by Aimée Thurlo
“Beats me, but that’s what the kids were saying.”
After thanking Smitty, they left the store in silence. Sister Bernarda glanced over at Sister Agatha. “So where to now? Should we go talk to Sister Jo? My guess is that she said something during the soccer match that her students managed to twist all out of proportion.”
“I’ll catch up to her this evening and find out what she said,” Sister Agatha replied.
During recreation that evening, Sister Agatha sat alone on the bench near the statue of St. Joseph. She needed time to think before speaking to Sister Jo about the stories her students were spreading. Right now the young nun was playing with Pax, like children enjoying what was left of the day. Just watching them vastly improved Sister Agatha’s spirits, and helped to ease the burden of responsibility she still felt over Jane’s death.
Sister Bernarda was right—she wasn’t to blame. Intellectually, she understood that. Emotionally…that was another matter. All she knew was that she’d have an easier time sleeping once justice was served.
With that goal in mind, she glanced down at the photo of her on the motorcycle with Pax. The neighborhood didn’t look familiar. Trying to retrace her steps mentally, she silently reviewed all the errands she’d run last week.
She heard a sudden loud squeal and quickly looked back up to see Pax jumping, trying to get the tennis ball away from Sister Jo. She tumbled backward laughing and then threw it for him.
“She’s certainly a breath of fresh air,” Sister Bernarda said, joining Sister Agatha.
“She’s been a blessing to us, and we have something to offer her, too, so it has worked out perfectly,” she answered.
“Just look at her. Her spirit’s so free,” Sister Bernarda said. “You and I wear watches, always conscious of the time—or lack of it—but she doesn’t even bother with one. She told me once that the bells here and at school are all she needs.”
Sister Agatha inhaled sharply. “That’s it! I knew I was missing something. Look at these photos. Now notice the arm of the nun on the motorcycle. The wind blows back the sleeves.”
“No watch…but you always wear yours—” Her eyes widened. “That was Sister Jo!”
“Put that together with what the kids are saying. I’m more convinced than ever that at least some of our problems are linked to what she saw.” Sister Agatha waved. “Sister Jo,” she called out.
The young nun came over immediately, Pax trailing happily after her.
“I need to talk to you. Will you sit down here on the bench for a moment?” Sister Agatha asked.
Sister Jo did as she asked and gave her a worried look. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” Sister Agatha said, then sighed and managed a thin smile. “I’d like you to think back to your trip on the Harley—when you got that fake meal delivery call. This is very important, so I’d like you to close your eyes and visualize everything you saw that day. I want details, so think hard, Sister.”
Sister Jo obeyed her request. “I found that street, Calle de Elena, on the street map for Bernalillo we keep in the parlor drawer. Then I loaded up Pax and the lunch and went directly to town, taking the main road all the way. When I reached the street, I started at the 100 block and drove south, checking the house numbers. At the end of the street, there was another side road that ran half a block and dead-ended at the ditch bank. I had no idea where to go next, so I looked around for anyone who could give me directions.”
“What happened next?” Sister Agatha pressed.
“I spotted a sheriff’s department car parked in the shade of a big tree. A deputy in uniform was standing beside the driver’s door. I slowed down, wondering where the 800 block was from there, and noticed the deputy was holding something…a camera, I think…but I’m not sure about that. A man handed the deputy an envelope, then got into a black SUV across the street and drove off. Then the deputy saw me, so I stopped across the street and waved. I called out, asking where the 800 block of Calle de Elena was. The deputy told me there wasn’t an 800 block, so I thanked him and drove away. I realized that either I’d written down the wrong address or someone had punked me.”
“Then you came back, and met us on the way?” Sister Agatha concluded.
“Exactly.”
Sister Agatha nodded. “Now think back. Try to envision the deputy’s face.”
“I can’t. I was across the road, and he was in the shade, wearing sunglasses and his uniform cap,” she answered.
