“That shouldn’t be necessary, but make sure that everyone knows Pax is in there. If the thief is planning to strike tonight, that should at least make him think twice about getting too close to the library.” She reached into her pocket for the ignition key to the Harley.
“You’re off on a mission, Sister. I’ve seen that look before.”
“Church business,” she said, mounting the Harley and pressing the starter button. As she flipped down her helmet visor and sped away, she wondered what other surprises today would bring.
Just an hour later, she sat outside Archbishop Miera’s office in Santa Fe, waiting.
The speaker on Mr. Morales’s desk buzzed once. “The archbishop will see you now,” he announced, then stood.
Sister Agatha was escorted into a large, well-decorated office. The furnishings were leather and wood, and the decor Southwestern, with whitewashed walls, a wooden ceiling of long, peeled logs supporting latillas, and a brick floor, much like those at The Retreat, but on a smaller, more affluent scale.
“Come in, Sister Agatha. May we get you something to drink?“
“No, thank you, Your Excellency.”
“What you mentioned to me on the phone earlier was quite a surprise. It adds a whole new light to your inquiries. Now suppose you tell me everything—starting at the beginning.”
She took the daily log out of her pocket and placed it on his desk. “I found this in the last crate. Trying to assess the condition and potential value of the book, I read a few entries. That’s when I came across a very descriptive passage that listed all of the items that had been stolen from the monastery back in 1976.” She paused, then added. “Every piece of art taken from The Retreat this past month was also taken in that burglary twenty-six years ago.”
“The bulto of Our Lady of Sorrows was stolen before?“ the archbishop asked.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” she answered. “The odd part of the story is that just a few days after the original theft, one of the thieves had a change of heart and returned all the stolen items to the monastery. The monk who recorded the event said that the teenage thief who returned the items told him personally that he did so without his partner’s knowledge.”
“And everything that was taken back then was returned?“
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Were the thieves ever identified and arrested?“
“According to Brother Ignatius’s records, the abbot had made a promise to Our Lady that they would forgive and forget if the stolen art was returned, in particularly the bulto of the Virgin of Sorrows. The abbot had been devastated by its loss. Brother Ignatius wrote that the news concerning the return of the stolen pieces was given to the sheriff’s department, and the matter was closed.”
Archbishop Miera nodded. “I know about the miracle of the flood that has been attributed to the bulto and how much that little statue means to the entire community. That’s why the abbot at Saint John in the Pines thought it should always remain there,” he said. “After you called, I checked with a priest who lived in that monastery. He told me that many of the brothers believed that the Virgin had changed the heart of one of the thieves, and that was why the bulto was returned.”
The archbishop’s speaker buzzed, and they heard the voice of his secretary. “Brother Martinez is here, Your Excellency.”
“Show him in.” Miera glanced at Sister Agatha and continued. “I believe that you’ll appreciate the opportunity to meet this guest. Brother Martinez lived at Saint John in the Pines Monastery almost all of his life.”
Before she could ask any questions, an elderly monk was shown inside.
Sister Agatha stood as the archbishop’s secretary helped Brother Martinez cross the room. The white-haired monk had to have been close to a hundred years old. He leaned.on a cane heavily as he took small, slow steps.
“Please sit down, Brother,” the archbishop said. “1 wish you would have let us come to you instead.”
The monk nodded slightly as he spoke, a further indication of his advanced age. “I fulfill all my duties, Your Excellency, and that includes going where I’m needed. That’s the way of our order. We work until we drop—then we go meet Our Lord.”
“May that not be anytime soon. We would miss you, Brother.” The archbishop gestured for him to take a seat, then continued, “We need you to tell us what you remember of the day the thefts were discovered.”
“I remember that day clearly—better than I do what happened yesterday. Funny how the mind works,” lie said, then, taking a deep breath, began: “There was only one monk on the grounds at the time. He’d stayed behind to take care of the livestock. He was a sound sleeper, so he didn’t discover the crime until early the next morning.” He paused to take a deep breath, then continued. “When the sheriff came to take a report, he was shown where the thieves had broken in. The only evidence the sheriff had to work with was some blood and fibers from the cloth gloves at least one of the thieves had worn when he punched a hole in the glass to gain entry. They left no other clues that I know about.”
Sister Agatha nodded. “If the burglars weren’t caught, how do you know there were two of them?“
“The repentant thief who eventually returned the stolen items told Brother Ignatius as much. Apparently what had started out as a Halloween prank got out of hand,” Brother Martinez answered.
Brother Martinez took a sip of his tea, then continued. “When Father Abbot first found out that Our Lady of Sorrows had been taken, he was devastated. Even though the statue was just a symbol, it meant a lot to him. Father Abbot asked us all to start a novena right away and to promise the Lady that if the items were returned, particularly the little statue, we would forgive and forget in true Christian spirit. Less than three days later our prayers were answered.”
“And now some of the same works of art have been stolen again.” The archbishop shook his head. “It hardly seems likely that one or both of the original thieves would return to repeat their crime.”
“Maybe this time it’s just the unrepentant thief,” Brother Martinez said.
