“What happened to the stolen art?“ Sister Agatha asked.
“JB has it, maybe at his house,” Bill said. “Once I ran out of time to create copies, he was going to clean off the fingerprints and blood with a chemical he told me would make any DNA testing unreliable. Then we could take our time and sell the pieces to a dealer in another state.”
“What about Our Lady of Sorrows?“ Sister Agatha asked, noting that two sheriff’s deputies had arrived and were standing behind her, listening intently.
“I never turned that one over to JB. I knew he’d want the good publicity he’d get by claiming to have tracked down the bulto, so I tried to use that to force him to return the other pieces instead of selling them. I’ve kept the bulto with me all this time in my backpack.” He slipped off his backpack and placed it on the floor in front of Tom.
“May I?“ Sister Agatha asked and looked at Tom, who nodded.
She tried to pick it up, then eased it back down. “It’s heavy.” Everyone leaned forward for a look except for Tom, who kept his eyes on Barela as she unsnapped the top of the nylon bag.
“It’s Charlee’s manuscript,” Sister Agatha said as she opened the flap. The thick manuscript, unbound, was held together by several big rubber bands.
“I had to get something to protect the bulto so I could keep it hidden and safe. Her novel was perfect, once I grabbed a razor knife,” Bill mumbled.
Sister Agatha unfastened the rubber bands, then lifted off a small section of intact pages. Below, in a slightly oversized, cut-out space spanning at least 500 pages of Charlee’s romance, was the bulto of Our Lady. “Fits like a glove,” she said, looking up at Tom with a smile.
Sister Agatha replaced the top pages, then slipped the rubber bands back over the manuscript before returning it to the backpack. As she worked, Tom motioned to the deputies to take charge of the manuscript, Barela, and Miller. Then he lifted the little camera from its hiding place and shut it off. “I’ll bring this down to the station house so you can add it to the other evidence,” Tom said as the deputies and their prisoners headed out of the room.
Just before dawn, a court order in hand, the deputies and Tom searched Barela’s home and found all the missing artwork, include ing the pieces that had been in Professor Lockhart’s possession.
Sister Agatha, who’d been with the Lunas at The Retreat awaiting the news, cheered along with them when the call finally came, informing them everything had been recovered. All the pieces were now accounted for, and the precious bulto was safe and would be returned to The Retreat after the trial.
With Bill Miller’s testimony and the evidence found at Barela’s home, the sheriff, now suspended and behind bars, wouldn’t escape justice. Murder charges would be forthcoming, according to a state police spokesperson. Their office had taken over the investigation of Professor Lockhart’s death.
After having spent the remainder of the night clearing out the smoke and restoring order, the Lunas excused themselves wearily to begin preparations for breakfast for their guests.
Sister Agatha, once again alone with Pax in the library, reached down and gave the dog a big hug. “Well, it’s finally time to wrap things up here and go home.” The dog wagged his tail furiously.
Before beginning to pack and lock up the last crate, Sister Agatha reached for her breviary. For her day to begin right, it had to start with God.
Once her morning prayers ended, she worked with renewed energy. A short while later, hearing footsteps, she glanced up and saw Tom walk into the library. “I guess we can chalk up another success to God’s PI,” he said with a grin. “You keep this up and the Church will have you carrying handcuffs and a fingerprinting kit along with your rosary.”
“I can see it now. The archbishop will offer my services as an El—Extern Investigator,” she said, and they both laughed.
“What are you planning to do with the items that still need to go back to the monastery or the archdiocese?“
“I’ve already asked the archbishop to send back the van. But there’s a box of books and holy cards that he entrusted to my order as a reward for my work here.”
Ernie Luna came in just then, looking happy but exhausted, and smiled at them both. “I just came to thank you again for everything.”
Tom shook his hand, then Sister Agatha did the same. “I was happy to have a small part to play,” she said. “But now it’s time for me to finish packing up and go home.”
It was midmorning by the time Sister Agatha was finally ready to leave. She was so excited about going home that she’d only been able to sleep a few hours, just enough to feel safe on the long drive back to Bernalillo.
