Thief in Retreat

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Sister Agatha thought for a moment, then decided the truth would do her more good than evasion now. “Bill Miller has disappeared,” she said. “They’re looking for him.”

  Sister Agatha saw Lisa’s face turn dead white. If she was acting, she deserved an Academy Award.

  Holding on to the counter for support, Lisa walked over to her stool and sat. “Bill’s always been a free spirit. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he just up and left,” she said quietly. “Though I don’t know what that could have to do with the missing folk art the sheriff was asking about.”

  Sister Agatha noticed that Lisa’s eyes had filled with tears. “Are you okay?“ Sister Agatha asked gently.

  Lisa shrugged. “I think I’m the only one around here who really understands Bill or why he can act so crazy sometimes. But we’re just friends ... unfortunately.”

  “Tell me about Bill.”

  “Bill’s parents died when he was still in his teens, and he went to live with his uncle, but they never got along. His uncle was constantly running him down. I think some part of Bill believed his uncle was right about him, and the other half just wanted to prove him wrong. But Bill had artistic talent and knew deep down that was his ticket to a better life. He worked hard to develop his skills, but he just didn’t have any confidence. I was the one who pushed him until he finally took his work to Josie Sanchez de Cordova in Santa Fe. Josie absolutely loved everything she saw, and once that happened, other influential dealers woke up to Bill’s talent.”

  “You’ve been a good friend,” Sister Agatha said.

  “But tell me, what’s happened at The Retreat? Did somebody get in an argument with him so he just left?“

  “No, it’s a little more complicated than that. There are some pieces missing, and nobody knows where Bill is right now. But there’s no evidence that proves the incidents are related.”

  “No way Bill would have stolen anything. Particularly now. All he’s thought about for months is that upcoming show. Maybe he just took some time off to clear his head without telling anyone. There’s really nothing holding him here. His job at The Retreat was just to pay the bills, and as far as women in his life—well, he gave his heart to the one woman he could never have. Come to think of it, maybe that was what sent him running. More rejection.”

  “Who was he in love with?“

  “I guess it’s okay to tell you. It’s not like it’s a big secret,” she said. “Bill has a thing for Ginny Luna. She’s led him on, too. She flirts with him a lot, and he just can’t see that it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just her way. She’d never leave her husband.”

  Sister Agatha stared at Lisa for a moment, letting the woman’s words sink in. This was one angle that had never occurred to her. What if Ginny Luna was the ghost, and she and Bill had forged an unholy alliance?

  She thought about Ernie, a really nice man, and her heart plummeted. “Thanks for chatting with me, Lisa. I’ll let you know if I hear anything about Bill.”

  With Pax at heel by her side, Sister Agatha walked into the lobby of The Retreat thirty minutes later. The first person she saw was the last person she’d wanted to see—Ernie Luna. She tried to duck out of sight, Pax and all, but he saw her and, with a wave, came toward her.

  “1 need to speak to you in confidence,” Ernie said in a hurried tone.

  “Of course.” She hoped that her voice hadn’t sounded as strangled as it felt-Ernie led her into the small office behind the front desk, which was empty at the moment, then began in a low voice. “Some annoying rumors have been circulating among my staff. Apparently people believe that my wife had a close relationship with Bill Miller and that he’s run off because she broke his heart,” Ernie said. “None of it is true, but if JB hears that, he’ll have a field day, and probably destroy my wife’s reputation just to humiliate me.”

  “Were Ginny and Bill friends? Maybe someone misunderstood their relationship. Gossip can turn malicious very quickly.”

  “My wife admired Bill’s work as an artist and often asked him for favors. He’d help her with the stencils she used to decorate some of the rooms she was renovating, and even built a birdhouse for her that matched the architectural style of The Retreat. Ginny believed that Bill needed affirmation, so she praised his work a lot. But that was the extent of their relationship. On the other hand, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that Bill had feelings for my wife. Ginny’s beautiful and she’s always been a bit of a flirt. Some men misinterpret that. But she’s not unfaithful.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Sister Agatha said, hoping with all her heart that he was.

