“Reverend Mother has called another chapter meeting,” Sister Bernarda said quickly. “She’s asked everyone to meet her in the community room.” As she finished speaking, the bell began ringing, its deep, rich tones summoning each of them. “The door and windows are now locked, and the answering machine is on. Let’s go,” Sister Bernarda said, opening the door to the enclosure.
“Any idea what’s going on?”
“No, not a clue, but I expect we’ll find out soon enough.” By the time they reached the community room, all the other sisters and Reverend Mother were already there. Going inside as quietly as possible, they stood by the wall and joined in the opening prayer.
“God, let your love come upon us. Glory be to the Father, and the Son …,” Reverend Mother intoned, then, once finished, glanced around the room. “Sit down, children.”
There was a flurry of activity as they obeyed, followed by an expectant silence.
“I’ll begin with the good news. Mr. Gutierrez will donate the buffer zone we requested, a fifty-foot-wide strip of land, if Sister Agatha can help him with a pressing family matter. We all need to pray for her success.”
Reverend Mother paused for several long seconds, then continued. “Now the less positive news. Our insurance company is demanding that the rewiring work be completed quickly or they’ll drop coverage. Since our cash reserves are low, we’ll need a loan to do this, even with Sister Bernarda doing some of the work herself. The problem we’re facing is that to pay back the loan, we’ll have to rely on our future income from NexCen and from the money Sister Agatha will be given if her work for Mr. Gutierrez is successful. If that money doesn’t come in, we would have to default on the loan, and that’ll mean a significant penalty as well as higher interest rates and payments. That’s why we all have to vote on this. The choice before us is this: drop our insurance for a few months until we have the cash to pay for the repairs, or do the needed work now, and fund it with a short-term loan, counting that the money we need will come in on time.”
“We have the very minimum of insurance as it is, Mother,” Sister Gertrude, their cellarer said. “We can’t allow it to lapse.”
Sister Agatha looked at the others then back at Mother, uncertain whether to tell them what she’d learned from Margot Leland. With enemies working against them, maybe now wasn’t a good time for financial risk-taking. But since her concerns were mostly based on rumor, she wasn’t sure if she should bring it up or not.
“What’s on your mind, child?” Reverend Mother asked, her gaze on Sister Agatha. “If you have any thoughts about this, speak freely.”
Sister Agatha told them what she’d learned. “The incidents may be unrelated. But the situation still worries me. We need the protection of our walls and a solid gate, but maybe we should hold off on the rest, including the rewiring, and trust things will hold together a little longer.”
“Could Mr. Gutierrez be persuaded to advance us the second check and trust you to locate his niece?” Reverend Mother asked.
Sister Agatha shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so, Mother. He’s a businessman. If I don’t deliver, he’ll use the remaining funds to hire someone else, maybe another private investigator. The blessing is that he came to us first and we did get a check that should cover a good part of the repairs to our gate.”
“We need to trust God to see things through for us from beginning to end,” Sister Ignatius said firmly. “He led Moses through the desert, and He’ll see us through this now.”
After considering all sides of the problem, they voted unanimously to take out the loan and give priority to fixing the wiring, an ever-present fire hazard. Reverend Mother called an end to their meeting and, as she walked out of the room, gestured for Sister Agatha to accompany her.
Sister Agatha silently fell into step beside her and waited for her to speak.
“Go back and talk to Sheriff Green. Make sure he understands that our monastery may need extra protection while our wall is down.”
“I’ll take care of that right away, Mother.”
The bells were ringing for None as Sister Agatha prepared to leave the monastery again. Assured on the telephone that Tom would be in his office until late, she went down the hall to look for Sister Bernarda, who was checking out an outlet.
She explained her errand then added, “I’ll need you to take over as portress.”
“Will you be coming back as soon as you’re finished at the station?” Sister Bernarda asked.
