headed to town. Forced to choose a parking spot three buildings away in order to provide tree shade for Pax, she left him by the bike and ordered him to wait. With that command, Pax was free to move about as long as he remained in close proximity to the Harley.
As she went through the doors, the scent of coffee and fresh rolls, and other wonderful smells, like cinnamon, filled the air. Spotting movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned and saw Frank wave from one of the round parquet-topped wooden tables. He stood as she joined him.
“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late,” she said.
“Not a problem. It gave me a chance to enjoy my coffee and think.”
“I’m surprised to see you here. You were always a no-frills type of guy.”
“Guess I’ve been spoiled by twenty-first-century innovations. I grew up drinking wimpy coffee boiled over a campfire. Now the beans are roasted and pressurized by thousand-dollar stainless-steel monster machines, and I feel cheated unless I get coffee that’ll keep me awake for three full days,” he said, pointing to the steaming cup.
“Boiled coffee eats up the walls of your stomach,” she said, then, with a smile, added, “I guess we all have our vices.”
“Even you?” Seeing her nod, he said, “A nun with vices? ’Fess up. What’s yours?”
“Chocolate. White chocolate in particular. It’s my weakness.”
“Hold that thought.” He went to the counter and ordered a white chocolate iced mocha java with extra whipped cream. Moments later, he placed it in front of her, complete with straw. “Give that a try.”
After thanking him, she sipped the cool drink. “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she sighed with a happy smile.
Marquez laughed. “Okay, Sister, now that you’ve been properly bribed, it’s time for some straight talk. I read the report you called in about the hit-and-run attempt on a transient known as Scout. I understand you pulled him out of the flood canal, but that’s the only official news I’ve received dealing with your investigation. I want to know what else you’ve got.”
She gave him details of what she suspected Scout might have seen and why she thought the killer had targeted him. She concluded with a quick overview of her other inquiries, including her suspicion that Victoria had scored big with Robert’s life insurance policy. “I’d really love to know how much that payoff’s going to be,” she finished.
“Toward the high end of seven figures,” he responded.
“That’s a lot of motive,” she said, then, after a beat, added, “but considering what her housekeeper told me about her dislike for guns, maybe I should be looking elsewhere.”
“It’s too soon to discount her as a suspect. Victoria Garcia doesn’t have a secure alibi for the time of death—and the housekeeper might be lying on her behalf.”
“Good points,” she said. “Next on my agenda is taking a closer look at Al Russo.”
“You think he’s a serious player?”
“I don’t know, but his name sure comes up a lot. He also seems pretty close to the family for an outsider.”
“I know he worked the picnic crowd, campaigning, on the Fourth. He also shared some hot dogs with a few of the teens from a local youth program, Second Chance. I understand he sponsors several boys—all one-time offenders who were given community service as probation. That program seems to be doing a good job keeping the kids out of trouble, too,” he said.
“So he can account for his time?” Sister Agatha asked.
“Not for every single minute, no, but under the circumstances I would have been far more concerned if he could. That’s the kind of thing a suspect does if he has something to hide.”
“There’s something else I wanted you to know,” she said, then told him about the monastery’s closing. “So I’m going to be pushing myself hard to find answers quickly, Frank. I don’t have a choice.”
“Just be careful not to jump to conclusions. Speed is the enemy in a police investigation. That’s what I’ve told the Garcias, too. They want instant answers, and that’s not the way things work.”
“Speaking of the Garcias, I’m glad you’re not afraid to be seen with me,” she said and went on to tell him about the pressure she’d heard the family was exerting on community members.
“They’re not happy with me, either. My supervisor in Santa Fe got a call from Mayor Garcia. Somebody apparently told him that Tom and I spent two weeks at Quantico last year taking a special law enforcement seminar. JD claimed that was a clear conflict of interest and I should be taken off the case.”
“But you’re still in charge?”
“You bet. My chief knows that I’ve always played it straight with him and that I would have said something if there had been a conflict of any kind.” He finished his coffee. “Thanks for the info on this Scout character, Daniel Perea. I’ll approach him carefully if we cross paths.” He stood. “I better get going, Sister.”
“Me, too,” she said, finishing the last drop of coffee, then using her finger to wipe a smattering of leftover whipped cream from the side of the paper cup. “Thanks again for the treat.”
They reached the door together, and Marquez held it open, then followed her out. “Let’s do this again soon, Sister. Exchanging information doesn’t have to be an unpleasant process.”
Seeing her as she stepped out onto the sidewalk, Pax, still half a block away, stood and barked, his tail wagging. Sister Agatha smiled. “Come, boy.”
As Pax joined her, she watched Marquez walk toward his police car. Frank had just stepped off the sidewalk when another vehicle suddenly pulled in right behind his unit, blocking him. Mayor Garcia got out, then stepped between Marquez and the driver’s side door, preventing him from getting in.
Sister Agatha stood frozen to the spot, watching, her hand on the dog’s collar.
“Are you goldbricking with the village snoop, or just scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for help? I thought you could do this job on your own, Marquez,” JD said, challenging him.
Marquez’s gaze locked with JD’s. “Guess they had it right in Santa Fe, Mr. Mayor. You are as stupid as you look. If I were you I’d be careful about interfering with a police investigation. It’s bad politics,” Frank said in a deadly monotone.
“It’s you who better start doing your job. Close this case!”
“Move back,” Marquez ordered.
“A word of warning. Unless you’re looking forward to a change in careers, don’t screw with me,” JD growled, then stepped back.
“Don’t ever threaten me,” Marquez said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Look at it as helpful advice.”
As Frank turned sideways and reached for the door handle, JD shoved him in the back.
In the blink of an eye, Frank regained his balance and whirled around. Grabbing JD’s forearm and wrist, he slammed him backward into the car door. He then applied pressure to a spot on the back of the mayor’s hand until JD groaned in pain and sagged to his knees.
“Oops. I see tears in your eyes, Mr. Mayor. Allergies?” Marquez whispered and stepped back, letting go of the man’s hand.
JD straightened up quickly. “Allergies, yeah,” he said in a voice loud enough to carry. Stepping away hastily, he hurried into the café without looking back.
“See you soon, Sister,” Frank said pleasantly, then climbed into his car.
As Frank drove away, Sister Agatha kept her hand on Pax, whose body had tensed considerably. “Relax, Pax. The mayor could use a bite or two, but you’re not a police dog anymore. Live up to your name, my friend.”
She continued to speak softly to him, and the dog relaxed by the time they reached the motorcycle. She was just fastening the strap on her helmet when Jay Jaramillo pulled up next to her in his plumber’s van and waved.
Sister Agatha greeted him with a quick hello. She knew Jay well, having seen him often at the church’s rectory doing work for Father Mahoney.
“Ya going to the game tonight, Sister?” he called out. “We’re playing the Presbyterians. Those suckers are tough, and we need a cheering section full of people who know how to pray big-time.”
Remembering that Robert had played in the church’s league, she smiled and nodded. When people were having fun, they lowered their guard. Tonight’s game might be the perfect time to do some more snooping.
“I’ll be there,” she said. “Count on it!”