“You’re joking?”
“No, and if he doesn’t, they’ll probably fake one to go with his story. Springer is really eager for an interview. Desperate, maybe, because he wants to get the exclusive.”
“I can almost sympathize with him. But I was never that eager as a journalist…was I?” Sister Agatha asked.
Tom smiled. “Of course you were. By the way, Springer denied sneaking into the monastery in that nun disguise, though he’s our best bet so far. Just make sure you continue to keep a sharp eye out for any reporters. And keep Natalie out of sight. We have to protect her from danger of all kinds now, including kidnapping.”
“She’s safe and will remain that way. Anything new on Jessica’s boss, Carlisle?” she added, changing the subject.
“He’s so clean, he squeaks. And the paint scrape we got off Jessica’s car doesn’t match his vehicle at all—not to mention that we’ve established the hit-and-run vehicle was a pickup and Carlisle doesn’t own one. We’ve got a boatload of smudged fingerprints from the surfaces of Jessica’s car, some partially washed away, and it’s taking a lot of time to process them all. So far, most are Jessica’s and Father Ma-honey’s. He helps her with maintenance and oil changes.”
Sister Agatha said nothing for several moments. “I have an idea that might get us something on Carlisle.” Reminding him what Jessica had told Elena about insurance and then telling him about her conversation with Maria Fuentes about hiding places, she added, “Have you checked to see if Jessica has a safe deposit box?”
“Sure, a while back, and the answer is no.”
“I think it’s time to look for the insurance Jessica spoke about. My guess is that she hid it in her home somewhere. It’s the only place left for us to search.”
“Agreed. Let’s go over there right now. I’ll have to ask Father Mahoney’s permission on the way since I already released the scene.”
“He won’t mind.”
“I still have to ask, particularly now. He’s had some trouble over at Jessica’s. People have been stealing little things out of the yard that Natalie might have touched—the door to the mailbox, a flower pot from the front porch, even a sprinkler. At least there haven’t been any more break-ins that I’ve heard about.”
As they drove to Jessica’s house, Sister Agatha followed the sheriff’s vehicle in the Harley. They were halfway there when she caught a brief glimpse of Chuck Moody as he passed by. Although he merely waved and then drove on, she had a feeling that Chuck was still trying to keep an eye on her. Working hard to forgive him for being such an irritating man, she kept her eyes focused on the road.
When they arrived at the Tannen house five minutes later, Sister Agatha left Pax sitting on the porch and went inside with Tom. Dividing the house into sections, they searched everywhere—even inside food containers. Finally, ninety minutes later, they returned to the living room.
“I looked inside the light fixtures and even sifted through the soil in the potted plants. There’s nothing here,” Tom said, disappointment evident in his tone. “Maybe Jessica was bluffing—or she never got the insurance she intended.”
“I don’t agree. Remember what Jessica told Elena. There’s something here—it’s just well hidden.”
“Gut feeling?”
“No, logic. If Jessica thought someone was framing her, she would have done whatever was necessary to protect herself. There’s no way she would have risked getting arrested and being separated from Natalie.”
“That makes sense, but if she buried something in the backyard, we’re going to be here a long time.”
Sister shook her head. “Outside, anything could happen to whatever she was protecting. She has a fence back there, but it’s not enough to isolate the yard. My guess is that we’re overlooking something here, inside, a place where she would have quick access.”
They’d taken all the human steps possible. Now it was time to turn the matter to God. Sister Agatha said a silent prayer asking for guidance then slowly looked around the room, taking in every detail. Finally, after several moments, she spotted something she hadn’t seen before.
“Look at the power strip attached to the outlet by the TV,” she said, standing. “She’s got a gazillion things plugged in there.”
“Yeah, so what’s your point?”
“Why have all those attachments there when you have another unused outlet a few feet away behind the table lamp?”
