Thief in Retreat

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  “I can help,” Ginny said.

  “No,” Sister Agatha said. “Ernie needs you now. He’s been frantic, worrying about you on top of all the other troubles here. Stick with him.”

  She walked with Ginny to the door of the gatehouse, then stopped. “Tom will help you sneak back into the inn so you can change and talk to Ernie in private before the guests see you.” She then looked at Tom. “You’ll need to let the staff who are keeping guard know that Bill is not only still alive, he’s also our thief, and has someone else working with him.”

  “Aren’t you going back with us?“

  “No. I’m going to stay here. Pax and I need to check the area in case Bill’s hidden the stolen art close by. He could be assuming that the police weren’t likely to return once they’d completed their search of the gatehouse.”

  “Sheriff Barela won’t want you within a mile of this place. The gatehouse is now a crime scene again,” Tom said.

  “Then I’ll stay outside. But someone has to keep an eye out for Bill, and you have to go alert everyone and call Sheriff Barela. I’ve got Pax. We’ll be fine.”

  “All right. I’ll be back pronto. Hang tight and stay alert. Re-member that Bill has been keeping an eye on things here. He wouldn’t have brought Ginny to the gatehouse unless he’d already known that it had been searched.”

  “Pax and I won’t take any unnecessary risks,” she said. “But Ginny wouldn’t be alive right now if Bill was a killer.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. But maybe the killer is his partner. Just stay out in the open where Pax has room to maneuver and protect you.”

  As agreed, Sister Agatha stayed on high alert as she waited for Tom to return. With her habit she blended into the dark shadows easily. Pax was harder to hide because of his white coat, but she pulled him close and avoided the moonlight as much as possible.

  A few minutes later, seeing Tom moving toward her across the grounds, Sister Agatha stepped out of the shadows to meet him. “Did you talk to Sheriff Barela?“

  Tom nodded. “1 reached him on his cell. He’s busy with another call, so it’ll take him at least an hour to get here. He asked me to check out the crime scene.”

  “Let me go with you. I won’t touch a thing, but I can act as an extra pair of eyes—which may come in handy if Bill does decide to return.”

  He considered it for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” As they hurried into the gatehouse, she could see that Tom’s shoulders were rigid with tension. “Do you think Bill’s watching us?“ she asked.

  “Someone is. I feel it in my gut,” he said in a low voice.

  Sister Agatha kept her eyes on Pax. The dog was alert and watchful, but it was clear to her that he didn’t sense anyone close to them or his body language would have been drastically different. She put him on “stay“ at the entrance to keep watch.

  Tom turned on the light and, working together, they searched each cabinet and potential hiding place for clues and the stolen art. Back in the root cellar, they found a water bottle and discarded food containers that indicated Bill had eaten more than one meal here. Not finding anything pertinent to the case, they walked back to the entrance of the small building.

  “It looks like he’s found some other place to hide the loot, unless he’s somehow carrying it all with him, which I doubt. My guess is that he’s on the move, and that’ll make him even harder to catch,” Tom said.

  “He probably won’t be doing anything here tonight, not with the police due to arrive soon, and all the excitement about Ginny having returned. But I think we should have the staff continue to keep an eye on the pieces, just in case. We can all take shifts. Since there’s no need for me to remain undercover now, I’ll hike back to the Harley, then get back here. Pax and I can take the first watch of guard duty in the hall.”

  “Agreed.”

  The following morning, after far too little sleep, Sister Agatha rose in time for Divine Office. She was just concluding her prayers when Sheriff Barela and his men descended on The Retreat in full force. Before now, they’d confined their searches to the gatehouse and the public areas where works of art had been disappearing. Now guest rooms were searched as well, and everyone was questioned at length.

  Shortly after breakfast, Teresa came into the library. “Good morning, Sister. I thought I’d duck in and warn you that Sheriff Barela is heading this way. He’s really annoyed about last night. I think he wanted to be the one who found Ginny Luna.”

  Sheriff Barela stormed into the library before Sister Agatha could respond, and Teresa stepped aside, trying to blend in with the woodwork, apparently.

  “I need to examine everything in here. I have a search warrant, Sister, so I would advise you not to interfere. The local judge has not taken kindly to the theft of the bulto of Our Lady of Sorrows.” He looked at the remaining create. “I’ve heard that you’ve already had the other crates transported to Santa Fe. Is that true?“

  Sister Agatha stared at him. “You don’t honestly think I smuggled stolen merchandise out of here, do you?“

  “Not purposely, no, but someone may be using you as a courier.” He looked over at Teresa with a scowl, and she shrugged, remaining silent.

  “If you want to check through the crates that were removed, then you’ll have to talk to the archbishop, since they’re in his possession now. But believe me, there’s nothing in those crates except what I packed inside them. No one had the chance to tamper with those boxes.”

  “Maybe so, but I’ll deal with that later. For now, I’m going to search through the crate that’s still here.”

  “If you insist on doing that, then at least let me do the unpacking while you watch. Many of the things I’ve found are very old and need special handling.”

  “Fine.”