“But why steal the same artifacts, and why wait over twenty years to do so?“ Sister Agatha asked.
Brother Martinez shrugged and looked at the archbishop.
“I don’t know, either,” the archbishop said, “but it’ll be up to you, Sister, to find the connection. The monks from Saint John have all passed away now except for Brother Martinez.”
Brother Martinez looked at the archbishop. “I’ve told you all I remember, but if there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Brother. I appreciate you coming here today. I’ll let you go back to your work now,” the archbishop said, and buzzed his assistant on the intercom. “Please escort Brother Martinez back to our car, and see that he gets home safely.”
After the elderly monk left, the archbishop slid Brother Ig-natius’s log over to Sister Agatha. “Keep this, Sister Agatha, and read through it again. Maybe Brother Igantius made some other comments that will help you.”
Sister Agatha took the book from his desk and slipped it back into her pocket. “I’ll do my best, Your Excellency. May I tell Ernie Luna and Sheriff Green about our find?“
“Do what you think is best. You’re calling the shots on this one, Sister Agatha.”
Sister Agatha left the archbishop’s office feeling the heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders. No one except God and the two thieves, one of them undoubtedly Bill Miller, knew the complete story. But with God’s help she’d get to the bottom of things soon.
17
WITH THE LIST FROM THE YOUNG MONK’S JOURNAL, Sister Agatha now knew which works of art Miller would likely be targeting, and could focus her efforts on protecting those that were still at The Retreat. But the motive still eluded her. Worst of all, she still had no idea who Miller’s partner could be, and that made him a wild card.
She arrived back at The Retreat before dinnertime, and hurried to check on Pax
. The big dog was happy to see her. After taking time to pet and talk to him, she sat down, aware of how tired she really was. Tonight’s patrol would be tough on her.
Hearing a knock, she looked up and saw Tom walk in. “Are you finally ready to tell me what’s going on?“
“Only if you give me your word that you’ll keep what I tell you confidential. I do need your help, Tom, but I can go it alone if I have to.”
“What you’re asking ... is difficult,” he said slowly. “1 get the feeling from what you’ve said that you’re withholding important information, or maybe even evidence.”
She didn’t answer.
“If you have anything you can take to the sheriff, you should,” he added.
She thought about Bill Miller’s unidentified partner. If this other thief had been a friend of Miller’s when growing up in the Las Vegas area, then Barela might have an idea who he was. The two men had known each other since they were kids, but her assessment of Sheriff Barela hadn’t been favorable.
Circumstantial evidence might point to Ernie, and considering the history of animosity between them, Barela could decide to launch a high-profile investigation that would ruin the Lunas. Sister Agatha had no intention of letting anyone be falsely accused based on the old writings—not without more proof.
“I don’t have any real evidence, just a possible lead to follow, and I’d like to learn more before going to the sheriff,” Sister Agatha said. “But if we work together, we’ll get those answers a lot faster. What you have to do is figure out whether you’re here to help Ernie or Sheriff Barela.”
He considered it for a while, then finally spoke. “This isn’t my jurisdiction. As long as the crimes are solved, I’m here for Ernie.”
“Okay, then here’s what I’ve been up to, and what I’ve learned.” She showed him the list of items that had been stolen in 1976 and detailed everything she’d learned so far. “Several of these pieces were taken recently and exchanged with copies. Others are still missing. I think we should look carefully at the ones from the original list that we believe haven’t been disturbed yet.”
Leaving Pax on guard in the library, Sister Agatha led the way to a nicho in the hallway that intersected with the corridors leading to the guest bedrooms. In the large recess hung a framed painted hide depicting the crucifixion. “I know a little about this piece from one of the journals. It was painted by a family member of one of the monks as a gift to the order.”
Tom unfastened the painting from its hook and brought it out, holding it beneath the sconce to get the maximum light. “This looks like blood,” he said, pointing out a dark stain on the wood that ran around to the back of the hide. “And if my guess is right, we’ve got a partial bloody fingerprint here. Let’s go see the other pieces.”
The second and third artifacts on the list were panels from an altar screen, but they were unable to find any stains on them. The fourth was a frazada, a blanket in a pattern known as Mexican Saltillo, which consisted of three zones and a large diamond design in the center. The very tiny fringe at the bottom had some dark markings, but it was impossible to tell if it was dried blood or not.
“The brothers were probably afraid to remove the stains and risk permanent damage to the pieces,” Sister Agatha commented.
“We have to get permission to check this out,” Tom said firmly. “I’d like to cut off a few stained fibers from that fringe, and take a scraping of the stained section of the hide painting. Tests can be run to see if that’s blood. But I’ll check this fingerprint first. That can be photographed.”
Sister Agatha stared at the frazada pensively. “So go ahead and get the fingerprint and we’ll ask the archbishop about taking the sample for blood typing,” she said. “But after all these years, what can we learn from the blood?“
“With today’s technology, as long as the blood hasn’t been altered chemically, there’s still a change that it can be traced back to a particular individual. That alone could be enough to get a search warrant, at least.”
“Will you be comparing the prints to the ones lifted at the gatehouse? Bill’s will be the most common found there.”