Tom glanced where she was pointing, muttered an oath, then went to move the lamp aside. Crouching down, he studied it. “This is one of those fake outlets you can buy from catalogues.” Pulling it open from the top revealed a small hiding place and a floppy disk in a plastic case nestled inside. He took it out gingerly. “I think we just found Jessica’s insurance. Let’s go back to the station and find out what’s on here.”
It took another hour of waiting and pacing at the station before Tom came out to meet her. “The disk has a letter explaining the contents as well as all the proof we need to bring criminal charges against Joseph Carlisle. On a phony spreadsheet, the amounts Carlisle withdrew and pocketed showed up as cash used to purchase construction materials, goods later listed as stolen from work sites so they didn’t have to be accounted for in inventory or as part of client structures. Jessica has no idea what Carlisle did with the money, but notes that he must have discovered her password or he couldn’t have doctored the spreadsheet files. Jessica kept a second set of backups on a floppy, which contradict the records Carlisle sent to the head office. She found out what was going on when the accountant at the head office called to question an entry.”
“But that won’t exonerate Jessica. It could be argued that she did the doctoring.”
“True, but now that we have a case for fraud we can subpoena bank records for both Joseph Carlisle and Del Martinez. My guess is that the money Carlisle took from Grayson Construction’s business accounts ended up in Martinez’s books.”
“But all that establishes is fraud. Can you tie Carlisle or Martinez to Jessica’s car accident?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what happens when I question Carlisle,” he said. “Why don’t you stick around? You can stand outside the interview room and observe through the two-way glass.”
“Thanks, I’d like to do that. But if he doesn’t have a truck…” “Carlisle still could have borrowed someone else’s vehicle that night. Let’s see what kind of alibi he has.”
Thirty-five minutes later Sister Agatha stood on one side of the glass while Tom questioned Joseph Carlisle. The man stonewalled completely at first, but Tom was tenacious.
“We have physical evidence that you were embezzling funds. Jessica Tannen kept another backup disk, as you probably discovered some time ago. Once we subpoena your bank records and get delivery records from your suppliers, I think we can prove those construction materials you reported stolen never existed. My next question is this—what do you have that’ll convince me you’re not also guilty of attempted murder? Prove to me that you weren’t the one who ran Jessica Tannen off the road and tried to kill her.”
“First of all, I don’t have to prove anything—you do.” Despite his bravado, Carlisle’s face had paled considerably. “But why would I want to kill Jessica?” he challenged. “Even if I were guilty of embezzling—and I’m not admitting anything—why kill Jessica? If she had evidence that could be used against me, I’d have been better off pressuring her to tell me where it was.”
“Where were you the night of her accident?”
“I was home alone, God’s truth, watching the football game. I went to bed early, as soon as the game ended.” He paused. “Look, if you don’t believe me, ask me anything about that game.”
“That’s no good. Ever hear of a VCR?”
Sister Agatha watched Carlisle’s brows knit together as he struggled to find a way out of his situation. He hadn’t admitted to embezzlement, but he seemed pretty desperate to clear himself of attempted murder.
“Wait. I remember
something. With all the thunder and lightning, my neighbor’s dog was going nuts and barking like crazy. I called to complain, but they didn’t answer so I left a message on the machine. Ask them.”
“You could have called them from Budapest. That’s no good.”
“How would I have known the dog was barking? My other neighbor could corroborate that, I’m sure. Just ask him. The dog was really going crazy. Or check the phone records. They’d show I made the call from my house, right?”
“That would only work if the call was made at the time of the accident, give or take fifteen minutes. How lucky do you feel, Carlisle?”
“I’m not going to confess to a crime I didn’t commit!” he roared then stood up.
“Sit down,” Tom said, his voice low and deadly.
Carlisle eased back into his chair.
“Anyone you know have a tan pickup?”
Carlisle thought about it a moment. “My neighbor down the street, and my brother-in-law,” he answered, then shrugged. “A lot of people own light-colored trucks. What’s your point?” He stared at Tom with the desperation of an animal fighting for its life. “There are paint scrapes from the collision, right? Well, my car’s blue. And my brother-in-law’s truck has been in the shop for nearly a month waiting for a new axle. And neither one has a scrape on it. Check that out yourself.”