  “Sister Agatha unpacked the remaining crate and, at the sheriff’s insistence, placed all the objects on the center table and on the rug on the floor. After it was emptied, Barela studied everything, comparing each item to the list of stolen artwork he held in his hand. As he moved, Pax stood, his gaze focused on him.

  “Sister, put the dog outside for now, please,” Sheriff Barela said.

  Sister Agatha complied, though she would have much rather put Barela in the courtyard and leave Pax where he was. Teresa went with the dog, obviously anxious to get out of the charged atmosphere.

  “There’s nothing here,” Sheriff Barela said at long last. Then, without so much as a good-bye or a thank you, the sheriff left.

  Sister Agatha brought Pax back inside and Teresa returned as well. “That was certainly interesting,” the writer commented, then glanced at the clutter around them. “Let me give you a hand putting everything back.”

  “Thanks, but I might as well do this myself. It’ll give me a chance to catalog each item.”

  Teresa looked at her wristwatch. “Then I guess it’s back to the war zone for me.”

  “Sheriff Barela will be gone soon,” Sister Agatha answered encouragingly. “You probably won’t run into him again for a while.”

  “I wasn’t referring only to him,” she said. “Hostilities broke out between Tim and Vera right before our break.”

  “Fill me in,” she said, knowing she shouldn’t encourage the other woman to gossip, but hoping what she learned might shed some light on her investigation. Tim Delancy or Vera Rudd could be Bill Harris’s partner in crime.

  “Vera likes playing editor, according to Tim. She keeps insisting that he shape his books into ’products’ that will ’fly off the shelves.’ But Tim has other ideas.”

  “He’s the author.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the way the business works. We write for the public, not for ourselves—at least if we want to sell. It’s really fabulous when we can actually do both at the same time, but that’s rare. I just hope they don’t turn the workshop into a shouting match. They were staring daggers at each other when I left.” She looked at her watch again. “Gotta go.”

  As Teresa squared her sho
ulders and waved a cheery good-bye, Sister Agatha considered what she’d just heard. She already knew that Tim had placed his home on the market and moved out, and was trying to sell his personal art collection. If his career was on a downward spiral, he might have seen theft as another way to raise some quick cash. Maybe he was Bill’s partner, and planned on selling the stolen pieces from The Retreat along with those works of art he’d already put on the market from his own home.

  Sister Agatha worked until it was time for lunch, then, leaving Pax in the library, went in search of something to eat. After helping herself to the food laid out on the buffet table, she took a seat on a banco outside, downhill and just a dozen or so feet from the vine-covered gazebo. It was a beautiful fall day and it seemed a shame not to enjoy at least part of it.

  Sister Agatha said grace, and was just beginning her well-earned meal when she heard angry voices. She recognized both and knew that Tim and Vera had just entered the gazebo.

  “Sunrise Over Truchas Peak is the best thing I’ve done in years and you know it,” Tim said.

  “It’s maybe appropriate for the stuffy literary crowd, but it’s not commercial. I may be able to sell it, but the advance will be minimal, and unless it catches the eye of one of those daytime shows and gets a fairy godmother promotion, the book will sink without a trace. Spice it up a little—add sex—and the whole picture changes.”

  “It’s a book about missionaries sent to the Southwest territories. It’s about people learning to live with fear, and about holding onto honor when everything else that structures your life is taken from you. It’s not about sex.”

  “Okay, then kick the violence up a notch. The book needs some action. It’s sooooo boring. Give the readers something they can relate to and they’ll eat it up. You’ll get a fat check, sound bites on the network morning shows, and we won’t have to do these excruciating workshops anymore.”

  “This book means something to me, Vera, and I’m not corrupt-ing it with all that commercial garbage.”

  “Tim, you hired me to make the best possible deals for you. That’s my job, but I can’t do it if you don’t take my advice.”

  “If you can’t or won’t do your job, then we’ll have to part company. Consider yourself fired, Vera.”

  There was silence, then Vera resumed speaking, her tone calmer and more conciliatory. “Tim, you’re too close to this book, arid you’ve lost your objectivity. If this goes to press you’re going to get crucified by the critics. They expect a certain kind of product from you. Once word gets out to the readers, they’ll drop you in a New York minute.”

  “That’s their loss. But in either case, it doesn’t concern you anymore. Our business relationship has ended.”

  “Use your head, Tim, not your heart. This is business, and unless you deliver a product that sells, you’re history.”

  “Vera, our goals are different. That’s obvious. So let’s get this over with and move on.”

  “What’s happened to you?“ she demanded.

  “I’ve spent my entire life doing what others wanted me to do. It’s time that stopped. I’ll get by. I still have some resources of my own, and new income on the way. From now on I’ll write what I want.”

  “At least think about things before you make your final decision.” Vera stood and walked briskly toward the main house.

  Sister Agatha sat perfectly still, barely breathing. Then Tim strolled around the gazebo. Seeing her at the banco, he stopped abruptly. “I didn’t realize you were here, Sister.”

  “I was eating lunch when you and Vera came up,” she said, picking up the now-empty dish on her lap and standing.

