The Prodigal Nun

by Aimée Thurlo

  “All I heard was the popping sound I mentioned.”

  “Then it’s clear that the killer was able to get close without alarming her.”

  “That lack of surprise is what would have made Louis the ideal suspect, but I bet his alibi will hold,” Sister Agatha said.

  “I’ve got to check on gang activity in this area. This could be the work of some kid being ranked in.”

  “A big kid, with size elevens. You’re right, though. Jane wouldn’t necessarily have been concerned about a kid who’d come up on a bicycle.”

  “The problem with the gangbanger theory is that it doesn’t fit in with some of the other evidence,” Tom said slowly. “The target was selected carefully, and the crime itself appears to have been well planned. The killer only took one shot at point-blank range—not like typical gangbangers. They blast away with the entire magazine, and they don’t bother with sound suppressors.”

  Sister Agatha turned and watched as Sister Jo came out of the parlor entrance with a small camera and took a few photos of the door of the Antichrysler.

  Seeing Sister Agatha watching her, Sister Jo waved. “Insurance. If we have any.” Then the young nun hurried back inside.

  “That was Sister Jo, right, the new nun?”

  “That’s right. Sister Jo’s from a different order, the Incarnate Word. She was at the convent that closed down in Santa Fe. Incarnate Word is a teaching order, and the Archbishop wanted Sister Jo to relocate here instead of going out of state with the elderly sisters.”

  “How did Sister Jo end up living at a cloistered monastery, of all places?”

  “We’re always in need of externs, and St. Charles needed a nun who could substitute teach regularly, so it worked out for everyone. To help cover our expenses, the diocese paid for our new well. We got the best of the deal, because Sister Jo’s been doing a lot of good work for the parishioners since she arrived. She’s the one in charge of the Good News Meal Program, though because of our duties here, we only deliver to about fifteen people. St. Augustine’s in town has a committee that takes care of the rest. Also, we make our meal deliveries at noon because that’s what fits with our schedule.”

  “Worked out for everyone, I see. So how long will Sister Jo be staying?”

  “That’s up to the Archbishop, but from what I can tell, she’ll be with us for the foreseeable future.”

  “You like her,” he observed.

  “Sister Jo’s hard not to like,” she said with a smile. “Did you want to speak to her?”

  “Yes. I saw in the report that the other externs have already been questioned. She’s the only one that was missed. I need to talk to her about Jane, and also about the people she’s met while delivering meals or running errands for the monastery.”

  Once they entered the parlor, Sister Agatha sent Sister Bernarda to find the young nun. A few minutes later, Sister Jo rushed in, Pax at her heels. Her cheeks were flushed, and from Pax’s panting grin, it didn’t take much to guess she’d been out exercising him.

  “Please sit down, Sister,” Sheriff Green said.

  As soon as she’d complied, he began. “How well did you know Jane Sanchez?”

  “Not very. I haven’t been here for very long, but Mrs. Sanchez and I hit it off really well the few times we spoke after Mass. She wanted to help the monastery with our Good News Meal deliveries, but with her day job and all, she could only help on weekends. She made a few deliveries for us last Sunday after Mass, and those came out well, I think. I mean, nobody complained, and that’s always a good sign.”

  Tom bit back a smile. “Has anyone in town shown any particular interest in either you or the monastery?”

  Sister Agatha expected a quick no, but Sister Jo paused, considering. “It’s strange that you should ask me that,” she said at last.

  Sister Agatha’s attention was riveted on the young nun as they waited for an answer.

  “I’m the new nun in town, and a lot of people want to know who I am and if I’ll be staying, but it was all normal curiosity—that is, until this last Friday when I substituted at St. Charles. While I was out front after school waiting for Sister Bernarda to come pick me up, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched. At first I didn’t see anyone paying particular attention to me. Then I caught a glimpse of a man on the other side of the cars looking through the windows in my direction. It was…creepy. We’re always careful about people hanging around the school, so I went inside to get the security guard. By the time we came back out, the guy was gone. The guard promised he’d notify the office and have them alert the teachers, too, just in case.”

