SISTER AGATHA ARRIVED AT THE COMMUNITY CENTER A short time later. The parking lot was full, and from the sign in front and the sound of big band music, she knew immediately it was senior dance night.
She drove around to the far side of the building, found a space, and parked. She could hear the music and laughter coming from inside and smiled. Life went on no matter how grim things appeared to be at times, and the realization soothed her.
As Sister Agatha walked along the sidewalk toward the front of the building, Pax at her side, a flicker of movement on her right caught her attention.
“Pssst!”
As Sister Agatha glanced around, the hair on Pax’s neck and back rose and he growled.
Sister Agatha snapped the leash. “Quiet.”
“Psst! Over here,” came a soft voice.
Scout, wearing his familiar cap and handkerchief, stepped out from behind a juniper.
Sister Agatha smiled, walking slowly over to join him in the building’s shadow. “I’m so glad we’ve run into each other again. Are you all right? I was so worried when I heard those shots today!” she said quickly.
He shrugged.
She looked behind him and saw an opened trash bag on the ground beside the large Dumpster. Sister Agatha watched as he started to rummage through it.
“Let me go inside and get you some food,” Sister Agatha said.
“No.” He fished out a half-eaten burrito, then finished it in two bites. “See? They waste good food. Do you want me to find something for you and your dog?”
“No, that’s okay,” she said quietly, wishing he’d let her help.
“You helped Scout. Now tell me how Scout can help you.”
“I need to know what you saw on the evening of the Fourth, the day of the fireworks, over by the swings,” she said.
Wiping his hand on his pants, he nodded. “The sheriff yelled at that other man. Called him lots of bad words. Then the sheriff fell down, like he was dead. The other man looked at him, then fell down, too.”
“Did anyone else come up to them?”
“There were two people,” he said, “wearing caps like mine, but red. The tall one saw me, but I can run faster. He couldn’t catch Scout. Now he’s looking for me. He wants Scout dead.”
“What about the other person with the cap? What did he do?”
“He watched the other one, but didn’t chase me.”
“Were they together, then?” Sister Agatha asked.
“I don’t think so. The short one was following the tall one, hiding like me.”
“Scout, come with me and tell the deputies what you saw. They can keep you safe.”
He shook his head. “No. You tell them. People . . . they think Scout should be more like them, but I see they’re not happy. They worry all the time. Scout’s free.”
Before she could say anything else, he hurried away with the bag, disappearing around the far corner of the building.
She ran after him, having to restrain Pax a bit. When they reached the rear of the building, Scout had vanished.
Pax pulled at the leash, wanting to give chase, undoubtedly picking up the scent. Sister Agatha snapped him back until he sat next to her. “I know, I can smell him, too, but he’s helped us all he can, Pax. Let him be.”
Like most of the homeless, Scout was a whisper in the night, a rustle in the wind. Freedom came in many guises. Scout had found his in movement and in the long shadows that shielded him from the world he’d left behind.
Lost in thought, Sister Agatha went in the front entrance and soon learned that no classes were being held that night. As she returned to the motorcycle, a new idea formed in her mind. With luck, Chuck would still be at the newspaper office, working on the morning edition of the Chronicle.
Instead of heading home, Sister Agatha drove quickly to the small downtown office building not far from the sheriff’s department. She smiled as she pulled up, seeing Chuck’s beat-up sedan parked next to the entrance. Taking Pax, she knocked on the door. A few seconds passed; then there was the click of a lock, and Chuck poked his head out.
“Hey, Sister! Pax! Thought I’d heard the Harley. You two working late tonight?”
“You bet, and I need your help. Can I see the photos you took at the park on the Fourth one more time, Chuck?” she asked.
Once she was seated at a table, he placed the file in front of her. Then, before she could look inside, he pulled a large submarine sandwich out of a paper bag and set it on the desk.
“How about splitting this with me, Sister? I’m not hungry enough for a footlong tonight.”
“By all means let’s not let it go to waste,” she said with a smile. “I’ll split my half with Pax, if that’s okay with you,” she added, and the dog barked.
While they were eating, she got Chuck caught up on the latest. Then, after they’d finished, Sister Agatha began to study all the photos that included Robert Garcia.
As Leon had mentioned, several of the photos showed Robert carrying a large manila envelope tucked under one arm. In a few others, he had the envelope in his hand. Upon closer inspection, they were able to determine that there was no writing or label on it.
