The Prodigal Nun

by Aimée Thurlo

  Sister Agatha went on to the office, Pax at heel beside her. Someone she knew was in the workroom across from the office, running off copies.

  “Hi, Mary. Do you know if Dolly Wheeler is still on campus?”

  The young woman made a face. “Please, Sister,” she whispered. “Don’t say her name. I’m not wearing my crucifix, and that woman’s half vampire. She’s always out for blood.”

  Before Sister Agatha could answer, a tall, muscular woman with short black hair appeared at the door. The name tag on her crisp white shirt identified her as Dolly Wheeler. “You must be Pax,” she said, ignoring Sister Agatha completely and crouching down to pet the dog.

  Pax leaned into her without hesitation, letting himself be hugged. Dolly reached into her purse and brought out a small cookie wrapped in clear plastic, then glanced at Sister Agatha. “It’s not dog food, Sister, but do you mind? One tiny vanilla wafer won’t hurt him.”

  “Actually, that’s one of his favorites. His trainer would often use them as a reward,” Sister Agatha said with a smile.

  Sister Agatha stared at the woman everyone had warned her would be difficult. She was now happily scratching the dog between the ears. Sister Agatha smiled. Pax had been the answer to her prayer. He’d helped her do what no one else could have—get them off to a good start.

  “He’s a wonderful monastery pet,” Sister Agatha said.

  “Animals can be a great comfort during times of stress,” Dolly said.

  “Things have been rough,” Sister Agatha admitted. “Jane Sanchez’s murder hit us very hard.”

  Dolly continued to pet Pax. “It’s a nasty business.”

  “Did you know Jane?” Sister Agatha asked.

  Dolly nodded and looked up, meeting her gaze. “I know one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I don’t believe in mincing words. Jane was an unbelievable pain in the neck.”

  Sister Agatha wasn’t sure how to respond, so she decided not to say anything at all.

  Dolly’s gaze remained on Sister Agatha, and she suddenly laughed. “I see you probably heard the same thing said about me. At least I mind my own business. Jane wanted to tell everyone exactly how to run their lives—down to the smallest detail.”

  “I can imagine that would be difficult to deal with,” Sister Agatha said, watching as Dolly continued to pet Pax.

  “In my opinion, Jane’s lucky to have lived this long. Evelyn herself should have throttled her mother years ago. Jane was always finding ways to remind Evelyn that she was adopted, telling her how grateful she should have been that she and Louis sacrificed to give her a home. I think half the reason Evelyn married Gerald Bennett was she knew Jane couldn’t stand him.”

  Sister Agatha nodded but remained silent. Sometimes it was far better not to speak, particularly when someone was on a roll.

  Dolly lowered her voice. “The reason I’m telling you this, Sister, is because I figure you’re looking into the murder, and I bet you never saw that side of Jane.”

  “I’ve heard that she pretty much ran things at home.”

  Dolly snorted. “You’re being way too generous. Jane was a dictator, even to her husband. That’s why I think Christy White got into the picture. You know about her and Louis, right?”

  Sister Agatha nodded. “They’re friends.”

  “Friends? Hah!” Dolly answered. “But back to Jane. I don’t think this murder had anything to do with robbery. That’s just what we’re meant to believe. Jane made enemies every time she opened her mouth. I think someone had a bellyful, followed Jane, then killed her.” As the phone rang, she excused herself.

  Sister Agatha looked around the office and realized that it was now five o’clock and most of the staff had left. Taking Pax, she went down the hall and saw Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo waiting for her by the side door. The janitor, Mike Cuevas, was there with them, keys in hand.

  He gave Sister Agatha an impatient smile. “There you are, Sister Agatha. I have to lock these side doors once after-school activities are over.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mike,” she said and hurried out along with Pax.

  Sister Jo was smiling broadly. “Sisters, I had so much fun today!”

  “So you like coaching?” Sister Agatha asked, though the answer was obvious.

  Sister Jo nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Most of all I enjoy the kids.” She waved at some students who were walking by on the sidewalk.

