by Aimée Thurlo
“Did you point that out to the deputies at the scene?”
He nodded. “I had them take photos, too.”
“Good. Firing the weapon while it was in your hand tells us that the killer is savvy enough to know about gunpowder residue,” Sister Agatha said.
“Yeah, and the blow to my head offers an easy explanation for me being unconscious.”
They heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and a second later Millie Romero unlocked the door for John Ramirez. Sister Agatha recognized him as one of the department’s senior crime scene investigators.
“I’m here to draw blood, Sheriff,” he said with a grin. “We need to get that done now to increase our chances of finding detectable traces of whatever drug they used on you. Then, by the time the bureaucrats get around to authorizing the tests, we’ll already be a step ahead on the results. Hopefully, we’re not too late already.”
Tom already had his sleeve rolled up. He looked at his watch. “It’s been at least six hours since I ate. How late is too late?”
Ramirez looked up and shrugged. “Lots of variables, Sheriff. Wish I knew.”
“Let’s hope my time hasn’t run out,” Tom said.
“You’ll be fine, Tom,” Sister Agatha said, although she wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful. Even if the tests proved what they all believed, they would still have a long way to go.
“Look for a type of knockout drug that can result in partial amnesia. My memory of the events is too jumbled to be explained otherwise.”
Sister Agatha watched silently. It was said that after the first twenty-four hours, the chances of solving a crime dropped precipitously. Yet never in her investigative experience had time been such a critical factor on every front. She couldn’t even guarantee how long she’d be able to investigate before the monastery was closed and her order left New Mexico.
It was absolutely imperative that she find answers quickly. Praying she wouldn’t fail her friend, a man who was now counting on her help, she left the tech to his work and slipped out of the room.
2
SISTER AGATHA WALKED DOWN THE HALL DEEP IN THOUGHT. First she checked on Pax, who was now asleep on the floor beside one of the desks. Then she went to the break room and poured herself some coffee. She wasn’t used to being up at this hour and didn’t trust herself to remain alert enough not to miss something important.
Millie Romero joined her about five minutes later. “We’re done, Sister. Would you like to go back?”
“First I need to talk to you, if you have a minute,” Sister Agatha said.
Millie nodded wearily. “Even if I didn’t, I’d make time,” she said quietly.
“We need to find out who else was in that area of the park when Sheriff Green met with Robert Garcia,” Sister Agatha said. “Someone must have seen them leave the crowd—then followed.”
“Like the killer, you mean,” Millie observed. “Captain Chavez is working the case and will make a list of people to interview. Since there were so many people at the event last night, it’s going to take a while.”
“It might go faster if I get some names from the sheriff and start checking on my own. Also, Tom and I will need a list of everything that was found at the crime scene. Can you get a copy of that for us?”
“I don’t know what the procedure is in a case like this, but once the reports come in, I’ll make sure the details go to the sheriff, or to his attorney,” Millie replied. “Worst-case scenario, I’ll get somebody ticked off. Of course, if charges end up being filed, he will be entitled to the information. If not, then he’s the sheriff. It shouldn’t matter in the long run, and the sooner this matter is resolved, the better.”
“Don’t worry, Millie. I’ll make sure it all stays confidential.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “The sheriff’s run this department as a team. We’re like family—at least most of us—and I, for one, am totally convinced he’s being framed.”
Sister Agatha glanced down the hall. “Take me back to Tom for a few more minutes. Then I’ll pick up Pax and be out of your hair for a while.”
A few minutes later, Sister Agatha sat across from Tom in the interview room. “You’ve already mentioned some of the people you remembered dealing with at the festivities. Now think back carefully, Tom. Who saw you walk away with Robert?”
He paused, a faraway look on his face. “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “I spoke to some of my constituents, had a lemonade, then went to meet Robert. By then, the fireworks were starting, and people weren’t moving much, just looking up.”
“Okay. Who gave you the lemonade?”