“Yes, but on the way there, I’ll be stopping to get gas for the Harley. I don’t expect this to be a quick trip, so I’ll take the extra set of keys to the front door. That way you won’t have to stay in the parlor to let me back in.”
“All right. But a head’s-up, Sister Agatha. Last time I stopped by the garage, Paul Gonzales was in a terrible mood. He said that he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to continue his donations of gas and car repairs to the monastery.”
“Times have been tough for many of our small businessmen,” Sister Agatha said, nodding. “Maybe he’s having some financial problems of his own. I’ll make it a point to talk to him.” Mr. Gonzales’s donations were more important than ever to the monastery. If those stopped, she wasn’t sure how they’d manage.
It was a little past five-thirty when Sister Agatha walked out to the parking area. Seeing her, Pax bounded to the Harley and waited for her in the sidecar. Soon they were on their way to Paul’s garage.
As she drove the Harley up by the gasoline pumps and parked, Paul came out from one of the garage bays, wiping his hands on a rag. A radio inside was playing a Mexican ballad, and Paul was singing along, looking as if his thoughts were a million miles away.
“Hello, Paul,” she greeted.
“Hello, Sister. Do you need some help?”
“No, I just stopped by for gas and to say hi. The song you were singing sounded sad. Not your singing, the song itself,” she clarified quickly. “How are things going?”
“Not good.” Paul stared at the gas pumps as if they were long-lost friends, then turned to look at the building. “Fact is, I’ve been thinking of closing down the garage, Sister. It’s a lot of work and I’m getting up in years. If I sell the business, the wife and I could retire and do some traveling together.”
“You built this business from scratch, Paul,” she said, surprised. “I thought you’d never give it up. Has something changed?”
“Our son has no interest in taking over the business. He says he has plans of his own, and they don’t include running the garage. I always assumed that this place would belong to him someday. That’s why I worked so hard to stay in the black. But if he doesn’t want it, it’s time for me to rethink my future here.”
“But what would you do without this place?” Sister Agatha asked. “You’ve worked here almost your entire adult life. Be careful, Paul, I’ve seen this happen before. It’s not easy for someone used to working hard to suddenly find himself with nothing to do. Having time on your hands may not turn out to be the blessing you think it is.”
Paul nodded slowly. “I saw something like that happen to my dad. He talked and talked about retiring, then, when he finally did, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d go fishing in the mornings then rattle around the house every afternoon. Before long, even fishing stopped being fun for him. Eight months later he passed away.” He paused. “That’s why I’m taking this slow. I need to make sure I’m doing the right thing. There are some decisions you just can’t undo.”
Sister Agatha thought of Sister Bernarda and how some choices came back to haunt people when they least expected it. “I’ll say a prayer for you, Paul. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing when the time comes to decide.” She placed the gas hose back in its place, then noticed that he didn’t have his writing pad. “Did you want me to sign for this inside so you can keep track of the donation?”
“You know where the sheets are, right?”
“Of course.” She started
to go into the small office, then stopped. “By the way, Paul, have you heard anything about our monastery having enemies in town? There’s a rumor flying around, but I’m not sure how much weight to give it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “When I heard what happened to the monastery’s gate, I wondered if I should say something to you. Then I was told that Liz Leland and some other kids were responsible.”
“We thought so at first, but that may not be the case after all.”
Paul stared at his shoes, lost in thought. “I’ve never been much for gossip, but from what I hear, there’s a group of people in this area who are ticked off at the sisters. It’s because of the computer work the monastery’s doing these days. When the NexCen contracts were awarded to the monastery, a local company, Computer Crue, took quite a hit. They laid off a lot of people. They even fired their janitorial services. Liz Leland’s dad owned P.M. Janitorial, and he was suddenly forced to trim down his own staff. That caused him to lose other clients because he couldn’t service them adequately anymore. Then his last major client, the mailing service that also lost their NexCen contract to the monastery, ran into trouble. After that, P.M. Janitorial folded.”
