Thief in Retreat

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Several minutes later, as the other guests began going to the great room for the merienda, Tom, Sister Agatha, and Pax left for the gatehouse. “Do you think we’ll be missed?“ she asked.

  “No, not really. I checked the board. The workshops all have different schedules today, beginning and ending at different times. Everyone will be dropping by for afternoon tea at different times. It won’t be remarkable if some people don’t overlap at all.”

  When they arrived, Sister Agatha placed Pax at “sit and stay“ outside the taped perimeter and followed Tom, ducking beneath the tape as he held it up for her. “Let’s hurry,” she urged. “If Barela comes back unexpectedly, we’re going to have to answer some awkward questions, and I’d rather avoid that if possible.”

  “Me too.”

  Sister Agatha indicated the closet she’d seen the backpack in and Tom, wearing the fresh pair of latex gloves he’d fetched from his patrol car, pulled it open. There was no backpack inside, nor was it anywhere else in the gatehouse.

  “Despite your theory that Bill may have created the evidence we’ve found, this is potentially a second murder investigation,” Tom said, taking off his latex gloves. “I’ll have to tell Barela about the missing boots and backpack as soon as I see him. I can’t withhold information that may be pertinent to the case with a clear conscience.”

  They were halfway back to the main house when they came across Ernie Luna sitting alone on one of the bancos scattered about the grounds. Seeing them, he walked over.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you out here, but I suppose I should be glad I did. Sheriff Barela returned a while ago. He’s been flooding my staff with questions. I got the impression from some of the strange looks my people have been casting in my direction that Barela thinks I might be the one responsible for Professor Lock-hart’s death, and maybe even Bill Miller’s disappearance.” He jammed his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the ground. “I’ve got to tell you, Tom, JB, and I knew each other as kids. Even back then, he threw his weight around, doing everything he could to make my life miserable. He was a dumb jock who always hassled people like me, and he hasn’t changed. Only now he wears a badge and has better manners in public.”

  “Where’s Barela now?“ Tom asked.

  “He’s still questioning my staff, but he also wants to talk to both of you again. He sent me looking for you, but I think it was just to get me away so he could lean on my people.”

  “It may not be as bad as you think, Ernie,” Sister Agatha said gently.

  “I should warn you, Sister Agatha, that JB told me that he hates amateurs messing around in his investigations, so watch yourself.”

  After Ernie headed back toward the house, she looked at Tom. “I’m not sure how much to tell the sheriff. He’s not going to appreciate any theory that comes from me.”

  “Tell him that you had an idea and came to see me so I could check things out. Then insist that he talk to me directly.” He glanced at his watch. “This situation is totally different than the one we faced when we first arrived. There’s a chance that whoever threatened you also had something to do with Bill’s mysterious disappearance. It’s a police matter now,” he said.

  The thought didn’t do much to improve her mood. Saying good-bye to Tom, Sister Agatha headed to the library to drop off Pax. Things were spiraling out of control. She and Tom Green could no longer work as a team—that was clear to her now. He was a county sheriff with a sworn duty to uphold the law—a partner with Barela on the Miller investigation, if only temporarily. Her duty and loyalty were to the Church. Her priority was to fulfill the job the archbishop has sent her to do—recover the Church’s folk art and neutralize the thief.

  As Sister Agatha approached the library, planning to drop off Pax before reporting to the sheriff, she heard a noise coming from inside. It sounded as if someone was sliding one of the crates across the floor. She’d left the doors locked, which meant that whoever was in there had either broken in or had a key. She doubted it was a member of The Retreat’s staff because anyone there on legitimate business would have left the door open.

  Sister Agatha pulled Pax close, then opened the door as quietly as possible. Sheriff Barela turned his head, a startled look on his face as Pax growled, straining at his leash.

  “What do you think you’re doing?“ she said, noting that he’d opened several of the crates and had moved the one he’d been searching away from the wall. “That’s Church property, and some of the things in there are extremely fragile,” she snapped. “And how did you get in here anyway? The doors were locked.”