  Sister Jo was one of the most contented people Sister Agatha had ever met. Sister Jo, in fact, considered being happy part of her duty to God. He didn’t like long faces, she’d said once.

  “I had to move the car and park across the street because the trash people were coming by,” Sister Bernarda said. “We’ll have to cross the highway, so stay sharp. People are always in a rush to get home.”

  Sister Agatha followed her, though Sister Bernarda’s pace was brisk and it was difficult to keep up. As they stepped around the corner of the building, Sister Bernarda stopped abruptly and pointed ahead.

  “Hey, you! Get away from our car!” she yelled out.

  The tall figure in a hooded sweatshirt across the road was waving something in his hand. A heartbeat later Sister Agatha saw new, large, crudely painted letters on the Antichrysler. “He spray-painted our car!”

  By then the man had broken into a run.

  10

  TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY, AND THEY HAD TO WAIT FOR THREE vehicles before making it across the highway. Although the man had disappeared into the trees beyond the parking area, Pax kept straining at the leash. It was nearly impossible for Sister Agatha to keep him from tearing off after the fleeing suspect. His training as a police dog was taking over now.

  “I’ll catch the guy. Give me Pax, and we’ll track him,” Sister Jo said.

  Every joint in Sister Agatha’s body was screaming with pain. Some people’s bodies, like Sister Jo’s and Sister Bernarda’s, were made for running. Hers, afflicted by arthritis, clearly was not. Sister Agatha turned the leash over to Sister Jo, who sprinted off with the eager dog.

  Sister Bernarda, aware that Sister Agatha was having trouble, hung back a second. “Are you okay, Sister?”

  “I’m fine. Go help Sister Jo.”

  Sister Agatha approached the Antichrysler from the front, instantly picking up the distinct scent of aerosol paint. As she came around to the driver’s side, she saw the new spray-painted message on the already scratched door. It read JESUS SLAVES.

  Having seen more than one crude local sign reading PRIVIT DRIVE, she wondered whether this tagger had a spelling problem or had been trying to send some kind of antireligious message.

  Three minutes later Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo returned, breathing hard. Sister Bernarda now had Pax on a tight leash, and she was trying to curb the dog’s excitement. There was nothing Pax enjoyed more than a chase.

  “We tried, but the guy had a head start, and not even Sister Jo and Pax could catch up,” Sister Bernarda said. “He had a vehicle one street over, and all we saw was a glimpse of white through the trees as he tore off.”

  Sister Jo stared at the Antichrysler. “You think he meant ‘Jesus saves,’ or was this some kind of political comment by a Catholic hater?”

  “From what’s been happening lately, I’m not at all sure,” Sister Agatha answered.

  “At least he covered up part of that other threat,” Sister Bernarda added with a sigh.

  As she finished speaking, Mike came rushing up. “You got tagged,” he said, looking at the Antichrysler. “I have to deal with this all the time at school. The important thing is to get rid of the message immediately. Once they see they’re wasting paint and very few will ever see their message, they move on. I have just the product to take off that spray paint, too. But I better warn you—it may take some of the finish along with it.”

  “What finish?” Sister Bernarda said wryly. “This car’s paint has been finished for years.”

  “You’re right about that.” Mike gave her a grim smile.
“Let me help you, and we’ll get things back to the way they were. Park next to the building while I go get the cleaner and a roll of paper towels.”

  Sister Agatha smiled. “Thanks, Mike. We’ll take all the help we can get.”

  Mike looked at the paint, then glanced at Sister Agatha. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We were just trying to figure that out ourselves,” Sister Agatha said.

  It took them almost an hour to remove the painted threat. By the time they returned home, it was past collation. All three of them went directly to the kitchen, knowing Sister Clothilde would have set something aside for them.

  They weren’t disappointed. Sister Clothilde was waiting as they walked into the refectory, their dining room. Pax shot past them, heading to his full dog dish in the next room. Seconds later they could hear him crunching his kibble.

  Meanwhile, Sister Clothilde silently brought out a tray with three bowls filled to the brim with hot corn chowder. Two slices of thick homemade bread were beside each.

