by Lynne Hinton
Daniel laughed. “Well, it wasn’t crack or hashish or crank that was found in his bloodstream,” he responded. “It was etorphine hydrochloride.”
“M99?” Eve could see the surprise in both men’s eyes. “What?”
“How do you know about M99?” Daniel asked.
“Dexter on Showtime,” she answered.
The two men looked at each other.
“You said you hadn’t seen a movie in ten years,” Daniel said. “You don’t even know what Denzel Washington looks like.”
“Six years,” she corrected him. “But I had a whole week and a half to watch television at the hospital.” She shrugged. “Megan had a small part on one of the episodes of Dexter, and she told me where to find the reruns.”
The two men appeared to be waiting for more of an explanation.
“Dexter is a vigilante and a serial killer. He likes to drug his victims with etorphine hydrochloride because it renders them paralyzed.”
“M99?” the Captain repeated, rolling his eyes at Eve.
Daniel nodded. “Well, apparently, it’s also a good drug for whatever the murderer of our victim liked to do. It looks like it was a shot right to the heart, a dart gun most likely.”
“A dart gun?” Eve questioned, trying not to sound too excited.
TWENTY-ONE
“Well, what do you think about that news?” Evangeline was helping the Captain into bed.
It was early for sleep, eight o’clock at night, but neither father nor daughter had been able to take the afternoon naps they were hoping to enjoy his first full day home because of all the company. After Daniel left, the home health nurse showed up, followed by one of the neighbors who brought green chile stew and stayed for a visit, and then the phone rang most of the afternoon with well-wishes from folks in the community before another of Jackson’s friends from the police department dropped by to welcome him home. It had been a very busy day, and both Evangeline and Jackson were exhausted.
“What?” the Captain asked. “What news? Delphine buying a new car?” He was recalling his neighbor’s delight when she dropped off the stew and showed them her purchase. She had just bought a new Toyota Camry that she’d found on the Internet.
“No, not Delphine’s new car, which, now that you mention it, did I tell you about the weird smell inside?” Evangeline pulled the covers over him.
He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “The phone rang while you were outside getting a closer look. I talked to Donnie for about half an hour, and then you left to pick up the mail.”
She nodded. “Oh, that’s right.” She glanced around the room. “Do you want another blanket?” She didn’t see one but figured she could find more bed linens in the hall closet.
“No, this is enough.”
Evangeline studied the bed. “Okay, you look like you’re in there good. Do you want another pillow? That one comfortable?”
“It’s fine,” he replied. “So, what about the smell?”
She seemed confused. “Oh, yeah. It smelled like rotten eggs or something. Delphine didn’t seem to notice. She just kept showing off all the controls and buttons. But it really stunk inside.”
Jackson laughed. “Delphine hasn’t been able to smell since she fainted and hit her head in the bathroom.”
“Really?” Evangeline hadn’t heard that bit of information about her neighbor.
“A year or so ago,” he responded. “She had food poisoning, and passed out after running to the toilet for the hundredth time.” He paused. “Or at least that’s how she tells it.”
Evangeline made a sort of humming noise. “Well then, I guess it was a perfect arrangement. She gets a great buy and somebody gets a smelly car off their hands.” She grinned. “She won’t have many passengers, though, that’s for sure.”
“Nobody will ride with her anyway. Delphine drives like a nun.”
Evangeline seemed surprised by the dig. “I beg your pardon.”
“You’re a good driver when you obey the speed limit …” He stopped to give her a look. “I’ve seen some of those other sisters from Pecos driving in Santa Fe. They go twenty miles an hour, switch lanes without checking their mirrors or signaling. And they can’t park square in a lot marked with lanes big enough for trucks with haulers. You know what I’m talking about. They just think God will take care of them.” He slid down a bit in the bed, reached up, and fluffed his pillow.
Evangeline shrugged. “Most of the sisters really are terrible drivers.”
“I know I’m right,” he noted smugly.
“Well, anyway, I’m not talking about Delphine’s new car. I’m talking about the toxicology findings that Daniel told us about this morning.” She sat down in the rocking chair across from the bed. “Etorphine hydrochloride in his system, who would have guessed that?”
Captain Divine watched his daughter. He didn’t respond.
“So who do you think killed him?” She started rocking. “I know his wife wasn’t too happy with Mr. Hollywood Playboy. His son may have had something to lose if there was a divorce. There’s the producer that Megan told me about who had been monitoring Cheston closely since his rehab stint. He seemed to have been mad at the director because some of the money earmarked for the next movie was unaccounted for. There’s his drug buddies, whoever they are, and there’s this mystery guy who lives out at Cedar Hill that I heard some police officers at the hospital talking about who apparently was a known associate.” She folded her arms across her chest, pondering all the possible suspects.
“There’s also Megan,” the Captain added.
Evangeline stopped rocking. “Why would she want him killed?” she asked. “Wasn’t she the one who hired you to try and find him?”
“Good cover, don’t you think?” He waited.
Eve considered the suggestion.