“Okay, so tell me about the other man, then. Was he taller than the deputy?”
She closed her eyes again, her eyebrows knitting together. “The deputy was kind of tall, but maybe they were close to the same height. The other guy had a blue baseball cap on.” She thought for a moment. “I remember that, as I was driving away, the deputy raised whatever he had in his right hand. Come to think of it, he might have been taking a picture of the Harley. It’s a classic.”
“That was very good. Thank you, Sister Jo,” Sister Agatha said.
Sister Jo’s expression brightened. “I’m glad I could help.”
“There’s something else I need to discuss with you,” Sister Agatha said, her tone serious once more. “Did you know that some of the kids in Bernalillo are saying that you saw the killer?”
“What? I never said anything of the sort! Some of the kids at school came up to ask me about that particular Sunday, so I told them how sad we all were, and how we were praying for the family daily. Naturally, they were also curious about the crime itself. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I did answer one question. I told them that the murder weapon had probably been a pistol.” In a hesitant voice, she added, “I may have also mentioned that the police thought the killer rode away on a bicycle.”
“Kids talk, and somewhere along the way the details got embellished,” Sister Agatha said. “Be extremely careful what you say to the students. If I’m right, their interpretation has placed you in the killer’s spotlight.”
Sister Jo drew in a sharp breath. “I heard about the photos you received. Are you telling me that the threats were aimed at me?” Her eyes widened, and she continued before Sister Agatha could answer. “Then I can’t stay here with all of you anymore. I’m a danger to everyone.”
Sister Agatha held up one hand. “Stop. First we’ll tell Reverend Mother. Then we’ll figure out what needs to be done next. We have police protection, so there’s no reason to panic, but I need you to focus. Is there anything else about your trip into Bernalillo that sticks in your mind? Something that may have led the bad guy to see you as a greater threat to him than, say, the rest of us?”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you all I know!”
“Let’s pray for help right now,” Sister Agatha said. Bowing her head, she led them in the Our Father, then the Memorae, a prayer to the Virgin Mary, asking for her help.
“I’ve always loved that prayer to Our Lady,” Sister Jo said in a much calmer voice after Sister Agatha finished.
“So do I,” Sister Agatha said. “Now let’s try again. Close your eyes, think back, and describe what you saw on that deadend street.”
Sister Jo did as she asked. After several long seconds, she smiled slowly. “The deputy’s car was a regular department vehicle, white with those brown markings and the image of the gold badge on the driver’s door—but I just remembered something else. There was a brown number 73 between the front bumper and wheel. The front corner of the car was in the sun instead of the shade, so it stood out clearly. One more thing,” she added in an excited voice. “The envelope that was handed from one to the other—it was small and thick, like the ones we use to package computer video cards for NexCen.”
“Well done!” Sister Agatha said. “Now why don’t you go play with Pax some more? He loves this time of day.”
As she moved away, Sister Agatha looked at Sister Bernarda. “We should have started with a prayer. That never fails to center a person’s thoughts.”
Before Sister B
ernarda could answer, the bells rang for Compline, and it was time to go inside.
16
LONG AFTER COMPLINE, THE NUNS REMAINED IN CHAPEL, deep in prayer. The monastery was defined by silence. Yet that outward peace was only a manifestation of what they strived to maintain within. It was in that stillness of the soul that God’s gentle whispers touched awaiting hearts.
Sister Agatha reached out to Him wordlessly, asking for His help and His protection. No answers came. Refusing to give up, she remained where she was.
Then, in the soft glow of the flickering candles, she became aware of a gently shimmering light on the left wall. As a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the chapel, it became a brilliant figure as tall as the ceiling, its bright outline filled with colors.
Tzuriel, the monastery’s angel. She knew it in her heart. Before the words had even formed in her mind, the figure vanished.
Sister Agatha looked around the chapel at her fellow sisters. Sister Ignatius remained kneeling, her head bowed, a peaceful smile on her face. The rest were staring at the wall in stunned silence.