  “Not true. The hall door was unlocked. I knocked before I came in, and when I saw that the crates here were open, I decided to look inside. If you’ve got nothing to hide, why does that bother you?“ he countered.

  She knew he was lying to her about the crates, and about the door. She’d locked it. Barela had been snooping around, and was trying to cover for it now that she’d caught him. “As I’ve already pointed out, you’re rummaging through private, Church-owned property. If you want to continue, then I suggest you produce a search warrant.”

  He matched her stony glare with one of his own, ignoring her words. “I assume you know about the art thefts and maybe even suspected Professor Lockhart was involved since originals were being replaced with copies. That’s why you’ve been snooping around so much.”

  Sister Agatha took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time you and I talked,” she said. She wouldn’t hide behind Tom or anyone else. She could take care of herself and help—if Barela would let her. “I’ve had some experience finding answers to problems like the ones you’re facing now, and I’ve made some observations I’d like to share with you.”

  “God save me from amateurs,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m not your adversary, Sheriff. If I were, I’d file a complaint with the state police, the county administrators, and our Church attorneys about your unprofessional, illegal entry and search here today.”

  His face grew red and his hands balled into fists; then Pax growled low and deep, and Barela’s gaze shifted to the dog. Barela’s hands relaxed, and he slowly brought them up across his chest, crossing his arms and attempting to appear cool and collected.

  “During a murder investigation I’m always interested in talking to anyone who has information, Sister,” Barela said. “But stick to the facts, and try not to throw in any unsupported speculation.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She turned her fury to the necessary task of closing the open crates and shifting them back where they belonged. As she worked, Sister Agatha told him first about her inquiries into the thefts, explaining that the items were Church property, then told him everything she’d discovered about Bill.

  She concluded by telling him how boots filled with sand and rocks could have been used to fake the trail of a body being dragged and about the missing backpack. “Tom checked it out, so you’ll have to talk to him about that.”

  “I see you have been busy, Sister Agatha.” He paused for a moment, his gaze as cold as ice. “I think it’s time for Sheriff Green, Ernie, you, and me to have a long talk. I’ll go find Tom, you get Ernie. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes.”

  “Fine.” She knew he was furious with all of them now, but hoped that having caught him in an illegal search would somehow balance the scales.

  13

  IT WAS ALMOST TEN MINUTES TO THE DOT LATER WHEN Barela, Tom, Ernie, and Sister Agatha gathered in the library. Pax lay down near Sister Agatha’s feet, watching Sheriff Barela carefully.

  Barela paced in front of them, hands deep in his pockets, staring at the floor as he moved. Finally he came to a stop, crossed his arms across his chest, and regarded them thoughtfully.

  “You three have been keeping way too many secrets, and it has to stop. There’s more going on here than some ghostly prankster and an art thief, so if you have anything else you’re holding back, tell me now.”

  He waited several long moments,
then, when no one spoke, continued. “All right. Everyone has had a chance to square things. Should 1 find out later that any of you still withheld information, I will slap you with an obstruction of justice charge.” He trained his gaze on Sister Agatha. “That includes you too, Sister. Am I making myself clear?“

  They each nodded.

  “The sheriff’s department will find those responsible for these crimes—if you’ll all just get out of the way and let us do our job. I know you want to help,” he added, looking at Ernie and Sister Agatha, “but we are professionals and know how to build a case that’ll stand up in court. Someone who hasn’t been trained could end up jeopardizing the chain of evidence and, in so doing, allow a criminal to go free.”

  Barela looked at Ernie. “You and I have known Bill Miller for many years, but he worked here for you and you saw him daily. Did you happen to notice any recent changes in his lifestyle, choice of friends, or behavior? For example, had he become unreliable, angry, or moody?“

  “Bill was under a lot of pressure about this upcoming show. He was a bit tense at times, but that was perfectly understandable under the circumstances.”