With Pax on his leash, Sister Agatha walked through the hall to the front of the building. As she passed the great room, she saw Mrs. Mora hanging up a new painting.
Sister Agatha stopped to give her a hand and say good-bye. “That’s an interesting painting. Who’s the subject?“
“It’s Juanita, our ghost. Months ago, Mrs. Luna commissioned one of our local artists—not Bill Miller—to create a portrait of Juanita. The painter found what she needed—an artist’s sketch and an article about Juanita—at the museum in a display of territorial newspapers. The portrait was finally delivered today.”
Sister Agatha looked at the pleasant, smiling face and then saw the old-fashioned roses on her lap. As she recalled the unexplained ghostly visit, Sister Agatha suddenly noticed that the gentle scent of roses had drifted into the room. For one brief moment, Sister Agatha thought she heard the sound of distant laughter maybe coming from upstairs, and they both glanced up at the ceiling.
Mrs. Mora gave Sister Agatha a startled look, crossed herself quickly, and hurried out of the room.
“Good-bye, Juanita,” Sister Agatha said, knowing the building had no second floor. “Behave yourself.”
Turn the page for an excerpt from
the Thurlos’ next Sister Agatha mystery
PREY FOR A MIRACLE
Coming soon in hardcover from St. Martin’s Minotaur
IF THEY REACHED ST. AUGUSTINE’S, SHE AND HER DAUGHTER would be safe. Her brother, Rick, was the priest there. Before he’d become Father Mahoney, Rick had been a pro wrestler—stage name Apocalypse Now. Rick could handle any threat to her or Natalie; she was certain of it. She and her daughter would find sanctuary at St. Augustine’s Church until they could leave New Mexico for good. It was the only answer.
The heavy pounding of rain on the windshield of their old car had eased, but the road was still incredibly dark, and her range of vision only extended a few feet beyond the glow of the headlights. Ever since they’d left the house she’d had the feeling that they were being followed, but the lights in her rearview mirror had never come any closer. Another false alarm, that’s all.
Wishing she’d contacted the District Attorney the instant the threats and calls had begun instead of playing it cool—quietly planning their escape—Jessica began to recite another prayer under her breath. Sometimes running away was the right answer.
She’d just hand over the evidence to her brother. He’d know what to do with it after she and Natalie long gone.
“Mom? Are you scared?”
Jessica looked over at Natalie, her eight-year-old daughter, trying to manage a smile. She was afraid to “speak in a normal tone, knowing her voice would crack and her tears would start again, so she just shook her head.
“You sure?“
Jessica swallowed, determined not to cry. “Just another ten minutes, maybe less,” she muttered in a barely audible voice. Then the nightmares would be over—or at least postponed for a while longer.
“Huh? Mom, what’s in ten minutes?“ Natalie said, poking her head out of the hooded jacket to look around, then sitting up to glance out the side mirror.
That’s when Jessica saw the vehicle following them closing the gap. The glare from the high beams was blinding now, but she didn’t dare take her hand off the wheel to flip that thing on the rearview mirror
that would deflect the light.
She sneaked a look over at her daughter. “Let’s play a game, Natalie,” she said, surprised that she’d managed to make her voice sound so calm. “Scrunch down and pretend you’re hiding.”
Natalie started to turn in her seat to look behind them. “Huh? Hiding from what?“
“Just do it!“ Jessica yelled as the car on their tail started to go around them.
Jessica eased off on the gas, desperately hoping she’d been worried about nothing. If the car was just trying to pass, it couldn’t possibly be him.
Hanging onto the wheel with both hands, Jessica prayed, looking straight ahead and focusing on doing what was necessary to protect herself and Natalie. “Come on and pass me. The road is clear,” she whispered.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the vehicle nearly beside them now was a pickup. A tan pickup! Her heart nearly stopped as she caught a glimpse of the driver’s baseball cap. The light was bad, but she now knew who it was.