  Sister Clothilde, in her eighties, had taken a vow of silence a lifetime ago and had never broken it. Yet despite it—or maybe because of it—she always seemed attuned to the others’ needs. When she’d learned of the Good News Meal Program, she’d stepped in, planning all their menus and preparing the food herself.

  Sister Agatha helped her place the food on the refectory table and, after saying grace, began to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

  She’d barely had a few teaspoons of Sister Clothilde’s special soup when Sister Eugenia suddenly came through the refectory door, a stern look on her face.

  “You left this morning without stopping by the infirmary to pick up your pills. I won’t have it, Sister Agatha. Just look at your hands.”

  Sister Agatha didn’t have to look to know her joints were badly swollen. “It’s just the spring weather, Your Charity,” Sister Agatha said, taking the pills from her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You can’t ignore the doctor’s orders. Once things progress past a certain point, it all becomes harder to manage.”

  She nodded and quickly swallowed the pills.

  “After you’ve eaten, please go see Reverend Mother. She’d like to speak to you.” Then, in a much softer tone, she added, “Your Charity, while you’re with her, try to convince her to take something to help her sleep. She hasn’t had much rest since, well, you know.”

  Sister Agatha nodded, noting Sister Eugenia’s reluctance to speak of the crime that had been committed practically at their front door. They were all having a difficult time handling what had happened. Yet she alone bore the extra burden of knowing it was partially her fault. This might not have happened if she’d taken time to listen to Jane.

  Guilt drove her to find answers now. The only way she had to balance out her failure was to find justice. God would help her. Although she’d failed Him, He wouldn’t fail her. Love redeemed all who offered Him a contrite heart.

  Once they’d finished eating, Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo offered to clean up. “We’ll handle things here while you go talk to Reverend Mother,” Sister Bernarda said.

  “Thank you, Sisters,” Sister Agatha said and hurried out.

  Sister Agatha found Reverend Mother outside on one of the benches. After an unusually harsh, wet winter, they all looked forward to recreation, when they could spend time outside in the fresh air.

  Despite the fading light of day, Sister Agatha could see that Reverend Mother was exhausted, and her heart went out to her. “Mother, I just spoke with Sister Eugenia. She’s very worried about you.”

  Reverend Mother held up a hand. “I know. She’s been wanting me to take those sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. But I tried them before, and they make me too groggy to pay attention to our prayers at Matins. My job is to serve the Lord, and I can’t do that if I’m all doped up.”

  “Lack of sleep isn’t good either, Mother,” Sister Agatha countered quietly. “You need sleep in order to serve.”

  “The problem is that I’ve had too many things on my mind. The Archbishop called again. The reporters have played up the threat to the nuns and are speculating that the death of Mrs. Sanchez is only the beginning and more violence will follow. The Archbishop is worried about the reputations of the monastery and St. Augustine Church. Apparently, he’s been getting calls from some of the parishioners who want the diocese to hire parking lot security for local churches.”

  “Mother, people are just scared,” Sister Agatha said softly. “With gang violence on the rise and big-city crime just to the south, all it takes is one dramatic incident to give fear a foothold. Once this killer’s caught, we’ll have peace again.”

  “At least we still have the Good News meal deliveries to serve the community and bring the comfort of God’s word to them. For that, we can thank Sister Jo and her spirit of giving,” Reverend Mother said, then stood.

  Together, they walked across the grounds and back to the recreation room. “Providence brought her here to us, I’m sure of it.” Reverend Mother added.

  “From the looks of it, Providence definitely has a sense of humor,” Sister Agatha added, coming to a stop in the doorway.

  Sister Jo shuffled past them, two mop heads tied to her shoes. Smiling, she moved quickly to the end of the room, stepped to her left, then pushed off the wall with one hand and spun around on the polished wooden floor.

  “What on earth is she doing?” Reverend Mother asked.

  “Skating?” Sister Agatha offered.

  Sister Bernarda, standing against the wall just inside the room, laughed. “She’s buffing up our floor.”

  “But why?” Reverend Mother asked.