“When was the last photo of Garcia taken?” she asked.
He turned around in his desk chair to the computer, brought up his file, then checked the thumbnail images of his shots. Within a few seconds, he looked over. “Eight forty-seven. It was getting dark—notice the lighting? My camera was using the flash by then.”
“In that last shot, does he still have the envelope?”
“Sure does, under his arm,” he said, enlarging it and then pointing. “He’s also holding something in a napkin. A hot dog, I think.”
“Thanks, Chuck,” she said. “I think I know someone who might be able to tell us what was in that envelope, and I intend to pay him a visit first thing tomorrow.”
“Where are you off to now?” Chuck asked, walking her out to the motorcycle.
“Home,” she answered, motioning for Pax to jump into the cockpit of the sidecar. “It’s been a very long day.”
Enjoying the coolness of the desert evening temperatures, which could go from three digits to the fifties by midnight, she opted to take the long way home. Turning on a side street that joined the highway, she drove slowly, taking in the view. The moon was just coming up, and the entire valley was bathed in its glow.
As she approached the newly remodeled Purple Sage Motel, a couple was coming out of one of the rooms. Sister Agatha smiled, remembering her old college days, being head over heels in love, and the pleasure she’d always found in her lover’s arms. When she’d taken her vows, one of her regrets had been knowing that no one would ever hold her like that again. She slowed as the couple kissed under the glow of a parking lot light. Taking in that romantic moment, Sister Agatha sighed.
Apparently hearing the motorcycle, the woman ended the kiss and turned to look toward the street.
Sister Agatha waved, then suddenly realized who it was—and, more importantly, who it wasn’t.
Gloria Green stood rock still, a horrified expression on her face. “Wait!” she yelled an instant later.
Her heart sinking, and wishing she could be almost anywhere else in the world at the moment, Sister Agatha turned the Harley and cruised back slowly toward the sheriff’s wife. Sister Agatha looked at the man, who was climbing into a dark blue pickup with the local high school’s parking lot sticker on the bumper. She didn’t recognize him. Her heart suddenly went out to Tom, and she wondered if he already knew. Of all the secrets she wished she’d never uncovered, this would top the list for a very long time.
As the man drove away, Sister Agatha pulled up beside Gloria, who was now standing beside her car.
“You and I need to talk, Sister Agatha. Not everything’s the way it seems on the surface.”
“You’re not having an affair?” she managed in a croak, hoping against hope.
“Oh yes, that part’s true. Follow me if you want to know the rest of the story.”
“All right,” Sister Agatha said, wishing she could take a pass. Instinct assured her that what she’d learn tonight would only serve to strengthen the case against Tom.
Sister Agatha followed Gloria back through town, driving toward the south and west until they arrived at a small adobe casita adjacent to the ditch bank. Even in the moonlight, she could see that someone with a green thumb had spent a lot of time working in the garden.
“This is my sister Jill’s place, but she’s on vacation,” Gloria said, meeting Sister Agatha at the front door. “No one will bother us here.”
Moments later they sat in the small kitchen. Gloria, her hand shaking slightly, poured herself a glass of wine and offered Sister Agatha one, but the nun declined.
“You saw me with Coach Brady, Sister Agatha, and you know what was going on. My question is, what will you do now?”
“I honestly don’t know, Gloria. My head’s still reeling. Why on earth would you do something like this—particularly now?”
“Tom and I are over. I told you that two days ago. I’m only staying at the house because of what’s happened. I was actually planning on moving in here with Jill on the fifth.”
“What could be so wrong with your marriage that it drove you into another man’s arms?” Sister Agatha asked, still in shock.
“Things kept getting worse and worse between us. I tried to fix it, I really did, but sometimes you just have to end the unhappiness and let go.”
“Don’t either of you care anymore?” Sister Agatha asked, trying to make sense out of what seemed incomprehensible.
“I still care about Tom, but I want more from a marriage than Tom’s capable of giving me. Tom’s career is always number one, and at best the kids and I come in second.” She shook her head slowly. “Kyle’s my future. I matter more to him than anything else. I’ll never have to fight for stolen minutes of his time.”
Sister Agatha stared at Gloria. “But you have two sons . . . Think of your family and what this could do to them,” she managed, then continued. “You need to find what brought you and Tom together in the first place, the love, the caring. It may have been brushed aside for other concerns over the years, but it’s still there. All you have to do is reconnect and make it strong again.”