  “Was this man tall, short, or average? And what was he wearing, do you recall?” Tom asked.

  “He was stooped so he could see through the windows, so I can’t tell you how tall he was. He was wearing some kind of gray top. I think it was a sweatshirt with a hood.”

  “And sunglasses?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “Yes, I remember that now. Not the shiny mirror kind, dark ones.”

  Tom and Sister Agatha exchanged glances.

  “You didn’t mention this to Sister Bernarda?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “It seemed like a school issue, though I know nuns can be a source of curiosity. I didn’t think it was important except to St. Charles—until now.”

  The Maria bell rang for None, the midafternoon prayer commemorating the ninth hour, when Christ died, and Sister Jo stood up. “I need to go to chapel, Sheriff Green. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I’m an acting extern, so I don’t have to go, but I’d like to. Are you done with me for now?”

  “Go ahead. I know where to find you if I need anything else,” Sheriff Green said.

  Sister Jo hurried into the enclosure.

  Sister Agatha studied the sheriff’s expression. What she saw there worried her. “What’s bothering you, Tom?”

  “Sister Jo’s comments about the Good News Meal Program reminded me again of the big ruckus Aragon made in the council about faith-based initiatives mixing religious organizations and government funds.”

  “Aragon has always used public employee positions as rewards and payoffs for those who support him. At least we’ve taken away some of his power to corrupt others. Did you know that the director of the public meals program was making more money than even you, our county sheriff? The program has saved thousands of dollars by turning the work over to Our Lady of Hope and St. Augustine.”

  “You’re on Aragon’s enemies list now. When your contract expires next year, expect a fight.”

  “We were really sorry that some people were against our involvement, but the thing is that the Church should serve the public, and this is one way we can do that. As an added bonus, we’re saving taxpayers some money.”

  “No need to get defensive. On that issue, I’m on your side.”

  “Do you think the negative reaction to the Good News Meal Program might be connected to what happened today?” She paused, then added, “One thing’s for sure. Peter Aragon isn’t our burglar. He’s barely five foot four.”

  “It’s probably not connected. What’s worrying me is the killer’s threat to the monastery, particularly in light of what Sister Jo mentioned about being watched.”

  “Sister Jo’s sharp and capable. If she said someone was watching her, you can bank on it.”

  “Now that we know he’s out there, we’ll be watching for his next move.” Seeing Sister Agatha’s horrified expression, Tom quickly added, “Stay calm. We don’t know if he really intends to carry out the threat. All we have is conjecture and speculation. That’s it.”

  “How do we protect Sister Jo and the other externs?”

  “I’ll have officers watching the monastery, but everyone here has to be very careful now. Sister Jo especially needs to stay alert, since she’s the one we know was being watched, but that doesn’t mean the other externs haven’t been under surveillance, too.” He paused. “Talk to Sister Jo after I leave. People have a tendency to remember things
after they’ve been questioned, maybe just a detail or two they’ll dismiss because they think it’s not important. If you get anything from her, let me know. Don’t come to the station—just call.”

  “All right.” Sister Agatha knew he didn’t want her to run into the mayor’s man, Fritz Albrecht.

  “Also please let Reverend Mother know how much we appreciated the cooperation we got from the sisters. They really helped keep the parishioners calm and out of our way.”

  When Tom opened the parlor door, they spotted a handful of reporters. Some were shooting video of the crime scene team while others took photos of the front of the chapel and of the monastery.

  “I kept the lid on as long as I could, but the story was bound to break,” Tom muttered. “After the morning worshipers finally got home, they all had stories to tell.”