  “Sister Jo got sandwiched today between the meal deliveries and the soccer match and wasn’t able to take care of the floors. When she tried to sneak in a little work tonight, Sister Eugenia reminded her that, at this monastery, work is prohibited during recreation. That’s when Sister Jo decided to get creative,” Sister Bernarda answered.

  Sister Jo slid to a stop by the table, picked up a can of wax, and sprayed the bottom of the mops. Then she strode off again, a grin on her face. “Wheee. Just like the old duck pond in December.”

  Reverend Mother laughed. “And here I thought nothing could make me laugh out loud today.”

  As the bell for Compline sounded, they abruptly stopped speaking. Sister Jo slid to a stop, grabbing the doorjamb to keep from falling. As she reached down to untie the mop heads, the others began to file out of the room, heading for chapel.

  Joining her fellow sisters, Sister Agatha knelt and gazed at the altar. “Lord, help me find answers. I failed you once. Please don’t let me do that again,” she prayed silently from the bottom of her heart.

  Soon she began chanting the Divine Office, her voice indistinguishable from those of her sisters.

  The next morning, after Terce, Sister Agatha went to the parlor. Sister de Lourdes was already there at the desk.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Sister Agatha,” she said. “A few minutes ago I received a call from Louis Sanchez. He asked that you stop by as soon as you can. He said he needed to talk.”

  “Thanks, Sister de Lourdes,” she said. “Sister Bernarda, Pax, and I will head into town shortly in the station wagon. I’ll see him then. We’ll make sure to be back before you need to set out to deliver the meals.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Sister de Lourdes said. “A few ladies from St. Augustine’s will be making our meal deliveries today. Sister Jo will also be free to spell me here once she gets the Good News meals packed and ready for pickup.”

  “You’ve got the hardest job, Sister de Lourdes,” Sister Agatha said, sympathizing with her. “You have to keep running back and forth between the parlor and the scriptorium, and you also have to make sure the meal pickups go as planned.”

  “I’ve devised a system that helps me spend more time greeting visitors and answering the phone. Sister Clothilde does most of the
cooking for Good News. Sister Jo packs up the meals. Sister Maria Victoria, Sister Eugenia, Sister Ignatius, and Sister Gertrude get the computer hardware orders for NexCen filled and boxed for pickup. By the time the package express man comes, which is usually late in the afternoon, everything’s done.”

  “How has Sister Maria Victoria been working out?”

  “She’s great answering the monastery’s mail. Words just flow for her,” Sister de Lourdes said.

  “I’m glad. She really had a tough time as seamstress and cellarer. Keeping the books for the monastery was definitely not what she was meant to do.”

  “From disaster to success,” Sister de Lourdes said with a smile.

  Just then Sister Bernarda and Pax came into the parlor. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for long, Sister Agatha. I was helping Sister Eugenia go through the infirmary’s provisions. She’s made a list of medications we need to pick up for her at the pharmacy.”

  “We’ll make that pharmacy stop after we visit Louis Sanchez,” Sister Agatha said as they walked out to the Antichrysler, Pax following closely. “He’s asked to speak to me.”

  “Would you like me to go inside with you, or would you prefer to handle this alone?”

  Sister Agatha considered it. “I’d like to talk to him one-on-one,” she said at last, “but come inside with me. If there’s anyone else there, lead them away so Louis and I can speak freely. If no one else is about, excuse yourself and say you’ve got to take Pax for a walk.”

  She nodded, understanding. “You want me there to divide their forces, if necessary.”

  Sister Agatha smiled. You could take the woman out of the marines, but you could never get the marines out of the woman.

  They arrived a short time later and found Louis outside, talking to Christy White.

  “I’ll distract the woman,” Sister Bernarda said.

  “Wait a sec. I have a better idea,” Sister Agatha said quickly. “While I keep them busy, you walk around with Pax and keep an eye out for any eavesdropping neighbor. The day she called me, Jane was worried that someone was listening in on her conversation. She was at home at the time, so maybe it was somebody she knew. There are no fences around, so it would have been easy enough to sneak up and eavesdrop if her window was open.”