  “But here’s the thing. I need you to start cutting corners and do whatever you have to do to track down the thief quickly, and find out what’s been going on. Things will continue to go from bad to worse until this is all settled.”

  “I’ll do my best, Ernie.”

  As people came into the lobby, indicating the end of a work-shop session, Ernie went to greet some of the participants.

  Teresa from the writing workshop hurried up to Sister Agatha. “Do you know what’s going on? Sheriff Barela has been asking everyone about Mr. Miller, the handyman. Deputies have been all over the grounds, and the gatehouse is surrounded by yellow crime scene tape. Did somebody kill Bill Miller?“

  “All I can tell you is that nobody can find Mr. Miller, and Sheriff Barela has officers searching for him.”

  “Well, I asked a couple of the women on staff, and they think that the handyman and Mrs. Luna were having an affair, had a fight, then Miller took off. But the workshop people I’ve spoken to said the sheriff was trying to find out what happened to some missing folk art—and Bill Miller, who’s apparently a bit of an artist himself. The writers think that maybe Bill was the thief all along and that he just recently stole some of the valuable folk art pieces. He might have also killed the college art professor, Dr. Lockhart, when the man discovered the crimes. When the sheriff came and started asking questions, Miller panicked and bailed.”

  “They’re all plausible theories,” Sister Agatha said.

  “I saw deputies walking up and down the river on both banks. Are they looking for Bill Miller’s body? If so, then that means Ginny Luna’s a suspect—and Ernie, too, I suppose.”

  “My understanding is that no body has been found,” Sister Agatha said.

  “So that means that they aren’t really sure what’s happened, except that Bill and some works of art are missing.”

  “We should probably let the police sort all that out. I’d be happy if I could solve the mystery of the ghost.”

  “No one’s paying much attention to Juanita right now, Sister. She’s been upstaged. Even she knows it,” she added, smiling. “Haven’t you noticed that she hasn’t made any appearances lately?“

  Before Sister Agatha could answer, Charlee rushed through the lobby, tears in her eyes. As she continued down a hall, Sister Agatha turned to Teresa. “What happened to Charlee?“

  “With everything else going on, nobody cares about her miss-ing manuscript anymore. And word got out that Charlee has used stunts before to get attention.”

  “I hadn’t heard anything about this.”

  “Vera e-mailed an agent friend of hers yesterday and happened to mention something about Charlee’s missing manuscript. When Vera’s friend wrote back, she told her that at the Denver writers’ conference Charlee had tried to convince everyone that she was being threatened because of some secret revealed in her manuscript. Then hotel security began asking questions, Charlee got scared, and changed her story. She told them that it was just an overzealous fan and they should forget all about it.”

  “That doesn’t mean her manuscript wasn’t stolen this time,” Sister Agatha said. “Sometimes when you cry wolf, there really is a beast at the door.”

  “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”

  Sister Agatha spent the rest of the evening securely packing up the monk’s journal and all the other small treasures she’d found. Sis
ter Bernarda had arranged for a volunteer to transport the crates she’d already inventoried. Now that it appeared that the thefts were es-calating again, she wanted to make sure that the monastery’s prop’ erty would remain protected.

  After a light supper Sister Agatha sat by the window, lights turned off, enjoying the quiet evening as she tried to figure out her next move. If whoever was playing the ghost was a staff member trying to entertain the guests, or conversely divert everyone’s attention from the thefts, tonight would be a good night for Juanita to make an appearance. The ghostly presence would lighten the tone of suspicion and speculation now settling over The Retreat.

  As she mentally went over the people who might possibly have taken on the role of ghost, Ginny was foremost in her mind. She had all the necessary keys, and complete knowledge of the place. And if Ginny was in league with Bill Miller, it was very possible she’d show up tonight just to debunk some of the theories circulating about them.