  “Do you think the pressure might have become too much for him?“ Barela pressed. “Maybe he cracked and took off?“

  “No, I don’t. He was a little on edge about the show, but I know he was looking forward to it.”

  “Tom gave me a list of the items that were taken from your displays and not returned, and the artifacts you believe are just replicas.” Barela looked down at the pocket notebook in his hand for a moment before speaking again. “1 have to say the one that worries me most is the bulto of Our Lady of Sorrows. That little statue is part of this community. Once word gets out that that’s missing, people are going to be extremely upset.” Barela rubbed his jaw pensively. “In today’s market, what’s it worth?“

  Ernie hesitated before he replied. “The Church had insured it for one hundred thousand dollars.” Erfiie met Barela’s gaze. “The insurance company set the bulto’s value based on historical significance more than its worth as a piece of art.” Ernie’s expression was somber as he continued, “Right now only a few people on the staff realize that Our Lady of Sorrows is missing. But if it isn’t returned before the public finds out...”

  Barela’s expression was one of grave concern. “I’ll give the job of recovering the bulto to my best deputy. I’ve already got an APB out on Bill, just in case the whole disappearance thing was faked and he’s hiding in some fleabag motel in Albuquerque or wherever. And I’ll handle the murder investigation. In the meantime, if any of you get more information about who might be playing ghost, or about the missing art, come to me immediately.”

  Barela and Ernie left, but Tom, after walking to the door with the others, hung back. “What’s on your mind, Tom?“ Sister Agatha asked.

  Tom stepped back into the library. “Barela didn’t tell you this, but apparently Miller withdrew five thousand dollars from his bank account recently.”

  “That’s an awful lot of money for a handyman,” she said slowly. “Not to mention the fact that he must have lied when he told me he didn’t have a bank account.”

  “This tends to make me believe that he’s already sold the miss-ing pieces.”

  “Except for one thing,” she said. “That’s only a fraction of their estimated value, according to Ernie. Is there any way to find out who he might have contacted if he had been selling the pieces? Since Ernie said he practically never left the place, it would have had to be someone around here.”

  “He didn’t have a car. It was repossessed last year. He went wherever he needed on his bicycle. But he could have had a partner and met him outside the compound. Living alone in the gatehouse, he could have gone anywhere at night without anyone knowing.”

  “I think you should speak to Lisa Garfield. She’s sold Bill’s work before, or at least displayed it in her store. She was the one who had the photo advertising the painting Tim Delancy is trying to sell—the bookstore owner, remember? 1 believe the place is called Fine Things.”

  “I’ll tell Barela. If she’s Bill’s partner, she might have advanced him some money before he actually delivered all the pieces.” Tom nodded a good-bye and left the library.

  After spending an hour going through the property the monks had left behind, Sister Agatha stood. “Okay, we’ve made progress on this front today. Now it’s time we turned to the other business the archbishop entrusted to us. Pax, you and I are going to go back to town.”

  Sister Agatha and Pax left The Retreat and drove to Las Vegas. There was another gallery she wanted to visit that she’d noticed on her previous visit. Maybe the proprietor would be able to tell her more about Bill Miller—or maybe Tim Delancy.

  Sister Agatha drove to Tesoros, near the center of town, a few blocks from where she’d been before. The window displayed several paintings, along with a gesso-and-paint model of an adobe church. She went in, leaving Pax just inside the door at “down and stay.”

  The woman behind the counter looked up as Sister came in. “Beautiful dog, Sister. Bring him in if you want.” She extended her hand. “I’m Eulalia Fernandez. I own this gallery.”

  Sister Agatha greeted the woman, then called Pax and ordered him to heel. “We appreciate your hospitality.”

  “Are you collecting for a charity? If you are, I can see how your hairy friend could be a great incentive,” she said, then laughed to make it clear she was joking.