  “I better get out there,” Sister Agatha said, hurrying past him. “They can take all the pictures they want from the public road, but once they come through our gate they’re on private property.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t interfere with them right now. They’ll just use their telephoto lenses and take photos anyway. You might be better off if you’re seen as trying to cooperate with them. Just control what they have access to, and consider keeping Pax at heel. You’re more likely to get and keep their attention with him by your side.”

  He started toward his police unit, stopped, and glanced back at her. “Remember that there’ll be a deputy on duty here 24/7 until we have a handle on what’s happening.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sister Agatha whistled for Pax, who came running instantly, then went to talk to the reporters. Chuck Moody from the Chronicle was a friend, one she could rely on. He and a cameraman from an Albuquerque TV station were just outside the perimeter of yellow tape. Although the police had released the scene, the tape had remained in place, and the reporters seemed to want shots from every angle.

  “Hey, Sister, how about a few photos of you standing next to the tape?” a reporter she didn’t recognize called out to her. “And how about a shot from inside the chapel, looking out into the parking area?”

  “The chapel is off-limits to everyone until the next Mass, and no cameras are allowed inside in any case. Just so you’re clear on this, the crime happened out here.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Sister,” Chuck said, then helped her divert the other reporter by calling his attention to an approaching vehicle.

  The red SUV stopped just inside the gate. Moments later Sister Agatha sighed, recognizing their local state senator, Dwight Holman, as he stepped out of the passenger side. She should have expected this. Wherever reporters gathered, Dwight Holman was sure to be.

  He made a show of coming toward Sister Agatha with a somber, concerned expression on his face and then shook her hand. Shifting slightly so the cameras could have a better angle, he gave her his most sympathetic smile.

  “I heard what happened, and rest assured that all the sisters here at Our Lady of Hope have the support of my state office behind them,” he said in a voice loud enough to be picked up easily by the microphones. “My prayers are also with the family and friends of the victim of this senseless act. This community is my community…the people, my people. We’ll stand as one and bring whoever did this to justice.”

  The photographers went crazy for several seconds. At long last Sister Agatha gently extricated her hand from Senator Holman’s cold, dry grip. The man never missed a photo op and the chance to land a sound bite on the evening news, but she didn’t want to be part of his reelection campaign.

  “We’re a community of law-abiding citizens,” he said, facing the reporters and stepping away from her so he could command their attention exclusively. “Attacks on our centers of worship, the very heart of our religious freedoms, will not be tolerated. We will find the person who committed this crime, and he will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

  She wasn’t needed here now, so Sister Agatha walked back toward the parlor entrance. Holman was welcome to the media attention. She wanted no part of it.

  Before she could get far, a reporter shouted a question at her. “Sister Agatha, in your own words, what happened here earlier this morning?”

  She recognized the man as a reporter from the Albuquerque morning paper. Years ago, he’d taken one of her journalism classes. “You’ll have to get the details from the sheriff’s department. It’s their investigation,” she answered.

  “Do you believe that the monastery is a target now?” another reporter asked.

  “As I said, you’ll have to speak to Sheriff Green about all that. But let me offer one word of caution. Be very careful about printing any speculation that may be in conflict with the facts.”

  Of course, the nuns didn’t have the funds to sue anyone for anything, nor would they. Still, it couldn’t hurt to give the media a little wake-up call. Almost as if to emphasize what she’d said, Pax stood, edging closer to Sister Agatha, and growled.

  “Maybe you should put that dog inside your compound,” one of the reporters said.

  “It’s a monastery, not a compound, and absolutely not. This is his home. He goes where he will,” she said, deliberately sending out the one message she hoped they’d print. “Just be aware that he’s a former police dog and very protective of our monastery.”

  The man moved away from her, then started taking photos of the Antichrysler’s door.

  Several moments later Sister Bernarda came out to join her. “Everything under control?” she asked in a whisper.

  Sister Agatha nodded and filled her in quickly on Sister Jo’s experience at St. Charles. “We’ll have to keep an eye on her. Sister Jo is nothing if not high profile in town. Her energy and enthusiasm always draw people to her.”