“So Mr. Leland was inadvertently hurt twice by our monastery,” Sister Agatha observed, shaking her head slowly.
“Yeah. I think Dennis Leland works for a company in Rio Rancho now.”
“I didn’t know,” she said, suddenly understanding why Mrs. Leland had been so bitter. If the cutbacks had created a ripple across the local economy, there was no telling how many other enemies they’d made, including the relatives of those who’d lost their jobs.
“I’m sorry to hear about this, but thanks for the information, Paul.”
Then she remembered the photograph of Angie Sanchez in her pocket. Almost everyone in the area depended on private vehicles for transportation, and Paul had pumped gas for decades. “Before I go, will you take a look at a photo and see if you recognize the woman there? I’ve been trying to find her.”
Paul studied the photo for several seconds, then handed it back to her. “I think she’s stopped here for gas a few times over the last few months. She drives a silver Kia, or maybe it’s a Toyota. Her face is a lot rounder now, like she’s put on weight since that picture was taken.”
“Her name is—or was—Angie Sanchez. Does that help?”
“I know several Angies, one of them with the last name of Sanchez. But this lady never introduced herself. Never even got out of the car.”
“Did she pay with a credit card, maybe?” Sister Agatha asked, hoping to get a name.
“Not that I recall. Sorry.”
“What else can you tell me about the woman?”
“Her face looks older now and her hair’s lighter, too. But I see a lot of people, so I could be wrong about all this. I wish I could be more help.”
Sister Agatha smiled. “You’ve done more than you realize.”
After signing the donation sheet, Sister Agatha continued on to the station, glad to finally have a lead on Angie Sanchez. As she drove south down Camino Real, a prickly feeling touched the base of her spine. Uneasy, she looked around. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed a dark-green sedan several car lengths behind her. She wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been there; her mind had been on Angie, but she kept an eye on the car now. It wasn’t the sheriff this time, that was certain.
The vehicle stayed with her, not getting any closer or moving farther back, all the way into the heart of town. When she finally pulled into the sheriff’s department parking lot, the sedan continued down the street, streaking by too quickly for her to get a good look at the driver or his plates.
Sister Agatha walked into the building, Pax at her side, and went directly to Tom’s office. Maybe the sedan had also been on its way to town and she was reading too much into what had happened—or not. As she approached Tom’s door, he glanced up.
“Come in, Sister. I’ve been waiting for you. What’s up?”
She told him about the connection between Liz Leland’s family and the monastery. “They could have a serious grudge against us.”
“I’ll look into it but, in all honesty, I think we’ve gotten all we’re going to get out of that girl and her mother.”
Sister Agatha relayed Reverend Mother’s request for added protection, then continued. “At least the monastery’s gate repairs should begin soon, thanks to the check we got from Mr. Gutierrez. And, of course, I’ll still do my best to find Angie Sanchez quickly. Once I do, our financial problems will ease up considerably.”
Just then Millie came in and placed a file on Tom’s desk. “Angie Sanchez? I remember that name. It caused a lot of problems around here some time back.” Seeing Sister Agatha looking expectantly at her, she continued. “A woman by that name testified against some major bad boy in an Albuquerque court. A murder case, I think it was. The reason it sticks in my mind is because an older woman here in town had the same name, and she started getting some heavy-duty threats. She was terrified, but before we could do much to help her, she moved away. I don’t know where she went.” She paused.
Sister Agatha brought out the photo of Angie, but Millie didn’t recognize her. “You said that it was an Albuquerque case?” Sister Agatha pressed.
“Yeah … something fairly dramatic that got TV coverage a few years ago. But I can’t recall the details. Sorry.”
“Then my next stop is The Chronicle,” Sister Agatha announced.
“What on earth could you possibly find there?” Tom said with a smile. “They have, what, one column of news? No, wait, that’s their entire paper.”