  This was a case that held no guarantees, but she was sure of one thing: catching the ghost in the act would settle at least some of her concerns regarding recent events. With that in mind, Sister Agatha decided to watch the Lunas’ quarters tonight and see if Ginny came sneaking out in costume to stalk the halls.

  After the outer doors were locked for the night, Sister Agatha slipped out of the library with Pax, trapping a small piece of thread in the jamb as she locked the hall door. If anyone came in while she was out, the thread would drop to the floor and she’d know.

  Sister Agatha walked first to the great room with the dog. Several guests and staff were still up and nodded as she came in, but then went back to their reading or low conversations. It was quiet tonight, so she took a seat near the fireplace, took out her breviary, and began her evening prayers, turning to God, the most reliable source of help she knew.

  Sometime later, Ginny, who’d been reading quietly near the window as she usually did in the evenings, stood and said good night to everyone. Moments after she left the room, Sister Agatha rose and, taking Pax with her, followed Ginny.

  Sister Agatha hung back and waited, listening, from around the corner. Ginny closed the door to her quarters, then began a conversation with Ernie. Within a half-hour after that, the light under the door went out, but Sister Agatha remained silent and didn’t move and Pax, bored, laid down on the floor behind her, his eyes open, watching.

  Time passed slowly. When the absence of sound suggested that everyone had gone to bed, Sister Agatha headed back to the library, knowing Juanita would only make an appearance when there were guests who would see her.

  “Well, Pax, tonight was a bust,” she said heavily.

  She was a few feet from the library door when she suddenly encountered a wave of bone-chilling cold. The temperature seemed to have dropped at least thirty degrees. It felt like a night in the middle of December. Her skin began to prickle as an overwhelming feeling of sadness swept over her. But she had nothing to feel sad about. Those feelings were not hers. The realization was frightening, and her heart began to hammer. Sister Agatha crossed herself and began to pray.

  Seeing the thread she’d left on the door still in place, Sister Agatha unlocked the library door quickly. Then, sensing someone behind her, she turned her head and saw a woman wearing a long black dress and a mantilla come around the corner. She couldn’t hear the swishing of the woman’s long skirt, or the sound of her footsteps on the brick floor.

  Sister Agatha glanced down at Pax, who was frozen in place, staring at the woman. His hackles rose, then he turned his head away, like a naughty puppy afraid to make eye contact with its trainer. As the woman passed the low-wattage bulb on the sconce right outside the library, Sister noticed that there was no shadow on the floor or the opposite wall. It had to be a trick of the light, or else the angle was wrong. The veiled figure stopped about ten feet away from her, paused for a few heartbeats, then turned and disappeared down the darkened hallway.

  It took Sister Agatha a moment to begin breathing normally again, but the one fact that registered immediately in her mind was that the strong, almost suffocating scent of lilacs she’d noticed in her previous ghostly encounter was not present tonight. The aroma that filled the air was softer and more delicate, like that of a damask rose.

  As the hall grew warmer again, she quickly gathered her wits. “Pax, we’re going after her.”

  The dog whimpered and refused to move.

  “Pax, what’s wrong With you? It’s just someone in a costume.” But again Pax refused to budge. “If it’s for real, we still have to go. We may be able to help some poor lost soul. Now heel!“

  The dog stood in front of her, refusing to let her pass. She tried to step over him, but he moved around her feet and blocked her again.

  “Pax, if you don’t want to go, then stay here,” she said, dror> ping the leash. “But I’m going.”

  The dog shook himself, watched her step by, then followed reluctantly, dragging the leash behind him.

  “Some guard dog,” she muttered, stopping to pick up the leash again.

  Sister Agatha grabbed her flashlight and hurried down the hallway after the woman. The scent of roses was everywhere, but there was no sign of anyone around. The section she was in didn’t have any guest rooms, so she tried all the doors. The rooms were dusty, unused, and in various stages of renovation—but all were empty.

  Sister Agatha stopped, intending to scold Pax for delaying her, when the beam of her flashlight fell on something lying on the floor just ahead. It looked like a fresh pink rose petal, but when she picked it up, the color faded in her hand, and the petal crumbled into dust.