“I don’t know the guy’s name, but he was one of the city employees working the food stands,” Tom said. His forehead furrowed and his eyebrows knit together as he struggled to recall more details. “He was Hispanic looking, with short, curly black hair and a mustache. He had a rough complexion, too, like someone who had had severe acne as a teen.”
“There’ll be a list of the workers somewhere, so I’ll find him,” Sister Agatha said firmly. “One more question. How well do you know Al Russo?”
“He was Robert’s campaign manager. I’ve met him a few times at local events and around the town hall, but I don’t know him personally. All I can tell you is that he’s effective at his job and reputed to be honest—unlike his boss.”
“Thanks. I’ll be speaking with him soon,” she said. “Before I go, Tom, is there anything you need right now?”
He started to speak, then glanced away from her and looked down at his hands, which rested on the table.
“What’s on your mind, Tom?” she asked gently. “You can ask me anything.”
He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “Gloria . . . She’s high-strung, and right now she’s probably terrified,” he said.
“I’ll go talk to her. Is there anything else?”
“Just find out what really happened. If anyone can do that, you can.”
Sister Agatha saw the shadow of fear that crossed his eyes, but in a heartbeat he forced himself to relax slightly and gained control again. “Lies never stand up to close inspection,” she told him. “I’ll find the truth.”
“I believe you. God’s always on a nun’s side,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“It sure seemed that way back in high school when Sister Assumpta would catch us passing notes.”
He laughed.
“Don’t worry,” she said growing serious again. “God will help us.”
After giving him a reassuring smile, Sister Agatha followed Millie down the hall, stopped by the bullpen, and picked up Pax, who was awake again. As they stepped outside together she took a deep breath.
Beyond the glare of the station lights, the night sky was clear, and a full canopy of stars twinkled overhead. Yet despite the beauty and order she saw above her, fear nipped at the edges of her mind. Her calm, orderly world was coming apart at the seams, and as it unraveled, so did everything else she’d taken for granted. Her friend and her beloved monastery were fighting for their very existence, and both could lose the battle.
Feeling small and helpless in the face of what lay ahead, she began to tremble. Her sudden prayer was simplicity itself and came straight from her heart. “Oh, dear God, help!”
The Maria bell rang at 4:30 A.M., gently waking the sisters from their rest. Matins, a prayer that would counter the evils that roamed the night, was said before daybreak. It was also symbolic of brides who’d remained alert waiting for their bridegroom.
“Now is the time to rise from sleep. Let us open our eyes to the Light that comes from God,” Sister Agatha recited in silence.
Struggling to become fully awake, she went to the washbasin and rinsed her face. After leaving the station last night, she’d visited Gloria Green, Tom’s wife. She’d been unable to do much more than calm the woman down, but by the time Sister Agatha had returned to the monastery, she’d been wide-awake. All in all, she hadn’t had more than three hours of sleep.
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She soon joined the sisters in chapel, ready to take part in their communal prayer. After Matins came Lauds. Those prayers were said at dawn and gave praise to God. It was all followed by Mass. These daily affirmations helped her restore order to her thinking. As long as she placed God before everything else in her life, she’d have the strength to face whatever lay ahead.
At seven thirty, when they adjourned for breakfast, Sister Agatha looked around the refectory and saw the same concerns that plagued her mirrored on the faces of the other sisters. Change was never easy. Sister Clothilde, who’d faithfully fixed their meals and had been their laundress for as far back as anyone remembered, was already living at Agnus Dei, the monastery outside Denver that was their almost certain future destination. Sister Gertrude had gone up at the same time, both driven there by Sister de Lourdes. It was hoped that the elderly sisters would find the warm welcome at Agnus Dei Monastery easier to bear than packing up the remains of their lives here at Our Lady of Hope.