“Oh, be nice. So they’re small,” Sister Agatha said.
“Small? In newspaper terms, they’re a pamphlet,” Tom answered.
“They specialize in local news, but I’ll bet they’ve got access to the archives of the Albuquerque dailies.” She stood. “Oh, before I leave, one more thing. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I thought a green sedan was following me earlier. He drove on past when I entered the parking lot here. I guess it’s possible he was just traveling in the same direction, but I wanted to mention it to you,” she said, giving him all the description she had.
“Did it have New Mexico plates?”
“No, the license plate wasn’t yellow. It was whitish with a darker color at the top, like the ones from Texas or maybe even Colorado. That’s all I know for sure.”
“If you see it again, call.”
“Will do.”
As she walked outside, Pax at heel, Sister Agatha considered what she’d learned. She’d have to compare the photo John Gutierrez had given her with one of the witness as soon as possible. She was positive that the Albuquerque newspapers would have one archived. If the photos matched, then she’d have another talk with Gutierrez before she went any further. Angie Sanchez’s safety would have to come first.
The sun was going down when she passed the feed store and the mercantile. A short time later, Sister Agatha pulled into the parking area beside The Chronicle. The old building had come a long way since Janice Bose had turned it into her newspaper’s main office and printing facility. There was not much landscaping around it—mostly gravel and a few yuccas—but it beat the tangle of tumbleweeds that had once made it difficult to even reach the door.
As she walked in with Pax, Chuck Moody saw them and, with a wide grin, rushed up to greet them. “Sister Agatha, it’s good to see you and Pax again! What brings you by here today?” Chuck was short and wiry, with long, dark hair that seemed to explode from his scalp in all directions.
“It’s good to see you again, too, Chuck.” He’d proved to be a never-ending fountain of information for her. Chuck knew everyone in town and had his ear close to the ground. “Is Janice around?”
“No, she’s already gone for the day. Is there anything I can help you with? It’s slow right now, so I’d be happy to lend you a hand with anything you need.”
His enthusiasm was ir
repressible, so she decided to make the most of the opportunity. “I’m looking for information on a high-profile criminal trial that took place a few years ago in Albuquerque. One of the prosecution’s witnesses was a woman by the name of Angie Sanchez.”
“Janice has Internet access to all the major papers in the state from her desktop computer. Let’s do a name search, put in the words ‘trial’ and ‘prosecution witness,’ then look at the hits we get.” Chuck led her inside Janice’s sparsely decorated office, and Pax followed them silently.
The desk was an old metal job that probably dated back to the 1950s, and the file cabinets looked as if they’d been salvaged from the dump. The only decoration on the wall was an old paint-by-numbers of a horse.
Chuck pulled out a wooden chair for her, then sat down behind Janice’s state-of-the-art computer. This was where some serious money had been spent. The LED screen and graphics were sharper than anything she’d ever seen before. Once Chuck entered a username and password, they zoomed past the home page of a big local newspaper’s Web site, ready to search the archives.
“Why are you interested in this particular story?” Chuck asked, entering the key search words in the proper box on the display. “If you tell me just a little more I might be able to help you find what you need faster.”
“Keep it between us, Chuck?” Seeing him nod, she continued, leaving out the details concerning John Gutierrez. “I’m looking for an Angie Sanchez who’s supposed to be in this area. There’s a slim chance that it’s the same Angie Sanchez who was involved in a big trial a few years ago. I want to compare the photo I have to one of the witness in the newspaper archives.” She pulled the photo from her pocket. “By any chance do you know her?”
He studied the photo then shook his head. “She looks a little familiar, but that’s about it. Sorry.”
Chuck found several articles dealing with Angie Sanchez, then, as he clicked on one with the computer mouse, a phone in the other room started to ring.
“Sister, I’ve got to get that. Sometimes Janice calls when I’m on night duty to make sure I’m still holding down the fort, you know?”
False Witness Page 9