“Let’s hope it’s not his.”
“Right. If it isn’t, then we’ll finally have evidence of his partner.”
After dinner, seeing the writers gathered around the cart that held the desserts, she went up to join them.
“We’re glad to see you back, Sister,” Tim said. “I think Ernie and Ginny need their friends around right now.”
“What about you? Are you their friend?“
“Sure I am, more so now than when we were young. Ernie and I go back a long ways. We went to high school together, did you know that?“ he asked, then, not waiting for an answer, continued. “But we never hung out back then. He lived in town, listened to rock and roll, and had a cat. I lived with my parents in a farm filled with horses, cattle, and dogs. Ernie always had spending money, too. His family was well off. Mine was dirt poor, so I couldn’t afford to do the stuff he did, like snow skiing.”
His words rang true, but she wouldn’t have expected anything else from Tim. Words were his business and fiction his specialty.
Sister Agatha said good-bye to the writers and went back to the library to think. Pax was happy to see her, and rushed up, tail wagging.
“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?“ She bent down to give the big dog a hug. “Come on. We both need a break and there’s still a little daylight left. Let’s go for a walk.”
Going out through the courtyard gate, she left the property and wandered over to the adjacent forested area. Before long, surrounded by the shadowy forest, she found an old orchard occupied by tall grasses and the gray skeletons of lifeless apple trees. A few remained alive despite the obvious neglect, and she could see several dried apples on the ground. Enjoying the serenity of the approaching evening, she decided to devote herself to Compline prayers and make her peace with God as this particularly troubling day ended.
Since she was alone, she let Pax off the leash and allowed him to run. As he sniffed the ground and darted after small bugs and critters only he could see, she sat down on the sawed-off stump of a tree and tried to focus her thoughts on the familiar ritual.
Moments after finishing, she was startled by the sound of footsteps crunching the leaves somewhere behind her. This area was isolated, so she watched Pax, trying to read his reaction, and when his tail began to wag, she relaxed.
“Hello, Tom,” she said before even turning around.
As he came out from behind one of the few live apple trees, she could see the surprise on his face. “How did you know it was me?“
“Pax told me.”
“You two have become quite a team. It must have been fate.”
“I love Pax and so do all the other sisters,” she said. “I’m just grateful that we were able to give him a home.” Looking around, she added, “Did you know that this monastery used to have acres and acres of land? As the monks tried to buy time against the inevitable, parcels were sold piece by piece until not much more than the grounds and outbuildings inside the walls remained.”
“Nothing ever stays the same.”
“You haven’t seen life inside a monastery,” she said with a smile. Sister Agatha shook off her nostalgic mood. This was not the time for idle conversation. “Have you learned anything new?“
“Yes, the bloody fingerprint came out well, but we didn’t get a hit. I don’t have access to those collected at the gatehouse, but we can probably get one belonging to Bill Miller without Barela’s help.”
“Hopefully either the blood or the prints will reveal who Bill’s accomplice is. But how are we going to get blood samples from all the suspects?“
“We’re not. We have to narrow it down to one or two. DNA matches, which are virtually foolproof, are expensive and time-consuming. Trust me, it’s not easy to get approval or funding for screening.”
“Maybe once we get a prime suspect—“
&nbs
p; “Exactly. We need to do more footwork. Ready to go back?“
Sister Agatha nodded, then called Pax to her and leashed him securely. Together they walked back onto the main grounds and to the gatehouse. When they were close enough to see the front door, they realized it was wide open. Sister Agatha and Tom exchanged a quick glance. Pax was alert, his eyes focused on the gatehouse, his ears pricked forward.
Tm going in first,” Tom whispered. “It could be one of the staff in there cleaning now that the police are done—or not.”
Sister Agatha barely waited until Tom was inside before following, Pax at her side. Patience had never been one of her virtues. The minute she stepped through the front door she noticed that the small door leading down into the root cellar was also open. Tom was standing at the foot of the stairs, listening, when Pax spun around, tense, and began barking. Sister Agatha tightened her grip on the leatsh.
A heartbeat later Sheriff Barela came through the doorway that led into the bedroom. “What are you two doing here?“ he demanded.
Sister Agatha forced herself to smile pleasantly. “We were taking Pax for a walk when we saw the open door. Tom thought he better take a look, and I followed him.”
Barela ran a hand through his hair. “I’m here grasping at straws. We still haven’t turned up any leads on Miller’s whereabouts, so I came back just in case we’d overlooked something.”
“Any luck?“ Tom asked.
“Not yet. Miller sure didn’t leave much behind.”
“Sheriff, why don’t you let us help? It surely can’t do any harm now, and it might save you some time,” Sister Agatha said.
“I’ll accept Sheriff Green’s help anytime,” Barela said in a very businesslike tone, “but you’re a nun. I think prayers are your area of expertise. Why don’t you stick to that?“
“You’re underestimating me,” she said, trying to keep anger from coloring her words. “I may not have law enforcement training, but I do have a sharp eye. The very fact that I have a different perspective from yours means I might notice something you’d miss.”
Thief in Retreat Page 21
