Mrs. Johnson, the ICU nurse she’d met earlier, greeted her. “Are you looking for Jessica, Sister?”
She nodded. “I brought her some nightclothes.”
“We were able to move her out of ICU. She’s in the last room down this hall on your right. You’ll see the officers. But if you’re not expected, I doubt you’ll get in.”
“The sheriff knew I was coming,” she said. “How’s Jessica doing, by the way? Will I be able to talk to her for a bit?”
“She’ll know you’re there, but things are very confusing to her right now, an effect of the stroke that followed her initial trauma.”
Sister Agatha hurried down the hall. Nodding to the officers, who recognized her immediately, she went inside. The room held three beds, but only one was occupied. Jessica lay still, her eyes closed and her face pale, even in the subdued light. A monitor had been taped to her finger and the machine to her right beeped in steady rhythm.
Sister Agatha approached quietly, but as she reached the chair next to the bed, Jessica opened her eyes.
“Do you remember me, Jessica?” Sister Agatha asked softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm.
Jessica’s stare was vacant. Sister Agatha wasn’t even sure she’d heard her, but when she repeated the question, she got the same response.
“I brought one of your nightgowns,” she said, showing it to her, then hanging it up in the closet when Jessica didn’t react.
“Natalie is in good hands,” Sister added, hoping to elicit some reaction.
“Natalie,” Jessica repeated in an unsteady voice.
Sister Agatha saw a glimmer of recognition in Jessica’s eyes, but in a heartbeat it was gone.
A young nurse came into the room and smiled at Sister Agatha, then at Jessica.
“You’re doing so much better!” she told Jessica cheerfully.
Sister Agatha studied the nurse’s expression, trying to decide if she’d really meant what she’d said or if it had been simply for her patient’s benefit.
“She really is, you know,” the nurse said as if she’d read Sister Agatha’s mind. “There’s still swelling in parts of her brain, but that’ll come down. Before you know it, she’ll be back to her old self.”
Sister Agatha wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not, but from what she could see, Jessica wouldn’t be able to help them anytime soon. Sister Agatha had started walking back to the door, paper bag in hand, when she heard Jessica’s voice.
“Natalie,” she said, more firmly this time.
Sister Agatha remained where she was, wondering if Jessica had actually remembered her daughter or if she’d just parroted the word. Approaching the bed again, she looked directly into Jessica’s eyes. Pain and confusion were mirrored there along with another emotion—fear.
“Everything’s all right, Jessica. We won’t stop praying for you. God’s all the backup you need.”
The eyes that stared back at her were haunted, but as Jessica closed her eyes, the harsh lines around her mouth eased and a sense of peace seemed to settle over her.
“Benedicite Domino, Jessica,” she whispered, then hurried down the hall.
15
WHEN SISTER AGATHA ENTERED THE PARLOR AT THE monastery carrying the paper sack with Gracie inside, she found Sister Bernarda at the front desk.
“What happened to all the hammering?” Sister Agatha asked, noting the silence around them.
“The insulation that’s supposed to go beneath the fiberglass sheeting didn’t arrive. Del’s now waiting for a shipment that’s supposed to arrive either later this afternoon or tomorrow.”
Hearing a vehicle driving up outside, Sister Bernarda glanced through the window. “It’s the delivery man coming to pick up our last shipment of altar bread,” she said, pointing to the tiny labeled box on a side table. “Good thing we’ve been deluged with e-mail orders for our Cloister Clusters, and Smitty called about an hour ago, too. He’s selling at twice the rate he predicted, so he needs another shipment as soon as possible.”
“That’s great news,” Sister Agatha said. “But we’re going to need to find more efficient mass production methods. Otherwise, we’ll be overwhelmed.” From the looks of it, they were becoming too successful for their own good.
Hearing the deliveryman’s knock at their door, Sister Bernarda went to open it.
“Good afternoon, Sisters.” Mike, their regular Parcel Express driver, was in his early forties and resembled Cro-Magnon man. His beefy hands were surprisingly gentle, however, whenever he handled their altar bread boxes. “I came to make the regular pickup.”