“You’re wrong about that. Tom’s married to his job, Sister Agatha. I can’t change that fact. The boys are the only reason we’ve stayed together as long as we have.”
“Gloria, Tom does love you. I’ve seen it on his face time and time again. How can you not know that?”
“Tom puts his heart in his work, and there’s very little left over for us at the end of the day. Nothing’s going to change that.”
Sister Agatha, needing comfort, reached for the rosary attached to her cincture. “When was the last time you tried talking to Tom about the way you feel?”
“That’s part of the problem. Tom and I don’t talk. We haven’t for a long time, and ever since he started his campaign, we barely even see him. Kyle needs and wants a family. The job’s not his passion—I am. He loves the boys, too, and they adore him.”
“How long have you been seeing Coach Brady?”
“You mean how long have I been having an affair?” Seeing Sister Agatha nod, she continued. “We’d meet often for coffee and to talk, but things didn’t get serious until school ended. It wasn’t planned, Sister Agatha, it just happened. Of course, by now I expected to be here at Jill’s with the kids, at least until we found a place of our own.” She stared vacantly at her wine. “Tom and I are currently living under the same roof for appearance’s sake only. I will be leaving him as soon as possible.”
“When were you planning on telling Tom about Coach Brady?”
“I wasn’t. There’s no point to it,” she said. “He has his life, and I have mine. Our marriage . . . has been over for a long time.” Her voice broke, but she swallowed quickly and continued more steadily. “I’ve made my peace with that.”
Something in Gloria’s voice caught her attention. “You’re still in love with Tom.”
Gloria’s eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head. “No. What we had died, and we can’t bring it back. It’s too late.” She took an unsteady breath. “Kyle not only loves me, he’s my best friend. I need him just as he needs me.”
“It’s not too late for you to reconnect with Tom. Your heart’s still his. I hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. Gloria, think of your boys. They need their father.”
“I am thinking of them. They need more than a part-time dad. And I want a husband who wants to be there for us, not one who needs to be tricked into taking time off. Ending our marriage is the best thing for everyone. Tom, too, needs a different kind of wife, someone who’ll understand his dedication to his profession because she’s the same way about her career. A police officer, or someone more like you.”
Sister Agatha shook her head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. Tom needs your dedication to family to balance his own life. He confronts the lowest levels of depravity every day. It’s your love and that of the boys that helps him retain his own humanity. He may not always show love in the way you think he should, but he’s showing it in the way that makes sense to him.” Sister Agatha leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and held Gloria’s gaze. “He was a deputy when you got married. You’ve known all along what drives him. If you want more from Tom, you have to confront those needs head-on—not by walking away.”
Gloria took an unsteady breath. “It’s too late now. He’ll never understand why I turned to Kyle.”
“Tom will take you back—if you ask him,” Sister Agatha said without hesitation. “He loves you, just as you do him.” Maybe she was still a romantic, but she wanted nothing to do with the modern thinking that so easily discarded what could be mended without so much as a backward glance. “Listen to your heart, Gloria. Shut up and listen like you’ve never listened before. Love is a gift, but it has strings attached. To hold on to it, you have to forgive the failings of another as well as your own.”
“Maybe Tom and I do deserve another chance . . .”
Sister Agatha smiled. “Go talk to him. I’ll be praying for both of you. God is always on the side of love. He is Love.”
Like hope, love was an intrinsic part of mankind’s spirit. It was woven in the very fabric of each human being. In that light, even a frail, damaged heart could find healing.
As Sister Agatha drove back to the monastery, she found herself looking forward to the calm simplicity of the life she’d chosen . . . that had chosen her.
After Morning Prayers, Sister Agatha went outside to the cloistered side of the garden and sat in the shadow of the statue of the Blessed Mother. She needed a few moments to gather her thoughts before setting out today.
Mornings were always peaceful at Our Lady of Hope. Though she’d miss these special moments here in their desert monastery, faith in her Lord assured her that there would be many other special moments waiting at their new home.
Reverend Mother, who’d gone to place flowers on the sisters’ graves, came out the graveyard gate and joined Sister Agatha.
“This new world . . . so few vocations . . . so much is changing,” Reverend Mother said, sitting beside her on the bench.
“He remains the same,” Sister Agatha said, for her own benefit as well as Mother’s.
Mother gave her a grateful smile. “And that’s a comfort.”
Reverend Mother stood, and so did Sister Agatha. Together they walked back up the pathway toward the cloister door.