Unless an all-out miracle happened, their beautiful monastery would be closing its doors for good in another few weeks, and those who were still here at that time would move north as well. As the Bishop had pointed out in his last paternal visit, there weren’t enough nuns at Our Lady to justify the expensive renovation their old building would require to remain habitable.
Had they been able to afford it, Sister Agatha was certain, Mother would have allocated the funds to save their home. Unfortunately, they were close to broke. With the foreign outsourcing of the NexCen mail order business—filling orders for electronic components produced at the local factory—they’d lost a major source of income. Their scriptorium operation, where they’d worked converting text and images to digital format, had also suffered from outsourcing, stretching their current budget to the limit.
“According to the bean counters, we’re not cost-effective,” Sister Bernarda had grumbled privately.
Sister Agatha’s heart twisted as she thought of having to leave the home she’d so loved. Most of the sisters had lived here for the past twenty years or more. Sister Agatha herself had been born and raised in this community and had never lived more than a half hour’s distance from the monastery.
Yet the facts against them were seemingly indisputable. The invitation from Agnus Dei had come at just the right time, too, a sure sign that it was God’s work. The Colorado monastery was doing well—thanks to several endowments.
Yet, deep in her heart, it felt as if God had played favorites. Agnus Dei had great abundance, while they struggled. Though she knew she was looking at things from the wrong perspective, she could see the same feeling in the eyes of the sisters that remained.
Once they’d finished breakfast, Sister Agatha hurried to the parlor, where she knew Sister Bernarda would already be. When she arrived, the former marine was seated behind the desk, her battle face in place. It was her lack of expression that told Sister Agatha just how difficult her fellow extern was finding the reality of their circumstances.
“Has Reverend Mother heard anything new from the archdiocese?” Sister Agatha asked.
“They’re considering our final appeal, but Luz del Cielo Winery next door has made an offer. They want to expand the vineyard and turn the monastery into a bed-and-breakfast. They’ve even offered to respect our cemetery if we sell. The Archbishop is in favor of us accepting the offer. He believes we’ll all be better off at Agnus Dei, so I doubt he’ll change his mind. Money’s too tight in this ailing economy. As much as we love it here at Our Lady of Hope, I’m sure we’ll be serving elsewhere soon,” Sister Bernarda said in a heavy voice.
Sister Agatha sighed softly. “That’s all the more reason for me to get busy,” she said, trying to bolster her own spirits. “There’s a lot to do between now and then.” She quickly reported the events of last night.
“Reverend Mother’s in the infirmary this morning,” Sister Bernarda said. “The burden she carries is twice as heavy as ours, and it has taken a toll on her health. Sister Eugenia has insisted on keeping her under observation for a few hours this morning.”
Sister Agatha smiled. Their infirmarian, Sister Eugenia, didn’t take no for an answer, but Reverend Mother was a formidable opponent.
Just as the thought formed, they heard the grille slide open. The wooden, windowlike opening allowed the cloistered sisters to remain inside the enclosure while visiting with family and friends who entered the parlor.
“Child, what’s the news from town?” Reverend Mother asked Sister Agatha. To Reverend Mother, the sisters were all her spiritual children, and she called each of them “child.”
The weariness in Mother’s voice tugged at Sister Agatha. The move to Agnus Dei would be hardest on her. Though it wasn’t her fault, Reverend Mother still felt responsible for Our Lady of Hope’s current economic quagmire.
Sister Agatha briefly explained the situation, then said, “Sheriff Green’s in real trouble, Mother. Although the evidence against him is mostly circumstantial, it’s still impressive. Unless the person who really killed Robert Garcia is caught, Tom Green could end up being charged with murder.”
“You firmly believe he’s innocent?”
“I have no doubt of that, Mother. After talking to him, I’m convinced he’s being framed for the crime. What’s worse, even if he isn’t charged and convicted of murder, the real killer could go free.”
“Sheriff Green has served our community with honor and has stood by Our Lady of Hope Monastery through some very dark moments. Do whatever’s necessary to restore his good name. Our prayers will support you every step of the way.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Sister Agatha answered.