Sister Agatha knew what they’d seen. Though she’d never be able to prove that it hadn’t been a trick of the light filtering through their stained glass window, her heart whispered a different truth.
Another hour of prayer elapsed before they all left the chapel. After Reverend Mother’s final blessing, the Asperges, the sprinkling with holy water, each of the sisters retreated to the solitude of their cells. Until the bells rang again, they’d remain alone with Him who was faithful.
The next morning, Sister Agatha went to serve as portress while Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo worked to get the Good News lunches ready. She sat down at the desk and, knowing it was imperative that she tell Tom what Sister Jo had remembered, dialed his office.
Tom listened closely as she told him about the squad car’s number. “Hang on a minute,” he said when she finished.
Sister Agatha listened to the sound of typing; then Tom picked up the phone again.
“I know who Sister Jo saw—at least which deputy is assigned to that vehicle,” he said. “I’ll be asking him about this myself, but I can’t tell you who it is and risk compromising an undercover op.”
“Is that what she saw—an ongoing undercover operation?” Sister Agatha pressed, following her instincts.
He paused. “I’ll have to check the records, but from the description, I’m fairly sure that’s what was going on that morning.”
Sister Agatha noted his momentary hesitation. The identity of the deputy had obviously disturbed him.
“Who was the officer?” She was afraid she already knew the answer. “You know I can keep whatever you tell me in strict confidence. I can also read the numbers myself on department vehicles, so it’s something I’m bound to discover sooner or later.”
There was a long pause, then Tom finally responded. “Vehicle number 73 is assigned to Deputy Gerald Bennett.”
Sister Agatha continued as portress for the rest of the day, giving Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo the opportunity to deliver the Good News meals and then catch up on their work as sacristans. Sister de Lourdes, who’d been working double time trying to keep up with her scriptorium work as well as take over as portress whenever needed, also deserved a break.
Sister Agatha welcomed her own return to familiar routines because, through them, she always found the peace that allowed her to think clearly. Though none of the sisters would have ever put any undue pressure on her by careless comments, they had a right to expect results. The case had to be solved soon.
In an effort to get a new perspective on the events of the case, she twisted the facts around in her head as the day passed. She was deep in thought at the parlor desk when a possibility she hadn’t considered before suddenly came to her. Tom had been disturbed by the possibility that there’d been an undercover op going on he hadn’t known about—but what if Sister Jo had seen exactly what she’d been set up to witness?
Maybe the deputy had engineered things so a nun would inadvertently witness the meeting. That theory was intriguing—but it had one major loophole. How could the deputy who’d photographed Sister Jo on the Harley have known for sure that a nun, any nun, would be there at that particular time?
The answer to that question came to her later that night during the Great Silence. As Sister Agatha once again went over the sequence of events, she suddenly realized that the crank call must have come from the deputy. It was the only thing that made sense. The entire community knew about the Good News deliveries, and the fact that Our Lady of Hope provided a portion of the service. A call to the monastery at the right time, and a plea for help, would have been enough to set things in motion. The only things the deputy couldn’t have known were which nun would come and what form of transportation she’d be using. The Antichysler and the Harley were both well known, though, so all the deputy would have had to do was get into position and wait.
The photo’s implied threat was clear—but maybe she’d misread the intent. It could have been the killer’s way of taunting them, of showing them that they were at his mercy.
As plausible as that was, it was still just one more theory. There were many variables left to explore. What she needed to do was talk to Sister Jo again.
The Great Silence pulsed with a life of its own within the walls of the monastery. As it happened, newcomer Sister Jo lived inside St. Francis’s Pantry, where one of the rooms had been converted to a bedroom for overnight visitors. Willing to stretch the rules just a bit considering the seriousness of the matter, Sister Agatha hurried outside to talk to her, Pax at her side.