She was preparing to start her defense of the young woman when he interrupted.
“Eve, what are you doing?”
She shrugged, not understanding the question. “I’m sitting here, talking to you, feeling pretty confident that Megan has not killed her boyfriend.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I know you love a lost cause, but you’re way too invested in Megan’s alibi. You almost fell off the sofa when Daniel mentioned this report. I heard you asking the nurse about the drugs Cheston is accused of taking. Why aren’t you reading your prayer books and going to your room for silent meditation? Why aren’t you making arrangements to go to the church in town or even back to Pecos for daily services?”
She wouldn’t meet his stare. “I pray,” she answered.
He kept watching her. “You know what I mean,” he said knowingly.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m on a leave of absence,” she explained. “I’m talking to you about something I thought interested you.”
She got up. “I guess I was wrong.” She walked over and tucked in the covers a bit. “I’ll get your pain pill and then you can go to sleep.” And she turned to walk out of the room before he could stop her.
TWENTY-TWO
On the front porch of the house off Highway 14, the one across a canyon and down a dirt road that twisted and turned through mined hills and clumps of juniper bushes, Evangeline sat, watching the stars, the glow of the late winter’s full moon. It was as quiet around the house of her childhood as it was at the monastery, where she often walked late at night, down along the Pecos River or up on the trails of the mountain. Part of the reason her transition to the religious order was not as difficult as it had been for some of the other monks and nuns was because she lived in a community that was exactly like the place where she had grown up.
She loved the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. She loved the smell of piñon wood burning in a small, outdoor pit. She loved the barrenness of the desert, the austerity of the landscape, the life that struggled and survived there. She knew that if she joined a cloistered life there in New Mexico, at the monastery in Pecos only fifty miles or so from
Madrid, she would have all the time and space and opportunity she wanted to be in and with and on this land to which she was so deeply and intimately connected.
The work of the Benedictines was important. She honored the daily schedule of prayer and worship and work. She was committed to community life and did the best she knew how to live in communal relationship with the other monks and nuns. She gave her heart to Christ and herself in service to others. She was also hopeful that being a monastic would help her with her weaknesses, tame her temper, and keep her willful spirit at bay. She did not, after all, want to turn into her father.
But if pushed, Evangeline would tell the truth. She was a nun in Pecos because she loved the desert. She was in love with the land. She could not separate at all her devotion to the desert from her devotion to her faith and to her call to service. She pulled the blanket she had brought from inside the house over her shoulders and leaned back against the steps of the porch, gazing into the velvet night.
She had not answered the Captain. She pretended not to have time to talk and busied herself with locating his medicines, preparing him for sleep, organizing phone messages and mail accumulated during his recent hospital stay. He had tried to bring the topic up again when she brought in the evening’s pain pill, but she had refused to engage, refused to reply to his query, and had simply informed him that they both needed sleep. And with that announcement she had ended his questions, turned out the light, and closed his door. She had not allowed for more of the conversation that she knew she would eventually have to have with someone, sometime.
Just not now, she thought, shaking away the thoughts of how easy it was to pack and leave Pecos, how uncomplicated it had been for her to ask for the leave of absence, how little she had missed her life at the monastery since having been away. She would face these signs later. But for tonight, she told herself, I will ponder the stars and the tides of the moon, and this small familiar place where I sit.
She decided she would not think about what it all meant, being away from the monastery, being away from the observed hours of the day, the liturgy, and the community and the constant sense that she could never quite get it right. She would not think about how restless she had felt for the last few months, how dissatisfied she had felt with the life she’d chosen. She would not consider how often she got in trouble for questioning authority or trying to raise consciousness among the other nuns about social causes. She would not think about how Brother Oliver rolled his eyes when she asked about keeping another stray dog, buying extra milk for the cats that wandered on the property. She would not focus on the trouble she got into when she talked to a reporter about the new rule that meant pushing out the nuns and making them leave the monastery proper.
For now, she thought, I will not think about why I feel so alive hearing news of drugs and motives for homicide or why this young starlet has my attention and why I feel so driven to help her. I will not worry about the passion that has been ignited within me.
“You always fought for the underdog,” Daniel had reminded her that morning. Maybe that was all this was. Maybe it had just been a long time since she’d been pulled in to a fight for someone with all the odds stacked up against her. Maybe that pull had given her a dose of excitement she hadn’t felt at the monastery. Maybe it was just the break she needed and it wouldn’t last long, and then she would be able to go back to the life she had.
For now, however, she wouldn’t think any more of her emotions, her ambivalence, or the Captain’s questions. For now she would just rest. And with that thought she drifted off, without ever noticing the lone hiker standing on the hill above her, watching her as she started to doze, and finally walking away just after Eve finally dropped off to sleep.
TWENTY-THREE
It was exactly three weeks from the day of the Captain’s surgery when Megan Flint made the call from Los Angeles, breaking the news that she had been deemed a “person of interest” in the murder of her boyfriend, Charles Cheston. Jackson Divine had just returned home from his first appointment with the prosthetist to be fitted for his new artificial leg, and he was tired from the long trip to and from Albuquerque. Evangeline was making lunch for them both when the phone rang.