Reverend Mother stood, wavered slightly, then, grabbing the back of her chair, eased herself back down again.
In an instant, Sister Agatha went through the enclosure door and was at her elbow. “Mother, let me walk you back to the infirmary.”
She shook her head. “No time for rest. There’s too much work to be done.”
“But Mother—” Sister Agatha started. The ringing phone interrupted her.
Sister Bernarda, closest to it, answered. “Mrs. Green, I’m so sorry to hear the news about your husband,” she said, then, after a beat, added, “Yes, she’s here.”
Sister Bernarda gestured to Sister Agatha, then hurried out the enclosure door to Mother’s side. “I’ll help Mother,” she said. “Gloria Green would like to speak to you.”
Leaving Reverend Mother in her care, Sister Agatha hurried into the parlor to answer the phone. “Hello, Gloria. I’ve been praying for both you and Tom. What’s the situation this morning?”
“They’re still holding him. According to his attorney, Tom’ll be arraigned within seventy-two hours. By then they’ll have decided what the charges will be—either manslaughter or murder. Doug says they’re within their rights to keep him for more questioning, but it’s driving me crazy. Most of the department’s on Tom’s side, but there are others . . .”
“I was planning on coming over this morning to talk to you again. Is that all right?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good. I’ll see you soon,” she said, then hung up. As she turned, Sister Agatha realized that Reverend Mother was still at the grille.
“Go with my blessing, child,” Reverend Mother said. Then, refusing Sister Bernarda’s help, she went down the hall as silently as she’d arrived.
“The trip to Denver will be very hard on her,” Sister Bernarda said softly.
“Once we’re there, Pax will help. He’ll be a great therapy dog for her and a touch of home, all in one package.” Seeing Sister Bernarda’s surprised look, she added, “Did I mention that Agnus Dei has welcomed Pax? I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I heard that.”
Pax had washed out of the police department because he’d lost his aggressive edge. Yet he’d earned his keep at the monastery by protecting them.
As she stood at the window, Sister Agatha could see Pax playing outsid
e, nosing something on the ground. When it hopped, she realized he was teasing a toad.
“Gloria sounded so defeated on the phone. Please assure her that we’re all here for her,” Sister Bernarda said as Sister Agatha opened the door leading out into the front grounds.
Sister Agatha walked across the enclosed grounds to where the motorcycle and sidecar were parked and whistled for Pax. The dog came running, jumped into the sidecar, then waited as she fastened her helmet.
“We’ll be riding up to Agnus Dei in this motorcycle, Pax. That should be fun—better than nudging toads. Something to look forward to, don’t you think?”
Maybe it was something in her tone of voice that tipped him off, but the dog looked at her, his ears pricked forward—almost as if waiting.
“Can’t fool you for a minute, can I?” she muttered. “Maybe we better just take things one day at a time.”
It was just after the morning rush hour, and the air was cool and dry. By this afternoon, however, temperatures would soar and hit the high nineties. When the thermometer climbed like that, even their summer habits felt hot and heavy. Summers in New Mexico—that was one thing she wouldn’t miss in Denver.
Glad to have found at least one positive thing about their move, she continued the drive south toward Bernalillo in better spirits. The sheriff’s home was on the northern outskirts, less than fifteen minutes from the monastery. Gloria, Tom, and their children lived in a modest home with a silver corrugated-metal pitched roof. Just east of the main irrigation canal, it was at the end of a shady graveled lane lined with enormous cottonwoods that must have dated back fifty years.
She arrived in short order and pulled into the driveway behind a blue SUV. The Harley had a distinctive putt-putt, and by the time she’d turned off the ignition, Gloria was already at the courtyard gate. Her hair color had changed many times over the years, most of them variations of blond, but right now it was a truly unattractive auburn that startled rather than flattered. Her eyes were puffy, an indication that she’d been crying.