Tom came out of the room a few minutes later. “I’ve got a good case for embezzlement, but the rest…” Tom shook his head.
“What about Del Martinez? It was his company that raked in the benefits of the embezzling scheme, if our informant is correct, so he has to know something about where the money came from.”
“All true, but that doesn’t tell us what part—if any—he played in what happened to Jessica. I’m going to bring him in for questioning and see where it goes.”
Sister Agatha stayed in the hallway with Pax as Carlisle was led away to booking. As he walked past her, he shot her a venomous look. “You’re responsible for this mess. Damned crow!”
Millie, the desk sergeant, came up and stood beside Sister Agatha until he was out of view. “Don’t let him get to you. They all trash talk when we bring them in.”
“Thanks, Millie,” she said, touched that the deputy had backed her up.
“By the way, Sister, I wanted to tell you that the Coconut Clones the Dexters are baking are no match for the Cloister Clusters. They’re such an obvious attempt to rip off the monastery’s fund-raising efforts, some people are boycotting the bakery. The Clones’ only advantage is that they’re cheaper,” Millie said, and quoted her a price.
Sister Agatha gasped. “How can they afford that? They couldn’t possibly be using the same ingredients!”
“They’re not. For one thing they use coconut flavoring instead of coconut flakes. Makes them a lot less chewy,” Tom pointed out as Millie stepped away to answer the phone.
Sister Agatha stared at Tom. “I’d like to wring the Dexters’ necks. That’s not very charitable, but there it is.”
He laughed. “Go ahead. Vent. Do penance later.”
“Are you going to be bringing Del Martinez in yourself?” she asked, wanting to stick around if he was.
“I’ve sent two deputies to pick him up.” Seeing Millie come up again, he shifted his attention. “Problem?”
“Yeah. I just got a call from Officer Marquez. Del Martinez can’t be found. The roofers at Our Lady said he left about an hour ago without a word. Another deputy went by his home, and Del isn’t there, either. According to a neighbor, Del came home, five minutes later threw a suitcase in his car, then took off in a hurry.”
“Get a judge. We need warrants to search his home and business office.”
“What’s going to happen to our roof now?” Sister Agatha asked as Millie stepped away. “The workers will need to complete the job, but if their boss is skipping town…”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. The neighbor may have misconstrued what he or she saw. Hang tight and keep this under your hat— or veil.”
When Sister Agatha returned to the monastery, Sister Bernarda was back at the parlor’s desk.
“How’s it going here?” Sister Agatha asked her.
“We’ve had some good news. Justin Clark, the construction crew foreman, said that they’ll be finished with our roof ahead of schedule,” she said, giving Sister Agatha the details.
“That is good news.”
“It’s almost one, time for our midday meal. Why don’t you go ahead and join the sisters in the refectory? I’ll handle things here,” Sister Bernarda said. “I’ve already eaten.”
Today’s lunch at the monastery comprised a vegetable casserole that Sister Clothilde had concocted and a small bowl of potato soup. Both tasted delicious and neither the human skull on the table beneath the cross at the far end of the room, nor the martyrology recounting the death of one of the saints, could put a dent in Sister Agatha’s appetite.
Afterwards, she helped Sister Clothilde pick up, all the while doing her best to postpone talking to Reverend Mother. Sister Agatha looked around the refectory as the other sisters filed back into the kitchen for another round of cookie baking, coupled with prayer. People on the outside sometimes thought that the monastery protected them from life. But that wasn’t so. They weren’t immune to hard times. The biggest difference was that, here, it simply meant that they’d be leaning on God even more.
The words said during Morning Prayers came back to her now. “Lord visit this house…may your holy angels dwell here and keep us in peace…” Somehow that prayer had never seemed more appropriate.
19
SISTER AGATHA RELUCTANTLY WALKED TO REVEREND Mother’s office. She had no desire to add another burden to the weight the abbess already shouldered, but there was no way to avoid it.