“What happened to the new driver, Andrew?” Sister Agatha asked.
“We’re sharing this route. Today he’s doing residential deliveries in town, so I’m taking care of our commercial accounts.”
“Sounds like your company’s doing a brisk business,” Sister Agatha said.
“It’ll get even crazier as the holidays get closer.” He pulled a baseball style cap from his pocket and put it on his head.
For a moment, Sister Agatha couldn’t get the image of the man she’d seen at the hospital out of her mind. But Mike wasn’t wearing a Dallas Cowboys cap, just the brown cap that went with his uniform.
“I bet it’s hard to keep all the routes manned, particularly during your busy season. I would imagine you have your fair share of on-the-job injuries with all the lifting that’s involved in your work,” she said, wanting to follow through on an idea she’d just had.
“Once in a while one of our drivers pulls a muscle or cuts a finger, but injuries aren’t as common as you might think.”
“What about you? I’m almost sure I saw you at the hospital the other night,” she said casually, all the while studying his expression intently.
“Me? No way. Hospitals give me the willies, Sister. I’m a Christian Scientist and we have our own methods of healing. Trust me— the only way anyone would ever get me inside that place is feet first.”
Sister felt inclined to believe him. “My mistake.”
As Mike left, Sister Bernarda gave her a quizzical look. “What was that all about?”
She explained briefly. “I realized the baseball cap was a stretch, but he’s one of very few who pays us a visit and wears a hat like that.” Sister Agatha checked her watch. “It’s almost time for None. I’ll take over in the parlor so you can go, but first give me a chance to track down Natalie.”
“She’s with Sister Ignatius. Those two have the most incredible rapport. If you still need to get information from Natalie, I think you should consider enlisting Sister Ignatius’s help.”
“Natalie talks to me, too,” Sister Agatha said.
“She may talk to you, Your Charity, but she’s also aware that you’re working with the police. On the other hand, when she’s with Sister Ignatius, she’s with a kindred spirit. They’re both artists and you know how Sister Ignatius feels about angels.”
Sister Agatha nodded. Sister Bernarda was right. As much as she liked Natalie, the rapport between them was forced. Natalie answered her questions not out of any sense of friendship, but out of necessity.
Hearing hushed whispers coming from down the enclosure hall, Sister Agatha listened and heard Natalie speaking animatedly to Sister Ignatius about Gracie. “Gracie’s perfect. She’s even got her own purse.”
“You’ve given her a very important job,” Sister Ignatius agreed, also whispering.
Seeing Sister Agatha across the grate, Sister Ignatius smiled. “We’ve had a productive day, Your Charity. But the bells will ring for None soon, and I thought it was time for her to come back.”
Sister Agatha opened the enclosure door and brought Natalie outside.
“Did you bring Gracie, Sister Agatha?” Natalie asked quickly.
Sister Agatha reached for the paper sack and handed Natalie her doll.
“Gracie!” Natalie gave the doll a hug. “Thanks, Sister Agatha. I really hated not having her around.”
“I heard you tell
ing Sister Ignatius that Gracie has a special job. What does Gracie do?”
Natalie averted her gaze. “It’s just something ...” she muttered.
As Sister Agatha walked to the parlor desk, Natalie hurried into her room and closed the door. The rejection stung far more than Sister Agatha ever imagined it could.
Sister Bernarda gave her a long, pensive look. “Whether you realize it or not, the right thing is happening between you and that girl.”
Sister Agatha gave her a puzzled look. “What are you talking about? Nothing’s happening at all.”
“Exactly,” Sister Bernarda whispered. “Natalie’s chosen another confidant and that’ll give you the emotional distance you’ll need to work on this case with the sheriff.”
“I suppose,” Sister Agatha said with a nod. “What makes it hard is that sometimes when I look at Natalie, I find myself thinking of her as the child I might have had,” Sister Agatha admitted softly. “It doesn’t make a bit of sense, but there it is.”