  “We should start traveling in pairs while making the meal deliveries,” Sister Bernarda said.

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll also be sure to tell the principal about our concern for her safety. He’ll probably hear about the threat soon enough.” Sister Agatha pointed to the door of the Antichrysler.

  Sister Bernarda nodded.

  The reporters’ attention shifted once again as yet another car pulled up. A heartbeat later, Louis Sanchez stepped out. The driver, a woman in her twenties, followed.

  “Family?” Sister Bernarda whispered to Sister Agatha.

  “Jane’s husband, and maybe their daughter,” she said and went over to meet them.

  “How may we help you, Mr. Sanchez?” Sister Agatha asked gently. Louis still looked dazed and disoriented, as if he hadn’t been able to fully take in what had happened.

  The young woman with him, her tanned face showing only a trace of lipstick, was wearing a black blouse and a long, pleated dark blue skirt. She stepped forward and immediately introduced herself.

  “I’m Evelyn Sanchez-Bennett,” she said, shaking Sister Agatha’s hand. “We’ve come to ask permission to set up a descanso, a small memorial where my mother—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. “Where my mother passed away,” she finished at last. “Just a few candles, a cross, and some flowers.”

  Sister Agatha knew the New Mexican custom well, having seen countless of the small, makeshift roadside shrines at scenes of fatal accidents.

  “We are so very sorry for your loss,” Sister Agatha said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go ask Reverend Mother for permission to set up a descanso.”

  “I’ll go, Your Charity,” replied Sister Bernarda, who was standing a few feet behind her.

  Sister Agatha shook her head. “I need to speak to Mother on another urgent matter.”

  As Sister Agatha hurried inside, she turned and saw Sister Bernarda comforting the grieving family. Though normally a gruff woman, Sister Bernarda had a wellspring of gentleness inside her that always came to the surface in situations like this. Jane’s family couldn’t have been in more caring hands.

  6

  SISTER AGATHA KNOCKED ON THE PRIORESS’S OPEN DOOR. Reverend Moth
er was facing the small statue of St. Joseph in the far corner, lost in prayer.

  As Sister Agatha silently waited for her to finish, she could hear the sounds of Sister Maria Victoria at the sewing machine farther down the hall. She could also see Sister Ignatius busy with an arrangement of flowers placed at the feet of the large statue of the Blessed Mother by their library’s entrance.

  “Praised be Jesus Christ,” Reverend Mother said at last, turning around.

  “Now and forever,” Sister Agatha answered, coming in.

  Sister Agatha quickly updated Reverend Mother on what was happening with the sheriff’s investigation, the incident with the intruder at the Sanchez home, and the apparent threats to the sisters. Last, she told her about the request they’d received from the victim’s daughter.

  “It’s an old New Mexican custom to erect a small shrine near the place where a loved one has died. We’d have her place the descanso off to one side, of course, out of the flow of traffic, maybe among the lilacs,” Sister Agatha added.

  “All right. Tell them to go ahead. It’s the least we can do for the family.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Sister Agatha excused herself, then hurried back outside to join the others.

  Sister Bernarda came up to meet her. “Jane’s son-in-law is a deputy, one of Sheriff Green’s men,” Sister Bernarda whispered, then gestured to a white and brown department vehicle. “That’s Deputy Gerry Bennett’s patrol car.”

  “It’s understandable he’d want to be with his family at a time like this,” Sister Agatha said, “but that’s probably as close as Deputy Bennett’s going to get to this case. Tom won’t allow him to take an active part in this investigation, for obvious reasons.”

  When Louis and Evelyn went inside the chapel, Sister Agatha followed. Sister Bernarda, a half step behind her, moved to intercept the photographers.

  “Show some respect, please,” she said, then faced them, arms crossed in front of her chest. “This is God’s house. You will not turn it into a photo gallery.”