“Tell the sheriff that we’re all praying he’ll have the answers he needs at his fingertips soon,” Mother said, going into the cloister.
As Reverend Mother disappeared into the building, a new sense of determination filled Sister Agatha. Today she’d force Tom to tell her what he was holding back. She’d get answers even if she had to threaten to walk away from the case.
Sister Agatha continued to the monastery’s parking area. Before she’d even whistled for Pax, the dog raced up.
“Let’s go, boy.”
When she arrived at the Greens’ home, Gloria’s car was nowhere to be seen. With a heavy heart, Sister Agatha walked to the front door and knocked.
Tom opened it, a set of keys in his hand, then looked up and down the street. “Did you see Gloria around?”
“No, why?”
He pursed his lips. “She left angry and forgot her house keys.”
“What happened?” she asked, stepping into the living room.
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it now. It’ll work itself out.”
She gave him a hard look. “Not everything does, Tom, unless you try—really hard.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“You figure it out,” she snapped, then, sitting on the couch, shifted to face him. “I’m through playing games with you, Tom. You haven’t been open with me since day one. You’re my friend, and that’s what has kept me working day and night to help you out. Now it’s time for you to start trusting me—with everything. Time is critical. The only way we’re going to make progress is if we work together.” She paused and added, “No matter how capable you are, you won’t be able to get out of this alone, and pride’s going to be a lousy companion in jail.”
He looked surprised but said nothing.
Sister Agatha waited, letting him mull it over.
“You’re right, I’ve been holding back—but what I’ve been hiding doesn’t have anything to do with Robert’s murder.”
She saw the way his gaze strayed to the photo of Gloria and the boys on one of the end tables. “You’re protecting your family, aren’t you? That’s what this is about.”
He nodded slowly. “They mean everything to me, though I guess I haven’t shown it much lately, at least in the ways that count most to them. I was so busy with the job, and the election,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I’ve made lots of mistakes, and so has Gloria, but I think we could have worked it out if others hadn’t been so quick to take advantage of the situation.”
He paused and stood by the side of the window, looking outside. “Damage control—that’s all I’m trying to do now. It’s too late for anything else.”
“Are you saying that Gloria’s tied to the murder somehow?” She paused as a new thought formed in her mind. “The envelope that Robert was carrying . . . the one you neglected to tell me about. What was in it?”
“Sit back. It’s a long story, and not a pretty one.”
“Go on,” she said.
“You’re probably not aware of this, spending so much of your time at the monastery, but the political race between Robert and me was getting nastier by the day. The polls were saying that we were running neck to neck, and the pressure was on. Then an enemy of Robert’s surfaced—one determined to bring him down.”
“Someone here in town?” Sister Agatha asked. She already had an entire list of possibilities.
“No, she’s from Albuquerque. The woman, Sherry Haines, apparently contacted Robert and told him that she was going to ruin his life, like he’d ruined hers. After that, she got in touch with me.”
Sister Agatha sat up, her attention completely on Tom. “What’s her story?”
“Robert was coming home from someplace, probably a bar, and he was so drunk he could barely walk, much less drive. He pulled out in front of Miss Haines, and she had to swerve to avoid a head-on crash. It was winter, the road was icy, and she lost control and rolled her car. Her injuries were serious, and she was trapped inside. Robert stopped, took a look, then panicked and left the scene. Forty minutes went by before another driver spotted the car and called the paramedics. That lapse in time cost her dearly, too. She lost the use of her legs and right hand and had to go on disability. Right now she’s living at Partners in Assisted Living.”
“Where did the accident take place?”
“Way west of here, between Bloomfield and Cuba. Apparently, since there were no other witnesses and no physical contact between the vehicles, Robert thought he’d gotten away with it.”
“How did she find him?”
“At first, she had no idea who he was or where he lived. She never expected to find him, but then last week, she saw a photo of Robert at a campaign rally on the Internet. The first thing she did was call him and tell him that her second call would be to me. She wanted to ruin him in the most painful and public way possible.”
“That must have hit Robert like a bolt of lightning.”
“Yeah, but he knew how to cover his butt—in fact, he specialized in it. He called to tell me that the woman had made it all up and asked to meet face-to-face so we could talk. I agreed to a time and place—the park, while the crowd watched the fireworks.”
“Were you expecting him to withdraw from the race?” she asked.