As the bell rang for None, a hush fell over Our Lady of Hope Monastery. Sister Bernarda picked up her breviary and went into the enclosure, leaving Sister Agatha alone in the parlor. The nuns began to chant the Divine Office, and the sound of their voices filled the empty corridors. In those moments of serenity, the power of the Divine touched each of their hearts and gave them the gift of peace.
They gathered for Morning Prayers the following day feeling a huge sense of accomplishment. Today was their first public sale, so all the sisters, including the externs, had worked in shifts throughout the night.
Sister Agatha, Sister Bernarda, and Frances Williams would be manning the booth at the local Harvest Festival, and a huge crowd was expected to attend. The externs spent an hour loading every available inch in the Antichrysler with cookies. They had to keep warding off Pax, who’d made it clear he would have loved a chance to steal a box or two. Today they’d also be selling a few of the angels Sister Ignatius and Natalie had made. Since Natalie had agreed to leave them unsigned and put the monastery’s crest on them instead, they’d be testing the marketability of those designs today instead of waiting for the Christmas bazaar.
Leaving behind what they couldn’t fit into the station wagon for now, they set off for Bernalillo. The drive to the Harvest Festival grounds took less than fifteen minutes, even at the snail’s pace that the Antichrysler demanded.
Frances, the rectory housekeeper, had already arrived and set up their booth. “It’s about time, Sisters!”
Even before the morning chill had left the air, a crowd had gathered, hoping to get the best selection and bargains. The angels Natalie and Sister Ignatius had made sold out almost immediately, and the Cloister Clusters went two or three boxes at a time. By ten o’clock, the line in front of their booth was the longest one at the entire event.
One of their customers, Chuck Moody, came up to Sister Agatha with a silly grin on his face. Sister Agatha hadn’t seen him in the full light of day for a very long time, but now she realized that he hadn’t changed much at all except for the attempt at a beard. He was a small man, built chunky like a fireplug, and he had a nervous, kinetic energy that all but demanded that he remain in constant motion.
“Can you leave the booth for a minute, Sister? I’ve got something important I need to talk to you about.”
“Now?” She looked at the long line behind him.
She was tempted to turn him down, but something in his tone warned her that doing so would be a mistake. Sister Agatha signalled Frances, who was unpacking more cookies from the big cartons. “Frances, can you take over for a few minutes, please? I won’t be long,” she said. Seeing her nod, she walked away from the booth with Chuck. “This better be good,” she said.
“Remember what I said the other night? I really do owe you big-time, Sister. You forced me to sober up, and I’ve got a good life now. But I’ve still got to make up for some of my past mistakes, and I’m starting with you. That’s why I came to offer my services.”
“Your services?” Sister Agatha asked, confused.
“I know you work with the sheriff every once in a while. Some of it has made the newspapers. So right now I’m guessing, you’re looking into Jessica Tannen’s accident for the sheriff and Father Mahoney.” Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “It just so happens that in my new job I hear all kinds of things. So I’m going to be keeping my eyes and ears open for you, Sister.”
“I appreciate that, Chuck, but if you hear anything pertaining to the case, shouldn’t you take it to Sheriff Green?”
Chuck shook his head. “To them, I’m an ex-con and that’s all I’ll ever be. They’ll never listen to anything I have to say. I’ll bring whatever I find to you, then you can decide what to do with it.”
“Thanks, Chuck, I appreciate this, but you owe me nothing, truly,” Sister Agatha insisted. “Being a good citizen is all anyone expects from you now.”
“You’re wrong about that, Sister. Prison was a real test for a little guy like me. There were times when I honestly didn’t think I’d leave there alive. So I prayed a lot, and made a deal with God. If he got me out of there in one piece, I’d do my best to make things up to the people I’d screwed—er, I mean threatened, or whatever. Then the parole board finally believed that I was serious about going straight and I ended up getting an early parole. So now I’ve got to keep my deal with the man upstairs. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do.”