Refusing to admit defeat, she let off on the gas, hoping he’d shoot past her, but the truck stayed even with her. Prayers forgotten, she concentrated solely on survival. Nothing else mattered now.
Then the pickup accelerated and swerved into their lane. Jessica hit the brakes instinctively. “Hang on, Natalie!“ she screamed. The loud, metallic screech that followed drowned out the sounds of their terror.
The car trembled and they ricocheted off to the right, onto the shoulder of the road. Jessica fought the wheel, afraid they’d turn over on the soft ground. A heartbeat later they hit something hard and the car jumped, then skidded through brush, and crashed through a wooden fence. The wild bouncing seemed to go on forever, then the car came to an abrupt stop.
Jessica’s head slammed into the steering wheel, and bounced back painfully. An all encompassing darkness threatened to overcome her, but she fought it back, knowing what was at stake. Something warm was running down her face—not rain. Her nose was numb and probably broken, and her lips were starting to swell.
The headlights were still on, though the engine had stopped, and she saw a figure pause in front of their car. Recognizing the face in the glare helped her summon up her courage and she strained to move her head, looking for Natalie.
“Mom? You’re hurt. There’s blood on your face.”
“Natalie, get out of the car. Now! Run and hide.”
“Mom?“
Hearing the fear in her child’s voice tore at her very soul, but there was no time to comfort. “Run and hide, Natalie. Now!“ Jessica’s head almost exploded as she moved, but she reached out and pushed Natalie.
Even as the pain came to her in waves too powerful to fight, the darkness called softly to her. The sudden breeze that told her Natalie had opened the door helped her hang on a moment longer. “Run!“ Jessica managed once more, her voice thick.
Hearing a thud on the windshield Jessica forced herself to look back. A hand was pressed against the glass, and she heard her name being called. But the voice quickly blended with the sounds of the night and began fading away. Blackness awaited, and within that, was peace ... and silence.
SILENCE DEFINED THE MONASTERY —EXCEPT DURING RECREation. The hour before Compline, the concluding canonical hour of the Divine Office, was a time of community togetherness. Pictures and letters from family and friends, part of the lives they’d each left behind, were passed around freely and, over the years, the names and faces had all become part of a bigger family here at Our Lady of Hope Monastery.
Tonight, Sister Maria Victoria had photos of her new baby niece to show, and Sister Gertrude had received a letter announcing that her cousin had entered the priesthood. On the outside, these bits of news might have been glossed over but, here, they were savored and relished as gifts from an ever-present and good God.
Sadness, too, was more bearable a burden when shared by the entire community. After Sister Clothilde’s sister had passed away at another monastery few months ago, everyone had taken part in an all-night vigil. Through their shared prayers, the pain of one had been borne by many shoulders, lessening its crushing weight.
Now laughter rose easily among them almost in defiance to the storm brewing outside. The window panes rattled as the wind whistled through the cracks, announcing the rain that would quickly follow. As was the custom among long-time New Mexico residents, the nuns walked to the open back door to watch the rare event. Pax, the monastery’s large, white German shepherd, remained behind, content to sleep through the commotion.
“We’re in for a gully washer tonight,” Sister Bernarda said. The former Marine-turned-nun had a delivery that made even the simplest of sentences sound like an order.
“This should help ease the drought a bit. It’ll be a blessing, providing the rain doesn’t evaporate before it hits the ground,” Sister Agatha said quietly. Truth was, she didn’t like thunderstorms.
“This storm will bring a blessing,” Sister Ignatius said excitedly. “Look! Do you see it?“
“What?“ Sister Agatha asked, glancing over Sister Bernarda’s massive shoulders.
“There! That cloud looks just like an angel with huge, feathered wings. This morning at prayer I asked the Lord to send us an angel as a sign that the monastery’s financial problems would soon be over, and there it is! And just to make it perfect, the angel has appeared to us in the middle of a storm!“
Sister Agatha looked up at the clouds and tilted her head, trying to discern the shape Sister Ignatius was describing. As she brought her cheek down and pushed it against her shoulder, a form began to take shape—but she couldn’t swear that it wasn’t a giant rabbit.