The small building—the original residence on the property—was dark as she approached, but Sister Agatha was fully prepared to wake Sister Jo if need be. She had to check a few facts and find out if, at long last, she was on the right track.
Sister Agatha knocked loudly on the door to St. Francis’s Pantry, but no one answered. Her initial annoyance soon turned to worry. Only the completely stone-deaf could have slept through the din she’d created. Even Pax had flinched every time she’d banged her fist against the door.
Taking her flashlight, she shined it through the open window of the guest room in the back. The small bed was still made, and Sister Jo was nowhere to be seen.
Sister Agatha swallowed the bitter taste of fear that touched the back of her throat. There was no need to panic yet. Sister Jo had been with them at Compline. She couldn’t have gone far without a vehicle, and none had been heard leaving the grounds. Maybe she’d returned to the chapel, or perhaps opted for a walk in the garden before going to bed.
Sister Agatha searched the grounds carefully for footprints. The earlier rain had softened the earth, and thanks to the beam of her flashlight, she could see the imprint of Sister Jo’s shoes clearly. With a relieved smile, she followed the trail.
Sister Agatha didn’t worry again until she saw that the tracks led directly to the tall, heavy garden gate. Beyond that high wall was the winery’s vineyard.
As Sister Agatha drew closer, she could see that the combination lock was open and hanging on the hasp. Sister Jo had left the grounds, and the gate was still unlocked, probably so she could get back inside later. Determined to find answers, she followed.
Sister Agatha slipped out the gate silently, Pax leading the way. Suddenly the big dog’s ears pricked up and he shot forward, alerted by a sound only he’d heard.
Trusting the dog’s instincts for trouble, she ran after him, toward the river. As they reached the end of the vineyard, which bordered a shallow irrigation ditch, she heard a woman scream.
Directly ahead, in the glow of the moon, she could see a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt struggling to push Sister Jo’s head down into the water. Pax snarled and shot forward. Seeing the blur of motion, the man turned and threw up his arm just as the dog struck. Sister Jo’s assailant was knocked back and almost fell as Pax sank his teeth into his forearm.
Sister Agatha had e
xpected a yowl of pain, but the man only grunted, shook his arm, and tried to pull free. Unable to manage it, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an object about the size of a cell phone.
Suddenly there was a bright flash, and Pax yelped, falling to the ground. Free, Sister Jo’s assailant leaped across the ditch and raced into the bosque, the wooded area beyond.
Sister Agatha reached Sister Jo’s side a heartbeat later and pulled the sputtering nun to her knees.
“Are you okay?” Sister Agatha asked her.
Sister Jo wiped the water from her eyes and, still coughing, nodded. Just then Deputy Sims came rushing up.
“She’s okay,” Sister Agatha said, then pointed. “Her assailant went toward the river!”
The officer nodded once, aimed her flashlight in that direction, then took off.
Seconds later Sister Agatha saw Eric Barclay running toward them, carrying a big flashlight.
“What’s going on? I heard a woman scream!” He aimed the flashlight beam at Sister Jo, saw she was soaked and muddy, and helped her to her feet.
“I’m okay,” Sister Jo managed. “Help Pax. He got shocked.”
Sister Agatha reached down and stroked the dog, who had his head up now, though he still looked dazed. She then ran her hand across his side where he’d been shocked. There was no burn, only a few singed hairs. “He was just stunned. He’ll be okay.”
Even as she spoke the dog rose to his feet, ears up. Sister Agatha continued to pet him as Deputy Sims returned. “I heard a vehicle and followed the sound, but he got away clean. All I saw was dust rising off the road. Did any of you get a good look at him?”
Sister Agatha shook her head. “He had on a hooded sweatshirt—it was either blue or black—and he had a Taser, which he used on Pax. He obviously came prepared. He wasn’t even fazed by the dog.”
“Let’s check the ground for blood,” Sims said.
Sims and Eric both used their flashlights but found nothing except water and mud from the ditch.