  “And now you’ve got a new suspect, if I’m not already on your list. Do you think the reason I can afford to take such a drastic turn in my career is because I have the stolen art—and Bill Miller is my >partner? I think we all know he’s got a partner somewhere, or at least someone to fence the merchandise,” he said.

  The fact that he’d stated the possibilities so easily didn’t lessen her suspicions. But what he’d just been saying about honor tipped the scales slightly in his favor.

  “1 know you haven’t sold anything new in quite a few years, and that you’re selling your home—and the works of art you’ve collected. The photographs and contact numbers are in several Las Vegas stores. My guess is that you need money.”

  “I can use the cash, that’s true. But on the plus side, I’ve man-aged to sell every single manuscript I’ve ever written. I just haven’t done anything longer than a short story in a long time. It’s taken years to finish the book you heard me discussing with my ... former agent. Meanwhile, royalties, good investments, and workshops like this one have given me enough to meet my basic needs.”

  “So you’ve learned to do without?“

  “No, not at all. Just to do with less—like you nuns, though maybe not that basic. I’ve discovered that the things that make me happy aren’t expensive, and by and large I’ve already got them.” He watched her for a moment. “But I suppose it could be argued that I might be understating my need for money, or have taken part in the thefts because it’s a new adventure and grist for the mill, so to speak.”

  “Good points. How would you answer them?“

  He laughed. “To the first issue, no, I’m not bankrupt, though my finances are low. On the matter of crimes, I plead innocent. I’m only an observer in what’s happening here, Sister, and my involvement is fueled solely by curiosity. But for what it’s worth, I think there’s a lot more that will need to come out before this story’s all said and done.”

  “I feel the same way,” she admitted.

  Delancy gave her a long, hard look. “Tell me something. Are you really a nun, or are you an undercover investigator?“

  “Oh, I’m a nun, all right. But like you, I can’t resist a mystery.” Doing her best to leave the man puzzling over her enigmatic smile, she walked away.

  Sister Agatha sat alone with Pax in the library and examined the items that had come from the second-largest crate, a container she hadn’t gone through before this morning’s search. Most of the personal things here appeared to have belonged to Brother Ignatius, the order’s last cellarer.

  Spotting a small frayed book at the bottom of that crate, she carefully pulled it free and brought it out. When Sheriff Barela had forced her to unpack the crate quickly, this little book had gotten stuck between the slats of broken wood and had been overlooked. Brushing away a few splinters, she studied it carefully. The pages were swollen and rippled from water damage.

  She soon learned that this was Brother Ignatius’s daily log—a day-to-day history of the monastery. Flipping through the pages, her gaze fell on an entry made on October 31, 1976—Halloween. The monastery had been victimized by two thieves who’d made their way into the main house while the members of the order had been away on a retreat at a mountain camp. The thieves had broken a window to gain entry, and at least one of them had been badly cut, judging from the amount of blood Brother Ignatius reported as having cleaned from the floors. Several items had been taken—mostly religious art that had either been donated to the monastery or crafted by the brothers themselves.

  As Sister Agatha read more about the thefts, she made an amazing discovery. Stunned, she stopped reading immediately, placed the small book into her pocket, and hurried to the door. She’d just clasped the handle when she heard a firm knock that made her jump. Getting a grip on herself, she opened the door and saw Tom.

  “You going somewhere?“ he asked.

  “Yes. I’m sorry I can’t talk right now. Would you lock the door behind you when you’re done? Pax will stand guard until I’m back.” Leaving him to assume whatever he wanted, she hurried to the lobby.

  It seemed to take forever to find Ginny, but she finally saw her arranging some flowers in the great room. Sister Agatha got to the point right away, asking permission to use one of the office phones.

  “Of course, Sister. Go around the front desk into Ernie�
�s office,” she said. “He’s not there right now, so you’ll have all the privacy you need.”

  Moments later, alone, Sister Agatha dialed the archbishop’s office. She prepared to leave a message, but the archbishop’s assistant, Joe Morales, asked her to hold. “I was told that if you ever called, Sister Agatha—day or night—I was to put you through right away.”

  Surprised, and wondering if His Excellency had known what she’d eventually discover, Sister Agatha waited for the archbishop to be put through.

  As soon as they’d finished talking, Sister Agatha hurried back to the library to get what she needed, then locked the room up tightly, leaving Pax inside to guard things. The journal, of course, was in the pocket of her habit. That would remain with her until she could hand it over to the archbishop herself.

  Spotting Tom coming out of the dining room, she rushed over to him. “Just the man I was looking for. I need a favor,” she said.

  “What’s up?“ He motioned toward the helmet she had in her hand. “Are you leaving?“

  “I’ll be gone for a few hours, maybe even overnight, I’m not really sure yet. I’ll return as soon as possible. But there are still things that belong to the church in the library. I’ve left Pax there to guard them, but he’ll need to be taken out and fed. Will you do that for me while I’m gone?“ She handed him the keys be-fore he could answer.

  “Okay,” he said as they stepped out into the parking lot.

  “Both the door leading to the hall and the one to the court-yard are locked, of course.”

  “Would you like me to move in there with Pax if you don’t get back tonight?“ Tom asked as she put on her helmet, snapped the chin strap into place, and flipped the visor up.