by Lynne Hinton
She heard a clicking sound and knew the Captain was tapping a pencil on a cup. He did that when he was thinking.
“Take your phone and call me every hour.”
“Okay. I will call you and let you know that I’m all right.”
“Are you driving the Harley?”
“Of course I’m driving the Harley.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I’m fine, Captain. I’ll be fine.”
“What should I tell Daniel? Because you know he’s going to want to know where you’ve gone.”
She hadn’t thought about that exactly. She knew he had asked her to hang around in case they had other questions, and she had promised the other detectives that she wouldn’t leave.
“Just tell him I needed some time away to deal with things. I am sad, you know. Kelly was someone I admired. I liked her.” She waited, concerned he wouldn’t go along with any of this.
She heard the long breath.
“Right,” her father replied. “You took a trip to the desert because of your grief; you’re following Jesus in the wilderness, that sort of thing.”
She smiled. The Captain wasn’t going to let her down.
THIRTY
Her afternoon and evening had been spent researching the sedevacantists and reading more of the articles written by Pierce and Taylor, waiting to leave until she was sure everyone had gone to bed. She timed her departure to be long after Grand Silence had begun and long before anyone would be up preparing for the Office of the Vigils at six thirty in the morning. Even though she didn’t really have very far to drive to find the hometown of John Barr, she wanted to time her departure so no one would see her leave.
Eve gave her cat a bowl of milk and a little extra food, unsure of when she might return. She knew the Captain would check on Daisy even if he pretended he didn’t care about his daughter’s pet. She tidied up her room, packed the food she had taken from the kitchen, and tucked the folder of letters she had taken from the front desk at the monastery under her arm. She stood at the door and looked around the room, making sure she wasn’t leaving any clues about where she might be going, and then remembered the small patch of blue cloth she had stuck in the desk drawer. She walked back to the desk, retrieved the swatch of material, stuck it in her pocket, and headed out the door.
The backpack was heavy, and she wasn’t sure there would be room for the folder in her saddlebags on the Harley. She wasn’t even really sure of why she had taken the stack of letters; all she needed was one with the return address, but since she had removed them from the front desk and didn’t want to put them back, she also didn’t want to leave them in her room, giving a certain clue to Daniel or the other detectives of where she had gone. She didn’t know for certain if one of the police officers would really try to find her. She hoped that she would be back before anyone actually realized she was gone, but she wasn’t certain about that and she wanted to make sure she had time to find Anthony and talk to him before the police or the archbishop’s people found him.
She quietly opened the back door to the monastery, walked out, and then closed it behind her and headed to the rear of the chapel where she had last parked her bike. When she got to the place where she had left her Harley, she knew immediately that the Captain had gotten there first. Her bike was gone, and there in its place was her father’s truck. She couldn’t believe what he had done. Sometime after their last conversation, he had driven from Madrid to Pecos, left his vehicle, and returned home on the motorcycle. She was making a mental list of all the things she would yell at him about.
You stole my bike! You drove a motorcycle in the dark with one leg! You didn’t think I could take care of myself and had to intervene, leaving me your truck! And you did not give me a choice! When I see you, Captain Jackson Divine, we are going to have a serious talk about your meddling in my life!
Eve shook her head and felt like stomping her feet, but she knew it would do no good. He had taken the bike and left the truck. She would have to do exactly what he had planned for her to do. She walked over and peered in the driver’s-side window, half expecting him to be in the passenger seat. He was not, and she could see the keys had been left in the ignition, the same way she had always left her keys in the ignition of her bike. No one stole cars at a monastery.
“Of course, I thought no one murdered anyone at a monastery either; I guess I’ll have to start being more careful,” she said quietly to herself as she opened the door.
As she got in, she found that the Captain had done more than just left her his vehicle; he had also fully stocked the truck. There were several blankets, a pillow, and an icebox on the floor on the passenger’s side that she didn’t peek in but knew would be filled with food. There was even a thermos on the seat. She opened the lid and smelled its contents. The coffee was still hot and freshly brewed and Eve couldn’t help herself, she smiled at her father’s attempt to keep her comfortable.
“I wonder if he’s hidden a GPS somewhere,” she thought out loud, but she figured he wouldn’t have had time to buy one and she was pretty sure he didn’t own a tracking device. She had tried to talk him into buying a GPS when they started working together, but he said that there was nowhere in New Mexico he hadn’t been before and he didn’t need some woman spouting off directions to him while he drove. He also claimed that he had never needed technology to help him find missing persons when he was a police officer, so he didn’t need any help as a private detective. Eve felt pretty confident that he would not be tracking her.
However, she did reach underneath the seat and felt something else she was sure he had left her. Her fingers immediately wrapped around a pistol, the semiautomatic Colt Defender, the 9-millimeter model that he had bought for her and taught her to use when she came back from her trip to Las Vegas searching for her sister.
“If you’re going to keep putting yourself in dangerous situations,” he had said to her when she opened the box he’d placed on her desk at the private detective office, “then you’re going to learn how to handle your business.”