Sitting across from Mother’s simple desk, she presented her with all the facts about Carlisle and their roofing contractor, Del Martinez. Since the workers were at the other end of the building now, there was no need to shout.
“If Mr. Martinez is arrested and his company shuts down, all those men outside may be left without jobs right before the holidays,” Reverend Mother said. “And we’ll be left the problem of finding someone who’ll complete the work at a price we can afford.”
“There’s only the metal trim and crown to complete, Mother. Maybe Grayson Construction will take care of them and us,” Sister Agatha answered.
“I’ll tell the sisters to begin praying for an equitable solution for all,” Reverend Mother said. “And I’ll reread our roofing contract.”
“There’s more, Mother.” She saw the lines on Reverend Mother’s face deepen. “It’s about our Cloister Clusters,” she said, and explained what the Dexters were doing. “It should have occurred to me before to get a patent, formulation, copyright, or whatever they call it, for our recipe. But since we haven’t, I think we should, and as quickly as possible.”
“We’re extremely short of cash, child.”
“I may be able to get around that, Mother. Let me see what I can do.”
Sister Agatha left for town a short time later with Pax. She’d go talk to Maria Fuentes, and with luck enlist the attorney’s help.
As Sister Agatha drove past Bountiful Bakery, the Dexters’ shop, she saw a group of women picketing out front. Surprised, she pulled up and heard the picketers chanting, “Cloister Clusters can’t be beat—Coconut Clones are the devil’s treat!”
As she and Pax walked up to the picket line, one of the women came up to her. The young brunette’s ponytail bobbed up and down as she walked.
“I’m Melodie Robles, Sister. Our parish group is going to protest outside the bakery until they stop making Coconut Clones. The Dexters are practically taking food out of the mouths of the sisters.”
Unsure of what to say, Sister Agatha paused for several moments. “Maybe there’s another way to work this out. Reason can work wonders sometimes and if—” Sister Agatha got cut off suddenly by an explosive backfire th
at rocked the air. She flinched, and Pax let out a bark of surprise.
Turning her head, she saw Sister Bernarda pulling up in the sputtering Antichrysler. Sister Agatha hurried to join her. “What’s happening at the monastery? Did you come looking for me?”
“Yes. We’ve had a bit of a problem.” Sister Bernarda lowered her voice. “Sister de Lourdes was taking care of the parlor. Natalie was in her room reading with the door closed, so Sister began doing the Little Office of Mary at her desk. When the doorbell rang, she went to answer it, and Andrew, our Parcel Express delivery man, came in. He saw Gracie in the parlor chair where Natalie had left it.”
Sister Agatha cringed. “What did Sister say?”
“That it was a donation for St. Francis’s pantry. But unfortunately that doll is very distinctive. Reverend Mother thought that, under the circumstances, you should tell the sheriff. None of us know if Andrew can be trusted.”
“I’ll go there next.”
While Sister Bernarda headed back to the monastery, Sister Agatha drove directly to the station, leaving the problem with the picketers to the Dexters. As soon as she walked in, two deputies stopped her. “Put us down for two boxes of Cloister Clusters each,” they said, before heading out to their squad cars.
“Me, too,” Millie piped in.
Tom came out of his office. Seeing Sister Agatha, he gestured silently for her to follow him.
“I’ve got bad news,” Sister Agatha warned as soon as he’d closed the door to his office. She told him what had happened at the monastery with Natalie’s doll, Gracie. “We don’t know what—if anything—we should do next. If we say anything to Andrew, it would only confirm where Natalie is.”
“We’ll need to find a backup hiding place for Natalie soon. Leave that to me.”
“I have to pay Maria Fuentes a visit, but on my way back I can stop and see what you’ve come up with.”
“Good idea.”
Sister Agatha sat down in Maria’s office and the attorney offered her some crackers and cheese from a plate on her desk. Sister took one, and continued, “I needed to ask you a question,” she said. “How much would it cost us to take out a patent on Sister Clothilde’s cookies?”
Prey for a Miracle Page 20