Sister Bernarda looked at Sister Agatha and shrugged.
“Maybe the angel won’t to appear to us externs,” Sister Agatha told Sister Bernarda with a ghost of a smile.
“It’s the price we pay for not taking a vow of enclosure—we become too affected by the world,” Sister de Lourdes, their newest extern said, joining them.
“I suppose it’s all in how you look at it but, in my opinion, we externs have the best job of all,” Sister Agatha said with complete conviction. Extern nuns were part of the contemplative life of the monastery where prayers and a lifetime spent in service to God defined who and what they were. But externs also ventured into the outside world. The monastery relied on them to run errands, escort a plumber or an electrician onto the premises, and to be the liaison between the monastery and the community. It was that duality Sister Agatha loved the most, and she couldn’t imagine any greater blessing.
Sister Agatha glanced at Sister de Lourdes. The petite young woman had been known as Celia just two short years ago, a postulant headed for a life as a cloistered nun. But now she was an extern nun, having placed her own wishes aside to answer the needs of the monastery. Celia had been her godchild, and Sister Agatha hadn’t exactly welcomed her into the monastery. But there was no doubt that Sister de Lourdes’s calling was genuine.
Sister Agatha’s musings were interrupted when the bell announcing Compline rang. The sisters stepped away from the door, heads bowed, and began walking silently toward chapel. The stillness that surrounded them now as they entered the chapel provided a comfort all its own. It was the serenity and quiet that helped make Our Lady of Hope Monastery a spiritual fortress. Body and soul had to be at peace before the heart could attain union with the Divine.
As they began chanting the Divine Office, Sister Agatha felt a clear sense of God’s presence. Compline meant ’to make the day complete’ and that was precisely what the liturgical hour did. The prayers being chanted now were-a daily reminder that He whom they served was faithful.
“And under His wings shall thou find refuge.” The words of the psalm said it all. Here at Our Lady of Hope, she’d found the ’pearl of great price’ that had required her to give up everything to possess it. A woman surrendered much when she answered God’s call. Turning her back on the right to have children and a family of her own, Sister Agatha had embraced another
life, one where the spirit was fed daily, but human needs had to be set aside. Yet this was precisely where she belonged.
After Compline, the Great Silence began. Except for a grave emergency, it wouldn’t be broken until after Morning Prayers the following day. Listening to the storm raging outside, Sister Agatha lingered in chapel after the cloistered sisters had left. The two other externs, whose duties often prevented them from having time for silent meditation, had also chosen to remain.
Sister Agatha’s gaze focused on the sanctuary light flickering over the tabernacle. The flame was a symbol of the living presence there—of the One they loved. Though rain continued to fall outside and the rumble of thunder shook the windows, the menacing gloom couldn’t disturb the blessed serenity of their chapel.
As the rain peaked in intensity, Sister Agatha heard one of the branches of the cottonwood tree outside hit the roof with a heavy thud. Flat roofs—old flat roofs—had a tendency to leak, particularly during downpours like the one they were experiencing now. She made a mental note to check things out tomorrow morning.
Focusing once again on her prayers, Sister Agatha’s gaze shifted to the statue of the Blessed Mother. The stand of votive candles before it cast a maze of dancing shadows on the wall, but it was the liquid shimmer there that drew her to her feet and in for a closer look.
As Sister Agatha reached the far corner, her fears were confirmed. Water was trickling down from the ceiling. The light from the candles played on the drops, making them sparkle with a benign grace that was dangerously deceptive. A water leak here in the chapel could do untold damage.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Sister Bernarda standing there with a worried frown. Sister de Lourdes approached a moment later from the sacristy, flashlight in hand.
After using a bright light to examine the rivulets of water running to the floor, Sister de Lourdes pointed to the ceiling which was bowed slightly in one section. Sister Bernarda looked back at Sister Agatha and, without breaking the Great Silence, pointed with her thumb toward the chapel doors.
Thief in Retreat Page 24