Eve had complained that it was not ethical for a nun to go around “packing heat,” the slang she had heard to mean carrying a concealed weapon, but he refused to take no for an answer. If she wanted to work with him, wanted to engage in the activities of a private detective, he argued, she was going to learn to shoot.
It turned out she was a natural, even becoming a better shot than he was, and it actually became a source of pride for her as she acquired her license to carry a gun, even though she claimed she would not keep the pistol on or with her when she went out on business. Clearly, he had not listened.
There was also a note next to the firearm, and she pulled out the loose piece of paper to read:
Eve,
Just take the gun with you. Just because you have it doesn’t mean you have to use it. But if you’re foolheaded enough not to let anyone go with you, you’re going to take the Colt.
And it was signed, “Your father.”
Eve reread the note and especially the two words that ended it. She studied them. As far as she could remember, the Captain had never sent her a letter the entire time she lived away or traveled from home. He had never signed a card or note. All the birthday greetings and checks during college came from her mom. She signed the cards and letters for them both. And seeing this one, seeing his handwriting, his closing, that title written out like that, touched her.
She would not fuss with him about stealing her Harley and driving it in the dead of night with his one leg. She would not give him a hard time for fixing her food and packing her supplies. She would not argue with him about the truck or the concealed revolver. Captain Jackson Divine must be softening up in his old age. He had written her a note. He had called himself her father. Small things for many daughters, but to Eve, this wasn’t something she had ever known from him. It
changed everything about her response to what he had done.
She got all the way in, pulled the seat belt around her waist, started the engine, turned on the heat, and adjusted the mirrors. Even though he had seemed so displeased with her decision when they spoke on the phone earlier, when she had let it be known that she was going out on her own, he had given her his blessing. He had even filled the tank with gas. In all the ways he knew how, the Captain had shown his love.
She backed out of the parking spot without turning on her lights, drove as slowly and quietly as she could away from the main building of the monastery, out past the guest rooms, and down the driveway. She drove out the gates, the familiar sign catching her eye as she left: Vaya con Dios, translated as “Go with God.” She smiled and nodded at the sentiment and was sure she had gotten away without being seen. She never noticed Detective Lujan as he stood near the chapel watching her as she drove away.
“Let’s find the path to Tererro,” she said to no one in particular, hoping she could find her way.
THIRTY-ONE
Eve drove in the dark, north on New Mexico State Highway 63 past the town of Pecos. She passed the lake and the Lisboa Springs Fish Hatchery. She continued on the winding road, forging a path through the canyon, along the river, finding her way to Tererro and over to the Bert Clancy Wildlife Area, where she pulled in and waited for the sun to rise.
She knew the road ended just a few miles farther north, that beyond the town of Cowles there were national forest camping sites, hiking paths, and places to hunt and fish, but there were no more paved highways beyond the Hamilton Mesa. She had driven to the top of the southern finger of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the back side of Pecos Baldy and Round Mountain, and had landed in a spot not too far from the Holy Ghost Campground, one of the places she had discovered and loved to visit when she lived at the monastery.
Eve parked the truck and opened up the thermos the Captain had left for her and poured a cup of coffee. It was just before four o’clock in the morning and the roads were empty, the area around her still and quiet. She sat and drank coffee as she thought about where she had landed. She thought about the Holy Ghost Campground and Creek and all the stories she had heard through the years about the place surrounded by blue spruce and ponderosa pines. There had been one story in particular that she suddenly recalled about a group of church kids being massacred by some bikers.
As far as she knew, the story about the massacre had never been validated. There were never any police reports or newswritings, and it had grown into an urban myth and ghost story that was often told around campfires, leaving campers nervous and afraid. She didn’t feel nervous about her parking place, but as she thought about the tale, she reached over and locked her doors.
Sitting there in the dark, she remembered another tale, an older one but just as gruesome as the story about the kids and the bikers, this one about a priest killed in the area near the contemporary campground in 1680 during the Pueblo Revolt. Some New Mexicans claimed that the name was attached to the area after it was believed that the murdered priest, beheaded and burned, still walked the trails around the creek, trying to find his way home. This was known as the one and only “holy ghost story” and always got a laugh when it was described that way.
She finished her drink, dismissing the memories, and tried to imagine where John Barr lived. She knew he had mentioned a cabin to some of the monks, but she wasn’t sure if it was somewhere close to the highway or down one of the many forest roads, out somewhere that might be hard to find. She also wondered how she was going to find the exact location, who would give her such information, and what the man would say when she drove up to his house.
There was also the question of whether Mr. Barr had actually given Anthony a ride out of the monastery the night of the murder. Eve was pretty sure it was his truck she saw exit the grounds, but she never saw Anthony in it. It was of course logical, she thought, that catching a ride with the man he had befriended was a perfect departure for the monk, but she was unclear of how the two of them found each other in the melee that was going on after the police had been called.