“So here’s what I wanted to tell you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Did you know that the monastery’s roofing job is the only reason Del Martinez’s company hasn’t gone bankrupt? Joseph Carlisle happens to be Del’s brother-in-law and he manipulated Del’s books to make it look like the roofing company was running in the black. That made Del eligible to do subcontracting work for Grayson Construction. But Grayson requires an annual audit of all their subcontractors and this year it’s happening earlier than usual. Unless Del or Joseph can come up with enough cash to match their phony numbers quickly, they’re going to be looking at possible jail time. That’s why Joseph and Del are trying to track down Natalie Tannen. One of the tabloid reporters has offered a big finder’s fee on behalf of his paper to anyone who leads him to Natalie, and there’s a hefty bonus included if the lead includes a photo op.”
Sister Agatha stared at him in surprise. Did Chuck somehow know where Natalie was, or was he just trying to warn her since she was working the case with Tom? His smug grin wasn’t encouraging. She took a deep breath and answered. “Where did you get all this?”
“One of my old…contacts, serves drinks at an establishment that shall remain nameless. She knows I work for a newspaper, so she passes gossip on to me—stuff she thinks might give me a lead to a story. I used to go out with her, and we’re still kind of close,” Chuck said and winked.
She resisted rolling her eyes—barely.
“You get it now, right?” he added. “Natalie is the only way those two can get money fast—providing they can lead the tabloid guy to her.”
Sister Agatha was determined not to let Chuck know how troubling she’d found the news he’d given her. The creative bookkeeping he’d mentioned may have somehow involved Jessica. Had she threatened to talk? She’d have to tell Tom as soon as possible. “Thanks for letting me know about this, Chuck. If it checks out, it may be the break Tom needs to close the case,” she said. “But right now I’ve got to get back to the booth.”
“Okay, Sister. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Seeing a deputy, Sister Agatha sent Tom a note then got back to work. Lunch became hot dogs at the booth, but by two in the afternoon they were out of cookies. Sister Agatha sent Sister Bernarda back to the monastery for more.
After hanging up a sign that read, TEMPORARILY SOLD OUT, Frances decided to take the opportunity to walk around the grounds and check out the other booths. Alone for the moment, Sister Agatha sat down and took out her prayer book. She could do the afternoon “little ho
urs” while she waited. She’d only just opened the breviary when a dark-haired man wearing round glasses approached.
“Will you be getting more cookies in soon, Sister?” he asked with a friendly smile.
The man looked very familiar, but she couldn’t place him until someone yelled out, “How ya doin’, Jer?”
Her guard went up instantly. Jerry Dexter was the owner of Bountiful Bakery.
“You’ve got yourself a winner with those cookies, Sister. But I think I should warn you that going into the retail market can be very risky. The monastery might get more of a benefit from this by selling me the recipe or licensing it to my business. You could then go back to doing whatever it is nuns do, and still get a small percentage of the profits.”
“Small? Why small? It’s our recipe.”
“Sure, but all the other expenses, such as overhead, advertising, storage, shipping, and spoilage, would be mine.”
“Thank you for your offer,” she said coldly. “I’ll tell Reverend Mother what you said, but I’m fairly certain that we’ll take a pass. Like you, we also have to support ourselves.”
“Listen, Sister, you’re cutting into my business,” he said, lowering his voice. “That bakery’s my livelihood, and unlike your monastery, I don’t receive donations.”
The harshness of his tone surprised her. “Surely you sell more than cookies,” she countered.
“Of course we do. We sell all kinds of breads, cakes, pies, and pastries. But our cookies are—were—our best profit-makers. Now even Smitty has cut his wholesale orders from our ovens. Are you nuns going to be in the cookie business for a long time, or is it just to raise some extra money?”
“I don’t expect we’ll stop anytime soon. Our expenses still have to be met.”
“I’ve worked too hard to build a business in this community, Sister. If you’re going to become my competitors, then expect a fight on your hands.”
“Mr. Dexter, there’s a place for both of us under God’s plan. We have no desire to usurp you. We just want to sell enough cookies to keep a roof over our heads.”
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