  14

  SISTER AGATHA STARTED IN ASTONISHMENT. WHAT ONLY A few seconds ago had been a fresh pink rose petal was now just a scattering of dust. She murmured a quick prayer for courage, then brushed the particles off her hand, struggling to keep her wits. “It was one of those flower petals that have been dried between the pages of a book. When I picked it up, it crumbled, that’s all. Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

  As she turned to head back to the library, Sister Agatha scowled at Pax. “Some ghost hunter you turned out to be.”

  Refusing to look at her, Pax made a low sound that sounded a lot like grumbling.

  As she walked, Sister Agatha went over the details of what had happened. This incident bore little resemblance to her first en-counter with The Retreat’s ghost. For one, there was the absence of that overwhelming odor of lilacs. There had been a scent tonight, but it wasn’t lilacs. It was closer to what the monk had described in his journal—the elegant and soft aroma of a rose garden in the spring. And the ghostly figure she’d seen tonight hadn’t been crying. She’d been utterly silent, and had brought with her an incredible chill that had been unlike anything Sister Agatha had experienced before outside a walk-in freezer.

  Either whoever had masqueraded as a ghost had read the monk’s journal and changed her act, or this was something completely new. And Ginny Luna would have had a very difficult time playing this ghost. She hadn’t left her room—at least through the hall—although Ginny could have chosen another way out, like a window. But Ginny still couldn’t have made it to this part of the building without going past her.

  Deciding to check on Ginny anyway, Sister Agatha hurried back to the library, rushed out through the courtyard door, then circled around the building at almost a jog, with Pax moving easily beside her. As she neared her goal, she left Pax at “stay“ and crept toward the Lunas’ bedroom window. Through a crack in the curtains, she saw Ginny’s wild tumble of light brown hair cascading over her husband’s chest as they lay entwined in each other’s arms.

  Sister Agatha backed away quietly. If she got caught now, there’d be no way of explaining what she was doing. As Sister Agatha rejoined Pax, she thought about what she’d seen. Ginny’s breathing had been rhythmic and deep, and her position had made it unlikely she’d slipped away and returned quickly without awakening her husband. Her nightgown, too, had b
een a light color, not the long, dark, heavy garb the ghostly figure had worn.

  Sister Agatha had just cleared the hedge when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She jumped and spun around, fists up.

  “Whoa, it’s me,” Tom whispered. “I saw you hurrying by from my bedroom window and came out to see what you were up to.”

  “No, you’re trying to give me a heart attack, and you almost succeeded.” She looked around quickly. “Tom, this is really a bad idea. You shouldn’t be out here. Can you imagine what people would say if they saw us out here? It’s well past midnight. Gloria would have us both drawn and quartered.”

  He grinned. “So hurry up and tell me what you were doing.”

  “We’ll talk in the library. At least we’re less likely to be seen.”

  Sister Agatha, Tom, and Pax all hurried inside. Even a hint of impropriety in her behavior would be letting the archbishop down in a big way, and she’d never forgive herself for botching things. She’d come to protect the Church, not to bring scandal down upon it.

  Once they were in the library, she sank down into a chair and gave Tom the highlights of her evening in what she hoped was a calm, quiet voice.

  “I can’t blame you for suspecting it was Ginny. She’d be my candidate as well.”

  “Okay. But if Ginny was the usual ghost, except for tonight, can you think of anyone else, maybe a close friend of hers, who might have been willing to act in her place? Give her an alibi? Perhaps we’re dealing with more than one ghost.”

  “You mean Gloria, don’t you?“ Tom said, scowling. “Well, I can tell you this much with perfect assurance. If it had been my wife, Pax would have gone right up to her. He knows Gloria. He wouldn’t have been fearful or reluctant in any way.”

  “True,” she admitted. “I don’t know what to make of this, then. And I can’t think of any explanation for the change from lilac scent to rose.”