Had John Barr seen Anthony in his sister’s room? Had he searched for him later and found him in the dining room? Had he approached Anthony after witnessing an action that Eve didn’t want to believe happened? Did he see Anthony take the tea to his sister, and was he now hiding Anthony? Was Anthony really the killer after all?
She had so many questions, and she wasn’t even sure that she would find John Barr or that he would answer them if she was given the chance to ask. He never had been what she might call a guy “easy” with conversation. He rarely spoke to the women, going out of his way not to have to interact with any of the nuns. He seemed interested only in arguing with Father Oliver as long as the abbot would allow.
She did know that Anthony never seemed to have the same experience as the others with the man from Tererro, that he dismissed the accusations of the community members who called him delusional and mentally unstable. When questioned by the others, he always sided with the visitor, claiming that Mr. Barr simply disagreed with the changes in the church and desired to please God just like they all did.
“He’s just a wounded soul,” Anthony had said once when one of the other monks questioned his compassion for the angry guest. “He served in Vietnam; he struggles with what he had to do as a soldier and how he was received when he returned. He feels as if the church spent more time loosening restrictions and turning its back on the orders of God than it did in offering help and comfort to the veterans of the war. In his mind,” the young monk continued, “everything fell apart in the 1960s—the country, the government, the youth, the church, especially his own life. He just has strong opinions, that’s all.”
Eve remembered how the other monks refused to believe their brother, saying instead that the man needed mental help and that he posed a danger to those in community at the monastery. One of the nuns, Sister Jeanne, started calling him John the Baptist because they shared the same initials, JB, and because Barr seemed just as odd as the man who was known to have “prepared the way” for Christ. John the Baptist, the cousin of Jesus, was a man who lived in desert caves, ate honey and locusts, wore animal skins, and preached repentance. The name actually caught on for a while until Brother Anthony reprimanded them, asking them to stop.
However, even Father Oliver, who never denied John Barr’s request for counsel, warned Anthony that the monastery visitor was not to be left alone or allowed entry to the rooms of the residents. Even though he never would give a concrete reason for his caution, Father Oliver seemed to be of the same mind as the others, and he was concerned for the safety and well-being of the community members. He seemed to have additional information about Mr. Barr that troubled him, even though he refused to tell anyone else or ban the visitor from the monastery. As long as Eve lived there, John Barr made a trip to visit at least once a year, usually twice, always creating a kind of nervous tension for everyone there. Everyone, she thought, except for Brother Anthony, who never ceased to welcome the man with a kind heart and a generous spirit.
Eve recalled that she and the other nuns simply chose to stay away from the man. They greeted him, offered him food, and served him, but they all remained on edge when he was there. His visits were not frequent enough or disruptive enough to warrant discussing a specific policy regarding their hospitality toward him, but it was partly because of John Barr that the community devised a plan in case there was a dangerous episode on the grounds. Emergency numbers were listed and code words formulated for various crisis situations.
At the time, it was actually a surprise to Eve that the nuns and monks had decided to have these conversations, but she understood that just because they were a religious community didn’t mean they were able to ward off all evil and pretend they didn’t need to know how to react in case of uninvited trouble. They agreed to leave the doors u
nlocked and continue to minister with the gift of hospitality, but they also decided that they would come up with a plan for what to do if violence entered their gates.
Eve checked the truck doors once again, making sure they were locked, and then leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She intended to rest for just a few minutes, to nap just for an hour or so, just take a break before the sun rose and she figured out a way to locate John Barr. She had noticed driving in that there was a café and a post office in Tererro. She hoped that someone in one of the two places might give her the information she needed to find the cabin of the man who might be able to tell her the whereabouts of Anthony.
THIRTY-TWO
It was the horn blowing that finally woke her up. The sun was high in the southwestern sky, and when she looked at her watch, Eve couldn’t believe her eyes. She had slept for more than five hours. It was after nine in the morning, and the horn blowing behind her, the one that woke her up, came from a garbage truck there to empty the Dumpster right where she had parked. She hadn’t even really noticed it when she pulled in earlier and stopped.
She waved at the driver, signaling her apologies, and started the engine of her truck. She backed out and then drove to the entrance to the wildlife area lot. She paused for a moment to check her bearings and try to figure out where she might go to find the street address of John Barr, who she might ask where the man lived. Eve had lived in New Mexico all of her life, and she knew that residents of the more rural areas of the state known as the Land of Enchantment were often suspicious of strangers and tended to be very tight-lipped about giving out information about neighbors and fellow citizens. She needed a strategy to ask the locals where to find Barr’s cabin.
She noticed a full parking lot at the café and a few people coming and going from the post office. With a stack of Barr’s letters showing a return address of a PO box, Eve decided that the mail station might be the best place to start. She pulled onto the main road, making a quick left into the parking lot shared by the Tererro Café and the United States Post Office. She parked the truck in a space, took in a deep breath, turned off the engine, and opened the door. She hoped she could charm the mailperson into giving her directions.