  Sister Agatha smiled. “I’ll have to remember that next time I go out to collect money for the sisters. But right now all I need is some information. Are you familiar with the work of a local artist by the name of Bill Miller?“

  Eulalia nodded. “Most of the local dealers are familiar with Bill Miller and his work. But he doesn’t do much with local galleries these days.”

  Detecting an undercurrent of emotion in the woman’s voice, Sister Agatha decided she’d come to the right place. “Did you ever show his work here in your gallery?“

  She nodded. “Sure. But these days he’s too important—or thinks he is.” She hesitated, obviously holding something back.

  “You can tell me anything,” Sister Agatha said softly. “I can be trusted.”

  “I was raised by nuns, Sister. I trust a nun automatically. It’s a knee-jerk reaction,” she said, smiling to take any sting out of her words. “But I heard what happened at The Retreat. News like that always travels at lightning speed and I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Whatever you say can only help him now,” Sister Agatha said softly, believing it. If Bill was on the run he needed to be brought in, for his own sake. The life of a fugitive was no life at all. “And even something trivial could be very important to the people who want to discover what truly happened.”

  The gallery owner thought about it for a moment, then finally nodded. “Okay, Sister. I’ll tell you. The fact is that Bill Miller had become very difficult to deal with. So you don’t think I’m being overly harsh, let me give you an example. He visited me a few weeks ago. Since he wanted to make sure his show in Santa Fe was a success, he asked me to remind our customers about the upcoming event.”

  She paused, exhaled softly, then continued. “Sister, he’s snubbed all the local art dealers for months, so I told him that if he had a flyer we’d put it in the window, but that was the extent of what I’d do. He turned nasty then. He said that word of mouth was everything and that if I’d played ball, he would have let me in on an art deal that would have made me weak at the knees.”

  “Did he say what it was?“

  “I never gave him a chance. I told him that I wasn’t interested in any business that involved working with him,” she said. “Like a lot of artists, Bill’s people skills were ... shall we say, impaired?“

  “Is there anyone else in town he might have approached with this special offer he mentioned?“

  “Lisa Garfield, the owner of Fine Things. She’s really the only other option he had in
Las Vegas. She’s always looked at him with starry eyes.”

  Sister Agatha noticed several photographs of metal sculptures and paintings on the bulletin board on the wall behind the cash register, and a telephone number below it. “Are those some of the items the writer Tim Delancy has on the market?“

  The woman nodded. “You know about that? It’s a shame Mr. Delancy’s having to sell off his art collection. I guess even best-selling authors can live beyond their means. I’ve seen his house— from the outside. It’s beautiful, and I hope he gets a good price for it.”

  “God provides for all his children,” Sister Agatha replied, and the woman smiled and nodded.

  “Thanks so much for your help,” Sister Agatha said as a customer came in. “I should be going now before my furry friend dis-courages your customers.”

  “Come back anytime, Sister.”

  Sister Agatha walked with Pax down the street to Lisa Garfield’s store. Recalling the moments of fear she’d experienced along that route last time she’d been here, Sister Agatha said a short prayer. This time she and Pax arrived safely and found Lisa alone behind the counter, reading a romance novel.

  “Sister, how nice to see you again! It’s been such a slow day. Then again, fall is never a busy time for me—not until the holiday season kicks in.” She came around the counter and petted Pax. “Good boy. Did you come to sell me those journals we spoke about last time you were here?“

  “No, Pm afraid not. The archbishop’s office wilr have to decide what they want to keep and what will be sold, and they haven’t had a look yet.”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed. “Well, that’s okay. Maybe you can catch me up on the latest gossip from The Retreat. I’m dying of curiosity. Sheriff Barela called earlier today and asked if I knew of any religious folk art pieces that had come on the market recently, particularly bultos of the Virgin Mary. Then I heard that deputies had been searching along the river downstream from The Retreat. What’s going on? Did some anti-Catholic fanatic float some of their collection down the river?“