“Expecting is too strong a word, though it would have been a logical move. There was no way his campaign could have survived a scandal like that. Once the press heard her story, and a photo of her in her wheelchair hit the TV screen . . .”
Sister Agatha considered it, then spoke. “From what you said, the cars never made contact, and the DWI claim would have been impossible to prove now. The case would have most likely been thrown out of court.”
“True, but facts wouldn’t have killed Robert at the polls—innuendo would have. Think of the political races in recent years. Careers were ended on speculation alone.”
“So what happened next?”
“Robert did what he did best—find a way to turn things in his favor. He came to me with a deal. If I helped him by convincing people the woman was a crank, he wouldn’t reveal what he had in the manila envelope.” His lips clenched into a thin white line.
He paused for several moments until curiosity made her prod him. “What was in there?”
“Photos of Gloria and Coach Brady. Some of them had been taken with a telephoto lens, but it was clear who they were and what they were doing. When I saw the photos, all I wanted was to rip Robert’s head off. I might have done just that, too, but suddenly I felt sick. Everything started spinning, and I knew I was going to pass out. At first I thought I was having a heart attack. I remember Robert stepping away from me. He said something, but I couldn’t make it out. Next thing I remember is waking up on the grass with Millie and some paramedics crouched next to me.”
Sister Agatha shook her head slowly. “Tom, I can understand your anger after seeing those photos, but surely you don’t expect me to believe that you had no idea your wife was having an affair. You’re a police officer trained to look for nuances and inconsistencies in behavior.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “My job is round-the-clock, and with the campaign, I barely had time to think. Gloria’s job was the house and the kids. I was taking care of my end, and I expected her to take care of hers,” he said, then, in a strained, reluctant tone of voice, added, “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“So what you’re saying is that you ignored your wife and family. Gloria needed you to be her husband, but all she got was a part-time roommate—if that,” she said, refusing to sugarcoat it. “Don’t you dare pass all the blame on to her.”
“I know I’m partly to blame. I get that,” he snapped, “but this is larger than Gloria and me. I don’t want our kids to see those photos—and I have no idea where they are now.”
He gazed at some indeterminate spot across the room. “A dad is larger than life in his own kids’ eyes. That look they give you at times can make you feel like you can conquer the world. I don’t think I could stand to lose that,” he said. “A part of me would die if all I could see in their eyes when they looked at Gloria and me was disgust.”
The fact that he was also worried about what their sons would think of Gloria spoke volumes. “You still love Gloria.”
“Yeah, I still love her, and despite everything, I’m sure Gloria still loves me. We share too much . . . history.”
“Then fight to save your marriage. Everyone makes mistakes. You made yours and she made hers. Don’t allow the past to stand between you.”
“I want her back, and I intend to fight to fix things with my family—but first I’ve got to get out of this mess,” he said, then took a deep breath.
“What do you think happened to those photos? They weren’t around when the deputy showed up, right?”
“No, or my attorney would have heard about it from Marquez by now. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Either the killer took them or they were grabbed up by the first person on the scene—Al Russo, as far as I know. Of course, someone else could have come by after the killer left and before Russo showed up.”
“Al Russo didn’t turn in an envelope or even mention the existence of one to the police,” Sister Agatha said. “He was Robert’s campaign manager—do you think he knew about the photos?”
Tom considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe so, but he wouldn’t have wanted people to see Robert as a blackmailer. If he found them, I’m sure they’ve been destroyed by now.”
“If the killer found the envelope, of course, that opens up other possibilities.”
“Like what? I haven’t been contacted, so, unlike it was with Robert, it doesn’t look like blackmail’s going to be his angle. As of right now, I have no idea what, if anything, he intends to do with those photos.”
“Maybe he looked them over and threw them out, knowing they would have linked him to the scene,” Sister Agatha suggested.
“That’s one possible answer. That individual would have probably surmised that I’d be unlikely to mention them to Marquez or anyone else. Those photos would only have established an even stronger motive for me to have killed Robert,” he said. “Not knowing what happened to the photos really worries me. If they show up somewhere along the way, they’ll end up doing the kind of damage I’ll never be able to set right. I’ll still be able to prove I’m innocent of killing Robert—I truly believe that—but the harm they’ll do to our boys . . .”
Sister Agatha thought about Tom’s kids and how they’d react if those photos were made public. The damage that would do wouldn’t be easily erased. As often happened, the innocent would pay the highest price of all.