The Captain spoke to Megan first. He listened to her concerns, had her recite the questions she’d been asked by the detectives, the specific reasons she thought they were interested in her, and exactly what she had told them. But then when asked for his advice, his help, he had simply suggested that she find a good attorney. He was sympathetic to her plight but made no offer of assistance before handing the phone to Evangeline.
She took the call, having been able to make out most of what had been said in the conversation and surprised by her father’s response. After she exchanged greetings with Megan, she also listened, offering words of encouragement, comfort, and ultimately an invitation to drive out to Madrid to see them both as soon as she returned to New Mexico.
When she walked over to put the cordless phone back in its cradle, Evangeline considered the Captain’s lack of interest in Megan’s announcement, noticed his slumped position in his wheelchair, and was aware of the silence that had begun on the trip back from his appointment. Without immediate comment, she headed back into the kitchen, finished making lunch, placed the sandwiches and chips on plates, put the plates on the table, and informed Jackson that lunch was served. The Captain slowly wheeled himself from the sitting room over to his place at the table. He waited as Evangeline bowed her head and prayed.
She reached for her lunch and started to eat. It was quiet for a few minutes as she considered how to start a conversation.
“Your sandwich okay?” she asked.
He nodded. “You get rid of that cat?”
A stray cat had shown up at the detective agency office and Evangeline was feeding it. The Captain had told her to call animal control. It was the same conversation he’d had with her for most of her life regarding the animals she kept taking in.
“She’s fine,” Eve replied. “She just comes for morning milk and then she’s off for her day. She’s not a bother, and no, I didn’t call animal control. Instead I took her to the vet, got her vaccinated, and found out she was already fixed.”
He grunted in response.
“I even named her.” She waited but he didn’t ask.
“Daisy,” she said. “Because she’s yellow,” she added.
The Captain rolled his eyes.
“Dr. Rogers seems nice,” she noted, referring to the doctor who was in charge of the prosthetics company. “I think he’ll take good care of you.”
The Captain did not respond. He just kept chewing his food.
“I guess your leg will be sore for a few months,” she said. “Especially when the prosthetic gets fitted and set.”
She glanced up at her father.
He simply nodded again.
“Well, what do you think of him?” she asked, trying again to engage him.
“He seems like a decent salesman,” he replied, picking up a few chips. “Is there any milk?”
Evangeline got up and poured them both a glass of milk. She walked back to the table, placing one of the glasses in front of her father, the other by her plate. He seemed to be studying it.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He glanced up. “It’s funny, don’t you think?”
“What’s funny?” she asked, taking her seat.
“How simple things are when you’ve got all your body parts.” He took a swallow of the milk. “How easy it was for you to get up, walk to the refrigerator, reach up in the cabinet for glasses, pour the drinks, walk back, sit down.” He wiped his mouth. “You know how much thought it would have taken me to figure out those simple movements?”
Evangeline lowered her eyes and took another bite of her sandwich.
“First of all, you would have had to move from your place at the table because I can’t get past you into the kitchen. I couldn’t even reach the glasses in that cabi
net. Once I managed to pour the milk, I couldn’t carry both of the cups in here while pushing myself in this wheelchair.” He shook his head. “Even one cup of milk would probably have spilled all over me. Everything requires planning now.” He pushed his plate away from him.
“Yes, but that’s the good thing about the prosthetic,” Evangeline said, trying to encourage her father. “With your new leg, it’ll feel more normal.”
“More normal?” he asked mockingly. “I have no right foot,” he added. “I’ll be wearing a plastic leg that rubs my skin raw. I have to learn to walk again. Do you know the percentage of men my age who actually end up making use of their prosthetics, actually end up getting up and staying out of the wheelchair?”
Evangeline shook her head. She hadn’t heard the statistic.
“Twenty percent,” he told her. “Only twenty percent of men over the age of sixty-five actually end up using their fake legs. Most of them just can’t do it. It’s too much work; and besides, they know that it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“They know what doesn’t matter?” she asked.
The Captain’s eyes met his daughter’s. “They know learning to walk again, learning to adjust to a plastic body part, doesn’t matter because losing a foot is just the beginning. In a couple of years, it will be the other foot, and then there will be an infection in the upper leg, and they’ll cut more off of both limbs. And what senior amputee do you know who can get around without both legs?” He waited for only a second. “None,” he answered for himself. “At my age, you just can’t overcome the odds.”
Evangeline waited. She finished her sandwich and drank some milk. “First of all, I don’t know where you got that information about twenty percent of older men not using their prosthetics. I read the same brochures you did, and I never saw that statistic. And second, when did you ever think of yourself as being like men your own age? You’re Captain Jackson Divine. You’ve never walked away from a challenge.”
“Well, I’m likely not to walk away from this one, either. It will be more like rolling away from it.”
